Ah! Stanhope is giving Asmodeus his head now! "Come on, Asmodeus--brave horse!--for the love of heaven, come!" The chestnut is passed; that is good: now another is held and left behind; now another. Asmodeus has forged into the second place, but the winning-post is close at hand, and Don Quixote of the maddening, aggressive gold is still foremost. Curse the gold! It was a brave effort, but it failed, for Don Quixote, too, was capable of a spurt. All but overhauled, the horse seemed to gather his whole strength into that supreme moment. Once more he shot ahead--yellow, huge and grotesque to Mostyn's eyes--and passed the winning-post just a palpable length ahead. It was over: Mostyn had played and lost! He descended from the chair upon which he had been standing, quite forgetting that Isaacson was by his side, and strolled away. The rain beat in his face, his cheeks were dripping with moisture, but it did not occur to him to put up his umbrella. Now and then he collided with someone in the crowd and muttered an apology without looking round. A heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder. He recognised the voice of Sir Roderick. "Mostyn, my boy, this is a knock. I didn't expect it. With Jones up on Don Quixote I thought Asmodeus would win. But look here; you mustn't give in. I've got a plan for you: it isn't a cert, but it'll give you a sporting chance. Now, understand, I'll take no denial. Pollux shall run for you in the Derby--and Pollux is as good a horse as Castor. Come along and we'll talk it over." He led Mostyn away. The latter was still too dazed to understand clearly what had been said to him. CHAPTER XVIII. MOSTYN MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT. It was early afternoon of the first day of the Epsom Summer Meeting. Mostyn had just finished lunch, of which he had partaken in the solitude of his Jermyn Street chambers. He had not been tempted down to Epsom that day, for he had had a hard week's work, and he wished to keep all his strength in reserve for the morrow, the great Derby Day that was to decide his fate. Pollux, of course, was at Epsom, in the charge of Joseph Dean, the trainer who had had the care of him from the first. Pollux was to be ridden by Fred Martin, now completely recovered, who, upon this occasion, would sport the puce and black of Mostyn's colours instead of the scarlet and silver of Sir Roderick's. Never, perhaps, in the history of the great race had so much popular interest been aroused. There was no first favourite, but, instead, there were two horses who would both go to the post with unbroken records, and between which, upon form, there was not a line to choose. As a result, the two horses naturally stood even in the betting; it was two to one against either of them, and there was a considerable drop between this and the betting upon the next horse, Pendragon, who was third in popular estimation.