"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 five on the programme."

When the result was published Phillips proved to be correct.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

NO. 5

"That's it," Phillips exclaimed. "I think we've got it right at last. We know by the evening paper that Dandy won the Longhill Handicap, which was the three o'clock race at Mirst Park to-day. We also know that Dandy is No. 5 on the _Sportsman_ list, all of which goes to prove our case.

It is a smart bit of business, isn't it?"

"Exceedingly smart," Fielden said, "and, to some extent, risky. Whoever sends the message from Mirst Park is certainly a very good judge of racing. That telephone signal must have been started before the horse was past the post."

"Oh, I don't know," Phillips argued. "In a very tight race they would have to wait to see what the judge had to say. But I am sure that either of us could spot the winner in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred within fifty lengths of the post. Therefore, the result would be known in London and signalled into the Post Club practically at the same instant that the race was over. I think we shall know how to deal with Mr.

Copley now."

"What are you going to do?" Fielden asked.

"That depends upon circ.u.mstances. I don't mind telling you, when I first came home and found Copley in an apparently good position, I intended to make money out of him. I didn't feel so keen upon revenge as I used to feel. It would have been no great satisfaction to me to get him ten years on the Breakwater, and, besides, I should have had to go out to the Cape and waste several months there. That is why I decided to hit him through his pocket. But I had to be careful, because I had a dangerous man to deal with and I didn't relish the idea of a prosecution for blackmail. That is one of the reasons why I went into this business.

When I speak, I shall lay Copley by the heels without taking any trouble and probably without appearing in the matter. I shall have the satisfaction of sending him to gaol, and I shan't have to go out of the country at all."

"You can't make anything out of this," Fielden reminded him.

"Of course not. If I were to go to Copley to-day and tell him what I had discovered he would give me a few thousand pounds to keep my mouth shut and, sooner or later, when the dodge is found out, as it must be, I should figure in the dock with the others. It is too dangerous a game.

Still, when I come to think of it, sir, you are somewhat in my debt."

"Perhaps I am," Fielden admitted. "But I don't see what special favour you have done me----"

"By getting rid of Raymond Copley," Phillips smiled. "I couldn't have served you better. We shall have him out of the way anyhow. Later, when you find yourself in a good position again, I will ask you to give me a responsible post in your stables. Oh, it will all come right, sir. You ought to win a big stake over the Derby, if you play your cards right, and the Blenheim colt will be worth a small fortune."

"What have I to do with the horse?" Fielden asked.

"I know all about that, sir," Phillips said cheerfully. "Never mind where I had my information. I am half a gipsy and my mother's tribe pick up news from all sorts of unlikely quarters. A lad who used to be in your stables told me the story. n.o.body else would have believed him but me. I can give you chapter and verse if you like, but that would only be wasting time, and I can guess what Copley's game is, too. See if I don't prove to be a true prophet. The Blenheim colt will be sure to show signs of to-day's race; indeed, he is a marvel if he does any good during the rest of his career as a three year-old. But, then, the horse is a marvel. Still, very few of us know that, and we shall be able to back him for the Derby at our own price within the next few days. I will stick on the horse every farthing I can rake together. If I could only get a couple of thousand pounds I could make a fortune. And you ought to make a fortune, too. You told me that you could find that sum, if necessary, and seeing that you have it in your power to prevent the Blenheim colt from being scratched you will be flying in the face of Providence if you turn your back on a chance like this."

Fielden looked at his companion in some perplexity. He was astonished to find that Phillips knew so much. Whence did the man derive his information? But there never was a gipsy yet who was not fond of a horse. The various clans roam all over the country, and very little that is going on escapes their sharp black eyes and there is, besides, a sort of freemasonry amongst them. But it mattered little whence Phillips'

information came, for he had certainly got it. He was correct in every detail, too, and for the first time Fielden began to see his way. He could lay his hands upon a couple of thousand pounds, and before the week was out he knew that the Blenheim colt would be at any price in the market that a backer needed. Two thousand pounds in itself was not much to lose. It would leave him only a little worse off than he was at present. On the other hand, it might bring him in enough to start life again as a rich man. He was thinking of May Haredale and all the brilliant possibilities in that quarter. He could stop this vile conspiracy. It was for him to say what the future of the Blenheim colt was, and he could do this without arousing any gossip or giving the public any chance for spicy scandal. When the right moment came he could go to Sir George and inform him that he had no control whatever over the colt. Sir George might bl.u.s.ter and Copley might threaten, but their threats would be in vain. In the long run Sir George would benefit and May would be free from the persecutions of a scoundrel and Fielden would be in a position to offer her a luxurious home. He had learnt his lesson, too. He was no longer the careless and extravagant youth who had left England more or less under a cloud.

He was aroused from his reverie by questions from Phillips.

"Really, I beg pardon," he said, "but, for the moment, I was thinking about something else."

"Oh, I understand that," Phillips said with a dry smile. "But we haven't finished. Our case is not complete. We must know whether there is any big wagering on the three o'clock race this afternoon in the Post Club.

To get my facts I have brought Major Carden over here on purpose. I have paid his expenses to and from Germany, and I understand he wishes to return to-night, if possible. Let's go on to our hotel and wait for him.

But I must tell you that Carden knows nothing. He thinks I have some deep scheme on for making money and so long as I pay him for his information he is satisfied. You had better leave all questions to me."

Fielden was willing enough to do so. To some degree he was not pleased to be mixed up in this business, though it gave him a hold over Copley.

They had hardly reached their hotel before the Major came in. He made no objection to Phillips' offer of refreshment. They talked for a few minutes on indifferent topics and then Phillips went to the point.

"I suppose you've got my cheque," he said, "or you would not have been here to-day. I hope it wasn't inconvenient."

"It was devilish inconvenient," the Major said in his florid way. "But as you are willing to pay I don't mind. Now I am ready to give you all the information you need. Please don't be long because I have a train to catch before five."

"Then we needn't waste more time," Phillips said. "I suppose you were in the Post Club all the afternoon."

"My dear sir, I lunched there and I've only just come away. I left a lot of people there. Rickerby was there, with three or four more of the gilded plungers, including Selwyn. As to the first and second race----"

"Oh, hang the first and second race," Phillips cried impatiently. "It is the three o'clock race at Mirst Park that I am interested in. Was there any heavy wagering going on, and can you tell me who was betting? That's all I want to know."

The Major went into detail. There had been a certain amount of business over the three o'clock race, but sundry heavy wagers had been deferred almost to the last moment. A large amount of chaff had gone on between one particular plunger and Selwyn and his satellites over a horse called the Dandy. Dandy had been a rank outsider and had only cropped up in the betting at the eleventh hour, so to speak. A quarter of an hour before the race there had been no takers. Then the argument grew more heated and finally Selwyn had laid several wagers against Dandy at a thousand to thirty. All this had taken place, so far as the Major could guess, whilst the race was in progress. There was something like consternation amongst the bookmakers when the news came that Dandy had won the Longhill Handicap by three lengths. Altogether it had been a dramatic afternoon.

"And that's about all I can tell you," the Major concluded. "If you want me again, give me more notice, please. I really must be going."

He took up his hat and swaggered from the room, leaving Phillips apparently very well pleased.

"Our case is complete," he said. "The rest is in your hands."

CHAPTER x.x.xV

A POISONOUS ATMOSPHERE

It is impossible for a man to change the habits of a lifetime, especially when he has reached the age to which Sir George Haredale had attained. He tried hard to justify himself in his present embroilment.

He juggled with his conscience, but the ways of the transgressor are hard, and the master of Haredale Park was having anything but a good time. He knew that he was doing wrong, that he was about to commit something in the shape of a crime. When a man has pledged himself to this kind of thing, it is marvellous how circ.u.mstances combine to help him.

On the face of it things were not going well. The victory of the Blenheim colt in the Champion Stakes was a blow to him. He had expected the colt to lose, thereby giving him occasion to scratch it. If this had turned out as he had expected, he would have been the object of popular sympathy and his reputation as a sportsman and an honourable man would have been enhanced. But to his surprise and vexation, the colt had proved his sterling worth and within the last few hours the public had established him more firmly than ever in the betting. There was always the chance, of course, that the race would leave its mark on the colt and that some ill effects might supervene, in which case the original programme could be carried out without exciting the suspicions of the many-headed.

This was precisely what did happen. Three days later Mallow came into his employer's study with a long face and the information that the colt's lack of condition was rather more manifest than before. For once in a way Mallow was not polite and forgot the respect due to his master.

"It's just as I told you, Sir George," he exclaimed. "The colt's been ruined. I don't say it isn't possible to get him fit in time for the Derby, because he's a wonder. But if you had tried to ruin the horse you couldn't have gone about it in a better way. I can almost cry when I think of it."

"You are forgetting yourself, Mallow," Sir George said.

"Oh, maybe I am, sir, maybe I am. I have been dealing with fools and knaves all my lifetime, and I ought to be accustomed to them by now. I feel as if I had been a party to cutting that colt's throat. You don't deserve to have a horse like that in your stable; you don't deserve to win another race as long as you live."

Sir George was vastly indignant. He wanted to know if Mallow realized whom he was talking to. But Mallow was in no mood for politeness and told his employer a few home truths. He sketched graphically what the better-cla.s.s sportsmen would say when they realized what had happened.

It was useless to be angry, all the more so because he knew that every word Mallow spoke was true. On the spur of the moment he had intended to give Mallow instructions to have the horse struck out of all his three-year engagements, but looking his irate servant in the face he lacked the pluck to do so. So he proceeded to compromise.

"At the worst," he said with some dignity, "it was only an error in judgment. If you can get the colt fit again before the Derby the public will have no grievance against me. They will win their money and that's all they care about."

Mallow appeared to be somewhat mollified.