"Let me go!" The girl struggled free. They were surrounded by a crowd, and the man was helpless. "If you dare to try and hold me, I'll strike you. Yes, here before everyone--I'll strike you with my fist in the face." Jack swore under his breath. He hurled vile oaths at the girl, but he was powerless. As a cheer from the crowd proclaimed that Castor was galloping down the course, Rada, his owner, darting in and out wildly and ingloriously among vehicles of all kinds, sought the coach. She failed to find it, but she ran into the arms of Pierce Trelawny, which was more to the point. "Miss Armitage---why, what is the matter?" "I want you to come with me, Mr. Trelawny." She was gasping for breath. "You must come at once. I must see the stewards. There isn't a moment to be lost." It was very evident, from the girl's demeanour, that the matter was one of vital importance. Pierce asked no useless questions, but placed himself unreservedly at Rada's disposition. He contrived to steer her, though not without difficulty, to the other side, and directed their course to the Grand Stand. "There's going to be foul play," Rada panted as they walked. "Pollux is to be got at--I don't know how." "And you will warn the stewards?" She made no direct reply, but muttered something under her breath. Pierce could not quite distinguish the words, but he thought he heard: "Castor will win--Castor is bound to win." * * * * * * Upon the coach they wondered what had become of Rada, but assumed that she was with Pierce Trelawny, watching the race from the other side. She would want to be upon the spot to lead her horse in--if Castor should prove victorious. The start was delayed longer than usual, owing to the vagaries of a bad-tempered colt. Sir Roderick, gazing through his field-glasses, stamped his feet with excitement. "They're off!" he shouted at last, and for the rest of the race he kept up a running commentary of the principal events. "Bad-tempered beast that--Prince Eugene--wasn't it? He's no good--not a bit of good. Won't be in it. Being left behind already, unless I'm mistaken. The rest are coming along nicely. Can't make out either of the favourites, though--they're too far off as yet. Who's that forging ahead? Green sleeves, and yellow, I fancy. It must be Candahar. He won't keep up that pace for long. Going well, though. Ah, here comes another--level with him now! Goliath, by Jove! Where the deuce are the favourites?" He swept the field with his glasses, and presently gave vent to a shout. "Come along, Pollux!" He glanced down in sudden trepidation. "Oh, it's all right! Miss Armitage isn't there. I may cheer my own horse. Come along, Pollux!"