Lachenel?"
"Six stablemen! That's at least two too many."
"These are `places,'" Mercier interposed, "created and forced
upon us by the under-secretary for fine arts. They are filled
by protegees of the government and, if I may venture to..."
"I don't care a hang for the government!" roared Richard.
"We don't need more than four stablemen for twelve horses."
"Eleven," said the head riding-master, correcting him.
"Twelve," repeated Richard.
"Eleven," repeated Lachenel.
"Oh, the acting-manager told me that you had twelve horses!"
"I did have twelve, but I have only eleven since Cesar was stolen."
And M. Lachenel gave himself a great smack on the boot with his whip.
"Has Cesar been stolen?" cried the acting-manager. "Cesar, the white
horse in the Profeta?"
"There are not two Cesars," said the stud-groom dryly. "I was ten
years at Franconi's and I have seen plenty of horses in my time.
Well, there are not two Cesars. And he's been stolen."
"How?"
"I don't know. Nobody knows. That's why I have come to ask you
to sack the whole stable."
"What do your stablemen say?"
"All sorts of nonsense.
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