“I’m surprised you should ask for the money,” replied Lord George, “the affair was robbery; but can you count?”

The Squire rejoined something to the effect that he could count when he was at Eton, and Lord George then counted out a number of banknotes into Osbaldeston’s hand.

“It will not end here, Lord George,” said the Squire in high dudgeon.

The conversation was at the entrance to the rooms of the Jockey Club, and shortly after it had taken place the Squire sent a second to demand an apology, or that Lord George would fight a duel.  The challenge was declined, but the fiery Squire returned to the charge.

“I will pull your nose the next time I see you,” was the message he sent to his Lordship, who had no alternative but to meet in a duel or to be subjected to continuous annoyance from the doughty Osbaldeston.

Colonel Anson was named as Lord George’s second and the meeting-place was at Wormwood Scrubs at six a.m.  The weapons were pistols and the antagonists stood twelve steps apart.

The Squire was a real country sportsman, a fine horseman and a dead shot, his skill with the pistol was such that he could kill pigeons flying and rarely missed, whereas the elegant Lord George was more at home in the boudoir and was unaccustomed to pistol-practice.  Osbaldeston had given it out that he would put a bullet through his opponent, which was a rumour not pleasant to reach Lord George’s ears.

It was through the finesse of Colonel Anson that the affair ended as it did.  By agreement he was to count up to three and when he called the last number both men were to fire.

“One” was uttered with great deliberation.

“Two, three” the Colonel called out in rapid succession, so that the Squire was taken unawares and his shot went an inch or two above Lord George’s hair, piercing his hat.

As for Lord George he fired skywards and so the duel ended.

Colonel Anson and Lord George were friends for life, and years afterwards the quarrel with the Squire was so far made up that Lord George invited him to see his horses in training at Danebury.  For the greater part of the period between 1830 and 1846 he was regarded as the Dictator of the Turf.

In 1841 he removed his stables from Danebury to Goodwood where his friend, the Duke of Richmond, allowed him every facility on his estate for training horses.

To his honour, be it said, he exercised a powerful influence in endeavouring to rid horse-racing of some of its worst features, and incurred the hostility of the cheats and rogues which have at all times been associated with it.