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.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122