A very anxious-looking fly indeed. His countenance betokened nothing but care and overwhelming trouble; looking very much like a fly who had not had a wink of sleep last night--which, indeed, was the fact. Con Staveley received the card which the fly handed to him, and waved his hand to a seat. Alfred sat down, holding his hat between his legs, and looked nervously at Con Staveley; but finding no comfort in that gentleman's face, looked into his hat with a like result. He was terribly distressed. It seemed to him that life and death hung upon the words of the judge in whose presence he was sitting. Con Staveley read the words on the card aloud: "'Do what you can for the bearer, a friend of mine.' Happy to see you. Any friend of Mr. Sheldrake is a friend of mine. What can I do for you?" Although his tone infused hope into Alfred's breast, the young man did not know how to commence. Observing his hesitation, Con rattled on, without waiting for him to speak: "Sheldrake's a fine fellow. A little too easy, a little too confiding, but a fine fellow for all that. Doesn't look sharp enough after Number One, though; and that doesn't do nowadays. You can take care of yourself, I'll be bound; you look after Number One." With dry lips, Alfred muttered assent to the proposition. "Do you want to back a horse for the Cambridgeshire or the Cesarewitch? Now's the time; the early bird catches the worm. I'll give you sixty-six to one against any horse you can name. Spot the winner and put a few tenners on. There's an old fellow I know spotted Taraban yesterday for the Northumberland Plate. What do you think he did, the old fool? Backed it for a crown. No pluck. He might have won a heap of money, and now the chance has gone. About this time last year a fellow came in--just as you have done now--asked about a horse for the Cambridgeshire--wanted to know the odds. A hundred to one I offered. 'I'll take it to fifty sovs.,' he said. I gave it to him, five thousand to fifty. Hanged if the horse didn't win, with a stone in hand, and I was nicked. He had pluck, that fellow, and took my cheque for five thou. with a grin on his face. He's one of the leviathans now--had a fifty thousand book on the Derby. Is that _your_ little game? Have you come to take the odds? Well, I'll give them to you, to any amount." "No," Alfred managed to say, "that isn't the business I've come upon." "Well, what is it, then?" inquired free-and-easy Con. "Fire away. Do anything I can for a friend of Sheldrake's." "He told me to make a clean breast of it," said Alfred, playing nervously with his hat; and Con Staveley thought, "What a soft young fool he is!" "The fact is, I've been out of luck lately. I backed the wrong horse yesterday." "Christopher Sly?" "Yes; it looked like a moral certainty for him." "It _was_ a sell," observed Con gravely. "Every one of the prophets went for him. I was bit myself--heavily, too; so you're not alone in the boat."