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.