The man held out his bandaged hand; the old sailor took it in his big, horny palm tenderly, pressing it gently.
"The other one," he said.
The man held out his other hand.
"I'm glad I've held 'em both, the hands that strangled that cursed hound. Come along with me. I'll see yer safe, never fear. There's not a man jack of 'em in Torquay or Princetown, or anywhere, would ever suspect old Brack of harboring a—gentleman."
Without a word the man went with him. As he walked at the honest Brack's side he thought: "My prayer has been answered."
CHAPTER V
PICTON'S WINNING MOUNTS
IT was Easter Monday, and a holiday crowd gathered on the slopes of Petitor racecourse at St. Mary Church. More than usual interest was shown in the meeting owing to the presence of Picton Woodridge, whose fame as a gentleman rider was well-known. Dick Langford was popular and the success of the pink jacket eagerly anticipated.
Petitor is not an ideal course; it is on the slope of a hill, and a queer country to get over, but some interesting sport is seen and the local people take a pride in it; as a golf links it is admirable.