Experiment in Crime Read Online Free
Author: Philip Wylie
ignored the tango artistes who now appeared on the dance floor.
"Is that straight?" she asked.
"I'm afraid," he said, coloring a little, "that we don't know each other, after all. I assumed you'd been one of my students at the University of Miami."
The drinks came. She made a feint at a toast, sipped, and said, "No, professor. I'm a--sort of hostess--around here. I went to college in the north for one dismal year.
Couldn't stand it. Came hack here--and couldn't stand the family, either. Gin rummy on the even nights and backgammon on the odd. I--took a job."
"My name is Burke--Martin Burke."
"And you were just looking around?"
He explained in some detail. She was amused, surprised--and, somehow, pleased.
"You're certainly right!" she said. "You shouldn't lecture without background.
Now, I tell you. When you're ready, I'll see that you get into the gambling room. If you want, perhaps I can fix it up for you to meet Double-O."
"You mean the notorious Double-O Sanders?"
"He's a lamb, really! Strictly a gambler. No rackets and no other angles. Some of the most important people in the United States come in, regularly." Miss Maxson finished her highball. "I've got to leave you. Thanks for the drink. Ask for Al in the foyer--and he'll show you to the "--she smiled--"'gaming room.'"
Chapter IV
He thought--along Tennysonian lines--that she was a delightful creature. He found himself also repeating--along undergraduate lines--that she was a warm swarm. He watched her move among the tables until she was out of view.
Then he called for his check, paid it, tipped ten per cent, added fifty cents, and beckoned to the girl in doll-clothing for another cigar. A corridor led to the gambling room. Al held back the velvet curtain and the professor sauntered through.
He found himself entering a most luxurious room--a room with a lower ceiling and restrained decoration. There were three roulette tables, a cashier's window, two tables surrounded by men, troughlike affairs in which dice were bounding, and other games with which he was unfamiliar. Large floor vases of beige roses were set about. The air was cool and clear, in spite of the continual smoking of its hundred or so occupants. It was like an elegant drawing room--with this exception, he thought: the guests were hypnotized.
They stood around the tables, light reflected up into their faces from the green baize, the polished mahogany. Some were obviously nervous--their hands toyed with chips or twisted handkerchiefs. Some were strenuously nonchalant. Some were stoical and without expression. The women, he thought, seemed more eager and anxious than the men--a natural result of their more emotional natures. There were women of sixty--even seventy--in fur wraps, wearing jewels. There were young women, with and without jewels. The most continuous sound was the soft talk of the croupiers. The loudest sound was the clatter of fortune set up by the dance of the ivory pellets around the rims of surging wheels.
For a long time, he watched. No one spoke to him--no one seemed to mind his surveillance. He presently realized that there were other onlookers. He studied the game.
Roulette, he soon saw, was childishly simple. Hardly more complex than parcheesi.
He was not in the least tremulous when he went to the cashier's window and purchased twenty, two-dollar, or white, chips. His face was impassive when he returned to the table he had selected. He put two chips on Red. The wheel spun and the number was called. The croupier put two chips on his two. He left them where they were. After the next spin, he had eight.
He thought of a number. The number he thought of was nine. He put four chips on nine and four on black. Nine lost. He tried again. Nine came up. He was dumbfounded by the number of chips which were pushed into his possession.
It may be that the best system for winning at gambling is to play with the sincere purpose of losing--of losing a politely decent sum so
"Is that straight?" she asked.
"I'm afraid," he said, coloring a little, "that we don't know each other, after all. I assumed you'd been one of my students at the University of Miami."
The drinks came. She made a feint at a toast, sipped, and said, "No, professor. I'm a--sort of hostess--around here. I went to college in the north for one dismal year.
Couldn't stand it. Came hack here--and couldn't stand the family, either. Gin rummy on the even nights and backgammon on the odd. I--took a job."
"My name is Burke--Martin Burke."
"And you were just looking around?"
He explained in some detail. She was amused, surprised--and, somehow, pleased.
"You're certainly right!" she said. "You shouldn't lecture without background.
Now, I tell you. When you're ready, I'll see that you get into the gambling room. If you want, perhaps I can fix it up for you to meet Double-O."
"You mean the notorious Double-O Sanders?"
"He's a lamb, really! Strictly a gambler. No rackets and no other angles. Some of the most important people in the United States come in, regularly." Miss Maxson finished her highball. "I've got to leave you. Thanks for the drink. Ask for Al in the foyer--and he'll show you to the "--she smiled--"'gaming room.'"
Chapter IV
He thought--along Tennysonian lines--that she was a delightful creature. He found himself also repeating--along undergraduate lines--that she was a warm swarm. He watched her move among the tables until she was out of view.
Then he called for his check, paid it, tipped ten per cent, added fifty cents, and beckoned to the girl in doll-clothing for another cigar. A corridor led to the gambling room. Al held back the velvet curtain and the professor sauntered through.
He found himself entering a most luxurious room--a room with a lower ceiling and restrained decoration. There were three roulette tables, a cashier's window, two tables surrounded by men, troughlike affairs in which dice were bounding, and other games with which he was unfamiliar. Large floor vases of beige roses were set about. The air was cool and clear, in spite of the continual smoking of its hundred or so occupants. It was like an elegant drawing room--with this exception, he thought: the guests were hypnotized.
They stood around the tables, light reflected up into their faces from the green baize, the polished mahogany. Some were obviously nervous--their hands toyed with chips or twisted handkerchiefs. Some were strenuously nonchalant. Some were stoical and without expression. The women, he thought, seemed more eager and anxious than the men--a natural result of their more emotional natures. There were women of sixty--even seventy--in fur wraps, wearing jewels. There were young women, with and without jewels. The most continuous sound was the soft talk of the croupiers. The loudest sound was the clatter of fortune set up by the dance of the ivory pellets around the rims of surging wheels.
For a long time, he watched. No one spoke to him--no one seemed to mind his surveillance. He presently realized that there were other onlookers. He studied the game.
Roulette, he soon saw, was childishly simple. Hardly more complex than parcheesi.
He was not in the least tremulous when he went to the cashier's window and purchased twenty, two-dollar, or white, chips. His face was impassive when he returned to the table he had selected. He put two chips on Red. The wheel spun and the number was called. The croupier put two chips on his two. He left them where they were. After the next spin, he had eight.
He thought of a number. The number he thought of was nine. He put four chips on nine and four on black. Nine lost. He tried again. Nine came up. He was dumbfounded by the number of chips which were pushed into his possession.
It may be that the best system for winning at gambling is to play with the sincere purpose of losing--of losing a politely decent sum so
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