They were checking the table, all right. They had three specialists going over it with everything from fine tooth combs to Geiger counters. They found nothing. No magnets, no wires, no mechanical gimmicks. Nothing. It took them an hour to take that table apart, check it, and put it back together again. When it was all over, Thursby glanced at me, then said: "O.K., boys; that does it. Let's go." The men looked at him oddly, and I knew why. "Aren't you going to test my client's gadget?" I asked innocently. Thursby looked angrily baffled for a moment, then he clamped his lips grimly. "As long as we're here, I guess we might as well." I knew perfectly well it was what he had intended to do all along. "One of you guys spin that wheel," he said to the technicians. One of them gave the wheel a spin and dropped the ball. It clattered on its merry way and dropped into a slot. Forty-two. Thursby took the gadget out of his pocket. It was still set at Thirteen. The men who had surrounded Howley on the night of his arrest had been keeping their eyes open, and they had seen how Howley had handled the thing. Well--_almost_ how. Thursby had the lens opening pointed at the wheel, but his thumb and fingers weren't touching the silver plates properly. "Spin it again," he said. Everyone's eyes were on the ball as it whirled, so I had time to get my own copy of Howley's gadget out and set it at Thirteen. I hoped the thing would work for me. I concentrated on Thirteen, making sure my thumb and fingers were placed right. Evidently they were. The ball fell into Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low. A huge grin spread over Thursby's face, but he was man enough not to turn and grin at me. "Try it again," he said. Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low. "I wonder how the thing works?" said Thursby, looking at the gadget in a sort of pleased awe. "You'd better be able to prove that it _does_ work, Thursby," I said, trying to put irritation into my voice. This time, he did grin at me. "Oh, I think we can prove that, all right." He turned back to the technician. "Spin it once more, Sam, and show the defense counsel, here, how it works." The technician did as he was told. "Thirteen, Black, Odd, and Low," he chanted, grinning. "Let's try another number," Thursby said. He turned the dial to One. And this time, when he pointed it, his fingers were touching the plates in the right places. "Just a minute," I said. "Let me spin that thing." "Be my guest, counselor," said Thursby. I spun the wheel and scooted the ball along the rim. It dropped into a slot. One, Red, Odd, and Low. I looked as disappointed and apprehensive as I could. "Co-incidence," I said. "Nothing more. You haven't proved anything." Thursby's grin widened. "Of course I haven't," he said with a soothing, patronizing tone. "But I don't have to prove anything until I get to court."