Part 30 (1/2)

Crane remained tantalizingly silent for a full minute; evidently his thoughts had drifted away to some other subject.

”Yes,” said Faust, speaking again to break the trying quiet, ”some one's nibblin' at Diablo in the books. I wonder if it's Porter; did he think him a good horse?”

”It can't be Porter, nor any one else who knows Diablo. It's some foolish outsider, tempted by the long odds. I suppose, however, it doesn't matter; in fact, it's all the better. You took that five thousand to fifty for me, didn't you?”

”Yes.”

”Well, just lay it off. You can do so now at a profit.”

”You don't want to back Diablo, then? Shall I lay against him further?”

”If you like--in your own book. I don't want to have anything to do with him, one way or the other. I always thought he was a bad horse, and--and--well, never mind, just lay that bet off. I shall probably want to back The Dutchman again shortly.”

When Faust had gone, Crane opened the little drawer which held his betting book, took it out, and drew a pencil through the entry he had made opposite Allis's name.

”That's off for a few days, thanks to Mr. Faust,” he thought. Then he ran his eye back over several other entries. ”Ah, that's the man--Hummel; he'll do.”

Next he consulted his telephone book; tracing his finger down the ”H”

column he came to ”Ike Hummel, commission broker, Madison 71184.”

Over the 'phone he made an appointment for the next day at eleven o'clock with Hummel; and the result of that interview was that Crane backed Diablo to win him a matter of seventy-five thousand dollars at the liberal odds of seventy-five to one; for Jakey Faust, feeling that he had made a mistake in backing the Black, had laid off all his own bets and sent the horse back in the market to the longer odds. Crane had completely thrown him of his guard.

No sooner had Faust congratulated himself upon having slipped out of his Diablo bets than he heard that a big commission had been most skillfully worked on this outsider for the Brooklyn. In his new dilemma he went to Crane, feeling very much at sea.

”They're backin' your horse again, sir,” he said.

”Are they?”

”Yes; heavy.”

”If he's worth backing at all I suppose he's worth backing heavily.”

This aphorism seemed to merit a new cigar on Crane's part, so he lighted one.

”He's travelin' up and down in the market,” continues Faust. ”He dropped to thirty, then went back to seventy-five; now he's at twenty; I can't make it out.”

”I shouldn't try,” advised Crane, soothingly. ”Too much knowledge is even as great a danger as a lesser amount sometimes.”

Faust started guiltily and looked with quick inquiry at the speaker, but, as usual, there was nothing in his presence beyond the words to hang a conjecture on.

”I thought for your sake that I'd better find out.”

”Oh, don't worry about me; that is, too much, you know. I go down to Gravesend once in a while myself, and no doubt know all that's doing.”

A great fear fell upon Faust. Evidently this was an intimation to him to keep away from the stables. How did Crane know--who had split on him?

Was it Langdon, or Shandy, or Colley? Some one had evidently aroused Crane's suspicion, and this man of a great cleverness had put him away while he worked a big commission through some one else. The thought was none the less bitter to Faust that it was all his own fault; his super-cleverness.

”An' you don't want me to work a commission for you on Diablo?” he asked, desperately.