...Or Your Money Back | Page 3

the city limits. In his pockets, he
was carrying less than two hundred dollars in cash.
Now, nobody with that kind of chicken feed can expect to last long at
the Golden Casino unless they stick to the two-bit one-armed bandits.
But putting money on a roulette table is in a higher bracket by far than
feeding a slot machine, even if you get a steady run of lemons.
Howley didn't waste any time. He headed for the roulette table right
away. He watched the play for about three spins of the wheel, then he
took out his gadget--in plain sight of anyone who cared to watch--and
set the dial for thirteen. Then he held it in his hand with thumb and
finger touching the plates and put his hand in his jacket pocket, with the
lens aimed at the wheel. He stepped up to the table, bought a hundred
dollars worth of chips, and put fifty on Number Thirteen.
"No more bets," said the croupier. He spun the wheel and dropped the
ball.

"Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low," he chanted after a minute. With a
practiced hand, he raked in the losers and pushed out Howley's
winnings. There was sixteen hundred dollars sitting on thirteen now.
Howley didn't touch it.
The wheel went around and the little ball clattered around the rim and
finally fell into a slot.
"Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low," said the croupier. This time, he didn't
look as nonchalant. He peered curiously at Howley as he pushed out the
chips to make a grand total of fifty-one thousand two hundred dollars.
The same number doesn't come up twice in succession very often, and
it is very rare indeed that the same person is covering it both times with
a riding bet.
"Two thousand limit, sir," the croupier said, when it looked as though
Howley was going to let the fifty-one grand just sit there.
Howley nodded apologetically and pulled off everything but two
thousand dollars worth of chips.
The third time around, the croupier had his eyes directly on Howley as
he repeated the chant: "Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low." Everybody
else at the table was watching Howley, too. The odds against
Howley--or anyone else, for that matter--hitting the same number three
times in a row are just under forty thousand to one.
Howley didn't want to overdo it. He left two thousand on thirteen,
raked in the rest, and twisted the dial on his gadget over a notch.
Everyone at the table gasped as the little ball dropped.
"That was a near miss," whispered a woman standing nearby.
The croupier said: "Fourteen, Red, Even, and Low." And he raked in
Howley's two thousand dollars with a satisfied smile. He had seen runs
of luck before.

Howley deliberately lost two more spins the same way. Nobody who
was actually cheating would call too much attention to himself, and
Howley wanted it to look as though he were trying to cover up the fact
that he had a sure thing.
He took the gadget out of his pocket and deliberately set it to the green
square marked 00. Then he put it back in his pocket and put two
thousand dollars on the Double Zero.
* * * * *
There was more than suspicion in the croupier's eyes when he raked in
all the bets on the table except Howley's. It definitely didn't look good
to him. A man who had started out with a fifty-dollar bet had managed
to run it up to one hundred seventy-four thousand two hundred dollars
in six plays.
Howley looked as innocent as possible under the circumstances, and
carefully dropped the dial on his gadget back a few notches. Then he
bet another two thousand on High, an even money bet.
Naturally, he won.
He twisted the dial back a few more notches and won again on High.
Then he left it where it was and won by betting on Red.
By this time, of course, things were happening. The croupier had long
since pressed the alarm button, and five men had carefully surrounded
Howley. They looked like customers, but they were harder-looking
than the average, and they were watching Howley, not the wheel.
Farther back from the crowd, three of the special deputies from the
sheriff's office were trying to look inconspicuous in their gray uniforms
and white Stetsons and pearl-handled revolvers in black holsters. You
can imagine how inconspicuous they looked.
Howley decided to do it up brown. He reset his gadget as
surreptitiously as possible under the circumstances, and put his money

on thirteen again.
"Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low," said the croupier in a hollow voice.
The five men in evening dress and the three deputies moved in closer.
Howley nonchalantly scraped in his winnings, leaving the two