ortunity later in the afternoon of seeing Fielden and telling him
what had happened.

"Is Sir George mad?" Fielden asked.

"I don't think so, sir," Raffle replied. "I don't like it at all. Depend
upon it, Sir George has got into a mess over his money matters and has
thought out some scheme for putting himself right. Call me a fool if
that there Copley isn't at the bottom of the whole thing. He and Sir
George have been as thick as thieves lately. They say you can't touch
pitch without being defiled. And since those two have been so friendly,
Sir George is quite another man. However, unless you like to interfere,
I must act upon instructions. I am bound to do as I am told."

"How could I interfere?" Fielden asked.

"Well, sir, the colt rightfully belongs to you. He is as much yours as
the coat on your back. I can't see why you should stand quietly by and
watch the ruin of one of the finest horses that ever trod the turf."

"I had forgotten that," Fielden said. "Perhaps, later, I may have
something to say, but for the present that must be our secret, Joe.
Mallow must carry out his instructions. By the way, what are they?"

Something like a grin crossed Raffle's face.

"Oh, we've got to run him, sir," he said. "We've got to run him and do
our best. That there is the faintest chance of his winning Sir George
does not believe for a moment. Still, if you refuse to take a hand, I
must do as I am told, that's all. Perhaps you will be at Mirst Park
yourself on the first day."

"Of course. I am taking one or two of our crocks there. But I must be
off, Joe."

The conversation haunted Fielden. It was with him night and day till the
first day of the Mirst Park meeting arrived. He had seen little or
nothing of Phillips for some time, but that morning he had received a
telegram asking him to meet Phillips in London early in the afternoon.
He gathered from the message that Phillips had something important to
say and so he decided to go to town. It would be easy to get back in
time to see the end of the afternoon's sport. None of the Haredale Park
party was over. Nor had Copley put in an appearance, and Fielden had his
time almost to himself. He ran against Raffle in the paddock half an
hour or so before the race for the Champion Stakes. There was a queer
grin on the old man's face as he suggested that Fielden should go and
have a look at the horse. They found the Blenheim colt in his stable
looking in much better condition tha