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'But I like this gorgeous creature coming round now,' said Kate, looking at a bay with an arched back and high head carriage. Most of his body was covered by a rug to keep out the February cold, but at the back his glossy rump swelled roundly.

'He's much too fat,' said Dane. 'He probably ate his head off during the snow and hasn't had enough exercise since. He'll blow up when he's asked to do anything.'

Kate sighed. 'Horses appear to be as full of paradoxes as G. K. Chesterton. The duds look good, and good looks duds.'

'Not always,' said Dane and I together.

'I shall be glad,' said Dane, 'to give you a prolonged course in racehorse recognition, Miss Ellery-Penn.'

'I am a slow learner, Mr Hillman.'

'All the better,' said Dane, cheerfully.

'Aren't you riding today, Dane?' I asked hopefully.

'In the last two, my lad. Don't worry, I shall be able to look after Miss Ellery-Penn for you while you ride her horse.' He grinned.

'Are you a jockey too, Mr Hillman?' asked Kate in a surprised voice.

'Yes,' said Dane, and left it at that. He was the rising star of the profession, clearly heading straight to the top. Pete Gregory had first claim on him, which, apart from natural affinity, brought us together a good deal. Strangers often mistook us for each other. We were the same age, both dark, both of middle height and medium build. On horseback the difference was greater; he was a better jockey than I would ever be.

'I thought all jockeys were instantly recognizable as having come straight from Lilliput,' said Kate, 'but you two are quite a decent size.' She had to look up to both of us, although she was tall enough herself.

We laughed. I said, 'Steeplechasing jockeys are nearly all a decent size. It's easier to stick on over big fences if you have long legs to grip with.'

'Several of the Flat chaps are as tall as us, too,' said Dane. 'But they are very skinny, of course.'

'All my illusions are being shattered,' said Kate.

Dane said, 'I like your new horse, Alan. He'll make a good 'chaser next year.'

'Are you riding your own horses today, too?' Kate asked Dane.

'No, I'm not. I haven't any,' said Dane. 'I'm a professional, so I'm not allowed to own racehorses.'

'A professional?' Kate's eyebrows went up. She had clearly taken in the superlative tailoring of the suit under the short camel overcoat, the pleasant voice, the gentle manners. Another illusion was being shattered, I was amused to see.

'Yes. I ride for my life,' said Dane, smiling. 'Unlike Alan, I haven't a stinking rich father. But I get paid for doing what I like best in the world. It's a very satisfactory state of affairs.'

Kate looked carefully from one to the other of us. 'Perhaps in time I shall understand what makes you want to risk your elegant necks,' she said.

'When you find out, please tell us,' said Dane. 'It's still a mystery to me.'

We wandered back to the stands and watched the third race. The poor-looking horse won in a canter by twenty lengths. Kate's fancy was tailed-off after a mile and refused at the third last fence.

'Don't imagine that we always know what's going to win,' said Dane. 'Jockeys are bad tipsters. But that one was a cert, a dead cert.'

A dead cert. The casual, everyday racing expression jabbed in my mind like a needle. Bill Davidson's attacker had relied on Admiral's being a certainty. A dead cert. Dead-

Kate's horse, for a pig in a poke, was not as bad as I feared. At the second fence he put in a short one and screwed in mid-air. I came clear out of the saddle and landed back in it more by luck than judgement. This was obviously the trick which had rid Heaven's Above of his former jockey, who now had all my sympathy. He did it again at the third open ditch, but the rest of our journey was uneventful. The horse even found an unsuspected turn of foot up the hill and, passing several tired animals, ran on into fourth place.

Kate was delighted.

'Bless Uncle George for a brainwave,' she said. 'I've never had such a happy day in my life.'

'I thought you were coming off at the second, Alan,' said Pete Gregory, as I undid the girth buckles.

'So did I,' I said, feelingly. 'It was sheer luck I didn't.'

Pete watched the way Heavens Above was breathing: the ribs were moving in and out a good deal, but not labouring. He said, 'He's remarkably fit, considering everything. I think we'll win a race or two with him before the end of the season.'

'Can't we all go and celebrate with the odd magnum?' asked Kate. Her eyes were shining with excitement.

Pete laughed. 'Wait till you have a winner, for the magnum,' he said. 'I'd like to have drunk a more modest toast to the future with you, though, but I've a runner in the next. Alan will take you, no doubt.' He looked at me sideways, very amused still at my complete surrender to the charm of Miss Ellery-Penn.

'Will you wait for me, Kate?' I asked. 'I have to go and weigh in now, because we were fourth. I'll change and be out as quickly as I can.'

'I'll come down outside the weighing room,' promised Kate, nodding.

I weighed in, gave my saddle to Clem, washed, and changed back into ordinary clothes. Kate was waiting outside the weighing-room, looking at a group of girls standing near her chatting.

'Who are they?' asked Kate. They have been here all the time I have, just doing nothing.'

'Jockeys' wives, mostly,' I said, grinning. 'Waiting outside the weighing room is their chief occupation.'

'And jockeys' girl friends too, I suppose,' said Kate, wryly.

'Yes,' I said. 'And I've just found out how nice it is to know there is someone waiting for you outside.'

We went round to the bar, and settled for two cups of coffee.

'Uncle George will be shattered to hear we drank to Heavens Above so non-alcoholically,' said Kate. 'Don't grain and grapes figure in your life?'

'Oh, yes, of course. But I've never got used to them at three o'clock in the afternoon. How about you?'

'Champers for breakfast is my passion,' said Kate, with smiling eyes.

I asked her then if she would spend the evening with me, but she said she could not. Aunt Deb, it appeared, was having a dinner party, and Uncle George would be agog to hear how the birthday present had got on.

'Tomorrow, then?'

Kate hesitated and looked down at her glass. 'I'm- er- I'm going out with Dane, tomorrow.'

'Blast him,' I said, exploding.

Kate positively giggled.

'Friday?' I suggested.

'That will be lovely,' said Kate.

We went up to the stands and watched Dane win the fifth race by a short head. Kate cheered him home uninhibitedly.

CHAPTER FIVE

A battle was raging in the car park. I walked out to the gate to go home after the last race, and came to a dead stop. In the open space between the gate and the first rank of parked cars, at least twenty men were fighting, and fighting to hurt. Even at first glance there was a vicious quality about the strictly non-Queensberry type blows.

It was astounding. Scuffles between two or three men are common on racecourses, but a clash of this size and seriousness had to be caused by more than a disagreement over a bet.

I looked closer. There was no doubt about it. Some of the men were wearing brass knuckles. A length of bicycle chain swung briefly in the air. The two men nearest to me were lying on the ground, almost motionless, but rigid with exertion, as if locked in some strange native ritual. The fingers of one were clamped round the wrist of the other, whose hand held a knife with a sharp three-inch blade. Not long enough to be readily lethal, it was designed to rip and disfigure.

There seemed to be two fairly equally matched sides fighting each other, but one could not distinguish which was which. The man with the knife, who was slowly getting the worst of it, I saw to be little more than a boy; but most of the men were in their full strength. The only older-looking fighter was on his knees in the centre with his arms folded over his head, while the fight raged on around him.