With a savage effort the latter choked back a deadly faintness that almost overpowered him, and through the dim mist that swam before his eyes, read the lines that Steele pointed out: MANCHESTER CUP KILDONEN 4.1 1 Mountain Lady 20.1 2 Rose Crown 7.4 3 Sir Charles 11.2 0 Also ran, Barcup and Flagstaff. "Kildonen" was disqualified for bumping, and the race awarded to "Mountain Lady." The paper slipped from Barton's fingers. If Steele had not caught him he would have fallen himself. "What's the matter, old chap? Are you ill? I never thought you would take it like this. You hadn't much on, had you? Let me get you a glass of water." The astonished clerk helped Barton to a stone slab, where he sat for a minute with his eyes shut. Then he opened them and smiled. "I am all right now, Steele. I--I have been feeling a bit ill this afternoon." The Ordeal by Water When I pushed open the door of the restaurant, the first person I saw was Tommy. He was lunching with another man, and, as usual, conversing with such vigorous cheerfulness that he failed to notice my arrival. I walked up to him, and laid my hand on his shoulder. "Hallo, Tommy," I said. "I thought you were in Timbuctoo." He spun round. "Well, I'm jiggered!" he cried. Then, with that artless directness that so endears him to strangers, he added impetuously, "What the dickens are you doing in this God-forsaken place?" An eminent Bristolian at the next table snorted audibly. "I was just going to ask you the same question," I replied, "only in rather more tactful language. I'm here on business." "Sit down," said Tommy, clutching me by the wrist and dragging me into a vacant chair. "This is Mortimer--Jimmy Mortimer, of the Gold Coast. We're motoring, and you've got to join us." "May I have some lunch first?" I asked, bowing politely to Mr. Mortimer. "Why, of course," said Tommy cheerfully. "You're feeding with us. Here, waiter, waiter, get this gentleman some lunch." "Look here," he added, as the waiter slid off to fulfil the order, "do you know anything about salmon fishing?" "In theory," I said, "I know everything. Why?" "Because as soon as you've finished we're going to take you up to Hereford, for a couple of days on the best salmon river in England." I turned to Mortimer. "Much laager," I said, "has made him mad." Tommy chuckled. "I'm not joking. I've got two miles of the finest private fishing on the Wye from Saturday to Monday, and a bungalow chucked in." Mortimer nodded his head. "That's right," he added. I gazed at Tommy in mingled amazement and admiration. "My dear Tommy," I said, "no one appreciates your powers of acquisition more than I do, but how the devil did you manage it?" Tommy lit a cigar with some contentment.