Tilbury dropped back to seven to two, and Hill Billy stayed solid at two and a half. Just before the "off" Mr. Mackintyre shouted, "Six to one, Rickaway," and had the satisfaction of seeing the odds go down before the recorder closed his notebook.
He mopped his brow, and found Mr. Lesbon beside him.
"I wired off five hundred pounds to ten different offices," said Lesbon. "A little more of this and I'll be moving into Park Lane. When the girl came to see me I nearly fainted. What does that man Templar take us for?"
"I don't know," said Mr. Mackintyre phlegmatically.
A general bellow from the crowd announced the "off," and Mr. Mackintyre mounted his stool and watched the race through his field-glasses.
"Tilbury's jumped off in front; Hill Billy's third, and Rickaway's going well on the outside… Rickaway's moving up, and Hill Billy's on a tight rein… Hill Billy's gone up to second. The rest of the field's packed behind, but they don't look like springing any surprises… Tilbury's finished. He's falling back. Hill Billy leads, Mandrake running second, Rickaway half a length behind with plenty in hand… Penterham's using the whip, and Rickaway's picking up. He's level with Mandrake — no, he's got it by a short head. Hill Billy's a length in front, and they're putting everything in for the finish."
The roar of the crowd grew louder as the field entered the last furlong. Mackintyre raised his voice.
"Mandrake's out of it, and Rickaway's coming up! Hill Billy's flat out with Rickaway's nose at his saddle… Hill Billy's making a race of it. It's neck-and-neck now. Penterham left it a bit late. Rickaway's gaining slowly —"
The yelling of the crowd rose to a final crescendo, and suddenly died away. Mr. Mackintyre dropped his glasses and stepped down from his perch.
"Well," he said comfortably,"that's three thousand pounds."