“They stick to their original plan,” he thought, “and I’ve had this long watch for nothing; but, after all, I was not in a position to take chances.” He wore the dress and had the appearance of the ordinary employee of the racing stable. He had procured badges admitting him to all parts of the grounds, the track, and the judges’ stand as well, and the little jockey had provided him with a ribbon bearing the name of Denver Bay. This would enable him to work around the horse after he appeared upon the track. “I imagine,” thought the detective, as he listened with his ear at the door, “that there’ll be a performance on the track to-day not down on their bills. If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Johnson will go home to-night sixty thousand dollars poorer than he thinks he will.” The hall outside the door appeared to be deserted, and the detective pressed back the bolt, and passed out, closing the door softly after him. The coast was clear, and he lost no time in getting outside and mingling with the crowd. An he stepped along the walk, he felt a touch upon his arm, and turned to find Chick standing before him, still in the disguise of a jockey. The two walked along together until they reached a secluded place, and then Nick asked: “Did you see the sheriff?” “Yes. Everything is all right at the jail. Brower and Morris are locked up in separate cells, and no one is the wiser for their being there.” “Have they done any talking or sent out for friends?” “They talk most of the time, threatening all sorts of things, and Brower has been trying all the morning to send a messenger over town to call that ten thousand dollar bet off.” “The sheriff didn’t allow him to send out any word, did he?” “Of course he didn’t. He understands as well as we do that that is Wheeler’s money.” “You gave the sheriff my note, of course?” “Yes, and he had a great laugh over it.” “He couldn’t imagine yesterday what I wanted his men for. I suppose he knows now.” “Then you didn’t tell him?” “No, I didn’t tell him. I got what I wanted without doing that.” “Now,” said Nick, “I want you on the track this afternoon when the handicap starts, and as close to Denver Bay as you can get without attracting attention.” “Is there liable to be a scrap?” “It strikes me that I have been in about enough scraps in this case.” After some further conversation the detective and his assistant parted, and the former walked slowly back to the hotel. Amos was nowhere in sight when he reached the crowd lounging about the place. Five minutes later Nick stood in front of the counter of a small drug store a short distance from the track. The clerk in charge came out from behind the prescription screen to wait upon him. “I want a sugar pill,” said Nick, with a smile. The clerk reached out his hand and took down a jar of homeopathic pellets. “Hold on,” said Nick, “those are too small. Besides, they are medicated, are they not?”