Sir George was perfectly willing. Despite his selfish obstinacy the interview had been a trial to him, and he was exceedingly glad to get it over.
"What else have you in your mind?" he asked.
"Oh, business, of course. About the Blenheim colt? I am taking it for granted that you will scratch him. I don't see very well how you can back out. I have made the arrangements with Absalom & Co., and as they have withdrawn their action they will expect you to do your part. Now what do you say to letting the colt have a run in the Champion Stakes next week at Mirst Park? I thought it would be a very good way of getting out. To begin with, the public will be glad to see whether or not their fears are justified, and if the horse cuts up badly, why, then, you can scratch him at once. It would appear absolutely fair and above board; in fact, it will be. Or, if you like, you can let it be understood that the horse is not quite fit and that you still have hopes of getting him in fettle for the Derby. Either seems a good scheme."
"I see," Sir George said thoughtfully. "Yes, on the whole, that isn't a bad idea of yours. I shall be glad to get it over, too. I hadn't the slightest intention of sending the colt to Mirst Park, but Raffle reports that he is much fitter to-day, so that there is no reason why I should not adopt your suggestion. There is the chance that people will blame me for taking the risk, but, at the outside, that will be the worst of it. I will talk it over with Raffle in the morning, and let you know definitely."
Shortly after breakfast next morning Mallow came into the library to hear what his employer had to say. The trainer would hardly believe his ears when Sir George unfolded his plan. He had a score of practical objections to make, but Haredale put them all impatiently aside.
"Does the colt belong to you or to me?" he asked. "I have the very best of reasons for what I am going to do. It has always been my policy to take the public into my confidence. I want them to see at Mirst Park exactly what the horse can do. If they like to go on backing him after that it will be their own look-out."
"But that isn't the point, Sir George," Mallow insisted. "The colt is coming on splendidly again. It would be madness to extend him just now, and if he breaks down badly, don't blame me. I'll do my best between now and the day of the race, not because I want to, but because you are my employer and I must obey orders."
Mallow refused to say more. He closed his mouth obstinately and went back to the stables in a peculiar frame of mind. He had had twenty years of turf experience. There was no cunning wile or deep-laid plot that was not familiar to him and he was wondering what dodge Sir George was up to. Hitherto he had found Sir George Haredale the soul of honour and integrity, but it was one of Mallow's theories that every man had his limits. Besides, no one knew better how critical Sir George's financial affairs were. Of late, too, Sir George had been hand in glove with Raymond Copley, and Mallow hated Copley from the bottom of his heart. In his own phraseology, Copley was a wrong 'un.
Raffle was past all words when, in the fullness of his heart. Mallow confided in him. Raffle was a keen judge of such matters. He sought an opportunity later in the afternoon of seeing Fielden and telling him what had happened.
"Is Sir George mad?" Fielden asked.