board; in fact, it will be. Or, if you like, you can let it be
understood that the horse is not quite fit and that you still have hopes
of getting him in fettle for the Derby. Either seems a good scheme."

"I see," Sir George said thoughtfully. "Yes, on the whole, that isn't a
bad idea of yours. I shall be glad to get it over, too. I hadn't the
slightest intention of sending the colt to Mirst Park, but Raffle
reports that he is much fitter to-day, so that there is no reason why I
should not adopt your suggestion. There is the chance that people will
blame me for taking the risk, but, at the outside, that will be the
worst of it. I will talk it over with Raffle in the morning, and let you
know definitely."

Shortly after breakfast next morning Mallow came into the library to
hear what his employer had to say. The trainer would hardly believe his
ears when Sir George unfolded his plan. He had a score of practical
objections to make, but Haredale put them all impatiently aside.

"Does the colt belong to you or to me?" he asked. "I have the very best
of reasons for what I am going to do. It has always been my policy to
take the public into my confidence. I want them to see at Mirst Park
exactly what the horse can do. If they like to go on backing him after
that it will be their own look-out."

"But that isn't the point, Sir George," Mallow insisted. "The colt is
coming on splendidly again. It would be madness to extend him just now,
and if he breaks down badly, don't blame me. I'll do my best between now
and the day of the race, not because I want to, but because you are my
employer and I must obey orders."

Mallow refused to say more. He closed his mouth obstinately and went
back to the stables in a peculiar frame of mind. He had had twenty years
of turf experience. There was no cunning wile or deep-laid plot that was
not familiar to him and he was wondering what dodge Sir George was up
to. Hitherto he had found Sir George Haredale the soul of honour and
integrity, but it was one of Mallow's theories that every man had his
limits. Besides, no one knew better how critical Sir George's financial
affairs were. Of late, too, Sir George had been hand in glove with
Raymond Copley, and Mallow hated Copley from the bottom of his heart. In
his own phraseology, Copley was a wrong 'un.

Raffle was past all words when, in the fullness of his heart. Mallow
confided in him. Raffle was a keen judge of such matters. He sought an
opp