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Full Title
The Bradys and Jockey Joe; or, Crooked Work at the Race Track and other stories / by a New York Detective.
Author
New York Detective.
Contributor
Doughty, Francis W. (Francis Worcester), d. 1917. St. John, Percy B. (Percy Bolingbroke), 1821-1889. Fox, Tom.
Date Added
9 January 2014
Format
Journal
Language
English
Publish Date
1918-01-04
Publisher
New York : Frank Tousey
Series
Secret Service Old and Young King Brady, Detectives > no. 989
Source
Dime Novels and Popular Literature
Alternate Title
Secret Service Old and Young King Brady Detectives, no. 989, January 4, 1918. Crooked Work at the Race Track. Down and out; or, The boy who worked his nerve / by Percy B. St. John. Boy who worked his nerve Leader of the school; or, Jack Judson--hero / by Tom Fox. Jack Judson--hero The three letters.
Topic
Dime novels > Specimens. Detective and mystery stories, American > Periodicals.
About
More Details Permanent Link
Disclaimers
Disclaimer of Liability Disclaimer of Endorsement
OCR
dy
THE BRADYS AND JOCKEY JOE
CROOKED WORK AT THE RACE TRACK
OLD
$3.00 per year.
AND YOUNG KING
« > Issued Weekly—By Subscription Entered at the New York, N.Y.
: a y
#rank Tousey, Publisher, 168 West 28d Street, New Yo
OT ee
A od ‘ ~ oY.
BRADY, DETECTIVES
No. 989.
NEW YORK, JANUARY 4, 1918.
* Price 6 Cents.
4
By A NEW YORK DETECTIVE
CHAPTER I.
THE CASE OPENS.
'. “Hello, Bill! Going to the races?”
’. . The speaker was a-short, stout man, who was dressed in
at
a summer suit, and wore a handsome gold fob and sported a
fancy waistcoat.
His type are common about the racetracks.of Long Island.
Chauncey. Blew was his name.
'. The name was that of a patrician old family of New York’s
early days. But Chauncey was, if a descendant of that line,
a poor living remnant of aristocracy.
His sphere seemed more naturally the table d’hote barroom
** and the companionship of some frowsy maid of the concert
4
halls.
The man whom he addressed was almost his opposite in
appearance and build... .
He was tall and angular, with a hatchet face and shrewd
brown eyes.
His garb was somewhat seedy, and quite in keeping with:
his impecunious condition.
Bill Chardon was a well-known frequenter of the race-
tracks.
In New Orleans in the winter he hung about the paddock
and the betting ring.
Back:to New York in the summer he was sure to come like
a migratory bird, to be seen:every day at either Sheepshead,
Guttenberg or Morris Park. ,
Where he got his livelihood or how was a mooted question.
There were, times when Bill. was known to be very much
on his “uppers.” Then he slept in the straw with some sym-
pathetic hostler, or under the benches of the grand-stand or
some other inexpensive place.
The scene was on board a Bay Ridge ferryboat.
A large crowd was on board, all on their way to Sheeps-
ad. .
At the ferry landing a train could be taken for Sheeps-
head direct.
So when Chauncey Blew hailed him Chardon turned with
a critical glance, and replied:
“You don’t need to ask that question, Blew.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Blew. “I don’t think I do, Bill.
What would-the racetrack do without Bill Chardon, or what
would Bill Chardon do without the racetrack?”
“That’s right,”.said Chardon, with a grim smile. “In a
little while I shan’t need to follow the rares.” \
“Ts that so?” ’
“It isl”
Chauncey _ whistled - softly.
“Have you struck a graft?” . - .
“You might call it that,” said Chardon, in.an introspective
way. .
. a say now, Bill. ’m interested. I’ve done you a good
/
turn before now.’ I’ve been playing in hard luck lately. Can’t
you put me on to something good?” 6
Chardon looked out over the bay in an inscrutable way.
It was some moments before he answered; and then, in
act, it was not an answer. y
He gave a violent start and turned livid. He stepped be-
hind the angle of the saloon cabin, staring the while at two
“Sh!
chaps?”
Blew looked amazed.
“Where?” «
Fiends and furies!” he exclaimed., “Do you see those
we there by the port rail: Their backs are turned to
“Oh, yes! By jingo! It is the Bradys!” . \
A othe Bradys! The two keenest detectives in this coun-
ry,
Blew looked quizzically’at the other.
us
asked.
“Afraid of them?” said Chardon, in a curious way.
didn’t say I was afraid of them!”
“But you stepped back here out of sight.”
“Well,” said Chardon testily, “I had reasons for not car-
ing. to meet them just now. Do you’see?”
Blew nodded complacently.
“That’s all right, Bill. I mever mix in_ other people’s
affairs. But—they are probably going to: the races, too!”
“All right! \ Let them go! . I will not interfere with them.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Blew, with a start. “I’ll wager I
know what they are after!”
Chardon turned a keen gaze upon him.
“You do?”
“Yes,”
“What?”
.“You know that old Amos Belden was found dead in his
stable a week ago. The-police believe he was murdered.
'|'They’ve had their eyes,on Jockey Joe Ward ever since.”
A sort of grayish pallor showed on Bill Chardon’s sharp
face.
“Humph! Maybe that is their game!” he said. ‘
“T’ll bet it is!” said Blew, with interest. ‘That makes
Joe, aren’t you?”
Blew bent an inquiring gaze upon the other. ,
Chardon was ghastly in hue, and he glared at Blew in a
maniacal way.
“That’s none of. your business!” he gritted. “The least
you say about that the better. Now don’t forget that!”
His hands clenched, and: he was the, personification of
malice and rage. Blew stepp2d back, almost terrified.
“For heaven’s sake, Chardon!” he exclaimed. “You scem
to be badly rattled. I think I understand, though!” ,
Blew looked hard at Chardon, They stood thus for a full
minute. :
men seated far up in the boat’s bow with their backs to him. -
yeh what of it? Why are you afraid of them?” he»
“po °
me think. I think you are pretty good friends with Jockey