"What's the highest possible hand?" asked Dimanche. There was a note of abstraction in his voice, as if he were paying more attention to something else. Cassal peeked at the cards that were face-down on the table. He shoved some money into the betting square in front of him and didn't answer. "You had it last time," said Dimanche. "A three dimensional encephalocurve. A time modulated brainwave. If you had bet right, you could have owned the house by now." "I did? Why didn't you tell me?" "Because you had it three successive times. The probabilities against that are astronomical. I've got to find out what's happening before you start betting recklessly." "It's not the dealer," declared Cassal. "Look at those hands." They were huge hands, more suitable, seemingly, for crushing the life from some alien beast than the delicate manipulation of cards. Cassal continued to play, betting brilliantly by the only standard that mattered: he won. * * * * * One player dropped out and was replaced by a recruit from the surrounding crowd. Cassal ordered a drink. The waiter was placing it in his hand when Dimanche made a discovery. "I've got it!" A shout from Dimanche was roughly equivalent to a noiseless kick in the head. Cassal dropped the drink. The player next to him scowled but said nothing. The dealer blinked and went on dealing. "What have you got?" asked Cassal, wiping up the mess and trying to keep track of the cards. "How he fixes the deck," explained Dimanche in a lower and less painful tone. "Clever." Muttering, Cassal shoved a bet in front of him. "Look at that hat," said Dimanche. "Ridiculous, isn't it? But I see no reason to gloat because I have better taste." "That's not what I meant. It's pulled down low over his knobby ears and touches his jacket. His jacket rubs against his trousers, which in turn come in contact with the stool on which he sits." "True," agreed Cassal, increasing his wager. "But except for his physique, I don't see anything unusual." "It's a circuit, a visual projector broken down into components. The hat is a command circuit which makes contact, via his clothing, with the broadcasting unit built into the chair. The existence of a visual projector is completely concealed." Cassal bit his lip and squinted at his cards. "Interesting. What does it have to do with anything?" "The deck," exclaimed Dimanche excitedly. "The backs are regular, printed with an intricate design. The front is a special plastic, susceptible to the influence of the visual projector. He doesn't need manual dexterity. He can make any value appear on any card he wants. It will stay there until he changes it." Cassal picked up the cards. "I've got a Loreenaroo equation. Can he change that to anything else?"