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through the players.
    ‘There y’are, mate,’ he said. ‘Thought I’d lost ye.’ He handed Grant two five-pound notes and began worming his way backto the ringside without waiting for an answer.
    Grant looked ashamedly at the money and gestured remote thanks to the man who had rescued it. He was putting the money in his wallet when he experienced an entirely new emotion—the remorse of a gambler who has not put all his money on a successful wager.
    He paused with the money halfway into his wallet. He had twenty-two pounds ten shillings.Twice that was fifty pounds. Twice fifty was a hundred. Twice a hundred…
    Confident now, he thrust through the crowd and even managed to squeeze himself on to the bench at the ringside. He took all his money from his wallet and held it in his hand, waiting for the completion of the present spin.
    He gave no thought to whether he should bet heads or tails. He was out to win money on pure chance, and he knew that chance was not governed by whim.
    When the time came he dropped his twenty-two pounds ten to the floor and called out: ‘Twenty-two pounds ten on tails.’ He chose tails simply because the man next to him was calling for bets on heads.
    Immediately someone dropped a bundle of notes on to Grant’s pile.
    ‘Twenty-two ten on heads,’ said a voice above him, adding conversationally: ‘There’s twenty-three there, mate.’ Only thendid Grant realise that the odd ten shillings was slightly out of place.
    Again Grant’s mood changed. He felt quite withdrawn. His bet had been made, in a few moments he would have fifty pounds or nothing. He could not change his mind now. Nevertheless he kept repeating to himself: ‘It does not matter if you lose. It’s a chance you’re taking. It does not matter if you lose.’And by some instinct he could not analyse he kept his eyes tight shut with his head hanging low so that he might not be seen by the casual gambler whose money lay before him.
    And his eyes were still shut when he heard the call of ‘Tails.’
    I have fifty pounds, thought Grant, and turned to give his opponent his ten shillings change. But nobody behind him gave any indication of having had anything to do with the bet. A matter of ten shillings was of inconsiderable moment at the Game.
    His money was still at his feet.
    ‘Leaving all that on tails, mate?’ said a voice above his head.
    In one convolution of his mind he considered the matter, decided for it and said ‘Yes.’ In the next convolution of his mind he thought: Oh God, why didn’t I take some of it out at least?
    But the wad of notes had dropped swiftly from above and he had one hundred pounds before him.
    Now he didn’t give a damn what he looked like. His hands trembled grossly as he lit a cigarette and drew the smoke deep into his lungs with sucking breath.
    He became terribly aware of the smoky room, the heat that gave the impression it could be shovelled away, the sweating tense faces of the gamblers, the insouciant greed of the controllers; and then the pennies were spinning, higher, higher, turning in a double arc, small brown discs of fortune: and down they plummeted.
    ‘My God!’ said Grant aloud. ‘It’s tails.’
    He looked at his money, lying there all green and crumpled, and leaned forward to gather it up. And in the very act of leaning forward he experienced his third strange emotion that night—the mysticism of gamblers. He knew the pennies would fall tails again. He knew that as surely as he knew that he existed. All that was required was the will to act on his conviction and he summoned that very easily.
    He sat upright again, leaving his money where it was and cried: ‘One hundred pounds on tails!’
    Three different gamblers contributed to cover Grant’s money. He sat back on the bench and looked around while the other bets were made. He was not thinking; he waspossessed with foreknowledge, and while that strange devil spoke Grant would not even contemplate his own actions.
    He