"What's a horse--even the best--beside the loss of an honest life like that ?" and flung out a shaking hand in the direction of dead Logan.
"It will be the story of last night over again, of course?
You heard his scream, heard his fall, but he was dead when you got to him--dead--and you found no one here ?" "Not a soul, Sir Henry.

The doors were all locked; no grille is missing from any window; no one is in the loft; no one in any of the stalls; no one in any crook or corner of the place." "Send for the constable--the justice of the peace--anybody!" chimed in the Rev.Ambrose Smeer at this.

"Henry, will you never be warned, never take these awful lessons to heart?
This sinful practice of racing horses for money--" "Oh, hush, hush! Don't preach me a sermon now, uncle," interposed Sir Henry.

"My heart's torn, my mind crazed by this abominable thing.

Poor old Logan! Poor, faithful old chap! Oh!" He whirled and looked over at Cleek, who still stood inactive, staring at the flour-dusted floor.