“There’s some scheme afloat in regard to Denver Bay,” he said. “They’re having great sport over an old sucker who came in here this afternoon and put up a hundred on him at fifteen to one.” “Yes, I’m the sucker. Well, find out all you can. Don’t go far away.” After a time Nick heard faint sounds in the adjoining stalls as though the drunken men were regaining consciousness. As he peered cautiously over the partition one of them raised himself on his elbow, eyed his companion curiously for a moment, and then asked, in a sarcastic tone: “W’ats de matter wid you? Had a death in de family? Or did yer gal run off wid de coachman? “Oh, you’ve never been broke before. Well, you’d better keep quiet an’ let ’spectable people sleep, or I’ll put a charge of ’sturbin’ de peace on you. See? Hello, pardner,” he continued, as some one opened the door and walked in, “why don’t yer send in yer card?” “You’re a couple of nice blokes!” said the new-comer. “I was afraid when you came over town that you’d get drunk. I’ll have you both run in if you don’t look out.” “Run in nothin’. Dey can’t convict a man but once fer an offense, an’ I was put in jail thirty years ago for this same drunk. I’ll swear I haven’t been sober since. Just de same drunk all de time.” “How long has Amos been here?” “All the afternoon.” “Has he done any talking?” “Naw. His tongue’s as thick as a Congressman’s head.” “Well, you go out somewhere and get some supper. I want to talk with him.” As the fellow slouched out, very much improved by his brief nap, the new-comer seized the man on the floor by the shoulder and shook him roughly. “Wake up, here!” he shouted, in a shrill voice, in his ear. Amos opened his eyes, and finally raised himself into a chair. “What have you been saying this afternoon?” asked the other, sharply. “Nothin’.” “Did you tell that drunken brute, Hazelton, anything?” “Not a thing, s’elp me!” The man passed out of the stall and inspected the rooms on each side. He found one stall empty, and in the other there was only a drunken countryman sleeping with his feet on the table and his chair tipped back against the wall. “Now, then,” he said, sitting down again, “are you sober enough to understand what I say?” “I’m all right now,” said Amos, who really appeared to be in fair shape. “Talk away, Martin.” Martin talked in a low tone, which, however, was loud enough to be understood by the detective. “It’s all fixed. The horse is to be let alone and remain in good shape until the last moment. He is to be fixed after he is brought upon the track.” “I don’t see how I’m going to do that.” “It’s easy enough. The dose isn’t larger than a marble, and it’s rolled up in sugar, so he’ll take it fast enough. You can put it in his mouth just as you let go of the bridle at the start.” “Is the owner posted?” “Hardly,” said the other, with an oath. “The fool expects the horse to win the race.” “Does he suspect anything?”