y and that's
all they care about."

Mallow appeared to be somewhat mollified.

"Then things are to go on as they are, Sir George?" he asked. "There has
been a lot of mischief done, but it is not yet too late. But it is no
use crying over spilt milk."

This was going rather too far and too fast. Sir George's fears were
aroused again.

"Your instructions are not quite indefinite," he corrected. "We will let
the matter stand over for a week. At the end of that time we will see
the colt's condition. If there is no material change for the better,
then I must scratch him."

With this perforce Mallow had to remain content and went out muttering
to himself. He wanted to know what Sir George was driving at and what
this new policy meant. The trainer had a shrewd idea, though he hardly
dared to whisper it even to himself. Still, a week was a week, and much
might be done in that time. Besides, if necessary, he knew Raffle had a
great card to play. For some reason or other Sir George wanted the colt
scratched and Mallow had no difficulty in laying this somewhat shady
diplomacy on the shoulders of Raymond Copley.

Meanwhile, the week drifted on and things remained in much the same
position at Haredale Park. Sir George had said nothing more to his
daughter, neither had she alluded to the detestable topic. But she was
ready to take a step which would have considerably alarmed her father
had he known of it. Copley was away on business. He came back on
Saturday and made his way across to Haredale Park after dinner. In the
drawing-room he was coldly informed that Sir George was in the library.
He appeared to take this curt dismissal in good part and went off in
search of Sir George whom he found sitting moodily over the fire.

"Where have you been lately?" the Baronet asked.

"Oh, my dear sir," Copley explained, "you forget that I have my business
to look after. I have been exceedingly busy. When things take a turn
for the better that is the time to follow your fortune closely. During
the last few days I have been making money with both hands."

It appeared to be no idle boast, for Copley was looking less gloomy than
usual. Fortune was smiling upon him again. He and his confederates had
had a rare haul over the Longhill Handicap. They were in funds, and
unless things went very wrong indeed by the time the Derby was over they
would be all rich men. But Sir George guessed nothing of this. He was
only sorry to think that May shou