"Where--where is he?" gasped the man in disjointed words. "I want--to--see him."
"Whom?" asked Mortimer Shelton gently. "Whom do you want to see, my poor fellow?"
Mr. Vermont pushed his way forward, his face alight with eager sympathy.
"Perhaps I can be of use," he said, "I know him; perhaps he wants to tell me----"
The jockey raised his head. It seemed as if the soft, smooth voice gave him strength to speak. He glared at Jasper, then his glance fell on the pitying face of Leroy. With a sudden light in his eyes, he stretched out his hand.
"Him--him, the swell--I tell him the race--was--sold! He--Mr. Vermont----"
His breath came fast in great sobs; he glared from Adrien to Jasper, then back to Leroy, as if seeking to convey some warning, but in vain; with the last words, he fell back.
A gentleman pushed his way forward.
"Allow me, I am Doctor Blake," he said, and he knelt down beside the still form.
"He is dead," he declared solemnly, as he placed his hand on the body.