"Hold your cursed row," growled the trainer, threateningly. "I can't," whispered the agent. "I've too much at stake. Get to the mare at once. You, a trainer, can manage that." "You talk like a fool, I tell you. Close upon the time like this." "Can't you work it with the guv'nor or Lady T.?" "No. If I could should I be sitting here jawing? Tried it on, and failed." "Think of your five thousand pounds." "I tell you you can't get at the mare." "C'rect cards, gents," came again from without, in Dandy Dinny's raucous voice. But his cry was unheard within, where Trimmer, with a peculiar Mephistophelian smile upon his face, gave another glance upwards at the gallery, before leaning forward till his lips were quite close to the trainer's great red ear, into which he whispered-- "No, of course not; but you could get at the man." The trainer started to his feet, the cigar he had just lit falling from his gaping mouth, just as Dandy Dinny passed the window, leering in, and then hurried out of sight with his hawking cry, for there was the sound of carriage wheels approaching the hotel. Trimmer rose too, and laid his hand softly upon Simpkinss arm, as he gazed hard in his companion's rolling eyes, now directed towards the gallery. "Eh?" said the trainer at last, as his eyes dropped to gaze in those that were searching his, and he began to pass his big hand over his mouth again and again. Then he lowered it, still gazing hard at the agent, and lifted it once more to his lips, but now closed as if it were holding a drinking vessel, which he made believe to hold to his lips and drink therefrom. The look had now become questioning. A slowly given nod from Trimmer's head was the answer. The big door-bell was pulled sharply, and gave forth a peal which made the trainer start. "Someone coming," he said, rushing to the window and thrusting out his head, to draw it back sharply. "The missus!" he whispered. "Lady Lisle!" gasped Trimmer, excitedly. "She mustn't see me here." "Come in my office. Quick!" Simpkins half-thrust his companion quickly through the door in the corner, just as the boots passed through the porch and the barmaid came to her door, and the next minute Lady Lisle was ushered by the boots into the hall. "I'll tell master, my lady," said the man, and he went to the office, while the barmaid drew back into her highly-glazed shell. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. RATHER EQUIVOCAL. Lady Lisle gave an angry, shuddering look of disgust as she glanced round the sanctuary of the high priest of sport, noting the pictures and hunting trophies, and then holding her highly-scented handkerchief to her delicate nostrils, which were sharply assailed by spirituous exhalations and the fumes of the noxious weed. "Oh," she mused, "that it should come to this--a publican's daughter, a low-bred wench. Oh, Hilton, Hilton! But--ah! I am determined. I will see it to the end."