The morning of the race dawned clear and bright, and the Leroy course
shone like a strip of emerald velvet in the crisp, sparkling air.
Since sunrise, throngs of people, men, women, and children, had been
streaming in from the outlying districts, some many miles away; while at
the side of the course stretched a long line of vehicles of all kinds,
which had already disbursed their load.
In twos and threes the late horses arrived swaddled in cloths, and
surrounded by the usual crowd of bow-legged grooms and diminutive
jockeys; while the air reeked with the smell of the stable and the oaths
and slang of the men.
Later still came the bookmakers with their brisk, business-like method
of entering the bets, big or small; the "swell's" thousand or the
countryman's shilling were all one to them. And lastly, amid all the din
and turmoil of the most crowded meeting Barminster had ever witnessed,
came the army of the Castle servants to put the finishing touches to the
boxes in the grand stand, over which floated the Leroy colours.
Towards noon, the hour at which the first race was to be run, the crowd
grew denser, the excitement keener.
"Two to one on 'King Cole'--three to one 'Miracour'--and five to one
'Bay Star'--six to one, bar three"--all these cries rose in a loud,
turbulent roar. It was known to all that the "swells"--as they termed
the Castle people--had backed their champion "King Cole" for sums which,
as Jasper Vermont had rightly said the preceding night, would almost
equal his weight in gold; and such was their faith in him that no other
horse had been entered from that same county.
Twelve o'clock struck, and no signs as yet of the Leroy party; that is
to say, with the exception of one man, namely, Mr. Jasper Vermont.
"Your swells are always late," said a thick-lipped turfite, biting his
stubby pencil prior to booking a favourable bet. "They gives any money
for style, an' plays it high on us. It ain't their way to be to time for
anything, not they--only us poor chaps."
The surrounding crowd echoed his shout of "two to one on 'King Cole,'"
despite his diatribes against the swells; when suddenly attention was
caught by a dark chestnut, thin in the flank, and badly groomed, which
was led into the paddock by a dirty, close-shaven countryman, who looked
as nonchalant and self-satisfied as if he held the bridle of "King Cole"
himself.
Presently, while the crowd pushed around the sacred enclosure, Jasper
Vermont walked swiftly up to the Yorkshireman, and whispered behind a
sheltering cough:
"That will do. Take him off. The plant's safe without him."
Three minutes later, a laugh of derision arose as the announcement was
made that the chestnut was "scratched." But further discussion died
down, as the Leroy carriages arrived---only just in time, for the
saddling bell had already rang.
The course was now looking its best. Long lines of glittering motors and
smart carriages had joined their humbler brethren of traps and
omnibuses. The seats and stands were filled with gaily-dressed people;
women in their furs, velvets and exquisite hats, giving the impression
from a distance of a huge living flower garden.
On the appearance of Adrien Leroy, the excitement reached its height,
for he was known to everybody by name and sight, and was, moreover, the
owner of the favourite.
The carriage containing Lord Barminster had been drawn up as near the
course as possible, and as far from the crowd as space would permit; for
his lordship invariably refused to mix with any concourse of people,
even when they consisted of his own order.
Adrien, having seen that he was comfortable, escorted the ladies down to
their seats on the grand stand; then he betook himself to the paddock,
where "King Cole" had just been saddled.
At the sound of the loved voice the beautiful animal turned his head,
with a whinny of delight. Then, as the two people he disliked with every
fibre of his being approached him--Jasper Vermont and Peacock, the
jockey--he laid his ears back with every appearance of alarm and
distrust. It seemed as if his animal instincts were keener than those of
his master.
Leroy stroked the soft nose of the race-horse, while Jasper passed his
hand admiringly over the satiny neck.
"Beautiful as a daisy," he exclaimed, and as Mr. Vermont would hardly
have recognised that humble flower if he had seen it, this was rather
qualified praise.
"Too long in the leg," murmured a man whom Jasper had previously
introduced as a sporting friend of his.
Adrien turned round and surveyed the speaker calmly for a moment.
"Too leggy, you think, do you? I'll lay two to one upon them."
"Done," said the man sharply. "Hundreds or thousands?"
"Thousands," said Adrien quietly.
Jasper touched him on the arm and whispered, in gentle remonstrance:
"Steady, old chap, there's pots of money on him as it is. Don't you
think it would be as well--"
"Make it thousands," interrupted Adrien, almost haughtily, as he turned
on his heel.
The man booked the bet, bowed to Vermont, as to an utter stranger, and
the two gentlemen passed to the weighing-seat. Peacock had already gone
to don his riding-clothes, and without waiting to see him again, Adrien
and his companion returned to the grand stand. Here Leroy stopped to
speak to Lady Merivale, who, with her sister, the Marchioness of Caine,
had motored down from London to witness the race.
The marchioness was a lady with a passion for bridge, and an intense
admiration for Adrien Leroy.
"You are quite sure your horse, that pretty creature with the long neck,
is going to win?" she inquired, as he stood by her chair.
Her sister, Lady Merivale, looked up mockingly.
"Of course he's going to win, Alicia. Did not Lady Constance Tremaine
say so? Surely _she_ ought to know!"
Leroy did not appear to notice the jealous sarcasm of this speech.
"I hope he will win," he said gravely. "Nothing is certain in this
world, and race-horses are said to be as fickle as your sex, dear lady."
This was a mild thrust at Lady Merivale; but she only smiled sweetly in
response. "Still, I think you may safely bet on the 'King'; he's in fine
form." Then he turned to his cousin. "Here is your beau cavalier,
Constance," he said, almost jealously, as Jasper Vermont came leisurely
up the steps of the grand stand; then, with a swift glance at the girl
which was not lost upon Lady Merivale, he went down once more to his
father.
"The bell is about to ring now," he said. "Are you sure you can see?"
"Quite sure," replied Lord Barminster curtly. "How is the horse?"
"In splendid form, sir," Adrien answered cheerfully. "I should think it
is a safe thing. If you are quite all right, I'll get back to the others
now, before the crush begins."
His father nodded, and the young man made his way back to the stand.
Here he found the Castle guests already seated. Harsh cries from the
betting-ring still ascended at intervals, though the majority of the
vast crowd had settled down to watch the race. With a thrill of
pleasure, Adrien saw that Lady Constance had kept a seat vacant for him
beside herself; and with a light word to Lady Merivale as he passed, he
took his place, and unstrapping the heavy field-glasses, arranged them
to Lady Constance's liking.
"Can you see all right?" he asked.
"Beautifully," she replied, as she tried them. "What excitement they are
all in," she added, as she surveyed the seething crowd.
Adrien smiled, pleased because she was pleased; for himself, except that
he wished his horse to win in order that it should gain fresh laurels,
he had no interest in the affair. Certainly he never gave a thought to
the fearful amount of money involved.
Then, amid a murmur of excitement, the starting-gate went up, and the
horses were off. For a while "Miracour" led; "Bluebell" running close
beside him; the "King" striding along in cool, quiet canter that covered
the miles at greater speed than the little mare could hope to maintain.
"There goes the 'King'!" exclaimed Lady Caine, almost rising from her
seat in her excitement. "Oh, I do hope he will win don't you, Mr.
Vermont?"
Jasper smiled.
"I do, indeed," he said, while his little steely eyes rested upon the
shrivelled figure of Peacock, the jockey, with a keen, cold scrutiny.
Meanwhile the horses pounded away over the course, still in the same
order. "Miracour" leading, "Bluebell" falling behind, and the "King"
creeping up easily to the second place.
The first fence placed nearly half the horses out of the running; the
next threw out two more, though the "King" cleared it in his stride, so
close in the wake of his rival that a speck of white foam flecked the
haunches of the leader.
Adrien nodded approvingly.
"That fellow knows how to ride," he said. "If he keeps the 'King' like
that, the race is ours."
"Oh yes," agreed Vermont, smiling grimly; "he understands him,
evidently. It is to be hoped he keeps him cool till the spurt comes."
"Which will be after the last jump," put in Lord Standon, as he shifted
his field-glasses.
"Exactly," purred Jasper.
Hedge after hedge was cleared, and still "Miracour" was leading; but it
was evident that the high blood of the "King" was burning to get away,
and that his jockey was playing a waiting game.
It was at the stream that the strain began to tell. "Bluebell," the
Irish mare, had struggled on gamely; but at the last she refused to
leap, she stopped short, and her jockey was pitched forward into the
water.
A laugh arose even in the midst of the excitement; but it was
speedily drowned in the cries of "The 'King' wins. No! No!
'Miracour!'--'Vicket'--beats. No! No! the 'King'--the 'King's' got
away!"
They were right, for Peacock had thought it wisest to put the spurt on
already, and the "King," with every fibre stretched to its utmost, had
darted ahead. "Miracour" caught up again, and side by side they raced
over the level flat, cheered and shouted at by the frantic crowd.
A roar like that of the sea broke forth as the two animals neared the
last obstacle, a great hedge filled with thorn, and like a miniature
mountain. Neck and neck they seemed to be, when suddenly the "King"
darted forward, and, amid terrific shouts of astonishment, took the leap
too short, fell sideways, and pitched his jockey into the short scrub, a
dozen feet away.
"Miracour" rose for the leap, and clearing it, cantered in the winner by
sixty lengths.
For a moment there was tense silence, broken by a roar of surprise, rage
and disappointment, as the crowd broke away and swarmed over the course
to the spot where the jockey still lay. A murmur of horror had also gone
throughout the length of the grand stand; but whether of disappointment,
or at the fall of the rider, it was hard to say.
All eyes were turned on Adrien. His face was rather pale, but quite
calm, and closing up his field-glasses he said:
"'Miracour' ran finely. I can't understand the 'King' falling at the
last jump. Jasper, let us go down and see if the fellow is hurt."
Making their excuses to the ladies they hurried down the steps, and
strode swiftly over the course, the crowd making way for them in hushed
silence, for they recognised Leroy as the owner of the defeated
favourite.
Reaching the spot from which the crowd was being kept back, they found
two men bending over the little heap of scarlet silk and leather.
Shelton, who had been one of the stewards, looked up as Adrien
approached, and shook his head.
Adrien bent down beside him, and gazed at the thin, shrivelled face of
the jockey.
"Have you sent for a doctor, Shelton?" he asked.
"Yes," replied his friend in a hushed voice. "But I think he will be too
late, his spine----"
At the sound of Adrien's voice, the heavy eyelids raised themselves; the
bloodstained lips parted as if about to speak.
"What is it?" said Shelton, bending closer.
"Where--where is he?" gasped the man in disjointed words. "I
want--to--see him."
"Whom?" asked Mortimer Shelton gently. "Whom do you want to see, my poor
fellow?"
Mr. Vermont pushed his way forward, his face alight with eager sympathy.
"Perhaps I can be of use," he said, "I know him; perhaps he wants to
tell me----"
The jockey raised his head. It seemed as if the soft, smooth voice gave
him strength to speak. He glared at Jasper, then his glance fell on the
pitying face of Leroy. With a sudden light in his eyes, he stretched out
his hand.
"Him--him, the swell--I tell him the race--was--sold! He--Mr.
Vermont----"
His breath came fast in great sobs; he glared from Adrien to Jasper,
then back to Leroy, as if seeking to convey some warning, but in vain;
with the last words, he fell back.
A gentleman pushed his way forward.
"Allow me, I am Doctor Blake," he said, and he knelt down beside the
still form.
"He is dead," he declared solemnly, as he placed his hand on the body.
The crowd fell back still further, with murmurs of horror. There was a
silence, broken at last by Jasper Vermont.
"Dear, dear!" he exclaimed in tones in which, had it not been for the
absurdity of the idea, one might have fancied there was almost a spark
of satisfaction. "How very, very sad. I wouldn't have had this happen
for _anything!_"