Mr. Moto's Gamble Page #2

Linda's feelings if I bet against Steele.

- I'm satisfied with Stanton.

How much do you want?

- Oh, five dollars.

- Come on. Make it 10.

- That's plunging for me, but, well, you've got a bet.

Okay. He's president of the corporation

that owns this joint.

- Oh, so?

- He's got more dollars than I got fingerprints.

But he never bets more

than a few bucks.

One reason possibly

why he remains rich.

Gosh, that's a pretty girl

sitting with your friend.

That's his daughter, Linda.

She's got her nose so high in the air...

she'd drown in a rainstorm.

Show him that left.

- I'll be rooting for you, Bill.

- Thanks, Linda. Hello, Mr. Benton.

- Good luck, Bill. I've got $10 on you.

- You're a cinch.

And here's Bill Steele coming into the ring

with his manager, Tom McGuire.

Moving to the rosin box.

Good evening, Miss Benton.

I suppose you're betting on Bill Steele.

Well, naturally.

By the way...

I see you're making him

your special assignment.

My permanent one, I hope.

They ought to match those two dames

and let 'em fight it out.

Quite an interesting commentary

on our present civilization.

The fair ladies still swoon

at the sight of a handsome gladiator.

Yes, sir.

I'd still be single...

if I hadn't gone to the policeman's ball

one year in a tiger skin.

And here comes Frankie Stanton,

that rough, tough Boston boy.

Yes, sir, ladies and gentlemen,

it's gonna be a rough, tough battle.

Uh-oh Frankie's got

a bad cut over one eye there

but Gerry Connors, his manager,

has told me that it won't make any difference.

- Hold everything.

Here comes the champ, Biff Moran.

Ladies and gentlemen,

introducing to you...

the heavyweight champion

of the whole worid

Biff Moran!

This is the main event of the evening

15 rounds of boxing!

The winner of this main event

will meet the champion of the worid.

here eight weeks

from tonight!

Introducing, at 179

Bill Steele!

At 185

Frankie Stanton!

Why all the gloom?

You look as though your boyfriend...

had already gone to sleep

on the canvas.

Cheer up. Give him

that good old moral support.

Get a load of Miss Benton over there.

The young lady positively radiates with happiness.

Sure. And the more the blood splashes,

the happier she'll get.

I'm the kind of a girl who likes a man

without adhesive tape and iodine.

Snap out of it. Bill Steele's

got this fight in the bag already.

I hope you're right. Nick Crowder's

betting Bill wins by a knockout.

- And Nick doesn't exactly throw his shekels away.

- You said it, sweetheart.

- Nick, that's a screwy bet, even for a guy like you.

- I got a hunch.

And I'll mother it

for you, Nicky boy.

I got another hunch

you'd be good at it too, sister.

Keep your hands up and watch that guy.

Go in sluggin', Bill.

Don't let him get set and you've got him.

- Come on!

Come on!

Get in there and fight!

Go on! Hooray!

Come on!

Throw 'em into his body!

Bring 'em up, Bill!

Work on that eye!

Come on! Straighten 'im up!

Use your left!

Come on!

Throw 'em into his body.

Throw 'em into his body!

Hello, Connors.

Everything okay?

- Sure, sure.

- It better be.

Some of the boys have got an idea

Stanton may take a dive.

They wouldn't like that.

- Don't worry.

- I won't.

I'll let you do that.

That's the stuff.

Work on that eye.

It's nearly open.

Nobody can see through ketchup.

Keep that left up like I told you.

If he opens up that eye, he's got you.

I don't need more than one eye

to slam that lug around.

There's Knockout Wellington.

Yeah. I better have a couple of the boys

from the larceny detail watch him.

He's liable to take

the water bucket.

Hey, buddy,

where's this seat at?

Right here, sir. I'm sorry, mister.

You're in the wrong seat.

Wrong seat?

No, this is my seat here.

- I'm sorry, sir.

- Well, I have my ticket right here in my

Now I know I had my ticket there

because I bought it.

- I'm sorry. This seat belongs to this gentleman.

- I don't care if this gentleman

Well, I beg your pardon.

I'm sorry. I made a mistake.

There you are, sir.

Go on! Hit him!

Come on! Come on!

Get in there and fight!

Bring 'em up, Bill!

Work on that eye!

- Come on

- Come on! Mix it up! Come on! Come on!

- Look, kid, take it easy. Let them do the fighting.

- I'm sorry, Lieutenant Riggs.

- Come on!

- Go on, Bill!

Bring in that right! What are you waitin' for?

Some fight, eh, Moto?

Very exhilarating.

Come on, boy!

Keep it up.

Keep it up.

You got him goin' now.

Clean the dirt off them gloves.

Looks pretty good for your boy, Mac.

Think he'll take him this round?

I'm shooting the works.

It's this round or never.

Let me see that eye.

- That looks pretty bad.

- I'll close it up. I'll slap some collodion on it.

Now get in there.

And remember, this is the round.

- Come on! Get in there!

- Come on!

The winner!

Oh!

Boy, that Steele sure carried a sleeping powder

in that right hand of his.

And fast.

I never even saw it land.

- Neither, apparently, did Mr. Stanton.

- No.

I knew you'd do it, Bill.

Oh, you were wonderful,

Bill! Will I see you later?

Sorry, Linda.

I've got a date.

- Our next champion, Mr. Benton.

- I hope so.

- I'll see you later to collect on my hunch.

- Don't worry.

I'm not leaving town.

Prizefighting is a very strenuous sport

on the spectator.

I could have bought a couple of hats

with that 10 I dropped to Benton.

What'd I tell you? Like I said, if Bill used

that short jab I taught him, he was a cinch.

In the second round, he comes out

of his corner fightin' like this

Never mind.

We saw the fight.

May I congratulate you on your excellent taste

in overcoats, Mr. Wellington?

- It's a beauty, ain't it?

- Oh, it's a marvelous piece of material...

and, uh, exquisitely tailored.

- To whom does it belong?

- Why, it's mine.

Oh, so? I didn't notice you wearing it

when you arrived at the ringside.

Then I must have went

and stole it.

May I suggest a search for the clues

to the real owner, Mr. Wellington?

- Okay, Professor, I'll have a report

on it in 24 hours.

- Please.

Lieutenant Riggs, the doctor

wants you in Stanton's dressing room.

What's the trouble, Doc?

- This boy is dead.

- What?

Dead? He can't be dead, Doc.

You gotta do something.

- I've done everything possible.

- He was the best fighter I had.

He'd have licked Steele in a rematch

and been the next champion.

That's tough luck, Connors,

but take it easy.

Pardon me, Doctor. You have determined

the cause of his death, I suppose?

There is evidence of strangulation

such as usually follows concussion.

He probably struck

his head hard when he fell.

But I was under the impression

that the ring floor was padded with cork.

About, uh, two inches,

I believe.

Accidents like this

have happened before, you know.

Yes, but then you attach

no importance...

to the discoloration

around the injured eye?

Why, no It's just the usual result

of a violent blow.

And then it is usual, too,

that the discoloration...

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