“Did you make the bet in the regular pool-room way?”
“Certainly not. The odds were two to one on Denver Bay, and no bookmaker would have taken such chances so long before the race. The bet was made with a down-town sporting man, for whom I frequently do business in a small way.”
“His name?”
“Peter Johnson.”
“One of the most notorious race-track sharpers in the country.”
“I was not aware of that at the time.”
“Well,” said Nick, with a smile, “I never knew a horse to win a race with such an outside bet on him, and all in the hands of one man, and that man a professional trickster.”
“I can see now how foolish it was, and I wish to place the matter entirely in[{6}] your hands. I am certain that the horse is to be fixed in some way so that he cannot win.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I have no definite information on the subject, it is true. As we say on the street, ‘It is in the air.’ No sporting man will touch the brute now, and those supposed to be on the inside are warning their friends not to risk their money on him.”