“Day after tomorrow. That’s when Stolz is supposed to go. Karen will let me know for sure, of course, when it happens.”

“You might not run into him over there, you might have to inquire around, and you’d better handle that pretty carefully. Some of those boys in Nevada own those clubs sort of under the counter, so to speak. Silent partners. There’s a reason. Nobody with a record is supposed to have any piece of the gambling over there.”

“For Chrissakes, you think I’m a nut or something?”

“It takes thinking about, more than you might realize.”

“I’ll do okay.”

Skip came out of the bus depot, into the bright hot Nevada sunlight, and looked around for a cab to take him out to the Strip. Karen was sure that Stolz would be there by now, in one of the big hotels. She was sure that he had nothing to do with any of the downtown clubs, catering to the less-well-heeled and the more transient suckers. Old Mrs. Havermann and Stolz had never mentioned the name of the hotel where he was supposed to live and in which he had a share, but Skip and Uncle Willy had done a little figuring. Stolz had been coming to Mrs. Havermann’s house off and on for a little more than three years, according to Karen’s memory, and it would seem logical that he had acquired his gambling interests at about that time. Several of the biggest and most lavish hotels had opened since then, and these could be ignored, provided Stolz hadn’t switched his investment.

Uncle Willy thought it most likely that Stolz had bought into one of the older establishments. He had telephoned a friend who had Nevada contacts, and from the friend had obtained a list of probabilities. Skip carried the list in his pocket, along with the return bus ticket financed by Uncle Willy in a burst of generosity.

When a cab drew in to the curb, Skip read off the name of the first hotel on the list; the cabbie nodded. They rapidly left the downtown area for through boulevards heading west. Skip had been through Las Vegas several times. He was always interested, when passing through the Strip, to see the new hotels which were constantly being added to the long line on either side of the highway stretching toward Los Angeles. Great piles of million-dollar masonry, glass and brick, they rose like fantastic palaces set amid tropic gardens. He read the names: the Sands, the Sahara, the Flamingo, Desert Inn, the Dunes, Thunderbird; and the vision of their opulence filled him with excitement. Only the knowledge of his own flattened wallet kept him from vainglorious dreams.