tion. But there are urgent reasons why I ought to accept
it. We have a horse or two entered for the Mirst Park meeting, and I
shall go with them. Now, then, what is it?"

Aaron Phillips' face lightened.

"What a stroke of luck!" he exclaimed. "In that case, I need not detain
you now. But I'll contrive to see you on the course, and then I think it
will be our turn."

CHAPTER XII

A LION IN THE PATH

Copley did not appear to be so busy as he had professed when he
dismissed Fielden so unceremoniously. He lighted a fresh cigar and sat
down moodily over a mass of accounts. He pushed these aside presently,
and took up a copy of the _Sportsman_, which he proceeded to read with a
perplexed frown on his moody face.

"I cannot for the life of me understand it," he muttered. "The trial was
fair and square, and I see no reason why the boy's information was not
to be relied upon. But that colt is more firmly established in the
betting than ever. I can't recollect anything like it. It seemed a dead
sure thing to lay that money against the horse. And, yet, though I laid
over ten thousand pounds against him, in this morning's paper he is at a
shorter price than before. Well, if the public like to be such fools,
it's their look-out, not mine. Still, it's unpleasant. I wonder if
Foster has learnt anything this morning."

Foster came in a moment or two later. His usual smile had deserted him,
and he looked troubled and anxious.

"I wanted to see you," said Copley. "I can't for the life of me
understand this betting. Here's the Blenheim colt backed for a ton of
money again. Why, in the face of the commission we have put on the
market, he ought to be fairly knocked out."

"Oh, I've seen it," Foster replied. "I've sent for the boy. I wonder if
that young rascal played us false. But, no, I don't think he would dare
do that. Besides, he stands to win a pot of money himself. At any rate,
I have sent for him, and if there was anything about the trial that was
not fair we shall know it in half an hour."

For the next hour or so the two conspirators sat discussing the matter.
Then there came to them a diminutive youth, shrunken and clean-shaven,
with the air of one who has passed all his life in the atmosphere of a
stable. His little wizened face was white with agitation, and he stood,
with his eyes cast to the ground, waiting for Copley to speak.

"What is it?" the latter asked roughly.

"I don't know, sir," the boy said hu