Part 16 (1/2)

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 knocked the crippled old man over as if he were a ninepin. He came on at a gallop now, the jockey leaning forward and trying to catch a broken bridle, his two stirrups flying, his cap off. The little man was swearing in English. And he had need to, for through the paddock gate the crowd was densely packed and he was charging into it on a maddened horse beyond control.

Deulin was nearer, and therefore the first to get to the horse; but Cartoner's greater weight came an instant later, and the horse's head was down.

”Let go! let go!” cried the jockey through his teeth, as Cartoner and Deulin, one on each side, crammed the stirrups over his feet. ”Let go!

I'll teach him!”

And they obeyed him, for the horse interested them less than the Prince Bukaty, lying half-stunned on the turf. They were both at his side in a moment and saw him open his eyes.

”I am unhurt,” he said. ”Help me up. No! sh--h! No, nothing is broken; it is that confounded gout. No, I cannot rise yet! Leave me for a minute. Go, one of you, and tell Wanda that I am unhurt. She is in box No. 18, in the grand-stand.”

He spoke in French, to Deulin more particularly.

”Go and tell her,” said the Frenchman, over his shoulder, in English.

”Some busy fool has probably started off by this time to tell her that her father is killed. You will find us in the club-house when you come back.”

So Cartoner went to the grand-stand to seek Wanda there, in the face of all Warsaw, with his promise to avoid her still fresh in his memory. As he approached he saw her in the second tier of boxes. She was dressed in black and white, as she nearly always was. It was only the Russians and the Germans who wore gay colors. He could see the surprise on her face and in Martin's eyes as he approached, and knew that there were a hundred eyes watching him, a hundred ears waiting to catch his words when he spoke.

”Princess,” he said, ”the prince has had a slight accident, and has sent me to tell you that he is unhurt, in case you should hear any report to the contrary. He was unable to avoid a fractious horse, and was knocked down. Mr. Deulin is with him, and they have gone to the club pavilion.”

He spoke rather slowly in French, so that all within ear-shot could understand and repeat.

”Shall we go to him?” asked Wanda, rising.

”Only to satisfy yourself. I a.s.sure you he is unhurt, princess, and would come himself were he able to walk.”

Wanda rose, and turned to take her cloak from the back of her chair.

”Will you take us to him, monsieur?” she said.

And the three quitted the grand-stand together in a rather formal silence. The next race was about to start, and the lawn, with its forlorn, autumnal flower-beds, was less crowded now as they walked along it towards the paddock.

”It was very good of you to come and tell us,” said Martin, in English, ”with the whole populace looking on. It will do you no good, you know, to do a kindness to people under a cloud. I suppose it was true what you said about the prince being unhurt?”

”Almost,” answered Cartoner. ”He is rather badly shaken. I think you will find it necessary to go home, but there is no need for anxiety.”

”Oh no!” exclaimed Martin. ”He is a tough old fellow. You cannot come in here, you know, Wanda. It is against the Jockey Club laws, even in case of accidents.”

He stood at the gate of the club enclosure as he spoke.

”Wait here,” he said, ”with Cartoner, and I will be back in a few minutes.”

So Cartoner and Wanda were left in the now deserted paddock, while the distant roar of voices announced that the start for the next race had been successfully accomplished.

Wanda looked rather anxiously towards the little square pavilion into which her brother was hurrying, and Cartoner only looked at Wanda. He waited till she should speak, and she did not appear to have anything to say at that moment. Perhaps in this one case that clear understanding of which she was such a p.r.o.nounced advocate was only to be compa.s.sed by silence, and not by speech. The roar of voices behind them came nearer and nearer as the horses approached the winning-post. The members of the club stood rigid beneath the pavilion awning, some with field-gla.s.ses, others with knitted brows and glittering eyes. All eyes were turned in one direction, except Wanda's and Cartoner's.