"What! You would do such a thing!"

"It depends on you, Kitty, and on you alone. Be my friend--I know you cannot, perhaps, love me all at once, but be my friend; in our circ.u.mstances surely this is not much to ask from you."

"What would you have me do?"

"Wish me luck, Kitty--that's a very little thing!"

"I have always heard, Mr. Bennet," the girl said, looking at him steadily, "that this racing is your ruin."

"Oh, you preach, do you!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Bennet, with a scowl, and, without another word, turned on his heel and left her, while Kitty bitterly asked herself if her sacrifice was to go for nothing.

An hour or two later, Bennet was at Doncaster, in close confabulation with Bob Deans, the jockey who was to ride Go Nap.

"You understand thoroughly?" inquired Bennet, as he was going back to his hotel.

"Yes, guv'nor, I understand perfectly," replied the jockey. "You can depend on me."

But Bob Deans made a face behind the other's back.

"He's a daisy," he said to himself, "that's what he is!"

The first day of the Doncaster September meeting pa.s.sed by without special incident. Bennet had several bets on the different events, but at the end his book nearly balanced; it was a trifle against him.

"It will be all right to-morrow," he said to an acquaintance, with whom he was discussing the fortunes of the day. "I expect that Go Nap will pull me through handsomely."

"You believe he'll win?"

"I feel absolutely confident of it," said Bennet, with emphasis.

"You are not alone in that," remarked the other. "I noticed your horse is going up in the betting; it now stands at five to one against; a few days ago it was ten to one."

Bennet smiled; indeed, his face showed every sign of pleasure.

"You might do worse," said he, "than put a bit on him."

"Yes, I think I shall," responded the other; "it looks pretty good."

And to all whom he met Bennet spoke well of his horse, and took any small bets that were offered, but, contrary to his usual practice, he would not risk any large sum. And all the while, secretly, through agents he thought he could trust, he was laying heavily against Go Nap, until he stood to win 20,000 if the horse _lost_.

Bright sunshine, a cool breeze, and a perfect track combined to make the second day of the races peculiarly enjoyable to the devotees of the turf. The race in which Bennet's horse was to run was the third on the list. The fine appearance of the animal that morning as he went for a short gallop had gained for him many supporters, and an immense amount of money was forthcoming on him, with the result that he farther improved his position in the betting. When the flag fell, the price was only three to two against him.

To the huge delight of his backers, Go Nap won easily. Taking the lead from the start, he was never seriously challenged, and reached the post "with plenty to spare."

Bennet, who was watching the race from one of the stands, had followed his horse from start to finish with anxious eyes. He had given Bob Deans certain instructions, and he believed they would be obeyed implicitly by the jockey. Bennet saw the horse leading at the beginning. That was nothing, he said to himself, as Deans knew what to do, and was the best judge of when to do it. But as Go Nap sailed along steadily in front, apparently without effort, Bennet commenced to see the race as through a mist. When his horse won, and his friends were offering him their congratulations, he could scarcely speak for rage. His pa.s.sion completely blinded him to the impolicy of his behaviour, and everything that was worst in the man came to the surface. Hardly noticing what was said to him, he rushed from the stand.

"He takes it queerly," said a bystander.

"His head's a bit turned, though that's perhaps not to be wondered at,"

said a second.

As for Bennet, he literally saw red.

"Deans has sold me!" was the savage cry in his heart.

Thrusting those aside who happened to be in his path, he made his way to the jockey, who saw him coming. Bob Deans viewed with alarm the fury and despair in Bennet's face, and turned to run away, but with two or three quick bounds Bennet was upon him.

Grasping the jockey by the shoulder, Bennet, who had utterly lost control of himself, and was wholly blind to consequences, shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. Bennet was a tall, athletic man, and the tiny figure of Bob Deans was as nothing to him.

Instantly several of those standing about tried to interfere and separate the two men.

But Bennet, who was now to all intents and purposes a madman, shook them off fiercely, without letting go his hold on Deans.

"Leave me alone," the jockey spluttered, "or I'll give you away! Let me go!"

"Let you go, you hound!" cried Bennet in a terrible voice, and, his face hideously distorted, he shouted, "By ----, I'll kill you!"

The onlookers again strove to pull the two men apart, and succeeded sufficiently for Bob Deans to cry so that every one heard him--

"He wished me to pull the horse; he offered me a big bribe, but I would do nothing crooked."

Bennet heard the words as well as the others.

Putting forth all his strength, and quite beside himself, he sprang forward with uplifted fist, and catching the unfortunate jockey a frightful blow under the chin, felled him to the ground.

Many now ran up to the group. Bob Deans was a popular jockey, and the victory of Go Nap had been popular. Soon there was a great crowd.

A short examination showed that Bob Deans was dead.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The little jockey had ridden his last race!

The blow which had struck him down had been delivered by one who had been a first-cla.s.s athlete, and who was still in splendid physical condition. There had been the stark madness, too, of blind rage behind Bennet's arm, and the blow had proved fatal.

When the truth was known, there instantly was a great commotion. Bennet made no effort to get away; if he had attempted to fly he would not have succeeded, for he was ringed round by hostile and stern faces that plainly spoke of vengeance. In a moment more hands were laid upon him by those of the crowd nearest him, but he offered no resistance. Instead, he stood staring at the motionless body of his victim, and appeared not to realize what he had done, and the position in which his act had placed him.

Suddenly from somewhere in the crowd a loud cry went up of "Murder!

Murder!"

The cry seemed to break the fit of stupor in which Bennet was, for his face was seen to quiver, while a shudder shook his frame.

"What have I done? What have I done?" he said, as if he had just become conscious of the deed he had committed.

"You have killed him," replied one of those standing by.