“I thought you’d done a get-away,” said Monkey surlily.

“I’ve been queer,” answered the other.  “Has the stuff worked?”

“Worked!” cried the jockey, with smothered fury.  “It’s worked my trick all right.  Never touched the ’orse.  Run through him like so much water.  The chemist who made up that stuff doped you and not the ’orse—­and done me.”

“What they done to you?”

“Took the cash off me, and give me the ——­ boot instead.”

The tout considered.

“He’s fit, is he?”

“Fit?” snorted the little man.  “He’s throwin’ back-somersaults in his box.  That’s all.”

“When do they box him for Liverpool?”

“Twelve-fifteen train.”

Joses gathered himself with difficulty.

“See here, Brand,” he said.  “Are you straight?”

“Straight!” shouted Monkey.  “Would I ha’ sold the guv’nor I serve for twenty year if I wasn’t straight.”

The fat man pulled on his boots.

“Never say die till you’re dead,” he said.  “We must go north, too.  There’s the last card and we must play it.”

* * * * *

Nobody but those immediately concerned were at Polefax station to see the local National horse boxed for Liverpool.

Albert was there, and Boy, her collar about her ears, and Billy Bluff looking unusually dejected.

Old Mat, it was remarked by the porters, was not present; and Monkey Brand, it was also remarked, though at the station, took no part in the proceedings, huddling over the fire in the waiting-room, a desolate little figure of woe.

As the young horse entered his box at a siding, the train from Brighton came into the station.

Silver stepped out of it, a cloak over his arm.

He did not join the little group busy about the box, but made for the solitary figure watching from the far end of the platform.

“Your cloak, Mr. Joses,” he said pleasantly.

“Thank you,” replied the fat man, cold and casual.  “I shall want it at Liverpool.”

“You left it behind you last night.”

“I did,” admitted the other.  “I was having a chat with Monkey Brand.  And that brute of a dog came for me as I left.”

“The bottle you brought’s in the pocket,” continued Silver.

“Good,” said Joses.  “I hope there’s something in it.”

“Nothing now.”

“Ah, shame!  You shouldn’t hold out false hopes.”

Silver’s chin became aggressive.

“Doping’s a crime, Mr. Joses.”

“Is that so, Mr. Silver?”

“Your attempt to dope that horse last night puts you within the grip of the law.”

“Who says I attempted to dope him?”

“I do.”

“Any evidence to support your libellous statement?”

“What about the notes you gave Monkey Brand?”

The fat man laughed.

“So Monkey Brand’s implicated, is he?” he said.  “He took money from me to settle your horse, and leaked when he was in liquor.  That’s the story, is it?” He lifted his voice.  “D’you hear that, Brand?”