"The other man who failed—what did he go as?"
"A steeple chase jockey. The count kept a great stud and raced all over Continental Europe. He owned Daliborka the great horse which won the Grand Prix."
"The horse that was stolen?"
"Exactly. Daliborka and three other thoroughbreds were missing from the stables. The man who pretended to be a jockey and was instead a man of lineage and wealth secreted the horses at intervals along the forest road that runs from the castle to the coast. It was his idea when he had obtained the draft to make his way by relays to the nearest harbour. The poor fellows never had the opportunity to throw a leg across any of them. You see, Mr. Trent, there is no chance at all."
"I will make one," the American said confidently, "I am going to enjoy this."
"After what I have said you still persist?"
"Because of it," laughed Anthony Trent. He had forgotten everything but the prospect of coming danger, the duel that was to be fought between him and this fabulous magnate. It was characteristic of Trent that he swept aside all other possible inmates of the lonely castle as beneath his notice. His business was with the superior.
"How do you know he is still in London?" Trent demanded.
"I keep myself informed," the earl said. "A newspaper clipping concern sends me every notice of him."
"I want them," the younger man observed, "I want everything that will help me."