A LION IN THE PATH
Copley did not appear to be so busy as he had professed when he
dismissed Fielden so unceremoniously. He lighted a fresh cigar and sat
down moodily over a mass of accounts. He pushed these aside presently,
and took up a copy of the _Sportsman_, which he proceeded to read with a
perplexed frown on his moody face.
"I cannot for the life of me understand it," he muttered. "The trial was
fair and square, and I see no reason why the boy's information was not
to be relied upon. But that colt is more firmly established in the
betting than ever. I can't recollect anything like it. It seemed a dead
sure thing to lay that money against the horse. And, yet, though I laid
over ten thousand pounds against him, in this morning's paper he is at a
shorter price than before. Well, if the public like to be such fools,
it's their look-out, not mine. Still, it's unpleasant. I wonder if
Foster has learnt anything this morning."
Foster came in a moment or two later. His usual smile had deserted him,
and he looked troubled and anxious.
"I wanted to see you," said Copley. "I can't for the life of me
understand this betting. Here's the Blenheim colt backed for a ton of
money again. Why, in the face of the commission we have put on the
market, he ought to be fairly knocked out."
"Oh, I've seen it," Foster replied. "I've sent for the boy. I wonder if
that young rascal played us false. But, no, I don't think he would dare
do that. Besides, he stands to win a pot of money himself. At any rate,
I have sent for him, and if there was anything about the trial that was
not fair we shall know it in half an hour."
For the next hour or so the two conspirators sat discussing the matter.
Then there came to them a diminutive youth, shrunken and clean-shaven,
with the air of one who has passed all his life in the atmosphere of a
stable. His little wizened face was white with agitation, and he stood,
with his eyes cast to the ground, waiting for Copley to speak.
"What is it?" the latter asked roughly.
"I don't know, sir," the boy said humbly. "I don't know how it was done.
Ah, that there Raffle is a deep 'un. I made sure as the trial the other
morning was all open and above board, and now I find as how it wasn't
the Blenheim colt we saw at all. It is no use asking me to explain,
gentlemen, and it is no use bullying me, for the more you do that the
more muddled I get. It is only a word or two I 'eard between Raffle and
the 'ead lad that put me on the scent. We've got two or three 'osses in
the stable as like the Blenheim colt as two peas. They are nearly all
the same blood, you know. What old Raffle is a-driving at, I dunno. But
it looks as if one colt was changed for another at the last moment, and
nobody would have been any the wiser if I hadn't 'eard that little
conversation this blessed morning."
Copley and Foster exchanged glances. It was no use to scarify the boy,
for the conspiracy was none of his making, and he was obviously telling
the truth; indeed, he had been well paid to bring information to Copley
and had nothing to gain by further deception. But what was the meaning
of it all? Why had Raffle chosen to bring off a mock trial? So far as
Copley knew, Raffle had no reason to suspect the honesty of the stable
boy. He could not know that he was in Copley's pay, nor could he have
known, either, that Copley and Foster would witness that early morning
trial. Could it be that there was some one else in the field whom Raffle
wished to deceive? At any rate, whether that was so or not, Joe Raffle
had put both Copley and his accomplice in a hole. After witnessing the
trial they had laid against the colt to an enormous amount, and, after
all, Sir George Haredale's horse might win the Derby. They dismissed
the boy with strict injunctions to keep his eyes open and let them know
the latest developments. Then they talked the matter over to see if they
could find some way out of the trouble.
"It's a bit of a facer," Copley muttered. "I am bound to confess I never
expected anything like this. I wonder what that old fox Raffle was
driving at? Whom is he trying to deceive? I'd give something to know."
"What does it matter?" Foster asked impatiently. "Wilfully or not, he
has deceived us. As I figure it out, we stand to lose something like
five thousand pounds. If that horse starts fit and well for the Derby we
shall be in a rare mess. And there's nothing to beat the colt. It would
be maddening to be done at the beginning of the season. Fancy having to
upset all our plans because of a misfortune like this!"
"Unless we could stop the colt," Copley suggested.
Foster looked keenly across the table at his companion.
"That's not a bad idea," he said thoughtfully. "If the Blenheim colt
lost the Derby we should win ten thousand pounds at least. At the price
the horse stands in the betting to-day, we could lay another twenty
thousand pounds without knocking him altogether out of the betting. I
don't call to mind a case in which the public have been more infatuated
about a horse. Why, our commission never shook him at all. Suppose,
without anybody knowing it, we could guarantee that the horse didn't
start. In that case, we could lay a hundred thousand pounds against him,
with the absolute knowledge that it would be only a question of time
before we scooped up the money. Our Mirst Park scheme is a mere fleabite
to it."
Copley's sombre eyes lighted a little.
"Yes, if we could only do it," he sneered. "But the age for that game is
past. There is no chance of hocussing a horse, or laming him, or bribing
a stable boy, or squaring a jockey. That was all very well in the old
days, when meetings were few and far between, and we hadn't got an
enlightened Press that watches everything as a cat watches a mouse. It's
no use wasting time over idle dreams of that sort, Foster. Poor as he
is, Sir George wouldn't even hear of such a thing."
"Think not?" Foster asked. "Well, I believe myself that every man has
his price. I have never found anything to the contrary. I thought you
were a fool to come down here at all. I thought you were a fool to allow
yourself to be fascinated by that girl, but now I begin to see a way of
turning it to account. I don't suppose she'll marry you. I never thought
she would."
The big veins on Copley's temples thickened.
"Stow that," he said hoarsely. "You are going too far. I'll not listen
to a word of it. It is no business of yours. If you have anything good
to suggest, I shall be glad to listen to it, but I'll thank you to leave
Miss Haredale's name out of the discussion."
"Oh, very well," Foster said sulkily. "But, in this case, one thing
leads to another. To gain Miss Haredale you found money for her father
when we could have done with it ourselves--indeed, we wanted it pretty
badly. Now is your chance to get it back, and more. Sir George can't pay
you. He could as easily repay a million. He will find, too, that it is
impossible to coerce Miss Haredale into marrying you. Don't get wild. I
don't want to introduce the young lady's name more than I can help, but
I am bound to speak of her. You will find that she will hold out to the
end, and that, if need be, she won't object to leaving Haredale Park.
But Sir George will cut up rough when the time comes. He is chockful of
family pride. He is the sort of chap who is wedded to the family home,
and when the pinch comes you'll find him ready for anything. Of course,
he will make a fuss. He will ask you how you dare suggest such a thing
to him, but it will come right in the end."
Copley glanced contemptuously at the speaker.
"What are you talking about?" he exclaimed. "What are you driving at?
Do you take Sir George for an utter fool? Do you suppose that he is
likely to scratch a horse he has backed to win or lose everything he
has?"
"Well, why not? He backed the colt at a very long price, and I don't
suppose he has put down more than a thousand altogether. On the other
hand, he owes you at least forty. Suppose you ask him to pay that back
at once. Suppose you let him know that if he doesn't you will turn him
out of his house a mere beggar. Suppose, if he consent, you offer to
wipe out his debt and give him, say ten thousand pounds, the day after
the colt is scratched. You needn't do it now; you can wait a month. Then
you can put the screw on at once. He'll kick, jib, order you out of the
house, but he will knuckle under in the long run. If he doesn't, then
I'm a fool and know nothing about human nature. Why, the thing is so
easy and perfectly safe not a soul will know anything about it. The colt
pulls up lame one day at exercise, he is reported to be coughing, and
before the fools who back horses know what has happened the pen has been
put through the name of the favourite. You've got the game entirely in
your hands. Then we can get our commissions out all over the country and
make a fortune without a penn'orth of risk. By Jove! it makes me tremble
only to think of it. If the thing is properly worked, we should divide
half a million between us. Now, what have you got to say to that?
Doesn't it sound right?"
Copley brought his fist down upon the table.
"By gad," he exclaimed, "I'll do it, Foster!"