“It in this: If you recover this money you will take the whole amount belonging to these heirs and invest it in some place where it will be beyond the reach of New York thieves and race-track sharpers.” “You have my word on that. That is exactly the course I had decided upon.” “Then there’s one other condition.” “If it is not more difficult than the other I accede to it in advance.” “That is, that if we discover crookedness on the part of these horsemen, you are not to drop the matter as soon as you are made whole. You are to stand up to the rack and help me to have justice done to them.” “I will do that willingly.” “It may cause you some trouble in your brokerage business.” “That doesn’t matter.” “That is all at present, then. You may see me at your office to-morrow. If a man calls and asks to see you in regard to Lackawanna admit him to your private room at once. You may not recognize me, but you can trust the man that mentions that word.” After the departure of the broker the detective busied himself for some moments in the examination of a list of the many pool-rooms in the lower part of the city. “It’s a tough job,” he thought, “but it will give me a chance to see the inside of some of these dens again.” He stepped into an inner room, and in a few minutes returned in the guise of a cattle drover from the far West. When he left his office shortly afterward he took the direction of Barclay Street, and soon entered one of the disreputable pool-rooms in the vicinity of that thoroughfare. The place he entered was in a basement, and was foul, musty, and suffocating. The place was crowded with men and boys of high and low degree, all half crazed with the gambling spirit. The time was early in the afternoon. From his position behind a large desk a tough-looking clerk was drawling out the names of horses with the odds which the proprietor of the place would bet against them. It is generally supposed by the public that these pool-rooms merely conduct a commission business, and that the odds offered there are the ones posted at the race track. But this is by no means the case. The proprietors of the places bet according to their private ideas of the proper odds. The rustling of greenbacks and the clinking of gold and silver were heard throughout the place as the detective entered. “The race in which Denver Bay is entered takes place the day after to-morrow,” mused the detective, “and I’ll just see how he stands in this locality.” “Say, podner,” he said, advancing toward a heavily-built man behind the railing, whom he knew to be the proprietor, “what odds d’ye give on Denver Bay?” “Guess you’re from the West,” was the answer. “Right from the West, and any time you want to know about the price o’ cattle just drop a line to Sol White to the Denver post-office.” “Denver Bay’s from the West, too, isn’t he?” “You bet he is, and he’s a good little hoss. What odds will you give me on him?”