and. I suppose he has gone somewhere else then. Do you happen to
know the name?"

"No, I don't," the gardener said sulkily. "We've only been here a few
months, and my master hasn't come into the house yet. He's a stranger,
too. You had better make inquiries in the village."

Phillips expressed his thanks. He had found out pretty well all he
wanted to know, and felt that if this repellent person had entertained
any suspicions they were lulled to sleep by this time. He stood
examining the repulsive-looking bull-terrier. He alluded to the animal's
points approvingly. He spoke, too, as a man who knew what he was talking
about. One or two remarks elicited the assent of the gruff gardener, who
smiled slightly.

"Yes, he's a good dog," he said. "And capital in the house."

"Keeps the burglars away," Phillips laughed.

"Oh, I daresay he would if I left him here. But I don't live on the
premises. I only look round to see that things are all right. I believe
the servants are coming in next week."

"But why not have a caretaker?" Phillips asked.

"Oh, there's no occasion for that. They're more trouble than they're
worth."

Phillips nodded and walked leisurely away.

CHAPTER XVII

A FAIR DAY'S SPORT

At Mirst Park there was not very much for Fielden to do. The horses he
had brought with him were a moderate lot, and, in the words of the
stud-groom, there was not a racer amongst them. With his intimate
knowledge of horse-flesh Fielden wondered why Copley kept such an
indifferent stable, and where he got his animals. They were even worse
than the ordinary run of equine rubbish usually foisted on the
millionaire whose ambition it is to figure as a patron of the turf.
Perhaps the whole thing was a blind. Perhaps the stud at Seton Manor was
merely intended to cover Copley's rascality in another direction. At any
rate, Fielden watched the first two races with mingled feelings of
contempt and amusement. He had seen his employer's horses figure in both
in the sorriest fashion, and till the four o'clock race was free to do
as he pleased.

It was strange to move about the paddock, by the weighing-room and on
the stand, rubbing shoulders with a score of men whom he knew well. The
course was familiar to him, too. Were the past two years but a dream,
and had he never left the scene of his former recreations? But no one
recognized him. He strolled about listening to the roar of the
betting-ring and the cries of the multitu