A SECOND TRIAL
Despite his cheery optimism, Joe Raffle did not appear so gay as usual.
He seemed to have something on his mind, and those under him noticed
that now and then he spoke with a sharpness that was not customary. In
fact, the groom was troubled. He had been glad to see his old master
again and to know that his small conspiracy looked like setting Harry
Fielden on his feet once more. But when he came to review the position
of affairs he did not feel absolutely satisfied, though he had done
nobody a wrong, nor had calculated on putting a single penny in his
pocket. On the contrary, he had been convinced that he was doing a most
disinterested action.
But in the light of the past few days everything looked different.
Raffle was by no means blind to what was going on around him. There was
plenty of gossip in the stables, for some degree of friendship between
the lads at Haredale Park and those at Seton Manor was inevitable, and
it was an open secret that there might possibly be an alliance between
the two houses. It was plain to Raffle's keen eyes that May Haredale
disliked Raymond Copley intensely and that Sir George was doing all he
could to remove this objection. Raffle guessed, too, pretty accurately
what was the state of Harry Fielden's feelings, and saw that if this
marriage took place his little scheme would be worse than useless. If
Fielden had not turned up again it would not have mattered. But as it
was the large fortune which Sir George was about to annex seemed likely
to go into the pockets of Raymond Copley.
Joe hated Raymond Copley with all the contempt that an old sportsman has
for an ignorant dabbler in the great game. He knew that Copley cared
nothing for racing for its own sake, that he kept his stable only to
give himself importance in the eyes of his neighbours. Raffle was not
aware that the Seton Manor stud was a blind to cover the conspiracies
hatched between Copley and Foster, but he knew enough to set his teeth
on edge and to make him determined to stop this hateful marriage if he
could. It was gall and wormwood to feel that after all he had been
working and planning for the advantage of Copley. He knew that Harry
Fielden would have some delicacy in interfering and believed it likely
that, if May consented to become Copley's wife, he would forbid Raffle
to say a word about the real ownership of the Blenheim colt.
This was bad, but worse was to follow. For the last two or three days
the colt had been off his feed, and Raffle thought he was developing
symptoms of staleness. To settle this point, he arranged for another
early morning trial. He had confided his intention to a couple of his
trusty helpers, who fondly imagined that no one knew of it but
themselves. But these things leak out in stables, and in some mysterious
way the projected trial reached the ears of Chaffey, who, when he chose
to tear himself away from his beloved bars, was one of the cleverest
touts that ever worried a stable. After parting from Copley and Foster,
he staggered along cheerfully till he came to a roadside public-house,
where he obtained a shakedown for the night. The thirst for drink was
upon him--indeed, it was seldom or never absent--but he managed to put a
check upon himself, and retired to bed with strict injunctions to be
called at daybreak. In the morning he rose a trembling wreck, his tongue
cleaved to the roof of his mouth, his nerves were a-quiver, but, by a
supreme effort, he kept himself from the drink which called to him so
strongly. The smell of it in the dingy public-house appealed to him
mockingly, but he thrust the fierce desire aside and stole off to the
Downs with splitting head and aching brows. He resolved to make up for
his sufferings later. With luck he would be in London soon after nine
o'clock. An hour later he would have sold his valuable information, and
then--well, then, he would enjoy himself after the manner of his kind.
Having concealed himself in a patch of gorse, he waited with what
patience he could for the trial. It was a long and weary vigil, but
presently he heard the muffled tramp of horses and the sound of voices.
Cautiously Chaffey raised himself and peeped out. He knew he was hiding
just behind the winning-post. The solitary figure standing there was
familiar to him. With a grin he recognized Fielden.
In the distance he could see two horses flashing along, and as they drew
nearer he made out the fine dashing outline of the Blenheim colt. He had
never seen that noble animal before, but his keen instinct told him he
was not mistaken. He forgot his aches, pains, and everything else in the
excitement of the moment. He saw the Blenheim colt holding his own,
sailing along with a free and easy stride, and then suddenly, within a
hundred yards or so of the gorse bushes, the other horse came away and
finished many lengths ahead. The colt had a peculiar action that Chaffey
did not fail to notice.
"They are right," he said, "the colt's queer. My word! it was well I
came here this morning. This will be five and twenty pounds in my
pocket. And if I have any luck that bloomin' Copley can get somebody
else to look after his fruit baskets. I've had enough of it."
Chaffey dropped down as he saw Raffle coming up to the winning-post.
The horses had been led away, and nobody could hear what Fielden and his
companion and Mallow had to say.
"This is a bad business," Harry observed.
"Looks like it, sir," Raffle said gloomily. "I can't make out what's
wrong with the colt. I thought I knew all about horses, but this puzzles
me. He seemed quite right a day or two ago, and I can't see now what's
wrong."
"Oh, there's plenty of time," Fielden said cheerfully. "I daresay you'll
manage to make him fit for the Guineas. It is a good thing I didn't take
your advice and back him. I am glad the money I got for the library is
still in the bank."
The stud-groom shook his head obstinately.
"I don't think you are right, sir," he said. "I still believe in the
colt and, as you say, there is heaps of time between now and the
Guineas. Of course, I must tell Sir George, and a fine state he'll be
in, I expect. Just think what a difference that colt will make if he
wins. And yet you refuse, sir, to benefit by so much as a penny."
"Why should I?" Fielden asked. "Practically the horse doesn't belong to
me. Legally, I suppose, he does, and I have no doubt I could put in a
successful claim. But the colt was only a yearling when I went away. He
has been trained in Mallow's stable and by Sir George's man."
"I never call myself that, sir," Raffle muttered.
"Ah, but you are, Joe, morally speaking. You have accepted service under
him, and you take his money. I know you have behaved exceedingly well to
me. I know you have meant everything for the best, and I thank you for
it. But I cannot interfere. Can't you see that I am in honour bound----"
"In honour bound to stand by and see Mr. Copley marry Miss Haredale?"
Raffle asked indignantly. "I am sure I beg your pardon. I forgot myself.
I had no business to speak like that to you. But that is what it is
coming to. Here have I been working and scheming and keeping my mouth
shut to put a matter of a hundred thousand pounds into Mr. Copley's
pockets."
"If the colt wins," Fielden suggested.
"Oh, he'll be all right, sir. It is only a matter of a few days, but if
this thing gets talked about, why, the colt will go bang down in the
betting and we shall all make fortunes with the outlay of a few pounds.
There is another thing I must tell you. You see, it is like this----"
Raffle turned away as he spoke, and Fielden followed him, so that the
figure eagerly listening behind the gorse bush could hear no more.
Though, on the whole, he had had an exceedingly fortunate morning, he
bitterly regretted that the deeply-interesting conversation had been cut
short just at the point when he might have picked up information that
might have made his fortune.
"I wonder what they're talking about?" he muttered, as he limped
painfully and slowly across the Downs towards Seton Manor. "I suppose I
had better give Mr. Copley a tip. I can send it to him from one of these
pubs. He doesn't deserve any consideration from me, but it will be worth
a fiver later. Now for breakfast and just one drink--only one before I
get back to London and draw my money. There will be plenty of time for
fun this evening. What a fool I've been! If I could only have kept off
that accursed liquor I should have had a stud of my own by this time."
With this philosophy on his lips Chaffey turned into the bar of the
nearest public-house.