'There's your affaire,' said the old Frenchman, as a long-legged fiddle-headed beast was led out; turning out his forelegs so as to endanger the man who walked beside him.
"'Yes, there's blood for you, said Charley Dycer, seeing my eye fixed on the wretched beast; 'equal to fifteen stone with any foxhounds; safe in all his paces, and warranted sound; except,' added he, in a whisper, 'a slight spavin in both hind legs, ring gone, and a little touched in the wind.' Here the animal gave an approving cough.

'Will any gentleman say fifty pounds to begin ?' But no gentleman did.

A hackney coachman, however, said five, and the sale was opened; the beast trotting up and down nearly over the bidders at every moment, and plunging on so that it was impossible to know what was doing.
"'Five, ten--fifteen--six pounds--thank you, sir,--guineas'-- 'seven pounds,' said I, bidding against myself, not perceiving that I had spoken last.

'Thank you, Mr.Moriarty,' said Dycer, turning towards an invisible purchaser supposed to be in the crowd.

'Thank you, sir, you'll not let a good one go that way.' Every one here turned to find out the very knowing gentleman; but he could no where be seen.
"Dycer resumed, 'Seven ten for Mr.Moriarty.