Sherlock Holmes

A beautiful playground bordered by the bluest of blue seas and populated with an extraordinary cross-section of cosmopolitan Europe.

Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief.

All of them attracted by that riviera paradise.

all of them drawn by the magical spell of a small white ball spinning round the rim of a roulette wheel.

We were not, Mr. Bartell.

At the time my story begins, we just completed an extremely delicate mission.

A mission, I may say, that concerned the safety and good name of...

A very prominent member of the royal family.

Say, Doctor, you don't mean... One story at a time, Mr. Bartow.

In any event, my boy, I'm afraid that's a case about which my lips are sealed for all time.

But to return to tonight's adventure...

One June evening, I persuaded Holmes to accompany me to the Gatling Casino at Phragus, not far from Cannes where we were staying.

It wasn't quite as fashionable as the casino at Monte Carlo, but as I intended to do a little more scambling myself, it seemed an establishment more suited to my means.

As we stood there at the green baize-covered tables, the chatter of voices and the melodic chanting of the croupiers as they called the results of each spin of the wheel formed a background to a quiet conversation.

that Holmes and I were having.

That number ten must come up soon.

Oh, why not cut your losses, old fellow, and come for a stroll with me on the waterfront?

Oh, just a big way.

A couple more bets, Holmes.

I have a feeling that ten is bound to come up in a minute.