Then the bay began to close in.

Chukkers turned and screamed over his shoulder.  Rushton on Jackaroo still two lengths in front looked round and saw he could do nothing.

Little Boy Braithwaite, who had at last recovered his seat, came up like thunder on the quarters of the mare.  The lad drove the filly at the loose horse and rammed him in the flank.

A groan went up from the assembled thousands.

“Good boy!” roared the Americans.

“Dead boy, ye mean,” muttered Old Mat.  “He’s got it.”

Horse and boy went down together in headlong ruin.  Flibberty-gibbet rose with difficulty and limped away with broken leg and nodding head.  The boy rolled over on his face and lay still under the heavens, his canary jacket like a blob of mustard on the green.

The women in the crowd caught their breath.

“Yes, he’s done,” muttered Mat, “Saved the Three J’s a quarter of a million, though.”

“But she’s through,” commented Silver.

“Don’t you believe it,” grumbled the old man.

The sacrifice, indeed, seemed to have been in vain.  Kingfisher staggered under the shock, recovered, and came sailing up once more, as it might have been deliberately, alongside the mare.

Chukkers leaned far out and slashed the oncoming bay across the face; and the crowds on the Embankment and in the saloon-carriages on the railway heard distinctly the swish-swish of the falling whip.

A groan of satisfaction went up from the taut onlookers.  Chukkers’s action had cleared him.  Indeed he had killed two birds with one stone, and nearly a third.  Kingfisher shied away over the course and crossed the path of Gee-Woa, who was going steady on the right.  Both horses went down.  Surging along behind the Yorkshireman, calm and unconcerned by the flurry and rush and confusion in front, came a great brown horse, the last of the galloping rout.  He flew the ruin of men and horses broadcast before him on the grass, bounced twice, as Old Mat said, and cleared the fence in front with a foot to spare.

“Double!” roared the crowd, applauding horse and horseman alike.

Jim Silver sighed.

“Nearly bounced you, Mr. Woodburn,” said the White Hat in front.  “That lad of yours can ride.”

“Bounce is the boy,” answered the old man.  “Nothing like it.  Now there’s more room.”

“Where’s Miss Woodburn?” asked the garrulous White Hat.

“In heaven, my lord, I ’opes,” answered the other, wiping his eye.

The old gentleman looked foolish and made a face.

“Oh, dear.  I’m sorry.  I hadn’t heard.”

“No ’arm done, sir,” replied the trainer gently.  “These things will ’appen.  Seems we’re most of us mortal when our time comes.”  He adjusted his glasses.  “Yes.  Mare’s through now.  Layin’ down to it nice.”

Indeed, the troubles of the favourite were over for the present.  Either Jackaroo was coming back to her, or she was coming up with the old horse.  The star-spangled jacket and the purple and gold were together, the mare lying between the rails and her stable-companion.