Knock Down - By Dick Francis Page 0,56

no one with him. I left his box, bolted both halves of the door and went along to ninety-two. There I opened the top half of the door and looked inside. No attendant there either, just patient Lot 92 turning an incurious gaze. I opened the bottom half of the door and went in, letting them swing shut behind me. Lot 92 was securely tied by a headcollar to a ring in the wall, but it was too cold for open doors.

The horse was a five-year-old hurdler being sold for a quick profit while he still showed promise of being useful at six. I patted his brown flank, ran my hand down his legs, and took a good close look at his teeth.

When the door opened and closed I paid no especial attention to whatever had come in. It should have been an attendant for the horse or another like me inspecting the goods at close quarters.

It wasn’t.

No instinct made me look up as I let go of the hurdler’s mouth, stroked his nose and stood back for a final appraisal.

I saw only a flash in the air. Felt the thud in my chest. And knew, falling, that the white face of Fynedale was coming forward to finish the job.

13

He had thrown at me like a lance the most lethal of all stable equipment. A pitchfork.

The force behind his arm knocked me off my feet. I lay on my side on the straw with the two sharp prongs embedded and the long wooden handle stretched out in front.

He could see that in spite of a deadly accurate throw and all the hate that went into it he still hadn’t killed me. The glimpse I got of his distorted face convinced me that he intended to put that right.

I knew the pitchfork had gone in, but not how far. I couldn’t feel much. I jerked it out and rolled over and lay on it face down, burying it under me in the straw. He fell on me, pulling, clutching, dragging, trying to get at it, and I simply lay on it like a log, not knowing what else to do.

The door opened again and light poured in from outside. Then a voice shouting. A girl’s voice.

‘Help… Someone help…’

I knew dimly from under the flurry of Fynedale’s exertions that it was Sophie. The troops she mobilised came cautiously to the rescue. ‘I say…’ said a well-bred voice plaintively, and Fynedale took no notice.

‘Here. What’s going on?’

The voice this time was tough and the owner tougher. Hands began to pull Fynedale off me and then others to help him, and when I took my nose out of the straw I could see three men trying to hold on to Fynedale while Fynedale threw them off like pieces of hay.

He crashed out through the door with my rescuers in pursuit, and when I got from my knees to my feet the only audience was Sophie.

‘Thank you,’ I said with feeling.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes… I think so.’

I bent down and picked up the pitchfork.

‘What’s that?’

‘He threw it at me,’ I said.

She looked at the stiletto prongs and shuddered. ‘Good job he missed.’

‘Mm.’ I inspected the two small tears in the front of my anorak. Then I slowly unzipped it and put a hand inside, exploring.

‘He did miss, didn’t he?’ said Sophie, suddenly anxious.

‘Direct hit. Don’t know why I’m not dead.’

I said it lightly and she didn’t believe me, but it was the truth. I could feel the soreness of a tear in my skin and the warm stickiness of blood, but the prongs had not gone through to heart or lungs, and the force with which they’d landed had been enough to get them there.

I smiled idiotically.

‘What is it?’ Sophie asked.

‘Thank the Lord for a dislocating shoulder… The pitchfork hit the strap.’

Unfortunately for Fynedale two policemen in a patrol car had come to the sales on some unrelated errand, but when they saw three men chasing another they caught the fugitive out of habit. Sophie and I arrived to find Fynedale sitting in the police car with one policeman while the other listened to the three chasers saying that if Jonah Dereham wasn’t a hospital case it was because they had saved him.

I didn’t argue with that.

Sophie with unshaken composure told them about the pitchfork, and the policeman, having taken a quick look inside my anorak, told me to go and find a doctor and then come along to the local station to make a