beginning to stiffen. My solar plexus and adjacent areas felt like Henry Cooper’s opponents on the morning after.
‘Did you know,’ I said to Annie Villars conversationally, ‘that two men just had a go at beating up Kenny Bayst?’
If she felt any compassion she controlled it admirably. ‘Is he badly hurt?’
‘An uncomfortable night should see him through.’
‘Well then… I dare say he deserved it.’
‘What for?’
She gave me a direct stare ‘You aren’t deaf.’
I shrugged: ‘Kenny thinks Mr Goldenberg arranged it.’
She hadn’t known it was going to happen. Didn’t know whether Goldenberg was responsible or not. I saw her hesitating, summing the information up.
In the end she said vaguely, ‘Kenny never could keep his tongue still,’ and a minute later, under her breath, ‘Stupid thing to do. Stupid man.’
Major Tyderman, the Duke of Wessex and Fenella Payne-in-the-neck arrived together, the Duke still talking happily about his winner.
‘Where’s Colin?’ asked Fenella. ‘Isn’t he here after all? What a frantic nuisance. I asked for him at the weighing room and that man, who did he say he was? His valet, oh yes, of course… his valet, said that he had already gone to the plane.’ She pouted, thrusting out her lower lip. There was champagne in her eyes and petulance in her voice. The gold bracelets jingled. The heavy scent didn’t seem to have abated during the afternoon. I thought Colin had dodged very neatly. The Major also had been included in the celebrations. He looked slightly fuzzy round the eyes and a lot less rigid everywhere else. The hand that pushed at the wiry moustache looked almost gentle. The chin was still tucked well back into the neck, but there was nothing aggressive any more: it seemed suddenly only the mannerism of one who used suspiciousness instead of understanding to give himself a reputation for shrewdness.
The Duke asked the Major if he minded changing places on the way home so that he, the Duke, could sit in front. ‘I like to see the dials go round,’ he explained.
The Major, full of ducal champagne, gracefully agreed. He and Fenella climbed aboard and I waited outside with the Duke.
‘Is there anything the matter, my dear chap?’ he said.
‘No, sir.’
He studied me slowly. ‘There is, you know.’
I put my fingers on my forehead and felt the sweat. ‘It’s a hot day,’ I said.
Colin came eventually. He too was sweating: his now crumpled open shirt had great dark patches under the arms. He had ridden five races. He looked thin and exhausted.
‘Are you all right?’ he said abruptly.
‘I knew,’ said the Duke.
‘Yes, thank you.’
Colin looked back to where the Polyplane still waited on the ground.
‘Is Kenny bad?’
‘A bit sore. He didn’t want anyone to know.’
‘One of the jockeys with him on the trip came back over and told us. Kenny said you saved him from a fate worse than death, or words to that effect.’
‘What?’ said the Duke.
Colin explained. They looked at me suspiciously.
‘I’m fit to fly, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
Colin made a face. ‘Yeah, boy, it sure is.’ He grinned, took a deep breath, and dived into the back with the tentacly Fenella. The Duke folded himself after me into the front seats and we set off.
There was thick cloud over the Humber at Ottringham and all the way south to Cambridge. As he could see just about as far forward as the propeller, the Duke asked me what guarantee there was that we wouldn’t collide with another aircraft.
There wasn’t any guarantee. Just probability.
‘The sky is huge,’ I said. ‘And there are strict rules for flying in clouds. Collisions practically never happen.’
His hands visibly relaxed. He shifted into a more comfortable position. ‘How do you know where we are?’ he asked.
‘Radio,’ I said. ‘Radio beams from transmitters on the ground. As long as that needle on the dial points centrally downwards, we are going straight to Ottringham, where the signal is coming from.’
‘Fascinating,’ he said.
The replacement Cherokee had none of the sophistication of the one which had been blown up. That had had an instrument which locked the steering on to the radio beam and took the aircraft automatically to the transmitter. After the attentions of Kenny Bayst’s assailants I regretted not having it around.
‘How will we know when we get to Cambridge?’ asked the Duke.
‘The needle on that other dial down there will swing from pointing straight up and point straight down. That will mean we have passed over the top of the transmitter at Cambridge.’
‘Wonderful what they think of,’ said the Duke.
The needles