Chapter IV: A Howling Swell

Promptly at eight o’clock next morning Chick made his appearance at Nick Carter’s private office.

He had the appearance of a man who had had a hard night of it, but was still full of pluck.

“Did everything go all right?” Nick asked.

“Yes, I was reasonably successful.”

“Well, for my part, I don’t think I scored any very brilliant success after we separated. After a good deal of hard work I struck just the place I wanted, and then a table broke down with me, and I got out of the joint just ahead of a bullet.”

After receiving his assistant’s report Nick dressed himself in the costume in which he had first met the Wall Street man, and took his way to that gentleman’s office.

“Tell Mr. Wheeler,” he said to the clerk in the outer office, “that I want to see him in regard to that Lackawanna deal.”

“You’re to be shown in at once,” said the clerk, opening the door to the inner room.

The broker appeared to be awaiting the arrival of the detective, and was in anything but a calm frame of mind.

“You were right,” the detective said, “in supposing that undue means would be employed to prevent the horse winning the race.”

“I’ve been hoping almost against hope that my suspicions were unfounded. I wish I had pocketed my former loss, and let this matter alone.”

“There is still a chance to save yourself without taking any risk.”

“What do you mean?”

“The horse can be kept out of the race.”

Nick eyed the broker keenly as he made this suggestion.

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

“It’s easy enough done, and in that case you will recover your stakes.”

“And still that leaves me just where I started in.”

“Why didn’t you think of that before taking the steps you did last night?”

“You’re mistaken. I’ve done nothing at all in the matter since seeing you.”

“You have not been at the stables since leaving my house yesterday afternoon?”

“I have not.”

“You have authorized some one to go there?”

“I have not.”

Nick reflected a moment before speaking.

“You could have no motive in deceiving me,” he said, at length, “but it’s very singular for all that.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“It isn’t necessary at the present time that you should.”

“But I’m deeply interested in the matter, and----”

“Never mind that now. I am not here to be cross-questioned.”

“But I infer from your remark that something unusual took place at the stables last night.”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“You talk in riddles.”

“One of my men simply learned the true condition of affairs there, that’s all.”

“Does it affect me?”

“Slightly.”

“Then I ought to know.”

“Not if you adhere to the resolution expressed yesterday afternoon, to let the horse go in the race.”

“It isn’t any use to try to pump you, I see,” said the broker, with a smile. “You will have your own way.”

“I usually do.”

“You’re lucky.”

“Now to business,” said Nick, taking a slip of paper from his pocket. “If you still desire the case to go on as originally mapped out you must go to this address at ten o’clock with nine hundred dollars in currency, and stake it on Denver Bay.”

“But, my dear sir, I have too much money on Denver Bay now.”

“Count this as part of the expenses of the case, then. I put up a hundred as a forfeit last night against a thousand.”

“In other words, ten thousand dollars will be staked against a thousand.”

“That’s it.”

“You have a great deal of confidence in the horse, and also in your ability to make the race a square one.”

“I never copper my own bets.”

The broker took the required amount of money from the safe and put it into his pocket.

“What sort of a place is it?”

“It’s a gambling house, but you will be used respectfully, and any money staked there in the regular way is safe.”

“Shall I find you here when I return?”

“No; I’m going a part of the way with you.”

“Why not all the way?”

“I have reasons of my own for not doing so.”

The two men passed out of the office together, and were soon in the vicinity of the gambling house.

The broker passed up the stairs, and Nick stood in a neighboring doorway carelessly smoking a cigar.

In a few moments the broker reappeared, and was about to approach the spot where Nick stood when a quick motion informed him that he was to pass on without recognition.

“Did he make the bet?” Nick asked, seeming to address no one in particular.

The broker nodded and went on.

Before long the man with whom Nick had conversed the previous evening passed down the stairs, and took his way to a neighboring pool-room.

The detective followed until there was no doubt as to where the man was going, and then walked about the street for some moments in deep thought.

When he finally entered the pool-room the man stood at the desk talking with the proprietor.

“There is no doubt in my mind,” Nick heard the latter say, “regarding the horse’s ability to win. The only question is whether the boys will do their work well.”

“You can’t gamble on anybody’s honesty when it comes to dollars and cents,” was the reply. “The other side has the age now, and can afford to put up a lot of money to have things go their way.”

“Well, you’ll have to take your own chances.”

“I suppose so.”

“You’re too old a sport to get bluffed into a bet of that size.”

“Yes, I ought not to have done it.”

“There may be some way out of it yet.”

“I’ll try and find some way,” said the other, with a scowl as he turned away.

After leaving the place the sport, whom the proprietor addressed as Brower, took his way to a messenger office, sent a boy out with a note, and then hastened to a fashionable saloon in the neighborhood.

“Now, then,” thought Nick, as he took a seat not far from him out of the range of his sight, “I’ll soon find out how many different games they are playing over at the stables.”

The sport settled himself down behind a paper as though he had some time to wait.

So Nick left him there, and passed out into the street, and ten minutes later, disguised as a howling swell, sauntered into the place, stared about through his one eye glass, and finally took a seat near the waiting man.

At the end of half an hour the sport became restless, and began walking nervously up and down the room.

Just then a rough-looking fellow entered, and in response to a signal seated himself at a table in the rear end of the place.

“Hello, Steve,” said the sport, advancing to the table and taking a seat, “are the races going your way this season?”

“About the same old thing,” was the careless response.

Both men glanced keenly about, and the next moment were engaged in earnest conversation.

Nick strolled around toward the back part of the room, stupidly gazing at the handsome paintings hung upon the walls.

But the men, evidently very suspicious, dropped their voices to whispers whenever he came near them.

“This won’t do,” thought Nick. “I must find out what those fellows are talking about.”

Every effort to overhear them, however, failed, and he finally gave it up.

After a long talk, during which Nick saw some money pass from the sport to his companion, the former left the place.

“Well, Steve,” said one of the helpers about the saloon, “have you got any pointers about the race to-morrow?”

“I can tell you about that to-morrow.”

“Aw,” said the dude, advancing toward the two men, “were you talking about the races, you know?”

“That’s what,” said Steve, winking at his companion. “Do you want to make your everlasting fortune?”

“Aw, I might put up a couple of hundred.”

“That’s the cheese,” said Steve, with another wink. “I’ll bet you’re a dead-game sport.”

“It isn’t good form to be a sport, doncher know.”

“You bet it ain’t, but it’s good form to win money, eh?”

Steve poked the dude slyly in the ribs as he spoke.

“All the boys bet, doncher know.”

“Well, you follow my steer, and you’ll have a wad as big as yer head day after to-morrow.”

“But, my deah sir, I don’t see any steah. How can I follah a steah if there is no steah?”

“You’re a good un; you come wid me an’ I’ll show you de steer.”

“Is it fah? I cawn’t walk in these gaiters, doncher know.”

“Just a little ways, pard.”

“Then we must have a cawwiage. Waitah, will you call a cawwiage?”

Steve almost choked over the glass of whisky he was drinking as the carriage drove up and the dude started for the door.

Before entering the carriage he gave his instructions to the driver in a low tone of voice.

The carriage was driven around several blocks, and finally drew up at a low pool-room which was only a short distance from the starting place.

“Take a chair, Charlie,” said Steve, as they entered, “and I’ll find out what de boss has got ter say ’bout de races.”

“I’ve got a sucker,” he said to the clerk in a low tone. “W’at do I get if he bets a couple o’ hundred?”

“What’ll he bet on?”

“Oh, anything.”

“Twenty per cent; is that enough?”

“’Tain’t ’nuff, but I s’pose it’s all I’ll get.”

“Suppose I put him on Denver Bay even?”

“Don’t do that,” said the other, hastily, “because if the horse shouldn’t----”

The fellow hesitated with some confusion in his manner.

“What’s that?” demanded the pool-room man, sharply. “Are there any new tricks over that horse?”

“I don’t know anythin’ about any tricks.”

“Well, if you don’t no man in New York does.”

“That’s all right, but I didn’t come here to talk about that. Let’s get down to business.”

Nick’s sharp ear had taken in every word of the conversation, and he at once resolved to test the fellow’s knowledge of Denver Bay’s standing.

“Aw,” he said, advancing toward the desk, “I see Denver Bay is on the board. I’ll bet on him.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” said Steve.

“Why not, me deah boy?”

“You came down here to take my steer, didn’t you?”

“Aw, get away from de desk wid yer dude!”

A couple of bullies shoved themselves between Nick and the desk, and one of them took occasion to drop a quid of tobacco on one of his nicely polished shoes as he passed him.

“Look heah, fellah, no gentleman would do that, doncher know.”

“Who ain’t a gentleman?” demanded the bully, doubling up his fists.

“These people are weal coarse,” said Nick, turning to Steve; “I shall leave the place.”

By this time the clerk was endeavoring by shaking his head and other motions to induce the roughs to let his customer alone until the bet had been made, but the fellows were half intoxicated, and were bent on having a crack at the dude.

“Take dat wid ye!” said one of them, aiming a blow at Nick’s face.

Nick’s guard was up in a moment, and a second later two astonished loafers were rolling over each other on the floor.

“I like that,” said Steve, with a hearty laugh. “You’re a brick, if you are a dude. If you’ll drive me over to de track I’ll show you de hosses. I’ve got a date over there about this time.”

The toughs did not appear anxious to renew the contest, so Nick and his new friend left the place and were driven away.