[Illustration]
The other two deputies stepped up, too, and the three of them walked
Howley toward the cashier's office. Behind them came the five men in
dinner jackets.
"You'll have to step into the office to cash that much, sir," said one
of the deputies as he opened the door. Howley walked in as though he
hadn't a care in the world. He put his chips on the desk, and the
deputies followed suit, while one of the dinner-jacketed men closed the
door.
Then one of the deputies said: "I believe this gentleman is carrying a
gun."
He had his own revolver out and had it pointed at Howley's middle.
"Carrying a concealed weapon is illegal in this city," he went on. "I'm
afraid we'll have to search you."
Howley didn't object. He put his hands up high and stood there while his
pockets were frisked.
"Well, well," said the deputy coolly. "What on Earth is this?"
It was Howley's gadget, and the dial still pointed to Thirteen--Black,
Odd, and Low.
* * * * *
The next morning, I went down to the jail in response to a phone call
from Howley. The special deputies had turned him over to the city police
and he was being held "under suspicion of fraud." I knew we could beat
that down to an "attempt to defraud," but the object was to get Howley
off scott-free. After Howley told me the whole story, I got busy pushing
the case through. As long as he was simply being held on suspicion, I
couldn't get him out on bail, so I wanted to force the district attorney
or the police to prefer charges.
Meanwhile, I made sure that Howley's gadget had been impounded as
evidence. I didn't want anyone fiddling with it before the case went to
court--except, of course, the D. A. and his men. There wasn't much I
could do to keep it out of _their_ hands.
After throwing as much weight around as I could, including filing a
petition for a writ of habeas corpus with Judge Grannis, I went over to
Howley's hotel with a signed power of attorney that Howley had given me,
and I got a small envelope out of the hotel safe. It contained a baggage
check.
I went over to the bus depot, turned over the check to the baggage
department, and went back to my office with a small suitcase. I locked
myself in and opened the case. Sure enough, it contained three dozen of
the little gadgets.
Then I sat down to wait. By noon, Judge Grannis had issued the writ of
habeas corpus, and, rather than release Jason Howley, the police had
booked him, and District Attorney Thursby was getting the case ready for
the grand jury. There was over a quarter of a million dollars at stake,
and the men behind the Golden Casino were bringing pressure to bear. If
Howley wasn't convicted, they'd have to give him his money--and that was
the last thing they wanted to do. A quarter of a million bucks isn't
small potatoes, even to a gambling syndicate.
It wasn't until early on the morning of the third day after Howley's
arrest that I got a tip-off from one of my part-time spies. I scooped up
the phone when it rang and identified myself.
"Counselor? Look, this is Benny." I recognized the voice and name. Benny
was one of the cabbies that I'd done favors for in the past.
"What's the trouble, Benny?"
"Oh, no trouble. I just got a little tip you might be interested in."
"Fire away."
"Well, the D.A. and some of his boys went into the Golden Casino about
ten minutes ago, and now they're closin' up the place. Just for a little
while, I understand. Hour, maybe. They're chasin' everyone out of the
roulette room."
"Thanks, Benny," I said, "thanks a lot."
"Well, I knew you was working on that Howley case, and I thought this
might be important, so I--"
"Sure, Benny. Come by my office this afternoon. And thanks again."