"I half believe--" Moreland stopped as he saw the gleam in Labar's eye. "Never mind that," he went on hastily. "What I was going to say was this, old lad. You're going against a man who hasn't got to stick to rules and regulations. He'll fight all in--nothing barred. You can't do that. But if you ever do corner him--look out. Until then you are reasonably safe. All the same if I were you while you are on this hunt I'd carry a gun. You may not need it, but if you do you'll want it badly." "A gun! Why I've never carried one in my life." "Well, you pack one at the back of your pocket now. It will be a whole lot healthier. If you can't use it you can bluff with it. Take my advice." "You have gleams of inspiration," said Labar. "I believe I will." He swung off whistling softly. That evening he contrived to find one who was willing to take him as a guest to one of the two great bookmakers' clubs in London. The racecourse in some degree impinges on the work of all detectives, because it is a sport in which many of their clients are interested. Consequently, there were several of the men present who knew the detective, and he was able to hold unostentatious converse with some of the bigger operators--men he knew who would answer his questions and keep their own counsel. The inspector's methods of approach varied with his man. Now he would plunge into a question point blank, and again he would lead up to his point through side issues. But mostly he drew blank. He slid into a seat fronting a billiard table by a blue jowled, plump man with a frosty eye, who enveloped his hand in a leg of mutton fist. "How are ye, Mr. Labar? Just looking round or are ye here to do a bit of business? I'll lay ten to one that you want to know sommat. What are ye takin'?" "A small tonic will do me, thank you, Mr. Dickinson." The big north-countryman (known to every racecourse frequenter in the country from royalty downwards as "Dickie," and reputed to have acquired a colossal fortune on the turf) protested at the mildness of the drink. Labar, however, was firm and the other gave the order. "Now I know ye're after ferreting sommat out of me, lad. Spit it out. What dost want to know?" He turned his moon of a face to the detective and his cold eyes narrowed. "Dickie" never beat about the bush. Labar was equally blunt. "Has a Mrs. Gertstein an account with you?" "That hell-cat. She's in my ribs for a thousand or two." "Passing up settling day lately, I suppose?" "She is and all. There's been no settling day for her for a month or two. See you, I don't mind a bit of rope, but, when a skirt plays this 'heads I win, tails you lose' game too often, it isn't good enough for Dickie. That's the worst of betting with women." "Ah. You've wanted to see the colour of her money?"