"Precisely. And you may bet your boots this is one of his. At any rate, it is a curious coincidence, and tends to confirm what I have already told you. I should be greatly surprised if Copley were not here this afternoon. Now let us get a bit farther. There is nothing to detain us after we have examined the telephone. I am afraid we shall have to use a match, but, then, we are bound to take certain risks."

By the aid of a box of vestas the telephone instrument was found in the hall. It presented no special features. It appeared to be the kind of hanging instrument to be seen in hundreds of offices and private houses.

"Nothing remarkable about that," Fielden said.

For the moment Phillips made no reply. He fetched a chair from the kitchen and mounted it. After the expenditure of two or three matches, the ends of which he was careful to deposit in his pocket, he broke into a smile.

"Ah, I expected something like this," he said. "There is an extension to this instrument. If you look in the angle of the wall you will see that it goes up to the ceiling. To tell you the truth, I am glad to find this, because it bears out what strikes me as a very plausible theory. I was rather disappointed to find the telephone here at all. But now I can understand why it was placed in this particular spot. We have a cunning lot to deal with, and it was to be expected they would not do things like other people. Let us go upstairs and see how far this extension goes. To the roof, unless I am mistaken."

The exploration proved troublesome, but the extension was traced to the second floor and thence along the ceiling, where it finally disappeared through a skylight which gave on to the roof. An iron ladder was attached to the skylight, and Phillips pointed out to his companion that the ladder appeared to have been regularly used. The iron rungs were worn bright, the sides were clean and shiny.

"Come along," Phillips whispered. "We must get out on the top. But be cautious and display as little light as possible. I daresay we can manage with a solitary match."

They found themselves on the roof presently. By feeling about they could trace the flex of the extension to a square wooden box screwed down to the leads. The box did not appear to be locked, and it was easy for Phillips to fumble about inside it until he drew out a cylinder of gutta percha with something glittering at either end.

"Stoop down and light a match," he whispered, "and hide the flame under your coat. Now, then, bend down here. That's right."

The match burst into flame under cover of Fielden's coat. The feeble light displayed another telephone receiver attached to the end of a somewhat long flex.

"You can blow out the match," Phillips went on, "and don't forget to put the end in your pocket. It is just as well to be careful when dealing with such a gang. Perhaps you begin to understand? You don't know, I expect, that this roof commands the whole racecourse, and enables one to see everything from start to finish. Now a man could sit down here on this box and watch the race with the telephone receiver to his mouth. If he were a really good judge of racing--I mean, if he were any good as a judge of a finish--he would be able to spot the winner in nine cases out of ten fifty lengths from home, and therefore, if there was some one at the other end in the office of Jolly & Co., the result of a particular race would be known in London before the horse was past the post. Do you follow?"

"Yes, that's all very well," Fielden objected, "but that does not account for the fact that----"

"That the information is conveyed in the smoking room of the Post Club.

Of course it doesn't. That, I confess, is where I am beaten for the present. I am certain that a second later the confederate in the Post Club knows what has happened. Don't ask me to tell you how the final touches are put on, because I don't know. But, knowing as much as I do, we shall soon find out, and I think you will admit that we haven't wasted our evening. You understand now why either Copley or a confederate was here this afternoon. The man, whoever he was, came with the intention of sending the result of the three o'clock race to Covent Garden. Why the three o'clock race is always picked out for this swindle we don't know, but that will be made plain sooner or later. They didn't make anything yesterday or to-day, because on both occasions the race was run in a snowstorm. It was the snowstorm that first put the idea into my head; in fact, it was the snowstorm that led me here at all. And now, let us go back to my lodgings and discuss the matter over a cigar."

The telephone receiver was replaced in its box, the lid shut down, and the investigators began their descent to the lower rooms. They had not forgotten to be cautious and walked as quietly and carefully as if the house were occupied, which was, perhaps, as well, for as they reached the first-floor landing there came the scratch of a match downstairs. It was only a slight noise, but in the empty house it boomed loudly in the ears of the explorers. The match had been struck to light the gas, for a moment later the hall blazed up brightly, and Fielden and his companion, looking over the banisters, saw two men in the hall.

"Have you made up a fire in the dining-room?" one of them asked. "You haven't? Well, do so at once. I am half frozen. It's precious poor fun motoring from London on a night like this. Did you bring in the hamper?"

Phillips started at the sound of the voice.

"This is awkward," he whispered. "I wish to goodness we had gone five minutes sooner. It will be worse for you than for me if we are found out. Did you recognize that voice?"

"Copley," Fielden muttered. "I'd give something to be out of this. The other man is Foster, of course. I wonder what ill luck brings these fellows here to-night. Still, as all these rooms are empty they are not likely to come upstairs. But they mean to stay, or Copley would not have been so fastidious about the fire."

"They are going to make a night of it," Phillips replied. "Judging from that remark about the hamper, they have brought supper with them, expecting somebody else, very likely. Well, there is nothing for it but to wait. If we could only put out the gas in the hall we might have a chance. We can slip down while they are at supper and leave by the way we came. We must have that gas out."

"They would only light it again."

"Not if I plug the burner. I'll go and look for a piece of wood. It is likely the carpenters have left some behind: they generally do. If I can find a piece about four feet long, the trick will be done."

CHAPTER XXI

THE EAVESDROPPERS

To Fielden, waiting, it seemed that Phillips was a long time away. While he stood looking over the banisters he learned that the fire had been made up downstairs. With grim amus.e.m.e.nt he watched Foster open the hamper and take from it certain delicacies which formed the foundation of what promised to be an exceedingly good supper. There were sundry bottles, too, with gold foil about the necks, and when the hamper had been emptied Foster repaired to the kitchen and presently reappeared with a tray laden with plates and dishes, the requisite number of gla.s.ses and knives and forks, and a tablecloth. Judging from the smell, Copley was smoking in the dining-room whilst his accomplice was preparing the supper. Matters had progressed thus far when Phillips stole gently back, carrying a long very thin slip of wood from a broken board, the end of which he had whittled to a fine point.

"I've found it," he said. "If I lean over the banisters I can jam the point of this stick into the eye of the burner, and put out the gas.

They won't be able to light it again for a while. Is it safe?"

The sudden pop of a cork was heard.

"Sounds like it," Fielden whispered. "I think Foster carried in everything and they are at supper. Now is your time."

Phillips leant over the banisters, and at the second attempt thrust the sharpened end of the long strip of wood into the eye of the burner.

There was a feeble flicker or two, and then the whole place was wrapped in darkness. He was only just in time, for almost on the same instant Foster came out of the dining-room. They heard him muttering that the gas had gone wrong, and watched him, faintly outlined by a match, strive in vain to light the gas once more. After the third attempt he abandoned the effort with an oath and went back to the dining-room. Straining their ears, the two men on the landing could hear Copley's reply.

"Choked up with dust, I suppose. But never mind so long as we are all right. Sit down and eat. I daresay those other fellows will be some time yet."

Phillips whispered in his companion's ear.

"I think we shall be safe. What do you say to creep away now we have the opportunity? Or would it be worth while to stay outside the dining-room and listen to what they're talking about? It is pitch dark, and we can slope at any moment."

Fielden was feeling reckless. It did not matter what happened. Without further ado they tiptoed into the hall where, by the aid of the intense stillness and a door ajar, they commanded all that was going on. Copley sat at one end of the table, facing Foster at the other. For some time the two men ate steadily with an appet.i.te sharpened by their drive through the cold air. When the meal was finished Copley pushed his chair aside and strode over to the fireplace. Would Foster remove the supper things? He had begun to gather the plates and dishes together when Copley stopped him.

"Oh, never mind the things," he said impatiently. "Let the man remove them in the morning. He can finish up what is left. We have more important matters to attend to. Take a cigar and sit down by the fire.

What is the next move?"

"We have had cruel bad luck," Foster replied. "Who would have expected to have two race-days ruined by snowstorms? A prophet could not have foreseen anything like this. I reckon we have lost twenty thousand pounds the last two days."

"It's a bad start," Copley answered. "We didn't have the luck, and we haven't made the money. I was on the roof yesterday and to-day, and I declare to you I couldn't see a single incident in the race. I've never seen two such blinding snow showers. It was simply maddening to stand there and feel a fortune supping through your fingers, all on account of the snow. And that's not the worst, Foster. It will be another month before there will be two days' racing at Mirst Park, and we can't count upon a single penny till then. I tell you frankly I don't know where to turn for ready cash. It's all very fine to have tradesmen breaking their necks to get my custom, but that doesn't fill my purse with the needful.

It's very odd that a man in my position can procure almost any article of value he pleases, but when it comes to raising a bit of cash everybody's suspicions are aroused at once."

"Well, philosophy won't help us," Foster said. "We must annex some ready money to carry us over the next month, at any rate. The same ill luck can't happen at the next meeting. Such a coincidence couldn't happen twice. Don't forget that if we can manage to hang on for four weeks we shall make enough to carry us on to the Derby, and after the big race is run we shall be in clover. If you work your cards properly the Blenheim colt is bound to lose, and with this knowledge we can lay against the horse as long as anybody is fool enough to take our bets."

"I haven't forgotten that," Copley said. "Of course, I haven't spoken to Sir George about it yet, but I have asked him to dine with me on Sunday evening at Seton Manor, and I shall put on the screw then. He'll kick at first. He'll talk about the blood of his ancestors and the honour of his race and all that kind of rot, but he is bound to give in. If I asked him to-night he would say he would rather leave Haredale Park and beg his bread before he would do anything to be ashamed of. We have both heard people talk like that before now, but when it comes to the point Sir George will sing another tune. They all do."

"Provided the lady does not change her mind," Foster said with a grin, which caused Fielden, listening at the door, to clench his fists. "You mustn't lose sight of that fact, Copley. Miss Haredale dislikes and despises you. But though she vows that nothing in the world will induce her to marry you, circ.u.mstances alter cases, and when she knows she is no longer mistress of Haredale Park, it is possible her frowns may turn into smiles."

Copley laughed unpleasantly.

"I haven't lost sight of these things," he said. "Miss Haredale has the bad taste to dislike me exceedingly. I would give anything if I could induce her to change her mind. I believe I might even grow honest and lead a respectable life. Still, that would be beastly monotonous. Your plan is the best. I had better accept my dismissal and leave Miss Haredale to go her own way. Then I can put the screw on Sir George and compel him to find some excuse for scratching his colt. When he sees that I mean to have my money and discovers the sheriff in possession, he will not be long in inventing a reason why the Blenheim colt should not run that shall be consistent with his confounded dignity. You can leave that safely to me, Foster. My word, how cold it is! I wish you would shut that door. The draught is cutting my legs off. I daresay----"

What Copley was about to say was lost to the listeners in the hall by the closing of the door. They could hear nothing save a murmur of voices which conveyed nothing to their ears. Phillips touched his companion's shoulder.

"Here's our chance," he whispered. "The sooner we are off the better. We cannot learn anything more this evening; indeed, there cannot be much more to learn."

They stole cautiously along the hall, through the kitchen and outhouses, and were soon outside safe under cover of the darkness. It was black enough now that the moon had gone down, and they could move freely into the road and across the heath to the village.

"Well, what do you think of these precious rascals?" Phillips asked.

"Don't you agree that we are deep in the secrets of a vile conspiracy?

We can't leave it where it is."

"Most certainly not," Fielden said. "At present I am thinking more about Sir George Haredale than of anybody else. A year or two ago I should have scorned the idea of his doing anything dishonourable. But I have learnt worldly wisdom, and can imagine how it would be if Sir George were suddenly face to face with poverty. He is completely under Copley's thumb. If these two men bring off their coup, they will make an enormous fortune. But it must be prevented at all costs, Phillips. Think out some scheme of checkmate, and I shall be your debtor for the rest of my life."