ell; perhaps we'll get him to run, after all, and as well as he
can. One thing is certain--he left this place of his own will. Further, I
think he is in Padfield now; he went toward the town, I believe. And I
don't think he means to sell you."

"Well, he shouldn't. I've made it worth his while to stick to me. I've put
a fifty on for him out of my own pocket, and told him so; and, if he won,
that would bring him a lump more than he'd probably get by going crooked,
besides the prize money and anything I might give him over. But it seems
to me he's putting me in the cart altogether."

"That we shall see. Meantime, don't mention anything I've told you to any
one--not even to Steggles. He can't help us, and he might blurt things out
inadvertently. Don't say anything about these pieces of paper, which I
shall keep myself. By-the-by, Steggles is indoors, isn't he? Very well,
keep him in. Don't let him be seen hunting about this evening. I'll stay
here to-night and we'll proceed with Crockett's business in the morning.
And now we'll settle _my_ business, please."

* * * * *

In the morning Hewitt took his breakfast in the snuggery, carefully
listening to any conversation that might take place at the bar. Soon after
nine o'clock a fast dog-cart stopped outside, and a red-faced, loud-voiced
man swaggered in, greeting Kentish with boisterous cordiality. He had a
drink with the landlord, and said: "How's things? Fancy any of 'em for the
sprint handicap? Got a lad o' your own in, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes," Kentish replied. "Crockett. Only a young un not got to his
proper mark yet, I reckon. I think old Taylor's got No. 1 this time."

"Capital lad," the other replied, with a confidential nod. "Shouldn't
wonder at all. Want to do anything yourself over it?"

"No, I don't think so. I'm not on at present. Might have a little flutter
on the grounds just for fun; nothing else."

There were a few more casual remarks, and then the red-faced man drove
away.

"Who was that?" asked Hewitt, who had watched the visitor through the
snuggery window.

"That's Danby--bookmaker. Cute chap. He's been told Crockett's missing,
I'll bet anything, and come here to pump me. No good, though. As a matter
of fact, I've worked Sammy Crockett into his books for about half I'm in
for altogether--through third parties, of course."

Hewitt reached for his hat. "I'm going out for half an hour now," he said.
"If Steggles wan