“It’s more than strange--it’s suspicious. But, after all, we have our own scheme to work, and I have every confidence in that.” “You have the medicine?” “Yes.” “Well, you’d better give it to me now. There is no knowing when we will be together again.” Martin took a small box from his pocket, opened it, and exhibited a white, sugar-coated pill about the size of a marble. “You can’t be too careful with this,” he said. “I had work enough getting it.” “Is it poisonous?” “No. It’s a compound known only to one or two people, and they charge mighty high for it. That little pill cost me a hundred round dollars.” “It’ll make the horse stop, bolt and kick, will it?” “It certainly will. I didn’t go into this thing without seeing it tried.” “And the horse’ll be all right in five minutes, eh?” “Yes, the pain will subside in less time than that. The beast will be a trifle weak for a while, but no one will notice that.” “Isn’t there some danger of killing the jockey?” “Let the jockey take care of himself.” As the two men arose from the table at which they had been sitting, in a room at the hotel which the detective had visited on the previous day, Martin stopped a moment with his hand on the door and listened. “What’s that noise?” he asked, in a startled tone. “What noise?” “What is that bumping sound? I’ve heard it several times lately.” “I heard it, too,” said Amos, with a laugh, “and listened. It’s some one bumping against the wall in the next room.” “Well, here we part for the present,” said Martin. “You do your work and I’ll do mine. You are sure you can get the pill in the hoarse’s mouth unobserved? It must be done on the track at the last moment.” “That’s easy enough. The last thing I do is to sponge his mouth.” “Well, don’t make any mistake. There has been an impression that Denver Bay is sure to win, and the pool boxes are just loaded down with bets.” Thus talking, the men passed out of the room, closing and locking the door behind them. No sooner had they disappeared than there was a sudden upheaval of a long couch in one corner of the room, and Nick Carter crept from underneath it. “Whew!” he said, drawing a long breath and wiping the perspiration from his face, “I think I should have died in there in five minutes more.” The celebrated detective had, as a matter of fact, been concealed in the narrow space between the sofa bottom and the floor for four long hours. Early in the day he had heard Martin engage the room, and give explicit orders that no one should be allowed to occupy it during the day. Not long after, he had heard him make an appointment with Amos at that place. By the use of his pick-lock Nick had entered the room and concealed himself. He was already aware of Martin’s plans as they had stood two days before, but he thought that a change might have been made since the details were arranged in the pool-room stall, and wanted to make sure of his ground.