RAYMOND COPLEY went away from Haredale Park with every ounce of fight knocked out of him. Never for a moment had he anticipated a development like this. He had gone there in his most truculent mood. Everything seemed to be prospering with him. He had only to hold out his hand and all would drop into it. He had no fear Sir George would defy him. Rather had he taken a journey across the fields in order to manifest his power.

There had been no actual necessity for Sir George to put his colt out of the betting yet; indeed, it would have been diplomatic to wait for another fortnight. But Sir George must be shown that he could not do as he liked. He must understand the force he had to deal with in Copley.

Now it had all vanished like a dream. The thing appeared incredible to Copley as he walked homewards. He could not realize it. He was not disposed to regard Sir George's story as a deliberate lie, for it bore the impress of truth. The only way to settle the thing once and for all was to ask for absolute proof. But, if this were done, Harry Fielden would protest and, if he did so, the public would learn what was going on. Taking it altogether, the risk was too great.

He would have to find some other way out of his difficulties. He had laid against the Blenheim colt thick and thin. He had literally piled the money against it with the comfortable assurance that it would never run at all, and that he was about to net a huge fortune without a pennyworth of risk. That prospect had vanished at a blow. If he stayed in England he would have to pay these debts, or the turf would know him no more. And if posted at Tattersall's, his career was at an end. There would be no more chance of making money in that way. He would have to start an entirely new plan if he meant to keep up his rÔle of millionaire. But millionaires do not repudiate their racing debts, and Copley could see nothing but ruin wherever he looked.

There was worse behind, too. It was disturbing to know that in some mysterious manner Aaron Phillips was mixed up in this business. But he had made no sign. He had not come near Copley, nor had he attempted to extort money from him. Yet he was actually a sort of partner with Harry Fielden, who had taken service with Copley under the name of Field. The more Copley thought over the matter the less he liked it. He had known Fielden by name, although they had never met. He realized for the first time that he had a deadly enemy under his own roof, so to speak. How much did these two know?

Well, it wouldn't be difficult to discover. He would send for Fielden directly he got back to Seton Manor and pump him judiciously. Foster awaited him with the air of a man who finds the world a good place to live in. He looked uneasy, however, as he noted the expression of his employer's face.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Matter enough," Copley growled. "It's all over, my friend. You can say good-bye to your dreams of fortune. If we can get away with a whole skin we shall be lucky. As far as I can make out, we have made ourselves liable for thirty or forty thousand pounds, and have nothing to pay it with."

"Well, that's all right," Foster said.

"Oh, is it? I suppose you will admit that if the Blenheim colt turns out fit and well for the Derby there is nothing to beat him."

"If he does turn out. But he won't."

"Oh, yes, he will. But I'll tell you the story and if you can show me some way out you are a cleverer man than I take you for." Foster listened with deepest interest. He looked just as anxious and haggard as Copley by the time the story was finished. For a long time he sat gnawing his fingers.

"It's a facer," he said presently. "That horse will run, and he'll win, too, unless we can find some means of preventing him from starting. We must find some means."

Copley threw up his hand impatiently.

"What's the good of talking that rot?" he said. "The age for getting at horses is past. That was done with years ago. Even the sporting writer wouldn't dare to use a situation like this. You must think of something better than that. If the worst comes to the worst we've got a few weeks to turn round between now and Derby day. Sir George owes me forty thousand pounds, which I must get without delay. It is no use thinking anything more about May Haredale. With that money we may be able to cover our loss or hedge and bring it down to a trifle. We shall have to be contented with what we make over the Mirst Park meeting. So long as Rickerby and that set are not suspicious——"

"I begin to fear they are," Foster interrupted. "As you know, we ought to have had a big cheque last week, but it hasn't come, though I wrote a sharp letter about it again the day before yesterday. I don't know whether Rickerby suspects, or whether he will refuse to pay, but in the face of what you have learnt the non-receipt of that cheque is alarming. Nor do I like what you say about Phillips and this chap Fielden. Phillips is a dangerous man and owes us a grudge. Let's have Fielden in. We may be able to bully something out of him."

Copley jumped at the idea. He rang the bell and sent for Fielden, who appeared presently cool and collected, and ready to answer any questions.

"Look here," Copley said in his most overbearing manner, "I've been hearing things about you. I am told your name is not Field at all, but Fielden. Is that so?"

"That is quite correct," Harry said calmly.

"Then, what the devil do you mean by coming into my service under false pretences? No honest man——"

"I'll thank you not to take that tone with me," Fielden said. "We don't want to discuss the question of honesty. It is a subject on which you are not an authority. But I see you have found out everything and I may as well be candid. I entered your service because I had nothing to do. I assumed the name of Field, because I found nobody recognized me and I didn't want any of my old friends to know what I was doing. I suppose I am correct in assuming that Sir George Haredale has told you everything. Probably he has informed you that my partner in South Africa was Aaron Phillips. I need not ask if you know Aaron Phillips, because that would be superfluous. I never met either of you till I returned to England, but I know about you. Phillips knows more. I am also aware of the conspiracy for preventing the Blenheim colt from running in the Derby, but that scheme is frustrated. Have you any more to say?"

"This is a nice way to speak to an employer," Copley protested.

"It would be if I were still in your employ," Fielden retorted. "But I no longer consider myself your servant. There is no occasion for me to remain with you. Perhaps the next time we meet—but never mind about that."

Fielden turned curtly on his heel and left the room. The other two exchanged significant glances.

"Pretty cool," Foster muttered.

"Yes, and pretty sure of his ground, too," Copley replied. "I don't like it, Foster, I don't like it a bit. I have a feeling that those fellows know everything. It frightens me to think that Phillips has been lying low for so long. You may depend upon it he is up to some mischief. And now that you tell me you have not received Rickerby's cheque I feel all the more certain of it. Don't you think it would be as well to go over to The Nook and remove that telephone? It always struck me as a dangerous thing to leave it on the roof. You never know what inquisitive people there may be about. If anybody acquainted with racing only saw it they would be sure to make inquiries. We had better take the car and run over before it is dark. What do you say?"

Foster had no objection; in fact, he rather liked the idea. Half an hour later the car was crossing the country and before dusk the two reached their destination. They were later than they had expected in consequence of a breakdown on the road, but they seemed to be in time, for the house was quiet and deserted and, so far as they could see, nobody had been meddling with the telephone. Foster drew down the blinds and lit the gas. It had not occurred to him to lock the front door. There was no occasion for hurry and, after procuring a chest of tools, he started on his work, which presented few difficulties.

Then the door opened and two men walked deliberately into the hall. Copley turned upon them with a snarl.