The fat man watched the other's manoeuvres with eyes that did not disguise their amusement. He was always ready for a chat in which Monkey liberally be-larded him with sirs, was obsequious and deferential; but he would never cross the door of a public-house, and never, as the little man reported, "let on."
It was by a chance the seeker came on the clue at last.
One evening he marked his victim down in the Post Office and followed him quietly. Joses was at the counter sending a telegram. The postmistress, unable to read the code-address, had asked for enlightenment.
"Spavin," Joses said; and the secret was out. For all the world knew that Spavin was the code-address of the shady and successful trainer at Dewhurst on the Arunvale side of the Downs.
"Who said Jaggers?" came a little voice at his elbow.
The fat man turned to find the jockey close behind him.
"I did," he answered brazenly.
Monkey smiled the smile of a bottle-fed cherub.
"'Ow's my ole pal Chukkers?" he piped.
Joses grinned.