At that moment, with his brain positively whirling with suppressed excitement, and with the fever caused by anxiety and suspense boiling in his veins, Arthur felt that, had he been stopped by his respected father on his outward way, he would have been capable of laying violent hands upon that well-meaning but officious personage. To rush into the fresh air--to throw himself into a passing hansom--to be carried as fast as wheels could bear him to the first emporium of sporting news where he was likely to obtain authentic intelligence regarding the respective fates of Rough Diamond and the Colonel--were the ends that Arthur Vavasour had in view while stepping on tiptoe down the broad stone staircase, with a flushed face, and a heart that beat fast with long-controlled emotion. The heaviness that had endured through the night (for, for the first time in his life, Arthur had been kept awake by care) was not succeeded by the joy which “cometh in the morning,” and--during the weary hours that he had passed, book in hand, on the luxurious sofa, among the pretty and expensive nicknacks which adorned his wife’s boudoir--the heir to countless thousands had given himself up to the most disastrous convictions regarding his future fate. To his then thinking--and he too soon discovered that his forebodings had not overstepped the truth--it seemed the most probable of misfortunes that Frederick Norcott, taking advantage of the carelessly-effected contract regarding the Derby colt, had shamelessly appropriated to his own use the proceeds of the sale of that invaluable animal. That the man who had sunk so deep in the mire of infamy would hesitate a moment to make merchandise of the secret which he was well aware his dupe and victim was keenly desirous to preserve, Arthur could neither hope nor believe. He was in the power--poor young fellow!--(and miserably did he shudder under the disgraceful yoke)--of one of the most unprincipled genteel villains that ever walked about in well-made boots and broadcloth, and--a grievance for the moment still more keenly felt--his debts of honour--those debts which he had hoped and intended by the sale of the Derby winner to discharge--would still remain unpaid, whilst he, under the cloud which his own folly had gathered above his head, must endure, with such patience as he could muster, the consequences of a bad man’s guilt.