THINGS turned out much as Sir George's lawyer had predicted. After several adjourned hearings Copley was committed for trial, together with his associates, and Aaron Phillips had the satisfaction of giving the most damning evidence against the accused. Of Foster nothing whatever had been heard and it was assumed he had got safely out of the country. Copley's trial was set down to take place in June and in the meantime some of his creditors had made him a bankrupt. The bubble was pricked. Copley had nothing to gain by keeping up the pretence of being a man of integrity and substance. He stood out now unabashed and unashamed, and refused to give any information about his business affairs. Perhaps he was looking forward to the time, some years hence, when on his release from gaol he could blackmail Sir George Haredale.

But Sir George had already taken steps to obviate that. He had learnt his lesson and was not likely to put himself in Copley's power again. A proper statement of the relationship between Copley and himself had been rendered by Sir George's lawyer and ample time had been given by the Bankruptcy officials to pay the debt. Therefore Sir George could look forward with easy mind to the momentous event at Epsom.

Everything went smoothly and Raffle pronounced the colt as fit to run for a kingdom. The horse was established in the betting once more and at that moment there were few more popular men in England than Sir George Haredale. He was anxious, of course, for so much depended upon what was to take place between now and next Wednesday, and Harry Fielden was not very far from the spot; indeed, his feelings were like those of Sir George. His whole fortune, too, depended upon the running of the colt. About the only member of the party who was not unduly anxious was Raffle himself. He went about his business with a knowing smile and refused to discuss even the possibility of defeat.

"Bless you, sir," he said to Fielden two days before the race, "I can't see what you've got to fret about. The race is in our pockets. It wouldn't do to disappoint the people now, for Epsom is Epsom. But that colt will just win from the start. There ain't going to be any risks, because so much depends upon it. What a story it would make, Mr. Harry, wouldn't it?" Fielden nodded. They were standing in the Blenheim colt's stall admiring the noble animal, which looked fit to race for his own life. There was no sign of staleness about him. He was apparently trained to the last ounce and, as Raffle said, his temper was perfect.

"He won't mind the crowd and the horses," he said, laying his hand upon the colt's glossy neck. "I never saw such a tractable animal. It is a proud day for me to live to see the Blenheim blood doing a big thing like this. I always believed in it, sir, though we had a good many failures. I wonder what the public would say if they knew everything."

"They are not in the least likely to do that," Fielden laughed. "I think we were wise to keep the whole thing to ourselves. It is just as well, too, to let the colt run as Sir George's property. At any rate, there's no harm done and we haven't broken any rules. Besides, it is all in the family. What are your plans for to-morrow, Raffle? If you don't mind, I will go to Epsom with you. Sir George and Miss Haredale can follow on Wednesday morning. I don't want to lose sight of the colt if I can help it. I wish Wednesday was over."

Raffle highly approved the suggestion, so, on the morrow, they went off to Epsom with the colt. They literally slept with it all Tuesday night. The fateful Wednesday dawned without a cloud in the sky and by noon the Downs were crowded with people. For the most part they meant to have a holiday, seeing that they were on the favourite to a man and that the chance of the favourite losing was as remote as a racing possibility could be. Shortly after two o'clock Fielden left the paddock and went to join Sir George and May and Miss Carden.

"I hope all is well," May whispered.

"It couldn't be better," Fielden said. "Another hour and you will be out of your misery. The colt looks as fine as a star. We are having him saddled at the top end of the course so that he won't be actually seen till he is ready for the start. It will be a popular victory, May."

"Oh, yes," May said nervously. "I suppose it will. I don't know when I felt so anxious. I was looking forward to enjoying this race, but I don't think I shall. I envy you, Harry. How can you keep so cool?"

Fielden smiled. In fact, he was anything but cool. He looked confident but, at the same time, he was conscious of a dryness in his throat and of the quicker beating of his heart as he weighed the possibilities which the next hour held for him and the party from Haredale Park. At that moment he possessed practically nothing. If by any untoward fate the horse lost he would be as poor as he was before, and his marriage with May would be indefinitely postponed. In case of this disaster Sir George would have to sell everything to pay his mortgages and the money he owed to Copley's estate. He would have to spend the rest of his days in humble lodgings. There would be an end to the glories of Haredale.

But if the horse won! So much depended upon those four feet, upon those wonderful staying powers of which Raffle had so frequently boasted. Hitherto there had always been a weak spot in the Blenheim blood and it might crop up at the very moment when so much depended upon bone and muscle and sinew.

And if everything did go well, why, then, Sir George Haredale would be a rich man again. Fielden would have more than he ever possessed before and the tarnished glory of the family would be restored. As he stood, quiet and reserved, he did not look like a man to whom the next half-hour meant so much. But he thought that half-hour would never be over.

The minutes wore on nevertheless. The roar and fret and murmur of the crowd at last died down and the long winding ribbon of turf between the masses of people began to manifest itself. The gay kaleidoscope of colour gradually drifted into a ragged line at the post. Then a hoarse roar broke out again.

"They're off!" May whispered, clutching Fielden frantically by the arm. "You must tell me how the race is going. Positively, I haven't the courage to look."

Fielden did not hear a word she said. He had no consciousness of those tense nervous fingers on his arm. He stood like a statue with his racing glasses glued to his eyes. He watched the streaming glow of colours rigidly, until, presently, it seemed to him that one horse came floating easily and gracefully apart from the rest and then his heart began to sing within him. They came in much the same order round Tattenham Corner. Then the roar intensified till everything seemed to shake and rock, and Fielden trembled and could not see through his glasses. When he finally adjusted them to his satisfaction, he was conscious of a still deeper shout of gratification from the multitude. Then, as if in response to the ringing cheers, the Blenheim colt drew almost imperceptibly away from the ruck of horses and passed the winning-post a good half length ahead. The Derby was ancient history now. The Blenheim colt had won this classic race and a score or two of old friends were gathering round Sir George to shake him by the hand. The victory was all the more popular because ninety-nine out of every hundred spectators had backed the winner.

Fielden closed his glasses with a snap. He was conscious now that May was clinging to his arm and that she was swaying backwards and forwards ominously. It was only for a few moments, however, and then a slight smile trembled on her lips.

"Take me away from here for a while," she whispered. "Let us take a walk on the course. Do you know, I feel as if I could enjoy a turn on a roundabout. I could even shy for cocoanuts. And only two or three minutes ago I felt as if I were going to faint. I never saw a yard of the race. If I had looked up I should have collapsed. I guessed how things were going only by the cheers of the crowd. I knew by that exultant roar that the colt was winning. But I don't want to go through it again, Harry, I have had enough. Now that we have all made fortunes, it will be so good to be at home again and feel that everything there actually belongs to us. Some of my father's old friends want us to dine in London. But I would far rather go home. You must back me up."

But Sir George wanted no particular backing. Tried sportsman as he was, the strain had told upon him and he was glad, so he said, to find himself once more in a comfortable corner of a railway carriage on his way to Haredale. It was a lovely evening, too, and the face of the old house was bathed in sunshine.

"It is smiling a welcome to us," May said. "To think that it is absolutely our own! I hope we have done with gambling for ever." "I have finished with it for good," replied Harry. "I have won a fortune and a wife on the same day, and that is more luck than most men gain on the course. If you are happy, darling, what more do I need?"

THE END