“Stop a moment, Chifney,” ejaculated Ralph. “I can scarcely find breath to utter even the suspicion of it; and the certainty would, I verily believe, choke me; but do you think it possible that all is not quite on the square with Blanquette himself?” “Well, Mr Derrick, I'd rather not say. Mr Blanquette is as much the owner of the horse as yourself. He's my employer too--and nobody ever heard Tite Chifney breathe a word”---- “Thousand devils!” cried Derrick, stamping his foot so that the print of it was left in the yielding turf; “is this a time for your senseless scruples? I ask you, do you think it possible that this man--my pal for years, one that has oftentimes faced death in my company, and once shared the last scanty meal that stood between us and starvation--do you think it possible, I say, that this man has sold the race?” “Well, sir,” replied Mr Chifney frankly, “about victuals eaten under the circumstances you describe, of course I'm no judge; but as to friendship and that, I've known a son play his own father false upon the turf before now; and what an Englishman will do in the way of smartness, you may take your oath a Frenchman will do--and a deuced sight worse too. Moreover, since you press this question, I may say that your partner has been seen talking with Wiley--Lord Stonart's agent--more than once.” “And why, in the devil's name, was I not told?” “That was not my business, Mr Derrick; you might not have thanked me for interfering with your affairs. I thought that you and Mr Blanquette were one. Besides, to confess the truth, I thought it was _The King_ who was being nobbled. And since Lord Stonart has chosen to withdraw his horses from my keeping--chiefly, by the by, through his disgust at that trial-race in which his crack was beaten--I, of course, was no longer bound to look after his interests; no, indeed, quite the reverse,” added the trainer with an offended air. “Did this Frenchman say he would be here to-day, if he did not find the boy?” inquired Captain Lisgard sharply, with an unpleasant look in his fine eyes. “I can answer that question for him,” returned the gold-digger grimly. “If he has played me false, he will not only not be _here_; he will have put the sea--and not the narrow one either--between himself and Ralph Derrick; for he knows me very well. But now”--here he drew a long breath, and made a motion with his mighty arms as though he would dismiss that matter for the present, tempting as it was to dwell upon--“let us see the boy that is to take this rascal's place. We may pull through still with luck.” CHAPTER VII. AT EPSOM.