wrong. But the other thing, the Logan Trial business, is a dead
certainty. You're only a new-comer, in a kind of way, and you don't need
to have the same responsibility as the rest. The Law'll get what it
wants whether you chip in or not. Let it alone. What's the Law ever
done for you that you should run risks for it? It's straight talk, Mr.
Kerry. Have a cancer in the bowels next week or go off to see a dyin'
brother, but don't give evidence at the Logan Trial--don't do it. I got
a feeling--I'm superstitious--all sportsmen are. By following my
instincts I've saved myself a whole lot in my time."

"Yes; all men that run chances have their superstitions, and they're not
to be sneered at," replied Crozier thoughtfully. "If you see black,
don't play white; if you see a chestnut crumpled up, put your money on
the bay even when the chestnut is a favourite. Of course you're
superstitious, Sibley. The tan and the green baize are covered with
ghosts that want to help you, if you'll let them."

Sibley's mouth opened in amazement. Crozier was speaking with the look
of the man who hypnotises himself, who "sees things," who dreams as only
the gambler and the plunger on the turf do dream, not even excepting the
latter-day Irish poets.

"Say, I was right what I said to Deely--I was right," remarked Sibley
almost huskily, for it seemed to him as though he had found a long-lost
brother. No man except one who had staked all he had again and again
could have looked or spoken like that.

Crozier looked at the other thoughtfully for a moment, then he said:

"I don't know what you said to Deely, but I do know that I'm going to