Rex Stout

Under the Andes Rex Stout

-Harry is inside. What a rotten hole,- said he, and passed on. I smiled at his remark-it was being whispered about that Garforth had lost a quarter of a million at Mercer's within the month-and passed inside. Gaudy, I have said it was, and it needs no other word. Not in its elements, but in their arrangement. The rugs and pictures and hangings testified to the taste of the man who had selected them; but they were abominably disposed, and there were too many of them. The room, which was unusually large, held two or three leather divans, an English buffet, and many easy chairs. A smoking-table, covered, stood in one corner. Groups of men were gathered about each of the three roulette wheels ranged along the farther side. Through a door to the left could be seen the poker tables, surrounded by grave or jocular faces. Above the low buzz of conversation there sounded the continual droning voices of the croupiers as they called the winning numbers, and an occasional exclamation from a -customer.- I made my way to the center wheel and stood at the rear of the crowd surrounding it.