"Not much," responded Lisle. "I've made one long journey in the saddle in Alberta; but you've seen our British Columbian trails. Our cayuses have generally to climb, and as a rule I've used horses only for packing. Still, I'm fond of them; I'd be interested in the thing." Nasmyth nodded. "One difficulty is that there's nothing in the neighborhood that I could try him for pace against except that horse of Gladwyne's." "He'd no doubt let you have the beast." "It's possible," Nasmyth agreed dryly. "But I've objections to being indebted to him; and I don't want Batley, Marple and Crestwick to take a hand in and put their money on me. However, we'll think it over." They retired to sleep soon afterward; and the next day Lisle walked across to call on Gladwyne, in a quietly determined mood. Clarence was in his library, and he looked up with some curiosity when Lisle was shown in. Lisle came to the point at once. "You've no doubt noticed that Jim Crestwick has been going pretty hard of late," he said. "Bets, speculation, and that sort of thing. He can't keep it up on a minor's allowance. It will end in a bad smash if he isn't checked." Gladwyne's manner became supercilious. "I fail to see how it concerns you, or, for that matter, either of us." "We won't go into the question--it's beside the point. What I want you to do is to pull him up." He spoke as if he meant to be obeyed, and Gladwyne looked at him in incredulous astonishment. "Do you suppose I'm able to restrain the lad?" "You ought to be," Lisle answered coolly. "It's your friend Batley who's leading him on to ruin; I'm making no comments on your conduct in standing by and watching, as if you approved of it." The man grew hot with anger. "Thank you for your consideration." His tone changed to a sneer. "I suppose you couldn't be expected to realize that the attitude you're adopting is inexcusable?" "If you don't like it, I'll try another," Lisle returned curtly. "You'll give Batley his orders to leave the lad alone right now." Gladwyne rose with his utmost dignity, a fine gentleman whose feelings had been outraged by the coarse attack of a barbarian; but Lisle waved his hand in a contemptuous manner. "Stop where you are; that kind of thing is thrown away on me. You're going to listen for a few minutes and afterward you're going to do what I tell you. To begin with--why, after you'd opened it, didn't you wipe out all trace of the cache on the reach below the last portage your cousin made?" The shot obviously reached its mark, for Gladwyne clutched the table hard, and then sank back limply into his seat. He further betrayed himself by a swift, instinctive glance toward the rows of books behind him, and Lisle had no doubt that the missing pages from George Gladwyne's diary were hidden among them. He waited calmly, sure of his position, while Gladwyne with difficulty pulled himself together. "Have you any proof that I found the cache?" he asked.