"Just so," commented Crane; "I've heard that story," and his smooth,
putty-like face remained blank and devoid of all meaning, as his eyes
peered vacantly over their lower lids at the Trainer.

Langdon waited for the other to continue, but the Banker seemed wrapped
up in a retrospect of the Silver Foot deal.

"I know Billy Smith, that trains The Dutchman," hazarded Langdon; "he's
a boozer."

"I'm glad of that--I mean, that you know Smith," declared Crane. "I
happen to know the owner--his name is Baker. His racing is what might
be called indiscriminate, and like men of that class he sometimes
blunders upon a good horse without knowing it; and I doubt very much but
that if he knew all about the other race--how bad Lauzanne really is;
how the mare, Lucretia--well--got shut off, and couldn't get through her
horses, say--of course his own trainer, Smith, would have to tell these
things, you understand. In fact, if he knew the exact truth, he might
take a reasonable offer for The Dutchman."

Langdon nodded approvingly. He loved his subtle master; cards up his
sleeves tingled his nerves, and loaded dice were a joy for evermore.

Crane proceeded to unwind the silken cord. "Naturally Smith would hate
to lose a fair horse out of his stable, and would, perhaps, attempt to
thwart any deal; so I think you might remunerate him for his loss."

"When Silver Foot was sold, they gave him a bad trial before the sale--"

"I'm not interested in Silver Foot," interrupted Crane; "and I shouldn't