“Five to one on the blank things being shut,” he muttered.
He swept round the curve, and there ahead of him he saw the gates grimly closed, and at the lodge door a dismounted groom, standing beside his horse.
Only remarking “Damn!” he reined up, turned, and trotted quietly back again. Presently he met Moggridge, red in the face, muddy as to his trousers, and panting hard.
“Nice little nag this, Moggridge,” he remarked, airily.
“Nice sweat you’ve give me,” rejoined his attendant, wrathfully.
“You don’t mean to say you ran after me?”
“I does mean to say,” Moggridge replied grimly, seizing the reins.
“Want to lead him? Very well—it makes us look quite like the Derby winner coming in.”
“Derby loser you means, thanks to them gates bein’ shut.”
“Gates shut? Were they? I didn’t happen to notice.”