When Bobby had sufficiently rested himself, he took the car to the inn at Crowsnest and put it up, and then came back to The Martens, where a bed was made up for him, and where he slept the sleep of the just for ten hours, reappearing at half-past nine that night for some supper and a pipe. Then he retired to rest, and put another ten hours of slumber behind him, awakening in the morning a new man.
Nothing important came by the post, only a few circulars and a postcard effusively thanking Miss Grimshaw for some flowers which she had sent to a female friend. As the day wore on, and as nothing appeared in the form of a bailiff, the hopes of the party rose steadily. Mr. Dashwood had suggested that the horse should be taken right away to Epsom, but French was too old a practitioner to make such a false move as that. For, if a bailiff arrived and found the horse gone, it would be the easiest thing in the world to track him. You cannot entrain a racehorse without the fact being known. Even if he were ridden up to London, a telegram would have to be sent on to get a horse-box for the journey to Epsom. There was nothing to be done but wait and trust in luck.
The morning of the 12th broke fair and unclouded, with no threat—at all events, in the weather—of bailiffs. French had made all his arrangements for moving the horse on the morrow. A horse-box was to be attached to the 10:15 train from Crowsnest; also to the London train for Epsom that started at 1:55. In less than twenty-four hours now the horse would be out of Crowsnest, and the day-after-the-day-after-to-morrow was the race.
Garryowen was not even mentioned in the betting lists. White Moth was favourite, Vodki was second favourite; after Vodki you might have read such names as your fancy wills, but not the name of Garryowen. Only in the lists of the big English and Continental betting agents did this name obscurely appear. French had been getting his money steadily on the horse at 65 and 70 to 1. He reckoned that when the flag fell he would stand to win seventy-five thousand pounds, and the thought of this, when it came on him now and then, put him into such a fever that he could not sit still.
They were all sitting at luncheon to-day and merry enough for the moment, when a knock came to the door, and Norah entered.
"Plaze, sorr," said Norah, "there's a man wants to see you."
French half rose from the table.
"A man?"
"Yes, sorr. He came round be the kitchen way and 'What are yiz doin' in me yard?' says Mrs. Driscoll. 'Is your masther in?' says he. 'If he is, tell him a person wants to see him.'"
French, without a word, rose and left the room.