"One of you guys spin that wheel," he said to the technicians. One of
them gave the wheel a spin and dropped the ball. It clattered on its
merry way and dropped into a slot. Forty-two.
Thursby took the gadget out of his pocket. It was still set at Thirteen.
The men who had surrounded Howley on the night of his arrest had been
keeping their eyes open, and they had seen how Howley had handled the
thing. Well--_almost_ how. Thursby had the lens opening pointed at the
wheel, but his thumb and fingers weren't touching the silver plates
properly.
"Spin it again," he said.
Everyone's eyes were on the ball as it whirled, so I had time to get my
own copy of Howley's gadget out and set it at Thirteen. I hoped the
thing would work for me. I concentrated on Thirteen, making sure my
thumb and fingers were placed right.
Evidently they were. The ball fell into Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low.
A huge grin spread over Thursby's face, but he was man enough not to
turn and grin at me. "Try it again," he said.
Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low.
"I wonder how the thing works?" said Thursby, looking at the gadget in a
sort of pleased awe.
"You'd better be able to prove that it _does_ work, Thursby," I said,
trying to put irritation into my voice.
This time, he did grin at me. "Oh, I think we can prove that, all
right." He turned back to the technician. "Spin it once more, Sam, and
show the defense counsel, here, how it works."
The technician did as he was told. "Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low," he
chanted, grinning.
"Let's try another number," Thursby said. He turned the dial to One. And
this time, when he pointed it, his fingers were touching the plates in
the right places.
"Just a minute," I said. "Let me spin that thing."
"Be my guest, counselor," said Thursby.
I spun the wheel and scooted the ball along the rim. It dropped into a
slot. One, Red, Odd, and Low. I looked as disappointed and apprehensive
as I could.
"Co-incidence," I said. "Nothing more. You haven't proved anything."
Thursby's grin widened. "Of course I haven't," he said with a soothing,
patronizing tone. "But I don't have to prove anything until I get to
court."
Then he looked at the technicians and jerked his head toward the door.
"Let's go, boys. Maybe the counselor wants to look over the table for
himself. Maybe he thinks we've got it rigged."
There was a chorus of guffaws as they walked out. I just stood there,
scowling, trying to keep from laughing even harder than they were.
* * * * *
Jason Howley sat next to me at the defense table, just inside the low
partition that divided the court from the public. There weren't many
people in the auditorium itself; listening to some poor dope get himself
sentenced for cheating at gambling is considered pretty dull
entertainment in the State of Nevada.
Thursby had managed to push the indictment through the grand jury in a
hurry, but, as he sat across the room from me at the prosecution table,
I thought I could detect a false note in the assumed look of confidence
that he was trying to wear.
Howley tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, and he whispered:
"How much longer?"
I tapped my wrist watch. "Couple minutes. Judge Lapworth is one of those
precisionists. Never a moment late or early. Getting jumpy?"
He shook his head gently and smiled. "No. You've handled this even
better than I'd have imagined. You thought of things I didn't even know
existed. I'm no lawyer; I can see that."