spectators not only forbade any attempt to call wrong numbers on a
winning cast but likewise insured fair dealing on the part of the
croupier, who was so busy raking in losing bets or paying winnings
that P. Sybarite had time neither to watch him nor to check his
payments.

Penfield, cool and smiling, confined his attention to the wheel. If he
felt any uneasiness or dismay on account of P. Sybarite's steadily
augmented mountain of chips, he betrayed it not at all overtly.

But abruptly (they had been playing less than fifteen minutes) he
paused and, instead of starting the ball on another race round its
ebony run, dropped it lightly in the depression immediately above the
axle of the wheel.

"The game is closed," he announced evenly, with a slow smile.
"Sir"--directly to P. Sybarite--"although it lacks the resources of
Monte Carlo, this establishment nevertheless imitates its protective
measures. A table losing twenty-five thousand dollars in one day
ceases operations. You are just twenty-five thousand to the good.
Accept my congratulations."

"You are very amiable," insisted P. Sybarite, rising, with a little
bow. "But if you care for revenge, I shall be pleased to continue at
the other table."

"Unfortunately that, too, has suspended operations," returned
Penfield. "However, I hope before long to relieve you of your gains."

Opening the cash drawer, he cleared it completely of its contents,