gure. But the master
of the house was not afraid.

"What is the meaning of this?" Copley demanded. "I hope you are not
trying to shirk your obligations, because if you do, by gad, I shall
have to teach you a lesson."

"You mean about the colt?" Sir George asked.

"What else could I mean? You promised he should be scratched this
afternoon. It hadn't been done when I left London at six o'clock. Why?"

"Sit down and have a cigar," Sir George said, "and I'll explain to you.
But don't adopt that tone to me, because I don't like it. I am not
accustomed to it."

Copley burst into an offensive laugh.

"Oh, aren't you?" he said. "We'll precious soon see about that. No, I
don't want a cigar or anything to drink. I'll go home again and perhaps
I can find another way----"

"I don't think it will make much difference," Sir George said mildly. "I
didn't scratch the colt for the simple reason that I find I haven't the
power."

"Haven't the power? What are you talking about?"

"I assure you I am speaking the truth. I wasn't in the least aware of it
myself till this afternoon. It is quite a story in its way. Now do,
please, sit down and listen. The man you know as Field is the son of an
old friend of mine named Fielden, who at one time owned a considerable
amount of property hereabouts. You may have heard some of the neighbours
speak of him. The son preferred not to be known by his proper name, and
that is why I introduced him to you as Field. Now Field, or Fielden,
whichever you like to call him, is really the owner of the Blenheim
colt. If you will be quiet I will tell you all about it. By the way,
Fielden knows a good deal about you and also about your friend Foster.
He ran against you in South Africa where he was in partnership with a
man called Aaron Phillips. I don't know Mr. Phillips myself, but he
tells a story which interested me very much. I have just had it from Mr.
Fielden's lips. But sit down."

Copley sat down suddenly. His bullying air fell away from him like a
garment. He seemed to have some difficulty in getting a light to his
cigar. Sir George could almost have smiled as he saw the change in his
one-time friend. There was a look of anxiety, almost of anxious misery,
in Copley's eyes as he wriggled about in his chair whilst Sir George
told his tale.

"There you have it in a nutshell," the latter concluded. "That is the
whole romance for you to deal with as you like. It doesn't matter a bit
whether I want