He had no doubt that Embry had prompted and engineered the attack at the Goblet. Now it was Embry's way to do most things from under cover just as he was running the string of gambling houses; it was further Embry's way to play safe. That bit of outlawry of the other night had entailed its double danger of a bullet in the darkness and a possible sentence in the state prison. Would Embry take chances like that just for the sake of striking at Bill Steele? Or did he need the money?
There was the question: Was Joe Embry already hard driven? While he posed at affluence had his affairs, perhaps, not prospered? Right now was he unusually eager that Steele should lose and lose heavily? Not so much because he hated the man as because he wanted the money?
But Embry's face was like a mask. His own thoughts he kept his own. Steele turned back to the table. The ball was slackening its speed. It flirted with number five, almost promising Steele thirty-five times the five hundred dollars he had placed there. Steele jerked up his head and again stared at Embry. This time he saw that Embry's lips had tightened perceptibly. Another instant and he saw a quick light leap up in the sombre eyes; he had little need to turn back to the table to know that number five had lost.
And now would it be red or black? He still had his chance to break even on the single play. And, like a final assurance that his "luck" had deserted him, black won.
