The three of them went from the casino into the huge lobby. Outside, beyond great glass doors, was the pool, lit with pink light at its edges, surrounded by late swimmers and a few diners at the little tables in the dusky distance. Inside here was an air of carpeted quiet and the watchful eyes of two clerks at a desk in a niche across the way. Skip knew their gaze was for him, and he tensed with a sense of danger. The girl, that was expected, but they had cold stares for Skip. He might be up to something with their valuable Mr. Salvatorre, who had just provided a good chunk of the overhead for the day.

Skip stared back in defiance, but his heart wasn’t in it. There was power here, concealed, it was true, under a show of hospitality, but nevertheless capable of swift and ruthless action. He had no illusions as to what would happen to him if he should try to slip off, say, with an added chunk of Mr. Salvatorre’s money.

In Mr. Salvatorre’s room the air-conditioning ducts hummed softly. There were flowers, bottles of good wine, a tray of snacks. Salvatorre ignored all this and rang for room service. The waiter came so quickly that Skip wondered if he had been stationed in the hall. “Drinks!” Mr. Salvatorre commanded, motioning toward the girl on the couch and Skip standing over by the windows.

The waiter looked patient and obedient; his attitude was one of simple politeness and not that of the cold hostility of the desk men.

“A stinger,” the blonde said languidly, stroking the fat side of the gilt handbag.

“A double Scotch with water back,” said Skip.

“Good boy!” the old man approved. “That’s what my Al would say. And waiter, I want Irish whiskey with Coca-Cola in it.”

Now that’s a drink for you, Skip thought in distaste. He listened to the sounds from outside, where swimmers were splashing in the pool and a girl was laughing in a high-pitched squeal. He thought of the old dun-colored house, Uncle Willy’s garage apartment, Mr. Chilworth and the amount of work he got from Uncle Willy for practically nothing; and he looked with disbelieving eyes on Salvatorre. How did a crazy old man like this acquire so much money?

He said tentatively, “You made it in mining, I’ll bet.”