grabbed Blackie Daw by the elbow.

"Duck, for God's sake, Blackie!" implored the shaking voice of Billy
Banting. "Go down to the old joint on Thirty-third Street and wait for
us. We'll split up that stake and all make a get-away."

"Not on your life!" returned Blacked calmly, and pulled Wallingford
around toward him by the shoulder. "I shall have great pleasure in
turning over to Mr. Wallingford the combined bets of the Broadway
Syndicate against that lovely little record-breaker, Whipsaw."

"It's a good horse," said Wallingford with forced calmness, and then
he began to chuckle, his broad shoulders shaking and his breast
heaving; "and it was well named. I fawncy the Broadway Syndicate book
will now go out of business--and with no chance to welch."

"All we wise people knew about it," Blackie condescendingly explained
to the quartet. "You see, I am running the National Clockers'
Association."

Before the voiceless Broadway Syndicate was through gasping over this
piece of news, Jake Block came stalking through the grand-stand.
Though elated over his victory and flushed with his winnings, he
nevertheless had time to cast a bitter scowl in the direction of
Beauty Phillips.

"The next time I hand any woman a tip you may cut my arm off!" he
declared. "I'm through with you!"

"Who's that?" asked Larry Teller, glaring after the man who had
mentioned the pregnant word "tip."

"Jake Block, the owner of Whipsaw," Wallingford was pleased to inform
him.

"It's a frame-up!" shouted Billy Banting.

A strong left hand clutched desperately at Blackie Daw's coat and tore
the top button off, and an equally strong right hand grabbed into
Blackie Daw's inside coat-pocket. It was empty, Pickins found, just as
a stronger hand than his own gripped him until he winced with pain.

"What have you done with the stakes?" shrieked Pickins, trying to
throw off that grip, but not turning.

"What's it your business? But, if you want to know, all that
stake-money was bet in the shed and in the books about town--on
Whipsaw to win!"

The broad-shouldered man who had edged up quite near to them during
the race, and who had interfered with Pickins, now stepped in front of
the members of the defunct Broadway Syndicate. They only took one good
look at him, and then fell back quite clamily. In the broad-shouldered
giant they had recognized Harvey Willis, the quite capable Broadway
policeman and friend of Wallingford, off for the day in his st