"That starts it. See them join in. Twenty-four spaces, black and white, and twenty-three filled. My ten spot quits it out. Now thank your stars if you see that bill again."
The gamblers stood near while Reddy reached toward the needle. A squad of grenadiers at attention would not be more rigid. They were frozen with suspense. But something paralyzed Reddy's wrist. He had caught the full glance of Shagarach. It was several seconds before he twisted the pointer. For several more it spun around, gradually slowing up and coming to a rest over Shagarach's number.
"Twenty!" called Reddy.
"Mine!"
Shagarach coolly smoothed out the bills and folded them in his pocket, while the unsuccessful players eyed him greedily. Eleven-twelfths of the stakes went to the winner, and 2,000 per cent would be considered a fair profit in any speculation. But the return to the bank was still more liberal, being the steady harvest of two-spots. It was easy to see how the luxuries and free accessories of the Dove-Cote could be provided.
"Try again," said Faught, shaking Shagarach's hand.
"Perhaps that is enough for an experiment," answered the lawyer, a little undecided still whether Faught were a decoy of the establishment.
"A hundred dollars even I come out whole to-night!" cried a voice at the door. It was Harry Arnold.
"A little quieter, gentlemen," said Reddy, tapping on his desk. "This isn't the stock exchange."
"It's a more respectable place," answered Harry, surrendering his wraps to a servant.