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. Nobody need know of this. You may rest assured that not a word of it will ever pass 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 assume 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.

"Oh, aren't you?" he said. "We'll precious soon see about that. No, I don't want a cigar or anything to drink. I'll go home again and perhaps I can find another way——"

"I don't think it will make much difference," Sir George said mildly. "I didn't scratch the colt for the simple reason that I find I haven't the power." "Haven't the power? What are you talking about?"

"I assure you I am speaking the truth. I wasn't in the least aware of it myself till this afternoon. It is quite a story in its way. Now do, please, sit down and listen. The man you know as Field is the son of an old friend of mine named Fielden, who at one time owned a considerable amount of property hereabouts. You may have heard some of the neighbours speak of him. The son preferred not to be known by his proper name, and that is why I introduced him to you as Field. Now Field, or Fielden, whichever you like to call him, is really the owner of the Blenheim colt. If you will be quiet I will tell you all about it. By the way, Fielden knows a good deal about you and also about your friend Foster. He ran against you in South Africa where he was in partnership with a man called Aaron Phillips. I don't know Mr. Phillips myself, but he tells a story which interested me very much. I have just had it from Mr. Fielden's lips. But sit down."

Copley sat down suddenly. His bullying air fell away from him like a garment. He seemed to have some difficulty in getting a light to his cigar. Sir George could almost have smiled as he saw the change in his one-time friend. There was a look of anxiety, almost of anxious misery, in Copley's eyes as he wriggled about in his chair whilst Sir George told his tale.

"There you have it in a nutshell," the latter concluded. "That is the whole romance for you to deal with as you like. It doesn't matter a bit whether I want to serve you or not, you can see for yourself the position I am in and how powerless I am to prevent the Blenheim colt from running in this year's Derby. Mr. Fielden would not consent, even if he hadn't backed the colt to his last penny. You may depend upon it that if the horse starts he is bound to win, for in this year's moderate lot there is nothing to beat him. This upsets all your plans, but you will find that everything I say is correct. You have still time to get out."

"How can I?" Copley asked. "Why, I have laid against the colt till I am tired of it, and if he runs he'll win. But it is no use my sitting here wasting time. I must go back at once and talk this thing over with Foster. I never heard such an extraordinary story in my life. I thought I was up to most of the moves, but a prophet couldn't have foreseen this. One thing is very certain, as matters have turned out I shall want every penny I can scrape together the next few days and I shall look to you to repay what you owe me. Of course, I don't want to be unpleasant, but necessity knows no law." Sir George waved his cigar gracefully. He felt he could promise with an easy mind.

"Don't let that trouble you," he said. "I think I shall be able to manage. Circumstances alter cases. Must you really go?"