, as a matter of fact, almost any of
them could outdo the Great Universal in one respect or another. The
Golden Palace, for instance, had much gaudier gaming rooms. The
Moonbeam had a louder orchestra. The Barbary Coast and the Ringing
Welkin both had more slot machines, and it was undeniable that the
Flower of the West had fatter and pinker dancing girls. The Red Hot,
the Last Fling and the Double Star all boasted more waiters and more
famous guests per square foot of breathable air.

But the Great Universal, in sheer size, volume of business and
elegance of surroundings, outdid any three of the others combined. It
stood grandly alone at the edge of the Strip, the grandiloquent Las
Vegas version of Broadway or Hollywood Boulevard. It had a central
Tower that climbed thirty stories into the clean desert air, and the
Tower was surrounded by a quarter of a square mile of single-level
structures. At the base, the building spread out for five hundred feet
in every direction, and beyond that were the clusters of individual
cabins interlaced by walks, small parks, an occasional pool, and a few
little groves of trees "for privacy and the feeling of oneness with
Nature," the brochure said. But the brochure didn't even do justice to
the place. Nothing could have except the popping eyes of the thousand
of tourists who saw the Great Universal every month. And they were
usually in no condition to sit down and talk calmly about it.

Around the entire collection of buildings rose a wall that fitted the
architectural style of the place perfectly. A Hollywood writer out for
a three-day bender had called it "Futuristic Mediaeval," since it
seemed to be a set-designer's notion of Camelot combined with a
Twenty-fifth Century city as imagined by Frank R. Paul. It had
Egyptian designs on it, but no one knew exactly why. On the other
hand, of course, there was no real reason why not.

That was not the only decoration. Emblazoned on the Tower, in huge
letters of evershifting color, was a glowing sign larger than the eye
could believe. The sign proclaimed through daylight and the darkest
night: Great Universal Hotel. Malone had no doubts about it.

There was a running argument as to whether or not the Great Universal
was actually on the Strip. Certainly the original extent of the Strip
didn't include it. But the Strip itself had been spreading Westward at
a slow but steady pace for two decades, and the only imaginable
stopping-point was th