anteau is a scrap of paper which is worth hundreds
of thousands to us. I say us, because it is yours just as much as it is
mine. I don't belong to your class, Mr. Fielden, but you played the
game and were always a white man. And if those papers ever do come to
hand, I shall do the fair thing by you. It doesn't follow because I
happen to be the son of a sporting publican that I don't know the
difference between right and wrong. But what's the good of worrying
about that? We shall never see those papers again, and as far as we are
concerned that diamond mine might never have existed. But what are you
doing here?"

"I used to live close by," Fielden explained. "Most of this was once my
property. Sir George Haredale's trainer employs an old servant of mine
and I came out this morning to see that trial. I might ask you the same
question."

Phillips' blue eyes twinkled.

"Bit of a disappointment, wasn't it?" he asked.

"What do you know about it?" Fielden demanded.

"Oh, well, sir, we are not partners in this job, at any rate. If you
like to keep your counsel, I am perfectly willing to keep mine. Old
Raffle is as straight as they make 'em, but he is a downy old fox all
the same, and pretty neatly he drew the feather over Copley's eye this
morning. Oh, yes, I heard all those blackguards had to say; in fact, I
followed them here. I am glad I came, because I heard something that
confirmed my suspicions."

"You mean as to Copley's movements?"

"To be sure. I wanted to know where Copley is getting his money. I know
he isn't paying his tradesmen, but that doesn't matter, for a man with
a reputation for wealth can get as much credit as he likes. But Copley
is flying at high game and must have the command of a good deal of ready
cash. Now where does it come from? What sort of a swindle is on? Why
were they so anxious to watch the trial of the Blenheim colt this
morning? And, by the way, Mr. Fielden, you must give old Raffle a hint
to keep his eye on the stable lads. Somebody has been betraying
confidence. It doesn't matter this time, because Copley was fooled this
morning as easily as if he had been a schoolboy. But I am getting a bit
away from the point. I was going to tell you where Copley got his money.
Well, it's a betting swindle, one of the biggest and most ingenious that
has been attempted on the turf for many a long day. I just heard enough
to put me on the track. But I've my work cut out before I reach the
bottom of