as still rattling his pencil upon his front teeth.
"Well," said he, at last, "they _are_ a fine lot of horses, and I won't
deny it. They do you credit, Mr. Flynn, I am sure. All the same I
didn't mean to fill a ship at a single bid in this fashion. I like to
pick and choose my horses."

"In that case Mr. Flynn is quite prepared to sell them in smaller lots,"
said the salesman. "It was rather for the convenience of a wholesale
customer that he was prepared to put them all up together. But if no
gentleman wishes to bid--"

"Wait a minute," said a voice. "They are very fine horses, these, and I
will give you a bid to start you. I will give you twenty pounds each
for the string of seventy."

There was a rustle as the crowd all swayed their heads to catch a
glimpse of the speaker. The salesman leaned forward. "May I ask your
name, sir?"

"Strellenhaus--Mr. Strellenhaus of Liverpool."

"It's a new firm," said Dodds's neighbour. "I thought I knew them all,
but I never heard of him before."

The salesman's head had disappeared, for he was whispering with the
breeder. Now he suddenly straightened himself again. "Thank you for
giving us a lead, sir," said he. "Now, gentlemen, you have heard the
offer of Mr. Strellenhaus of Liverpool. It will give us a base to start
from. Mr. Strellenhaus has offered twenty pounds a head."

"Guineas," said Holloway.

"Bravo, Mr. Holloway! I knew that you would take a hand. You are not
the man to let such a string of horses pass away from you. The bid is
twenty guineas a head."

"Twenty-five pounds," said Mr. Strellenhaus.

"Twenty-six."

"Thirty."

It was London against Liverpool, and it was the head of the trade
against an outsider. Still, the one man had increased his bids by fives
and the other only by ones. Those fives meant determination and also
wealth. Holloway had ruled the market so long that the crowd was
delighted at finding someone who would stand up to him.

"The bid now stands at thirty pounds a head," said the salesman.
"The word lies with you, Mr. Holloway."

The London dealer was glancing keenly at his unknown opponent, and he
was asking himself whether this was a genuine rival, or whether it was a
device of some sort--an agent of Flynn's perhaps--for running up the
price. Little Mr. Strellenhaus, the same apple-faced gentleman whom
Dodds had noticed in the coffee-room, stood looking at the horses with
the sharp, quick glances of a man who