"It's not done yet," Sir George said indignantly, "but it will be done this afternoon. Perhaps you have some objection to make. Perhaps you would like to forbid it?"

"I do and must," Fielden said quietly. "The horse does not belong to you at all. He happens to be mine."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

BETWEEN TWO FIRES

Sir George Haredale pulled himself together.

"You will excuse me," he said, "but I don't follow you. I have had much trouble and worry lately and I am not myself this morning. Did you say that the Blenheim colt belonged to you? If this is a joke I cannot say I admire it."

"I a.s.sure you I was never more serious in my life, Sir George," Fielden protested. "I know what I say sounds extraordinary. The Blenheim colt belongs to me; it was never yours at all; in fact, it is not even entered in this year's Derby in your name. I have been making inquiries, and this is a literal fact. I have derived my information from headquarters. The conditions, monetary and otherwise, have been complied with----"

"I don't doubt it for a moment," Sir George exclaimed. "But what has all this to do with me? When you went abroad I bought every animal you possessed."

"I don't think so, Sir George. One or two were kept back; Raffle did so on his own responsibility. My solicitors have the papers and receipts, so that it is possible to earmark your exact purchases. I may tell you, however, that until I came here, I had no notion of this singular business. It appears that I forgot to advise my bankers before I left England and that, even up to the present moment, they are meeting my racing obligations out of the surplus moneys paid into my account. Now according to what Raffle says, _your_ colt, I mean your entry for this year's Derby, was disposed of long ago. My colt Raffle kept for sentimental reasons and, for the last two years, he has been trained with your horses. Raffle has always declared that some day he would do something great with one of the Blenheim blood. When he found out how good a thing he had he was almost frightened. He was on the point of confessing to you several times, but when he heard that I was dead he decided to let matters slide. Raffle has a vein of sentiment in his nature and, I suppose, the romance of the thing appealed to him.

Besides, he knew that you were a friend of mine and that May was more than a friend. He is very fond of your daughter, in which he shows his good taste. So the foolish old man resolved to keep the secret to himself. He had transferred his allegiance to you and yours and had set his heart upon restoring your family fortunes; in reality he was giving May a comfortable and settled future. He didn't want the money for himself. He was satisfied to feel that he was repaying the kindness he had had at your hands. From a lofty moral point of view the thing may be open to censure, but what I am able to prove I say through my lawyers, through my bankers, through Raffle himself, and through other witnesses whom we can produce. Of course I am in your debt for training expenses, but that, at the moment, is beside the point. The point is that the Blenheim colt which, bar accidents, is certain to win this year's Derby, as you are perfectly well aware----"

"I am not so sure of that," Sir George interrupted. "If I am to believe what Raffle says----"

"We will come to that," Fielden went on. "I think otherwise. The horse has been knocked about in the betting a good deal lately and I am told that he has gone to an outside price again. I have managed to sc.r.a.pe together about two thousand pounds, every penny of which I have put upon the colt. I had made up my mind never to make another bet, but this opportunity is too good to be lost. If this horse wins the Derby, then I shall be a rich man again. If that good fortune is in store for me, it will be the last bet I shall ever make. And now, you understand why, apart from the morality of the thing, I object to the horse being scratched. In fact, you are not in a position to do so."

Sir George rubbed his head bewilderingly.

"Please say it all over again," he asked. "I know you mean everything you say, I know you are not joking with me, but I can't understand it."

Fielden went over his points once more slowly and carefully, and then, at last, Sir George began to see. He did not fail to grasp his own position, either. He knew the peril in which he stood, unless he could persuade Fielden to fall in with his plans. But Fielden had told him he had backed the colt for all he was worth, and he was not likely to ruin himself merely to save an old man from the result of his folly. Besides, this would entail a shameful confession, for Sir George was not aware that Fielden had an intelligent view of the situation.

"This is very awkward," he remarked.

"I don't see why it should be," Fielden said coolly. "You can make a fortune, too. You have backed the horse heavily, and nothing in the race has any chance of beating him. I must consider myself. I have learnt the folly of sacrificing myself to my friends. In this affair I have some one to think about besides myself. May----"

"May! What has she to do with it?"

Fielden hesitated. He hated to give anybody pain, but the time had come to speak plainly.

"She has a great deal to do with it," he said. "Whatever disgrace falls upon you cannot affect her good name. But, at the same time, I strongly object to any one being able to say that my future wife's father had been warned off the turf for malpractices."

"Malpractices!" Sir George cried. "My dear Fielden, you are forgetting yourself. Explain, please."

"I had much rather not," Fielden said. "But since you force me to speak, I must go on. I happen to know a good deal about Mr. Raymond Copley. I know you are deeply in his debt. I know that he helped you, because he hoped thereby to compel you to coerce May into a marriage with him. I am given to understand that you have done your best. I beg of you, Sir George, not to interrupt me. You have challenged me and I have a right to state my case. Copley is a scoundrel. I knew something about him in South Africa, though we never met. But he was in constant contact with a sort of partner of mine named Aaron Phillips. Phillips and I contrived to get an option on a diamond mine and, but for unforeseen circ.u.mstances, we should have made a fortune out of it. But the locality was kept a secret. The only man who knew where it was died and we had nothing but some plans to go on. Copley and Foster heard of this and resolved to get hold of those plans. The plans have vanished and probably will never be seen again. Then these two ruffians tried to murder Phillips. Indirectly they nearly murdered me. Phillips came back to England and sought me out. If he thought it worth while he could put the police on the track of Copley and Foster and they would be certain of penal servitude. But Phillips has other views. He has been following up these two men like a sleuth-hound and you may take my word for it that within a few days both Copley and Foster will be arrested in connection with one of the biggest turf frauds of recent years. Oh, I know what I am talking about."

"Bless me!" Sir George cried, "is this true?"

"Absolutely. I know about the whole thing. I know how the scheme has been worked and could put my hand upon the confederates at the present moment. But you will see for yourself before the week is out. You must not say a word of this to a living soul, and if you meet Copley during the next day or two I will ask you to behave towards him as if he were still a friend. Now you see the kind of man who has you in his toils.

Simply because Copley has a powerful hold on you, you have promised to draw the pen through the name of the Blenheim colt. I won't unduly blame you, Sir George; no man knows how weak he is till he is face to face with a great trouble and a great temptation. Was not that the situation?

Copley is in a position to turn you out of Haredale Park. He offers to cancel the debt if you will scratch the colt. At that moment the colt falls providentially lame. You can oblige him without a soul being any the wiser, and even gain popular applause over it, and make a fortune out of it by working it the right way."

"Not a penny," Sir George said emphatically.

"Well, I am glad to hear you say that. At the same time, I can't forget what you were willing to do. At any rate, I am preventing you from something in the nature of a crime. You can't interfere with my property, but you can refuse to carry out what Copley desires and defy him to do his worst. You are safe from him, and in future your daughter will have no occasion to be ashamed of you."

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII

LOOSENING THE GRIP

Fielden's last thrust went home. Sir George fairly winced and the red of shame flushed his face. Never in the course of his life had anybody ever spoken to him like this before. And never did he feel less able to resist the reproach.

"You are going too far," was all he could say.

"Indeed, I have no wish to," Fielden exclaimed. "I only want to save you from this crowning folly, and you need not be afraid of Copley. He is powerless to do you any mischief. Of course, you will still owe the money to somebody, but ere the law can make up its mind who is your creditor, if we have any luck at Epsom, you will be independent of all your creditors. n.o.body need know of this. You may rest a.s.sured that not a word of it will ever pa.s.s my lips, and not even May shall be told."

"I am afraid she knows already," Sir George rejoined. "It is useless, my dear boy, for me to combat your statements farther. I thought I was an honest English gentleman, and now I find that at a turn of the screw I am only a pitiful scoundrel. I fear that May has found out all about it.

I was anxious she should marry Copley, for salvation seemed to lie that way, and I was under great obligations to the man. I was so annoyed with May that I said more than I should have done; indeed, I lost my temper and, in the heat of the moment, told her that if she did not obey me in this matter she was no longer a daughter of mine. Of course, I did not mean it."

Fielden walked to the window and back before he ventured on a reply. Hot words hovered on his lips and anger filled his heart, but he tried to speak calmly.

"That, to say the least of it, was indiscreet," he said. "If I know May, and I think I do, she is the last girl in the world to put up with treatment like that."

"She didn't put up with it," Sir George confessed miserably. "She has gone, taking with her nothing but her mother's jewels which she intends to turn into money. In her letter to me she refuses to say where she is.

She says she is going to get her own living and will never come back to Haredale. She must know what took place between Copley and me last night, for she alludes to something she overheard in the library. I wonder if you can help me?"

Fielden groaned aloud. He had not expected a bitter disappointment like this. He was anxious to avoid scandal. Of course, the public would have to hear the strange story which, like a romance, clothed the Blenheim colt. But there was nothing in that to be ashamed of, nothing which would reflect on the honour either of Sir George or himself. Nor would the vast army of race-goers suffer. But the disappearance of May had altered all that. People would ask questions and neighbours were sure to talk. For the moment it seemed as if Fielden's efforts had been wasted, then an inspiration shot into his mind and he took comfort from it.

"I think I know where to find her," he said. "But it may take me a few days and, meanwhile, you had better let it be known that May has gone away on a visit. We will a.s.sume that she is staying with Miss Carden for the present. I need not detain you longer. You will know what to do when Copley turns up to ascertain why the Blenheim colt has not been scratched. For obvious reasons we won't make the discovery public just yet; in fact, I see no reason why it should be made public at all. We can trust May, and I am sure we can trust Raffle, though you will have to tell Copley the truth. Still, as he will be in other hands before long, nothing he can say or do will matter much. I am going up to London and shall be greatly surprised if, when I come back, I don't bring you news of May."

Fielden took his departure, leaving Sir George to his own troubled thoughts. He was properly ashamed of himself. He knew what a humiliating figure he had cut. He knew how two people, whose opinions he valued highly, despised him. Yet, in spite of everything, himself included, he was glad to know that he would be compelled to keep faith with the public. He was glad to know that within a few days Copley would have no further power to harm him. He had known all along, juggle with his conscience as he might, that old Raffle had been perfectly correct in regard to the colt. Notwithstanding the folly of that appearance at Mirst Park, the colt was not so lame as he had made out and in a week or two would be all right again. At the present moment if he risked a thousand or two, there was almost absolute certainty he would get it back fifty-fold at the great Epsom meeting. As Sir George pondered the situation, his mind was equally divided between shame and exultation. He did not fail to see his conduct in its proper light, nor did he fail to see an honourable way out, with credit to himself and a good many thousands in his pocket. He sat thinking until it was time for his solitary dinner. He had proved everything to his satisfaction before he returned to the library for a cigar. He would have given anything to have had May back again, for once she was under his roof, the way looked perfectly clear. He was still weighing the pros and cons when Copley strode angrily into the library.

He had entered unannounced and looked at Sir George with the light of battle in his eye. He stood an imposing, bullying figure. 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.