ng for blood.

"Lynch him!" came the roar.

"Pull him off!"

"Trample him!"

"Stick him with this!"

Monkey Brand, who had suddenly come to life, had hold of the winner,
sweating, amiable, entirely unmoved by the pandemonium around, and was
leading him away into the Paddock through the outskirts of the howling
mob.

The crowd was too maddened to pay attention to the little man and his
great charge. Those who were not bent on murdering Chukkers were
absorbed in watching those who were.

Old Mat, trotting at Silver's side, was chuckling and cooing to himself
like a complacent baby, as the pair descended the Grand Stand and made
for the Paddock.

"Yes," he was saying, "my bankers'll be please--very please, they will.
And good cause why. That's a hundud thousand quid, Mr. Silver, in my
pocket--all a-jinglin' and a-tinglin'. 'Ark to em!--like 'erald angels
on the go." He paused, touched the other's arm, and panted huskily:
"Funny thing! A minute since it was in the h'air--ewaporated, as the
sayin' is. Now it's here--froze tight." He slapped his pocket. "Makes
the 'ead to think and the 'eart to rejoice, as the Psalmist said on much
a similar occasion. Only we'd best not tell Mar. Wonderful woman, Mar,
Mr. Silver, and grows all the while more wonderfulerer. Only where it is
is--there it is." He lifted his rogue-eye to the young man's face and
cried in an ecstasy of glee. "Oh, how glorioushly does the wicked
flourish--if only so be they'll keep their eyeballs skinned!"

At the gate the White Hat stopped him.

"So you've got up on 'em again, Mr. Woodburn," he said.
"Congratulations, Mr. Silver."

On the course the pair ran into Monkey Brand, leading the winner home.

"Here, sir!" he cried, seeming excited for the first time in his life.
"All O.K. Bit giddified like. That's all. Take the horse. The Three J's
mean business, I tell ye. I must be moving."

Silver looked up at the little jockey perched aloft upon the brown.

"All right?" he asked keenly.

The other, whose peaked cap was drawn far over his eyes, nodded down
through the tumult, saying no word.

At the moment Jaggers ran past, trying to get at his jockey. Joses,
slobbering at the mouth, was shouting in the trainer's ear.

Both men plunged into the vortex.

"Easy all!" came Jaggers's priest-like voice. "Give him a chance, boys.
We aren't beat yet."

"Win, tie, or wrangle!" muttered Old Mat. "That's the Three J's all
right."

The mounted police