"Maxwell Grant - The Shadow - 226 - The Blur" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grant Maxwell)

Here were dead-pan sophisticates, bejeweled dowagers, all strangers to each other; strangers almost to
themselves, as their eyes watched only the gyrations of the roulette ball. They weren't typical New
Yorkers; they were persons who had sojourned abroad, spending and gambling fortunes, until the war
had forced them to return to America.

One thing New York had lacked: the thrill that these expatriates had found at Monte Carlo and other
European gambling resorts. So Tex Winthorp had provided a Monte Carlo in miniature, with all the frills.
He'd seen to it, too, that the people accustomed to such thrills made up the bulk of the patronage.

Terry Radnor, coming to the Century Casino on a chance invitation, had unwisely climbed out of his
proper league. He couldn't stand the pace that these serious gamblers demanded. His losses were bad
enough, but the impressions these people gave him were much worse. They had begun to look like
creatures from another planet, machines timed to the whirl of the roulette wheel.

The croupier was raking in the loser's chips, and paying out to the winners. Still clutching his last token,
Terry stared about, hoping that he'd see at least one face that appeared human. Across the table, he saw
a tall young man with marcelled hair, who was weighing chips with one hand, while he used the other to
raise a lengthy cigarette holder to lips that wore a rather indulgent smile.

The young man shrugged, which was another human symptom, but as Terry caught his eye, the fellow
turned away and strolled in the direction of the faro table, as though preferring to try his luck elsewhere.

The wheel completed another spin. This time, Terry felt he had to bet. He edged forward, his hand
wavering with its last thin chip. Observing that the croupier did not notice him, Terry fisted the chip again
and started to withdraw his hand.

It was then that the voice purred smoothly in Terry's ear; a voice that made him stiffen, despite its oily
tone.

"Play your chip on any number," advised the voice. "Keep watching the wheel, but, meanwhile, listen.
You are going to win, but not at roulette. I'm letting you in on another game, where the odds are sure."

Mechanically, Terry placed his chip on number fifteen just as the wheel was about to spin. Remembering
the injunction to watch the wheel, he kept his eyes fixed in its direction, as he drew back, hoping to hear
the voice again. It came, and with it Terry felt a hand brush lightly against the side of his tuxedo jacket.

"I am putting an envelope in your pocket," undertoned the purring voice. "It is for Tex Winthorp. Take it
to him personally, and tell him that it is important. Wait until he has read the message, then ask him what it
is worth."

Terry waited for more, but there was none. The wheel stopped on number twenty-two, and Terry's last
bet went the way of all his chips. Sliding a hand to his pocket, he felt the envelope crinkle. Turning, he
glanced aside, hoping to see the man who had spoken. He was gone.

ELBOWING against Terry was a middle-aged woman who had just won a two-to-one bet on the first
twelve numbers. She couldn't have had anything to do with the mysterious voice. Gripping the envelope
as earnestly as he had previously clutched the final chip, Terry looked across the glittering casino to the
door of Tex's office. He decided to go there.
On the way, Terry passed the faro table and caught a passing glance from the marcelled man, who was