ircumstances did this device come into the hands of the
police?"

He told what had happened on the night of the big take at the Golden
Casino.

"Would you explain to us just what this device is?" I asked when he had
finished.

"Certainly," he said. "It's a good luck charm."

I could hear the muffled reaction in the courtroom.

"A good luck charm. I see. Then it has no effect on the wheel at all?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Howley said disarmingly. He smiled and looked
at the jury. "It certainly has _some_ effect. It's the only good luck
charm I ever had that worked."

The jury was grinning right back at him. They were all gamblers at
heart, and I never knew a gambler yet who didn't have some sort of good
luck charm or superstition when it came to gambling. We had them all in
the palms of our hands.

"What I mean is, does it have any _physical_ effect on the wheel?"

Howley looked puzzled. "Well, I don't know about that. That's not my
field. You better ask Dr. Pettigrew."

There was a smothered laugh somewhere in the courtroom.

"Just how do you operate this good luck charm, Mr. Howley?" I asked.

"Why, you just hold it so that your thumb touches one strip of silver
and your fingers touch the other, then you set the dial to whatever
number you want to come up and wish."

"_Wish?_ Just _wish_, Mr. Howley?"

"Just wish. That's all. What else can you do with a good luck charm?"

This time, the judge had to pound for order to stop the laughing.

I turned Howley over to Thursby.

The D.A. hammered at him for half an hour trying to get something out of
Howley, but he didn't get anywhere useful. Howley admitted that he'd
come to Nevada to play the wheels; what was wrong with that? He admitted
that he'd come just to try out his good luck charm--and what was wrong
with that? He even admitted that it worked for him every time--

And what was wrong, pray, with _that_?

Thursby knew he was licked. He'd known it for a long time. His summation
to the jury showed it. The expressions on the faces of the jury as they
listened showed it.

They brought in a verdict of Not Guilty.

* * * * *

When I got back to my office, I picked up the phone and called the
Golden Casino. I asked for George Brockey, the manager. When I got him
on the phone and identified myself, he said, "Oh. It's you." His voice
didn't sound friendly.

"It's me," I said.

"I suppose you're going to slap a suit