"Mr. Smeer does not approve of the race track, of course?"

"No, he does not. He is absurdly 'narrow' on some subjects, and 'sport'
of all sorts is one of them. But, beyond that, he is a dear, lovable,
old fellow, of whom I am amazingly fond."

"Hum-m-m! And Lady Wilding and Mr. Sharpless, do they, too, disapprove
of racing?"

"Quite to the contrary. Both are enthusiastic upon the subject and both
have the utmost faith in Black Riot's certainty of winning. Lady Wilding
is something more than attached to the mare; and as for Mr. Sharpless,
he is so upset over these rascally attempts that every morning when the
steel room is opened and the animal taken out, although nothing ever
happens in the daylight, he won't let her get out of his sight for a
single instant until she is groomed and locked up for the night. He is
so incensed, so worked up over this diabolical business, that I verily
believe if he caught any stranger coming near the mare he'd shoot him in
his tracks."

"Hum-m-m!" said Cleek abstractedly, and then sat silent for a long time
staring at his spats and moving one thumb slowly round the breadth of
the other, his fingers interlaced and his lower lip pushed upward over
the one above.

"There, that's the case, Cleek," said Narkom, after a time. "Do you make
anything out of it?"

"Yes," he replied; "I make a good deal out of it, Mr. Narkom, but, like
the language of the man who stepped on the banana skin, it isn't fit for
publication. One question more, Sir Henry. Heaven forbid it, of course,
but if anything should happen to Logan to-night, who would you put on
guard over the horse to-morrow?"

"Do you think I could persuade anybody if a third man perished?" said
the baronet, answering one question with another. "I don't believe
there's a groom in England who'd take the risk for love or money. There
would be nothing for it but to do the watching myself. What's that? Do
it? Certainly, I'd do it! Everybody that knows me knows that."

"Ah, I see!" said Cleek, and lapsed into silence again.

"But you'll come, won't you?" exclaimed Sir Henry agitatedly. "It won't
happen if you take up the case; Mr. Narkom tells me he is sure of that.
Come with me, Mr. Cleek. My motor is waiting at the garage. Come back
with me, for God's sake, for humanity's sake, and get at the bottom of
the thing."

"Yes," said Cleek in reply. "Give Lennard the address of the garage,
please; and--Mr. Narkom?"

"Yes, old chap?"

"Pu