iosity was aflame. When he and
his companion reached Covent Garden, they turned into a cigar shop in
the same block of buildings in which the Post Club was situated. A good
many customers had to be attended to, so that it was excusable to stand
inside the door way and watch what was taking place on the other side of
the road.

The market was practically empty. Business had been finished for the
day, and there were only two or three casual porters loafing about
waiting on the off-chance for an hour's work. One of them standing by a
pile of baskets with hands plunged deeply in his pockets and a pipe in
his mouth was Chaffey.

"No mistake about him?" Phillips asked.

"That's the man," Fielden whispered. "I could swear to that expression
of his anywhere. But what is he doing there? He doesn't seem to be
particularly busy."

"He is getting well paid for his job, anyway," Phillips chuckled. "As it
is not likely to last long he'll be gone in a few moments. Have you the
right time about you? What do you make it? Five minutes past three by
post office time? The result ought to be here at any moment. Ah, I
thought so. Just keep your eye closely upon Chaffey."

In his excitement Phillips bent over and grasped his companion's arm.
Fielden saw Chaffey suddenly pull himself up and moisten his hands. He
touched his ragged cap as if in response to a distant call, then he
proceeded to fling five baskets one on the top of the other and balance
them on his head. With this pyramid thus arranged he walked slowly
across the market and disappeared down one of the corridors, where he
was lost to sight.

"What on earth does it mean?" Fielden asked.

"Oh, that's the signal," Phillips explained. "The result has just come
into the office of Jolly & Co. on the private telephone wire from The
Nook at Mirst Park. The supposed Mr. Jolly stands near the window with
the telephone receiver to his ear ready to flash the signal across the
street. Now you understand why the flex of the telephone is so long.
Before the horse is past the post the man on the top of the house at
Mirst Park sends the number, and Jolly & Co. signal it to Chaffey. Then
Chaffey simply puts five or other number of baskets on his head, and the
confederate in the Post Club has the result. Mind you, this could be
done within five seconds of the race being settled. Now take this
_Sportsman_ and I'll eat my hat if the winner of the three o'clock race
at Mirst Park isn't number f