A moment later any one glancing into the stall would have seen a half intoxicated countryman sitting with his chair tipped back against the wall, his hat pulled down over an inflamed face, and his feet resting upon the table.
Not a single trace of the well-to-do cattle drover remained.
“I may have to stay here a long time,” he thought, “and may as well have some cigars. Besides a whisky glass properly placed on the table can do no harm.”
The order was given and promptly filled.
The waiter by no means suspected that his seemingly inebriated customer was the person in quest of whom the now infuriated bully was roaring about.
Before leaving home Nick had left a note addressed to Chick, instructing him to call at the place toward which he was directing his steps, and he now awaited with some impatience the arrival of his assistant.
The afternoon passed slowly away.
The races were over, and the stalls were filling up.
In some of them people were dividing and spending the money won during the day, while in others angry losers were laying plans by which they might account for their sudden lack of funds.
After a time two men, evidently none too sober, entered the stall next to the one occupied by the detective, and ordered more drinks.