That was all Faust could learn. When an occasion offered he slipped a ten-dollar note into Shandy's hand, for he knew the lad was full open to a bribe, but Shandy knew no more than did the Bookmaker. The Dutchman, had won the trial from the Black quite easily, was the extent of his knowledge. As to Diablo himself, Shandy gave him a very bad character indeed.
XXI
Faust was in a quandary. First Crane had confided in him over Diablo, but now his silence seemed to indicate that he meant to have this good thing all to himself.
Then Langdon had promised to cooperate, now he, too, had closed up like a clam; he was as mute as an oyster.
“Crane is dealin' the cards all the time,” thought Faust; “but there's some game on, sure.”
He determined to back Diablo for himself at the long odds, and chance it.
Two days later Crane received a very illiterate epistle, evidently from a stable-boy; it was unsigned:
“DERE Boss, Yous is gittin it in the neck. de big blak hors he didn't carre the sadel you think the blak hors had on his bak. Yous got de duble cros that time. Der bokie hes axin me wot de blak is good fer der bokie is playin fer to trow yous downe.
“No moar at presen.”