otel.

Trimmer rose too, and laid his hand softly upon Simpkinss arm, as he
gazed hard in his companion's rolling eyes, now directed towards the
gallery.

"Eh?" said the trainer at last, as his eyes dropped to gaze in those
that were searching his, and he began to pass his big hand over his
mouth again and again.

Then he lowered it, still gazing hard at the agent, and lifted it once
more to his lips, but now closed as if it were holding a drinking
vessel, which he made believe to hold to his lips and drink therefrom.

The look had now become questioning.

A slowly given nod from Trimmer's head was the answer.

The big door-bell was pulled sharply, and gave forth a peal which made
the trainer start. "Someone coming," he said, rushing to the window and
thrusting out his head, to draw it back sharply.

"The missus!" he whispered.

"Lady Lisle!" gasped Trimmer, excitedly. "She mustn't see me here."

"Come in my office. Quick!"

Simpkins half-thrust his companion quickly through the door in the
corner, just as the boots passed through the porch and the barmaid came
to her door, and the next minute Lady Lisle was ushered by the boots
into the hall.

"I'll tell master, my lady," said the man, and he went to the office,
while the barmaid drew back into her highly-glazed shell.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

RATHER EQUIVOCAL.

Lady Lisle gave an angry, shuddering look of disgust as she glanced
round the sanctuary of the high priest of sport, noting the pictures and
hunting trophies, and then holding her highly-scented handkerchief to
her delicate nostrils, which were sharply assailed by spirituous
exhalations and the fumes of the noxious weed.

"Oh," she mused, "that it should come to this--a publican's daughter, a
low-bred wench. Oh, Hilton, Hilton! But--ah! I am determined. I will
see it to the end."

She was kept waiting quite five minutes, which she passed standing like
a statue in the middle of the hall, till there was a husky cough, and
Simpkins came hurrying out, trying with fat, clumsy fingers to thrust a
little white, folded paper, very suggestive of "the powder at night"
into his waistcoat pocket, where it refused at first to go.

"Beg pardon, my lady," he said, after a quick glance up at the gallery.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. Very busy to-day."

"Mr Simpkins?" said the lady, haughtily.

"That's me, my lady; but if you want accommodation I'm afraid we're
full."

"My husband--Sir Hilton Lis