The excitement caused over the two thousand pound wager was intense, and on Saturday night the building was crammed to suffocation.

Sam Wimpole had the horse in readiness, saddled and bridled, as it would have been impossible to do this in the ring. The horse was in a savage mood. Since morning he had gradually grown worse. Just before the performance was to commence he was in a perfect fury, lashing out, and biting at his tormentors.

Sam Wimpole watched him with a peculiar smile. When Craig Bellshaw came to look at Lion, as they named him, Sam cautioned him not to go near.

"Have you done it?" asked Bellshaw in a whisper.

"Yes, gave him an injection an hour ago. He's had three. I'll give him another before he goes into the ring; it will drive him almost mad. I wouldn't mount him for a thousand pounds."

"I shouldn't like to try you," said Bellshaw.

"I wouldn't really. What's a thousand pounds against your life?"

"Is it as bad as that?"

"Quite."

Bellshaw's smile was ugly. In imagination he saw Glen Leigh stretched out a crushed and battered mass.