He had been speaking so volubly that Mostyn had not been able to get a word in. Now, once more, and with all the patience he could muster, he sought to convince the angry jockey that he was quite innocent of the offence with which he was charged. But argument was futile, as he quickly found out. Wilson was convinced that he had Mostyn to thank for what had happened.
It was some time before Mostyn could throw off his adversary, and it was only with renewed threats of vengeance, and because he saw no less a person than Mr. Isaacson himself approaching, in the company of Sir Roderick Macphane, that Wilson at last took himself off, and disappeared in the direction of the nearest bar.
Mostyn reflected that he had another enemy to contend with, and one who was even more likely than Jack Treves to hit below the belt. Luckily, Asmodeus was quite safe in the charge of Stanhope, and Mostyn could not conceive of any other way by which he could be damaged; this since he was not afraid of personal attack. He did not worry himself, therefore, when, later in the day, he saw Wilson in the company of Jack, and realised that the jockey had spoken the truth when he mentioned Treves as his friend.
Mostyn looked up in response to a hearty slap on the back, and found himself confronted by the smiling face of Sir Roderick Macphane. It was a pleasure after the scowls with which he had been met that day to look upon the genial face of the old baronet. Behind Sir Roderick stood a tall man, of Jewish cast of features, whom Mostyn recognised at once, though he had never met the man, as David Isaacson, the owner of Don Quixote.
"Mr. Isaacson wished to be introduced to you, Mostyn," Sir Roderick said, "and so, as I caught sight of you ten minutes ago, I brought him up. You are opponents to-day, of course, but that's no reason why two sportsmen shouldn't know each other. I won't wish good luck to the best man," he added heartily, "but to the best horse, and as matters stand, it promises to be a good race."
The Jew extended his hand to Mostyn and smiled, showing a straight row of white teeth. He was not ill-looking, and there was very little to suggest the hardness with which he had been accredited as a money-lender. It was a little surprising to find him on such good terms with Sir Roderick, but then "Old Rory" was "hail fellow well met" with all the world.
"It's even money on the horses," Isaacson remarked; "I don't suppose one stands a better chance than the other." He turned to Mostyn, scrutinising him rather closely. His voice was not unpleasant, though it possessed the Jewish rasp. "You know, of course," he continued, "that I had to dismiss my jockey, Wilson, at a moment's notice this morning, and that I've put up Jones in his place. Jones is a smart man, but, of course, the handicap is a pretty severe one. You see, Mr. Clithero, I have reasons to believe that Wilson wished to pull my horse so that yours might win. I got my knowledge in rather a roundabout way. It appears that someone has backed Asmodeus pretty heavily, and when this person found that Don Quixote was the favourite he approached Wilson and offered to pay him to pull the horse. I understand that Wilson had consented to do so; so, as you may imagine, I fired him this morning, and I shall probably place the whole matter before the stewards. It was the intermediary who acted between the backer and Wilson who gave the story away to one of my own men, and that's how it came out. It's bad luck on me," he added, "but I shan't grudge you the race, Mr. Clithero, if luck comes your way."
Mostyn saw how it was. "The little skunk!" he muttered to himself as he thought of Wilson. "He was going to pull the horse whatever happened, but thought he might make a bit more out of me at the same time. But he over-reached himself, and has been given away by one of his pals. And he'll never believe that I didn't betray him; he'll loathe me none the less if the truth comes out."
Sir Roderick had a luncheon party that day, holding, as usual, open house to all the friends he might happen to meet. Here, among smiling, happy faces, Mostyn forgot some of his troubles of the morning; moreover, he was keenly excited about the race, for it seemed, indeed, that Asmodeus stood an excellent chance of winning. Don Quixote had naturally gone down in the betting.
Sir Roderick was keenly interested, and discussed the whole matter with the young man.