High stakes - By Dick Francis Page 0,54

go round all the little men putting thousands on, a bit here and a bit there, and all the little men think it’s easy pickings because they think the bad horse can’t win in a month of bleeding Sundays. And then of course it does, and they’re all down the bleeding drain.’

‘They owe Ganser Mays something like the National Debt.’

‘That’s right. And they can’t raise enough bread. So then Mr pious bleeding Mays comes along and says he’ll be kind and take the shop to make up the difference. Which he does.’

‘I thought small bookies were more clued up nowadays,’ I said.

‘You’d bleeding well think so, wouldn’t you? They’ll tell you they are, but they bleeding well aren’t. Oh sure, if they find afterwards there’s been a right fiddle, like, they squeal blue murder and refuse to pay up, but take the money in the first place, of course they do. Like bleeding innocent little lambs.’

‘I don’t think there would be any question of anyone thinking it a fiddle, this time, I said.

‘There you are, then. Quite a few would all of a bleeding sudden be finding they were swallowed up by that smarmy bastard. Just like my poor old boss.’

I reflected for a minute or two. ‘I think it would be better if you stayed in the betting shop until we’re certain which day the horse is going to run. I don’t imagine they would risk letting him loose without backing him, so we must suppose that his first race is IT. But if possible I’d like to be sure. And you might hear something, if you’re still in the shop.’

‘Keep my ears flapping, you mean?’

‘Absolutely. And eyes open.’

‘Philby won’t have nothing on me,’ Bert said.

Charlie stretched out to the makings of the sandwich and assembled a smaller edition for himself.

‘Now, transport,’ I said. ‘I’ve hired all the vehicles we need from a firm in Chiswick. I was there this morning, looking them over. Owen took a Land-Rover and trailer from there to Gatwick to meet Black Fire and ferry him to his stable, and he’s coming back by train. Then there’s the caravan for you, Charlie, and the car to pull it. Tomorrow Owen is driving those to Reading and leaving them in the station car park, again coming back by train. I got two sets of keys for the car and caravan, so I’ll give you yours now.’ I went through to the sittingroom and came back with the small jingling bunch. ‘Whichever day we’re off, you can go down to Reading by train and drive from there.’

‘Fine,’ Charlie said, smiling broadly.

‘The caravan is one they hire out for horse shows and exhibitions and things like that. It’s fitted out as a sort of office. No beds or cookers, just a counter, a couple of desks, and three or four folding chairs. Owen and I will load it with all the things you’ll need before he takes it to Reading.’

‘Great.’

‘Finally there’s the big van for Owen. I’ll bring that here tomorrow and put the shopping in it. Then we should be ready.’

‘Here,’ said Bert. ‘How’s the cash, like?’

‘Do you want some, Bert?’

‘It’s only, well, seeing as how you’re hiring things left right and centre, well, I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to hire a car for me too, like. Because my old banger isn’t all that bleeding reliable, see? I wouldn’t like to miss the fun because of a boiling bleeding radiator or some such.’

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Much safer.’ I went back to the sitting-room, fetched some cash, and gave it to Bert.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘I don’t need that much. What do you think I’m going to hire, a bleeding golden coach?’

‘Keep it anyway.’

He looked at me dubiously. ‘I’m not doing this for bread, mate.’

I felt humbled. ‘Bert… Give me back what you don’t use. Or send it to the Injured Jockeys’ Fund.’

His face lightened. ‘I’ll take my old boss down the boozer a few times. Best bleeding charity there is!’

Charlie finished his sandwich and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief. ‘You won’t forget the sign-writing, will you?’ he said.

‘I did it today,’ I assured him. ‘Want to see?’

We trooped down to the workshop, where various painted pieces of the enterprise were standing around drying.

‘Blimey,’ Bert said. ‘They look bleeding real.’

‘They’d have to be,’ Charlie nodded.

‘Here,’ Bert said, ‘seeing these makes it seem, well, if it’s all going to happen.’

Charlie went home to a bridge-playing wife in an opulent detached in Surrey and Bert to the