A LARGE BET.
The detective and Amos passed out of the stall and out of the place,
leaving the two ruffians lying unconscious upon the floor.
As they reached the street Amos pointed with his finger toward the place
they had just left.
“There’ll be a big racket down there,” he said.
“We won’t be in it,” was the reply. “Those fellows are two of the
toughest thieves in the city.”
“You know them, then?”
“They were pointed out to me one day.”
“Well, I don’t think they’ll want to be pointed out to you again. You
did some of the quickest work there I ever saw.”
“‘Quick’ work was necessary about that time.”
“You did me a good turn anyway. If I ever get a chance I’ll do as much
for you.”
“You ain’t liable to get a chance. I’m going away in a few days.”
“You don’t live here, then?”
“I’m a farmer.”
“Where are you stopping?”
“’Most anywhere.”
“Why not come over and stay with me to-night?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Nick was more than pleased at his good fortune in getting within reach
of the tricky sporting men’s tool so soon.
He suspected, however, that the man he was with would be followed by his
scheming employers from that time until the race was over.
He was fully aware that men who commit crimes and engage others to
assist them in their nefarious work never trust their tools implicitly.
His first idea was to ascertain whether spies had actually been set upon
his companion.
He also desired to know whether Chick was in a position to be within
reach if needed.
In order to do all this it was necessary for him to leave Amos alone for
at least a few moments.
“Look here,” he said, as they were starting up the street, “I’m a little
anxious about those men down there. I’d like to know whether they are
hurt much.”
“Well, we’ll go back if you like.”
“No, you step into this saloon, and I’ll go back alone. They know you
there, but they don’t know me.”
Amos did as requested, and Nick started rapidly down the street.
In a moment he ran across Chick.
“I was looking for you,” said Nick, shortly.
“Here I am.”
“Did you see me leave the place with that man?”
“Sure; and it was a heap of fun to see the proprietor and the waiters
wondering over the two men you left in the stall.”
“Are they badly hurt?”
“No, you can’t kill people of that stamp. One’s got a black eye and the
other a lame neck.”
“Did any one shadow us out?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“The man who was in the stall before the two bums went in.”
“How is he dressed?”
“The same as before, only that he now has a light overcoat over his
cutaway, and wears a slouch hat instead of the silk tie.”
“It’s just as I expected,” mused Nick. “The fellow is working for a man
who has a good deal of money at stake, and he’ll never leave my man
until he has him safe in bed.
“Well, hustle into that saloon,” he finally said to Chick, pointing out
the place where he had left Amos, “and see if you can find our man
Martin in there.”
“You mean the man with the light overcoat and slouch hat?”
“Certainly. If he is in there, find out what he is doing. If he’s with
Amos, get back here as quick as possible.”
“You want to keep those two fellows apart to-night?”
“Yes.”
The young fellow hastened into the place, only to dart out again the
next moment.
“He’s in there giving Amos the razzle-dazzle.”
“What is he saying?”
“Why, Amos wants to get away from him, and he swears he means to stay
with him until after some race or other.”
This was a puzzle.
Nick had made every calculation upon going to the stables with the
fellow whom he had assisted. He wanted to know the place where Denver
Bay was in training.
He had not yet decided upon what course to pursue after reaching the
field of action, but was positive that once on the ground some means
could be found by which the plotters could be circumvented.
By this time the detective had made up his mind to give the tricky
sporting men a very hard deal. He was firmly of the opinion that Denver
Bay would be the best horse in the race.
He believed that word had been passed around the inner circle of
gamblers and sporting men that the Western horse would not be permitted
to win, and he reasoned that they would lay almost any odds against the
horse.
He thought that the best way to punish them would be to meet them on
their own ground, and win their money.
Nick Carter is by no means a gamester or sporting man.
He derives an immense income from his detective work, and has no
inclination to make a break for sudden fortune.
In fact, were he worth as many millions as a Vanderbilt or a Gould he
would still, for the very love of the business, be a detective.
“Well,” said Nick, at length, “if I do the work I have laid out for
myself to-night we must separate those two men.”
“But how?”
“Well, I have a report to make to the fellow, and I’ll go in and call
him aside. If he wants to get away from that chap I won’t have any
trouble arranging it.”
“But if he doesn’t?”
“Then one of us’ll have to go over to the stables on his own hook.”
“Do you know where they are?”
“Oh, they’re out there by the track somewhere.”
Nick walked boldly into the saloon, and called Amos aside.
Martin did not allow the two men to get very far away from him, and he
watched them as closely as a cat would a mouse every moment they were
talking together.
“Those two men are in bad shape,” Nick said.
“Well, you did the hitting, I didn’t.”
“That won’t make any difference. We’d both have to stand trial if we
should get caught.”
“Oh, come off! Nothing can be done to a man for knocking out a highway
robber.”
“Ah!” thought Nick, “he has been getting some advice from my friend
Martin.”
“Look here,” said Martin, advancing to where the two men were standing,
and addressing Nick, “this man and I have an engagement to-night, and we
don’t intend to have any outsiders forced upon us. If you have
transacted your business with him you’d better walk away.”
“That’s right,” said Amos, now completely under the control of the
master mind; “you did me a good turn in there, and I’m much obliged to
you, but I’ve got business with this man just now.”
Nick regarded both men with a countrified stare for a moment, and then
walked away.
“It’s a good thing,” he thought, “that I tumbled to the racket before we
got started for the stables. The man would certainly have suspected
something.
“Now, then,” he said to Chick, as the two again stood together, “you
follow these men over and locate the horse. You may report to me at the
house at eight o’clock in the morning.”
As Chick placed himself in a position to watch every movement of the men
he was shadowing, Nick stepped into a restaurant and ordered a liberal
meal. This concluded, he walked into a saloon next door and sat down in
a private stall.
Five minutes later a respectable-looking, middle-aged business man
walked out of the stall and took his way toward one of the most popular
gambling dens in that portion of the city.
The place was crowded, and faro, roulette, and stud-poker tables were
running full blast.
As Nick supposed it would be, the talk was all about the race.
He bought a stack of white chips, and sat down at the end of a faro
table, playing very slowly and listening to every word that was said
around him.
“Well, old sport,” said the dealer, familiarly, to a well-dressed
gentleman who entered and bought a stack of yellows, “you must have
struck luck to-day. Any news?”
“No,” said the person addressed, with a laugh, “nothing except that a
fellow bought Denver Bay for a hundred at fifteen to one.”
“That ain’t so bad,” said a player at the opposite end of the table.
“The horse may win.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the man behind the yellow chips,
“I’ll go you twenty to one that the horse don’t get a show.”
The man subsided, and Nick shoved a fifty-dollar bill toward the
speaker.
“I’ll take that bet,” he said, coolly.
“All right,” said the player, taking out a roll of bills. “Here’s the
money. Who’ll hold the stakes?”
Nick called up one of the proprietors, stated the bet, and put the money
into his hand.
“Now, then,” said the other, with a sneer, “I’m not used to betting
against such odds, but I’ll put up ten thousand against a thousand that
Denver Bay don’t win.”
“I’m your huckleberry,” said Nick, producing the money.
“Of course I haven’t the money with me, but I’ll put up a forfeit of a
thousand against a hundred of yours, and we’ll make the bet at ten
o’clock in the morning.”
“That’s satisfactory,” said Nick, handing the money to the stake-holder.
With this the two men parted, and Nick sat down in a corner, and was
soon apparently deeply interested in a newspaper.
The man with whom he had made the bets returned to the faro table, and
in a few moments cashed in his chips.
“That’s the first move,” thought the detective. “The fellow’s next move
will be to find out if there’s anything wrong about the scheme they have
put up on Denver Bay.”
Nick had made these two bets not so much for the purpose of winning the
money, but because he believed that a bluff of that sort would send the
sporting man back to the headquarters of the crooked crowd to see if
there had been any change in the programme.
After cashing in his chips the man lit a cigar, and turned hastily
toward the door.
Nick at once started along after him.
“You won’t forget about that bet in the morning,” he said.
“I should say not. I haven’t got any thousand dollars to throw away that
way.”
“Well,” said Nick, as the other passed down the stairs, “I’ll light a
cigar and go home.”
Instead of immediately passing into the street with the man Nick stood
in the entrance a moment, so as to give the man no indication of being
followed, and then hastened away after him.
The fellow turned into a stairway on William Street which, as Nick was
well aware, led to another gambling room.
The stairway was dark and deserted as the detective reached it.
In a very few moments the green countryman who had struck such effective
blows in the pool-room stepped into the lighted hall above, and tapped
cautiously at the door.
“Any game goin’ on?” he said, as the wicket in the door was opened and a
black face peered out upon him.
The door was softly opened, and Nick stepped into a small, half-lighted
hallway.
“Guess you nebber bin heah befo’, boss,” said the negro, with a grin.
“No,” said Nick, “I’m from Grand Rapids, Michigan. I thought I’d like to
look around.”
“Well, you go right in dat door,” said the darky, pointing to one at the
end of the hall.
Nick had been in the place many times, and he knew it to be one of the
toughest gambling houses in town.
In fact, it was just the sort of place for crooked work of all kinds to
be planned.
The apartment into which he had been shown was but a small part of the
den.
The rooms in which the schemes were hatched, and where the gamblers
spent their leisure hours, opened from the opposite end of the hall.
The detective’s object now was to gain a position from which he could
overhear what was going on there.
Seating himself in the outer room he called for glass after glass of
whisky until he appeared to be in the last stage of intoxication.
Each time he paid the waiter from a large roll of bills.
“Here’s a seat at the table if you want to play,” said a man behind the
roulette wheel.
“Guesh I’m too full t’ pla; guesh I’ll go to the hotel ’n go t’ bed,”
said the man from Grand Rapids, Michigan.
“You’ll get run in if you go out on the street now. You’d better go back
there and lay down a while. Pompey!”
Nick could hardly restrain a chuckle as he was led away by the obliging
darky.
“They don’t let any one out of here with a roll of money like that,” he
thought.
He was shown into a small room containing a couch, a mirror, and a small
table.
As the negro left the room the detective heard a key turned in the lock.
Nick lost no time in making a close examination of the apartment.
He had sized up the negro carefully, and in five minutes he was a pretty
good counterfeit of that sable gentleman.
A sound of voices now came faintly from the direction opposite from the
entrance to the room he was in.
It was very indistinct, however, and after a moment’s inspection of the
room beyond through the keyhole, the detective applied his pick-lock,
and soon found himself in a small dark room from which he could hear the
voices quite distinctly.
“I tell you it’s all right,” said a voice, with an oath.
“Well, it’s mighty strange that bets should be picked up in two places
in one day.”
The voice was that of the man with whom the detective had made the bets.
“You’re a suspicious chap, Brower,” said the first voice. “Ever since
you made that twenty-thousand dollar daylight haul down on Wall Street
you think everybody in town is after your money.”
“Well, I’ll go and make the bet in the morning, then.”
Nick, anxious to get a view of the man whose voice he did not recognize,
stepped lightly on a table to look through the transom.
The table gave way beneath his weight, and fell to the floor with a
crash.
In a moment the men in the room beyond were on their feet.
Nick sprang to the door through which he had entered the room, closed
and locked it after him, and made a dash for the outer room.
At the door he was met by two employees of the place whose attention had
been attracted by the noise of the fall.
“What’s the matter, Pomp?” one of them asked, excitedly.
“That ain’t Pomp,” shouted the other, reaching for his pistol; “that’s
some spy.”
Nick struck out hard and quick, and both men went down.
Before the men at the table could get upon their feet, or get where they
could make any effort to stop him, the detective was at the outer door
confronting the negro who had admitted him.
The darky sprang to the door as though to bar his exit.
The next moment he felt the cold muzzle of a revolver pressed against
his temple, and sank trembling to the floor.
As Nick stepped out and bounded down the stairs a bullet struck the wall
just above his head.
“I shall have to fine myself for that error,” he thought, as he
hastened away from the stairway into the crowd.
“If I had kept on my countryman’s uniform they would have regarded that
break I made as the result of curiosity on the part of a country chump
out to see the town, and I might have learned something more about that
twenty-thousand-dollar daylight haul on Wall Street.”