you know which is the colt and which is
the old horse. That's pretty plain even in this light."

"That's right enough," Fielden smiled.

He walked rapidly towards the improvised winning-post, unslung his
glasses and fixed them steadily upon the little specks in the distance.
Presently they made a move in his direction and grew larger as they came
along. Fielden could hear the thud of hoofs upon the turf. Then they
flashed by him, the old horse lengths ahead. It came as a surprise to
the watcher, for he had expected an entirely different result. What was
Mallow doing? What scheme had that wily man in his brain? Fielden
stepped aside into the gorse, so as to be out of the wind which had
already extinguished two matches he had used in his attempt to light a
cigarette. As he stooped, he heard voices from somewhere close by. The
voices carried clear enough in the silence of the spot, and Fielden
could hear every word. With an instinct of caution which he could not
have explained he crouched down behind the thick shelter of a bush.

He thought he had recognized one of the voices and now he felt sure of
it. It was Raymond Copley beyond a doubt. Who the other man was Fielden
had not the slightest idea.

"Now what does that mean?" Copley was asking.

"What does it mean?" the other man exclaimed with a sneer. "Why, it is
as plain as the nose on your face. I felt certain what was going to
happen when I advised you to come here this morning. The boy told me
there was going to be a trial, and I wanted you to see for yourself. You
are always too sanguine in these matters, Copley, and that's a fact. Now
what do you think of the chances of your friend Sir George's colt?"

"I don't know what to say," Copley muttered. "The colt seemed to be
beaten fairly and squarely. I suppose there is no faking about it."

"Faking! Sir George and his trainer between them haven't got brains
enough for that. They belong to the old-fashioned school who pride
themselves upon doing everything above board. And a precious good job
for you and me, because they find the money to keep and train horses and
we sail in when it comes to making a book. Perhaps you're sorry you had
anything on the Blenheim colt."

"Oh, you were quite right to bring me here," Copley replied. "I owe you
one for this day's work. But the worst of it is I have backed that horse
for a big stake, just when I don't know where to turn for ready money.
If anybody knew my present positi