e slightest; they only
wasted his precious time. If he did not find Alan Porter soon the stolen
money would be lost, he felt sure.

"I must find my friend," he said, cutting the garrulous man short.
"Excuse me, I'll go and look for him."

But the other was insistent; ferret-like, he had unearthed good meat--a
rare green one--and he felt indisposed to let his prey escape. His
insistence matured into insolence as Mortimer spoke somewhat sharply to
him. Ignorant of racing as the latter was, he was hardly a man to take
liberties with once he recognized the infringement. The enormity of
his mission and the possibility that it might be frustrated by his
undesirable tormentor, made him savage. Raised to quick fury by a
vicious remark of the tout who held him in leash, he suddenly stretched
out a strong hand, and, seizing his insulter by the collar, gave him
a quick twist that laid him on his back. Mortimer held him there,
squirming for a full minute, while men gathered so close that the air
became stifling.

Presently a heavy hand was laid on Mortimer's shoulder and a gruff
policeman's voice asked, "What's the matter here?"

"Nothing much," Mortimer replied, releasing his hold and straightening
up; "this blackguard wanted me to bet on some horse, and when I refused,
insulted me; that's all."

The other man had risen, his face purple from the twist at his throat.
The officer looked at him.

"At it again, Mr. Bunco. I'll take care of him," he continued, turning
to Mortimer. "He's a tout. Out you go," this to the other man. Then,
tickled in the ribs by the end of the policeman's baton, the tout was
driven from the enclosure; the spectators merged into a larger crowd,
and Mortimer was left once more to pursue his fruitless search.

As he emerged into the open of the lawn he saw a gentleman standing
somewhat listlessly, self-absorbed, as though he were not a party to the
incessant turmoil of the others, who were as men mad.

With a faith born of limited experience, Mortimer risked another
hazard. He would ask this complacent one for guidance. What he had to do
justified all chances of rebuke.

"Pardon me, sir," he began, "I am looking for a young friend of mine
whose people own race horses. Where would I be likely to find him?"

"If he's an owner he'll probably be in the paddock," replied the
composed one.

"Could you tell me where the paddock is?"

"To the right," and sweeping his arm in that direction the stranger