At that moment the chambermaid appeared. "Room for Sir Hilton Lisle," cried the trainer, hoarsely. "Put him in number one. Well, this is a facer!" he muttered, as he turned away. "I must have a drop for this," and he hurried into the bar. "Hullo, my dear," cried Mark. "My word, what a cap! I say, what's the matter with the boss?" "He's got a sore head," said the chambermaid, sharply. "I never see such a bear." "He's been backing the wrong horse, I know," said Mark. "Then you don't know nothing about it, Mr Clever. Here, I've got one for you." The speaker led the way up the stairs into the open gallery, to pause at the top by the door of the room her master had named, Mark following with the bag and overcoat. "Well, let's have it," said Mark. "Why, I should ha' thought you must ha' known." "Known what--as my guv'nor's going on the Turf again?" "Bother the Turf! I'm sick of the name. No; master's found out about Miss Molly." "Eh? What about her?" "Married! How do you like that?" "Never tried yet, my dear. But who to?" "Who to, indeed! A chit of a boy." "Wha-a-at!" cried Mark, and a light broke upon him as he recalled what he had just seen. "Not our Master Syd?" "Right first time." "Oh, here's a game," began Mark. "Quick, here's master, and I haven't put out his duds." The groom dashed through the door the girl threw open just as Sir Hilton, who had been to the paddock, came up to the porch ready to meet the trainer, who was coming from the bar wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "It's all up!" he groaned to himself. "Ah, Sam Simpkins, how are you? Surprised to see me here again, eh?" "Sur-prised ain't the word for it, Sir Hilton," cried the trainer, making an effort to look landlordly, and speaking in boisterous tones. "Staggered, Sir Hilton. That's nearer the mark; but come in, Sir Hilton. Puts me in mind o' the good old days. My word! Who'd ha' thought it? I jest heered of it. And you're going to ride, Sir Hilton?" "I am, Sam." "Your old mare, Sir Hilton?" "No," said Sir Hilton, frowning. "My old friend Lady Tilborough's mare, in consequence of--" "Yes, I heered, Sir Hilton; her jockey, Josh Rowle's been on the drink again. Dear, dear! I keep a house, but what I say to people who come to my bar or to the tap is--" "Yes--yes, I know. My man here?" "Yes, Sir Hilton. Up in your old room, number one. But, ahem! Beg pardon, Sir Hilton, you can trust me," said the trainer, dropping his voice. "Do you, eh--understand me, Sir Hilton--man who's seen a deal o' business for you--you--you don't ride to win?" "Why, you--" "Ah, Hilt, dear boy!" cried Lady Tilborough, hurrying in. "I saw you come up to the porch, but couldn't overtake you. Man of your word." "I hope so," said Sir Hilton, turning to give the old trainer a withering look. "Oh, murder!" muttered the man, wiping his brow, now all covered with a heavy dew. "What shall I do? It's a smasher."