Edgar Wallace

“ Does he chuck his money about? He don’t. Whatever wins, Grey Timothy won’t; if they can’t straighten the jockey, they’ll straighten the horse—you look out for that.”
He nodded his head vigorously.
“Pinlow knows a party named Fanks—he’s in the City and gets his money by thievin’—stocks an’ shares an’ things. He’s been in every big game I can remember, but he just manages to keep outside Bridewell. An’ Fanks, bein’ a dear pal of his lordship’s, can do anything, for Fanks knows every nut in London, see?”
“I see,” said Brian. “I have heard of the gentleman.” ”

“ My dear chap, aren’t stocks and shares nobbled? Have you ever heard of a stock called Beitjesfontein? I could tell you a nobbling story about that. Is there any business on the face of the earth that isn’t nobbled at times by a rival? ”

“ He’s laying against the horse because he’s certain it won’t win, and he can only be certain if he has got some little game on.”
Ernest Crane frowned.
“You don’t suggest that in this enlightened age a fellow would hobble a horse?” he began.
“Nobble is the word you are groping after,” interrupted Brian. “Yes, I do suggest such a thing. I know men who would nobble their grandmothers if they could make something out of it.”
The doctor’s disgust was apparent.
“Racing must be a pretty rotten game if that sort of thing is done,” he said. ”