"I'm not so sure of that," said Mr. Dashwood.
"I've been thinking the thing out on the way down. If he puts a bailiff in, let's corrupt the bailiff."
"Sure, I've got nothing to corrupt him with," said French. "Money's the only thing to corrupt a man with, and I haven't any."
"We might offer him a percentage of the profits if he'll just shut his eyes and let us take the horse to Epsom," said Mr. Dashwood. "We don't want to run away with the horse. We only want a loan of him for the race."
"That's not a bad idea," said Miss Grimshaw.
"If the man has any sporting instincts," said Mr. Dashwood, "it ought to be easy enough. Give him a few glasses of whisky and get him jolly, and the thing's done."
"Faith, and it's not a bad idea, after all," said French. "I was thinking myself of getting hold of the chap and making a prisoner of him in one of the loose-boxes, same as Moriarty suggested for me to do with Giveen; but I've thought it over, and there's no use in it. It would only mean that they'd stick me in prison and Heaven knows what. It would ruin me entirely. But if we can get the chap to consent, that's a different matter."
"Oh, yes, it would never do to make him a prisoner," said the girl. "That would be a common, brutal sort of thing to do. But if you can persuade him just to let the horse run the race, it won't hurt the horse and it may make your fortune. Even that, I'm afraid, is scarcely right. It's tampering with his conscience."
"But none of these chaps have consciences," said Bobby. "At least, none to speak of."
"Then, of course," said Miss Grimshaw, "you can't tamper with them."
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.