“He’s cornin’ now,” said the girl anxiously. “He won’t like it, if he sees me talkin’ with you.” Mr. Todd arose. “He must be a great chap,” he said carelessly. “Well, so long. Hope you’ll treat him better’n you have me.” Mr. Todd did not turn around to glimpse David seating himself in the vacant place at the girl’s side. He was whistling softly to himself as he wandered idly about the enclosure below where the last bets were being registered. The interest in the free-for-all race appeared to be rather languid; but he looked over the entries carefully; then fell into a desultory conversation regarding the event with the gate-keeper. “‘Tain’t a-goin’ to be much of a race; never is,” opined that individual sagely. “The’s a lot o’ Rubes that like to speed their horses ’round the course; but it’s gen’ally a walkover fer one hoss. Bud Hawley’s drivin’ the winner t’-day.” “No, he ain’t,” interrupted a raucous voice from the rear. “Bud Hawley’s a-goin’ t’ git left this time.” “That so?” queried Mr. Todd. “Who’s goin’ to win?” “I be,” said the owner of the voice. “Say, I’ve seen you somewheres b’fore, ain’t I?” “W’y, yes,” agreed Mr. Todd cordially. “But your name’s gone from me just now. Let me see——” “I know now who you be,” put in the farmer. “You’re the fellow ’at come int’ Hewett’s grocery a spell back one day when I was there. My name’s Plumb—Hiram Plumb.” “And your horse is going to win—eh, Mr. Plumb?” “Yas, sir. He’ll win, hands down. You’ll see!” “Pretty tough on Whitcomb, if he does,” laughed the gateman. “He’s put quite a wad on his own horse.” “He’s goin’ t’ part with his wad all right,” said the farmer, wagging his head. “I ain’t a bettin’ man m’self; but I’m willin’ t’ put down fi’ dollars on it.” “I take you,” said Mr. Todd, with an agreeable smile. This small matter being adjusted, the genial insurance man walked quietly away through the crowd, humming a little tune to himself. Among the vehicles drawn up inside the enclosure roped off for teams, he caught sight of Jarvis, sitting alone, in his usual red-wheeled sidebar. Mr. Todd made his way among the crowd and presently paused at Jarvis’s side. “Our young friend is here to-day,” he observed, in a low voice. “Yes, I saw him come in with the boy,” Jarvis replied. “Since then he appears to have got rid of the boy and acquired a girl.” “Where is the boy?” demanded Jarvis sharply. Mr. Todd shook his head. “I wasn’t looking after the boy,” he reminded his patron. “What’s Whitcomb up to?” asked Jarvis after a silence. His face was gray and set and his weary eyes wandered impatiently over the dusty race-track. “Horse-racing, for one thing,” replied the detective. “He’s backing his own horse heavily; but there’s more doing than that. Do you want to hear it now?” “No,” said Jarvis, “not here.” Mr. Todd gathered his lips into a noiseless whistle.