he race than a
butler?"

"You would not think so, Miss Vanrenen, if you knew Tomkinson."

"Where is he butler?" asked Mrs. Devar suavely.

"I forget for the moment, madam," replied Medenham with equal suavity.

The lady waived the retort. She was sure of her ground now.

"In any case, I imagine that both Mr. Deane and this Tomkinson may be
mistaken. I am told that a horse trained locally has a splendid
chance--let me see--yes, here it is: the Honorable Charles Fenton's
Vendetta."

It was well that those bulging steel-gray eyes were bent over the
card, or they could not have failed to catch the flicker of amazement
that swept across Medenham's sun-browned face when he heard the name
of his cousin. He had not been in England a full week as yet, and he
happened not to have read a list of probable starters for the Derby.
He had glanced at the programme during breakfast that morning, but
some remark made by the Earl caused him to lay down the newspaper,
and, when next he picked it up, he became interested in an article on
the Cape to Cairo railway, written by someone who had not the remotest
notion of the difficulties to be surmounted before that very desirable
line can be constructed.

Cynthia, however, was watching him, and she laughed gleefully.

"Ah, Fitzroy, you hadn't heard of Vendetta before," she cried.
"Confess now--your faith in Tomkinson is shaken."

"Vendetta certainly does sound like war to the knife," said he.

"It is twenty to one," purred Mrs. Devar complacently. "I shall risk
the five pounds I won on the first race, and it will be very nice if I
receive a hundred."

"I stick to Old Glory," announced the valiant Cynthia.

"The King for me," declared Medenham, though he realized, without any
knowledge of the merits of the horses engaged, that the Honorable
Charles was not the sort of man to run a three-year-old in the Derby
merely for the sake of seeing his racing colors flashing in the sun.

Mrs. Devar kept to her word, and handed over the five pounds. Cynthia
staked seven, the five she had won and the ten dollars of her original
intent: whereupon Medenham said that he must cross the course and make
these bets in the ring--would the ladies raise any objection to his
absence, as he could not return until after the race? No, they were
quite content to remain in the car, so he repacked the luncheon basket
and left them.

Vendetta won by three lengths.

Medenham had secured twenty-five to one,