“Well, this here’s the same strain. There was an English mare come to this country a hundred years ago. Her name was Willoughby Girl. Ever hear of her?”
“Yes, I have heard of Willoughby Girl,” said Vane quietly.
Jard Hassock leaned nearer to the stranger, shoulder to shoulder.
“There’s her blood in this here filly,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you about it. It’s a queer story, an’ a bit of history—— Hark!” he said. “Was that Liza hollerin’?”
It was Liza, beyond a doubt; and Jard left the stable to see what she wanted of him. He was back in half a minute.
“It’s Joe Hinch come over from McPhee’s to thank you for the good work you done last night,” he informed Vane.
“That was nothing,” said Vane. “I just happened to be Johnny-on-the-spot, that’s all.”
“You best come along in with me, anyhow,” returned Jard. “It’ll be best for you an’ best for me, mister—for Liza told me to fetch you.”
Vane went. In the big kitchen they found Miss Hassock and a young woman. Vane doffed his cap and glanced around, but failed to see anything of the lad he had dragged out of bed. His glance returned inquiringly to the faces of Liza and the young woman.
“Joe, this is the gent who saved your precious life last night,” said Jard. “Meet Mr. Vane.”