Free The Big Con by David Maurer Page A

him. His horse has won $140,000. Now to take his share and build it up into a fortune.
    “Let’s cash it right away,” urges Louis, “before something happens to it.”
    Mr. Bates waves the ticket before the impassive cashier, who is imperturbably stacking big bills; Mr. Bates has never seen so much loose cash. It is everywhere. The cashier looks at him with polite indifference.
    “Cash this, cash this, please,” says Mr. Bates, pushing the ticket under the grating.
    “Just a minute, sir,” says the cashier. “I’m sorry, but those results are not yet official. Wait just a minute.”
    “Flash!” says the caller. “Flash! A mistake in colors. It was Silverette by a neck, Johnny J. second, Technician is third. This is official.”
    Mr. Bates vaguely hears a man beside him say to his friend, “I’m very glad that horse disqualified. I had $7,000 on Silverette.”
    “I’m not,” says his friend. “That damned Johnny J. cost me just twenty thousand ….”
    Mr. Bates is dazed. He remonstrates with the manager. He cries and curses his luck. He suspects that he has been swindled but doesn’t know how. The manager is polite, firm and impersonal. The heavy play goes right on for the next race. Louis, crying and complaining as if it were his $20,000 which went glimmering, leads him out into the street. The outside air only intensifies the terrible feeling of loss and despair in Mr. Bates’ heart. To him money is a sacred thing. This is terrible.
    Outside on the street they meet Charley. He looks tired and worried. He is nervous and distraught. He listens absently to the tale of woe. “Yes, that is terrible,” he agrees. “But right now I am in terrible trouble myself. The Western Union detectives have been investigating the delay in race results and I’ll be lucky if I only lose my job. If they pin anything on me, I’ll go to prison. Maybe all three of us.”
    Mr. Bates hasn’t thought of this angle since Charley first explained the deal to him. Fear now adds its agony to despair. They talk over the possibilities of arrest. Maxwell advises that Bates and Louis leave town as quickly and quietly as possible. They return to the hotel. Louis obligingly gets the time for the next train to Providence. Itleaves at 10:00 P.M. Mr. Bates, worried, nervous, broken, agrees to take it. Charley promises that, if this thing blows over, he himself will raise enough money to play the game again and will give Mr. Bates all his money back, and some profit to boot. Then he leaves, so that he may not be picked up. Louis draws Mr. Bates aside.
    “How much money do you have?” he asks.
    Mr. Bates looks in his wallet. “Less than fifty dollars,” he answers. “And I have to pay my hotel bill.”
    “Well,” offers Louis, “I have nearly a hundred and fifty. You have had a bad break and I hate to see you stranded. You have been a fine sport to take it the way you do. Here, let me lend you seventy-five to get home on. You can pay it back any time. And remember,” he adds, “our auditors will be at your place next week. Then I’ll have everything in good shape at this end and well close the deal.”
    Mr. Bates takes the money which is pressed on him. He is surprised. Louis is a pretty nice fellow after all. He is ashamed of the way he has felt about him recently. Still in a daze, he shakes the proffered hand and Louis departs. “I’ll be back about nine-thirty,” he says, “to see that you get to the train safely. Wait for me in the lobby.”
    From now on, it is up to a local tailer to keep close tab on Mr. Bates to see what he may do, reporting any tendency he may show to consult the police. Mr. Maxwell may have him paged to the telephone and continue the cooling process by ’phone. The tailer watches closely; if, after this conversation Mr. Bates consults the house detective or a detective he has stationed in the lobby, the tailer reports immediately to Maxwell, who puts the machinery of the fix into operation. Or,