Then she heard Rupert catch his breath, she saw his face change colour, grow deadly white. The paper began to shiver and tremble between his hands. She looked at the stop press news. She saw the result:
Paulus first, Ambuscade second—then in huge black type underneath: OBJECTION!
"The stewards objected to the winner for bumping and not keeping a straight course. An enquiry was held and Paulus was disqualified. The outsider, Ambuscade, is therefore the winner. The starting price is a hundred to one."
Rupert crunched the paper in his hands, and staggering forward fell into the chair in front of the writing-table. He stretched his arms out, sweeping off the litter of papers, and his head fell forward between his hands.
Ruby bent over him and tried to raise him. "Rupert—perhaps it's not true. Rupert!"
She lifted him up, but he fell back into the chair half fainting. Putting her arms around him she dragged him into the bedroom, and laying him on the bed loosened his collar. She found some brandy and forced a little between his lips. Then she sat beside him, holding his hand tightly. Presently the colour returned to his cheeks, his eyes opened. He lay quite still, staring at the ceiling.
"It'll be all right," she whispered. "It'll all come right, Rupert. I—I love you, dear, I'll help you. It'll all come right."
The muscles of his face twitched convulsively. "Leave me," he whispered. "For pity's sake leave me for a little while."
Drawing down the blind, she crept out of the room and shut the door behind her. She heard someone coming up the stairs—the landlady bringing tea. Stooping down she commenced to pick up the papers scattered on the floor. Among them she found the cheque Rupert had received that morning from his father, the cheque drawn by Reginald Crichton. She looked at it curiously, a sudden instinct telling her how much that little sum meant to the old father who had sent it.
Five pounds! Scarcely the value of the hat she wore. Folding it up she slipped it into her gloved hand, then sat down at the writing-table waiting until the landlady left the room. She had a few pounds in her purse which she had drawn over Paulus before the objection was made. A few pounds in the Post Office Savings-bank. Between them they might collect twenty or thirty pounds: and Rupert confessed to owing a hundred or two. That might mean five hundred—the price of his father's honour and happiness, his little sister, the house, everything.