Even Money - By Dick Francis & Felix Francis Page 0,31

muggers don’t like the rain.

Royal Ascot Saturday had become one of our busiest days of the year.

“I’m game,” said Luca.

I looked expectantly at Betsy.

“OK,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll be here.”

“Good,” I said. “And can I expect a thawing of the cold war?”

There was no answer from either of them.

I was getting bored with this game.

“OK,” I said. “New rule number one. No talking, no lift.”

“I’m sorry,” Luca said.

“No problem,” I said.

“Not you, Ned,” he said with irritation. “I’m sorry to Betsy.” He turned to her.

“Oh . . .” Betsy burst into tears, gasping great gulps of air.

She and Luca dissolved into each other’s arms and just stood there, hugging each other, getting wet, like a scene from a romantic film.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I said. “You lovebirds had better get in the backseat while I drive.”

I was quite thankful that Luca didn’t in fact sit in the back with Betsy but up front next to me. I don’t think I could have taken all that lovey-dovey stuff all the way to High Wycombe.

“What do you think that is?” I said to him. I handed over the black plastic object that resembled a television remote that I had put in the door pocket of the Volvo that morning.

He turned the device over and over in his hands. Then he removed the battery-compartment cover.

“Here,” I said, and passed him a pack of batteries I’d bought on my way to the races.

He slid a battery into the housing and was rewarded by the brief flash of red whenever he pushed any of the buttons, just as I had been.

“The light stays on a few moments longer if you press the ENTER button,” I said. He pressed it, and it did. “Do you think it’s a remote for something?”

“Dunno,” he said, still turning the device over and over. “It obviously can’t be for a television or a radio, there’s no volume control. How about a garage-door opener or something?”

“But why the numbers?” I said. “Surely garage-door openers just have one button?”

“How about if they need a code?” he said. “Maybe you need to push 1066 or something and then ENTER.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. “How about these?” I passed him the small plastic bag containing the unbroken grains, along with the one I had crushed.

He poured the tiny items out of the bag onto his hand. Then he held the broken one up in between his thumb and forefinger.

“I assume this one was like the others before you stamped on it?”

“I used a knife, actually,” I said. “And yes, it was. They’re quite easy to break.”

“They’re definitely electronic,” he said.

“Even I can see that,” I replied sarcastically. “But what are they for? They don’t seem to have any connections, and I also know that glass doesn’t conduct electricity, so how do they work?”

“It’s also a bit small to have its own battery,” he said.

“So how does it work?” I asked him.

“If I knew what it did, I’d probably know how it worked.” He continued to study the tiny circuit. “Passive electronics,” he said very quietly, as if to himself.

“What?” I said.

“Passive electronics,” he repeated.

“And what are they when they’re at home?” I said.

He laughed. “Devices with no gain,” he said. “They’re called ‘passive electronic components’ or ‘passive devices.’ ”

“So?” I said, none the wiser.

“Transistors provide gain,” he said. “They can be used as amplifiers to give a signal gain, so, for example, it can drive a speaker in a radio. The signal received by the aerial is very, very small, so, in simple terms, it has to be amplified by a series of transistors in order to drive the speaker so you can hear the music.”

“The higher the volume, the greater the gain?” I said.

“Just so,” he said. “But transistors need a power supply. They must either have a battery or be connected to the mains for them to work, so this little sucker can’t have transistors.” He held up the tiny electrical circuit from the broken grain.

“Passive electronics,” I said.

“You’ve got it,” he said, smiling.

“What are you two on about?” asked Betsy suddenly from the backseat.

“This,” said Luca, carefully handing her one of the unbroken grains.

“Oh, I know what that is,” she said rather condescendingly.

“What?” Luca and I said together.

“It’s a chip for dogs,” she said. “We had one put in our Irish setter last year.”

“What do they do?” I asked over my shoulder.

“They’re for identification,” she said. “They’re injected under the skin using a syringe. We had one put in our dog so