With Broadhurst, who was waiting for us, we lounged across the field in the direction of the stables. There was no doubt about it, Lady Lee was not in prime condition. It was not that there was anything markedly wrong, but to the trained observer the famous race-horse seemed to lack just a trifle of the élan which meant a win.
While Murchie and the jockey were talking outside to Broadhurst, Kennedy slipped into the stall to look at the racer.
"Stand over by that side of the door, Walter," he muttered. "I'll be through in just a minute. I want you to act as a cover."
Quickly he jabbed the hypodermic into the horse and pressed down the plunger.
Lady Lee reared and snorted as she had done before when he extracted the blood, and instantly Murchie and McGee were crowding past me. But the instant had been long enough for Kennedy. He had dropped the hypodermic into his pocket and was endeavoring to soothe the horse.
"I guess she's not very much used to strangers," he remarked coolly. No one thought any more of it, apparently.
A few minutes later, Broadhurst rejoined Kennedy and myself. I could see that his face showed plainly he was greatly worried.
"I don't understand it," he kept repeating. "And what is worse, the news seems to have leaked out that Lady Lee isn't fit. The odds are going up."
Kennedy looked at him fixedly a moment.
"If you want to win this race, Mr. Broadhurst," he remarked in a low tone, "I should advise you to watch Lady Lee every minute from now until the start."