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Reaching the casino’s bar, Mayles took a right and stopped before an unmarked door. Pulling a passcard from his pocket, he swiped it through an adjoining reader and the lock popped open. He glanced from left to right, then slipped quickly inside, away from the noise and bustle.
The room beyond had no overhead lights. Instead, it was illuminated by a hundred small CCTV monitors set into all four walls, each displaying a different perspective of the casino: bird’s-eye views of tables, banks of slot machines, cashiers. This was the “pit” of the Mayfair Casino, where the casino staff vigilantly monitored gamblers, croupiers, dealers, and money handlers alike.
Two technicians in chairs with rollers studied the displays, their faces spectral in the wash of blue light. Victor Hentoff, the casino manager, stood behind them, also frowning at the monitors. He would spend most of the next six days shuttling between the ship’s casinos, and he had spent so many years staring at screens that his face had acquired a kind of perpetual squint. At the sound of Mayles’s entrance, he turned.
“Roger,” he said in a gruff voice, holding out his hand.
Mayles reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed envelope.
“Thanks,” Hentoff said. He slit open the envelope with a fat finger and pulled out several sheets. “My God,” he said, flipping through them.
“Lots of low-hanging fruit,” Mayles said. “Ripe for the picking.”
“Care to give me an executive summary?”
“Sure.” Along with everything else Mayles had to do, the casino staff expected him to provide them, discreetly, with a list of potential high rollers—or easy marks—for special cultivation and buttering up. “The Countess of Westleigh is back for another fleecing. Remember what happened on the maiden voyage of theOceania ?”
Hentoff rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe she’d return after that.”
“She has a weakness for maiden voyages. And baccarat dealers. Then there’s—”
Suddenly, Hentoff wasn’t looking at Mayles anymore. He was looking over the cruise director’s shoulder. At the same moment, Mayles noticed that the noise level in the room had gone up tremendously. He turned to follow Hentoff’s gaze and with a thrill of dismay saw that his di
“Ah, Mr. Mayles,” Pendergast said. “Here you are.”
The feeling of dismay deepened. The cruise director rarely made poor choices for his dining companions, but selecting Pendergast and his “ward” had been a mistake he didn’t intend to repeat.
Pendergast swept his gaze around the walls of monitors. “Charming view you have in here.”
“How did you get in?” Hentoff demanded.
“Just a little parlor trick.” Pendergast gave a dismissive wave.
“Well, you can’t stay here, sir. This area is off-limits to passengers.”
“I just have a request or two to make of Mr. Mayles, then I’ll be on my way.”
The casino manager turned to Mayles. “Roger, you know this passenger?”
“We dined together. How can I help you, Mr. Pendergast?” Mayles asked, with an ingratiating smile.
“What I’m about to tell you all is confidential,” Pendergast said.
Oh no
, Mayles thought, feeling his sensitive nerves tense up. He hoped this wasn’t going to be a continuation of Pendergast’s morbid di
“I’m not just aboard the
Brita
to relax and take the air.”
“Indeed?”
“I’m here as a favor to a friend. You see, gentlemen, my friend has had something stolen from him—something of great value. That object is currently in the possession of a passenger on this ship. It is my intention to retrieve the object and return it to the rightful owner.”
“Are you a private investigator?” Hentoff asked.
Pendergast considered this a moment, his pale eyes reflecting the light of the monitors. “You could certainly say that my investigations are private.”
“So you’re a freelancer,” Hentoff said. The casino manager was unable to keep a note of disdain from his voice. “Sir, once again I must ask you to leave.”
Pendergast glanced around at the screens, then returned his attention to Mayles. “It’s your job, isn’t it, Mr. Mayles, to know about the individual passengers?”
“That’s one of my pleasures,” Mayles replied.
“Excellent. Then you are just the person to provide me with information that can help me track down the thief.”
“I’m afraid we can’t share passenger information,” Mayles said, his voice edging into winter.
“But this man could be dangerous. He committed murder to obtain the object.”
“Then our security staff would handle the matter,” said Hentoff. “I’d be happy to direct you to a security officer who could take down the information and keep it on file.”
Pendergast shook his head. “Alas, I can’t involve low-level staff in my investigation. Discretion is paramount.”
“What
is
this object?” Hentoff asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t be specific. It is an Asian antique of great value.”
“And how do you know it’s on board ship?”
In response, Pendergast’s lips merely twitched in what might have been a faint smile.
“Mr. Pendergast,” Mayles said in the voice he reserved for humoring the most truculent of passengers. “You won’t tell us what you’re looking for. You won’t tell us how you’re sure it’s aboard theBrita
Pendergast nodded slowly. “I understand.” He gave a little bow, then turned to go. And then, hand on the doorframe, he stopped.
“I suppose,” he said casually, “you’re aware that a group of card counters is active on your floor?” And he nodded his head vaguely toward a cluster of screens.
Mayles glanced over, but he wasn’t trained in pit observation and all he saw were swarms of men and women at the blackjack tables.
“What are you talking about?” Hentoff asked sharply.
“Card counters. Highly professional and well organized, too, based on how successful they’ve been at not drawing, ah,
heat
.”
“What rot,” Hentoff said. “We’ve seen nothing of the sort. What is this, some kind of game?”
“It’s not a game to them,” Pendergast said. “At least, not in the sense you’d like it to be.”