"And Germany?" inquired Cartoner, in his low, curt voice.

"Bores me, my friend."

He was pushing his way gently through into the paddock, where a number
of men were congregated, but no ladies.

"The Fatherland," he added, "the heavy Fatherland! I killed a German
once, when I was in the army of the Loire--a most painful business."

He was still shaking his head over this reminiscence when they reached
the gateway of the paddock. He was passing through it when, without
turning towards him, he grasped Cartoner's arm.

"Look!" he said, "look!"

There was a sudden commotion in the well-dressed crowd in the paddock,
and above the gray coats and glossy hats the tossing colors of a jockey.
The head of a startled horse and two gleaming shoes appeared above the
heads of men for a moment. A horse had broken away with its jockey only
half in the saddle.

The throng divided, and dispersed in either direction like sheep before
a dog--all except one man, who, walking with two sticks, could not move
above a snail's pace.

Then, because they were both quick men, with the instincts and a long
practice of action in moments calling for a rapid decision, Deulin and
Cartoner ran forward. But they could not save the catastrophe which
they knew was imminent. The horse advanced with long, wild strides, and