"I know all about that, sir," Phillips said cheerfully. "Never mind where I had my information. I am half a gipsy and my mother's tribe pick up news from all sorts of unlikely quarters. A lad who used to be in your stables told me the story. Nobody else would have believed him but me. I can give you chapter and verse if you like, but that would only be wasting time, and I can guess what Copley's game is, too. See if I don't prove to be a true prophet. The Blenheim colt will be sure to show signs of to-day's race; indeed, he is a marvel if he does any good during the rest of his career as a three year-old. But, then, the horse is a marvel. Still, very few of us know that, and we shall be able to back him for the Derby at our own price within the next few days. I will stick on the horse every farthing I can rake together. If I could only get a couple of thousand pounds I could make a fortune. And you ought to make a fortune, too. You told me that you could find that sum, if necessary, and seeing that you have it in your power to prevent the Blenheim colt from being scratched you will be flying in the face of Providence if you turn your back on a chance like this." Fielden looked at his companion in some perplexity. He was astonished to find that Phillips knew so much. Whence did the man derive his information? But there never was a gipsy yet who was not fond of a horse. The various clans roam all over the country, and very little that is going on escapes their sharp black eyes and there is, besides, a sort of freemasonry amongst them. But it mattered little whence Phillips' information came, for he had certainly got it. He was correct in every detail, too, and for the first time Fielden began to see his way. He could lay his hands upon a couple of thousand pounds, and before the week was out he knew that the Blenheim colt would be at any price in the market that a backer needed. Two thousand pounds in itself was not much to lose. It would leave him only a little worse off than he was at present. On the other hand, it might bring him in enough to start life again as a rich man. He was thinking of May Haredale and all the brilliant possibilities in that quarter. He could stop this vile conspiracy. It was for him to say what the future of the Blenheim colt was, and he could do this without arousing any gossip or giving the public any chance for spicy scandal. When the right moment came he could go to Sir George and inform him that he had no control whatever over the colt. Sir George might bluster and Copley might threaten, but their threats would be in vain. In the long run Sir George would benefit and May would be free from the persecutions of a scoundrel and Fielden would be in a position to offer her a luxurious home. He had learnt his lesson, too. He was no longer the careless and extravagant youth who had left England more or less under a cloud. He was aroused from his reverie by questions from Phillips.