“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.