“I heard it, too,” said Amos, with a laugh, “and listened. It’s some one[{53}] bumping against the wall in the next room.”
“Well, here we part for the present,” said Martin. “You do your work and I’ll do mine. You are sure you can get the pill in the hoarse’s mouth unobserved? It must be done on the track at the last moment.”
“That’s easy enough. The last thing I do is to sponge his mouth.”
“Well, don’t make any mistake. There has been an impression that Denver Bay is sure to win, and the pool boxes are just loaded down with bets.”
Thus talking, the men passed out of the room, closing and locking the door behind them. No sooner had they disappeared than there was a sudden upheaval of a long couch in one corner of the room, and Nick Carter crept from underneath it.
“Whew!” he said, drawing a long breath and wiping the perspiration from his face, “I think I should have died in there in five minutes more.”
The celebrated detective had, as a matter of fact, been concealed in the narrow space between the sofa bottom and the floor for four long hours.
Early in the day he had heard Martin engage the room, and give explicit orders that no one should be allowed to occupy it during the day.
Not long after, he had heard him make an appointment with Amos at that place.
By the use of his pick-lock Nick had entered the room and concealed himself.