"It ought to be in the stop-press," he murmured.

Charles turned the sheet to the indicated column, and the inquirer glanced at it with a satisfied smile, and the remark that it was only what he had expected, in spite of the weight.

"A good horse," he remarked approvingly.

"But perhaps you don't go in for racing yourself ?" Charles resisted an insane impulse to shout with laughter.

Didn't go in for racing! He was going in for racing with a vengeance--a race against time and the police.