But that was no difficulty.

Philippe pretended to have forgotten something, and asked the concierge to go herself and get a locksmith, who lived close by, and who came at once and opened the door.
The villain's first thought was the bed; he uncovered it, passed his hands over the mattress before he examined the bedstead, and at the lower end felt the pieces wrapped up in paper.

He at once ripped the ticking, picked out twenty napoleons, and then, without taking time to sew up the mattress, re-made the bed neatly enough, so that Madame Descoings could suspect nothing.
The gambler stole off with a light foot, resolving to play at three different times, three hours apart, and each time for only ten minutes.
Thorough-going players, ever since 1786, the time at which public gaming-houses were established,--the true players whom the government dreaded, and who ate up, to use a gambling term, the money of the bank,--never played in any other way.

But before attaining this measure of experience they lost fortunes.

The whole science of gambling-houses and their gains rests upon three things: the impassibility of the bank; the even results called "drawn games," when half the money goes to the bank; and the notorious bad faith authorized by the government, in refusing to hold or pay the player's stakes except optionally.