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close grass, parasol in hand, luxuriating in an air of great superiority. She was on the arm of a member of the aristocracy, and an uncommonly handsome one. She looked both fashionable and lovely, and she knew it. And she had inside information on the winner of the previous race. What more could anyone ask? She was of the elite.
    The second race was a smaller affair, but the third was the big event of the meeting. The crowd began to buzz in excitement, like a swarm of bees disturbed. The swirls of movement grew more violent as people elbowed their way towards bookmakers, calling odds, trying to induce higher and higher wagers. Men in elegant and rakish clothes laughed loudly, as fistfuls of money changed hands.
    Once, while Ashworth was talking about horses’ legs, good heart, jockeys’ skill, and other things she did not understand, Emily observed an incident she could merely stare at, transfixed. A portly gentleman, somewhat red in the face, was chuckling to himself over his good fortune, clutching a note in his hand. He took one or two steps forward, moving towards a sallow man in dark clothes, lugubrious as an undertaker.
    “Lose, old fellow?” the stout man asked cheerfully. “Never mind, better luck with this one! Can’t lose ’em all. Keep at it, I say,” and he gave a broad chuckle.
    The thin man looked at him with polite dismay.
    “I beg your pardon, sir, but were you addressing me?” His voice was quite soft. Had Emily been less close she would not have caught the words.
    “You look as if misfortune has visited you,” the stout man went on heartily. “Happens to the best of us. Keep trying, I say.”
    “Indeed, sir. I assure you I have had no misfortune.”
    “Ah,” the stout man grinned and winked. “Not wanting to admit it, eh?”
    “I assure you, sir—”
    The stout man laughed and clapped the other on the arm. At that moment a stranger missed his footing and staggered sideways, cannoning into the stout man. He in turn fell forward almost into the arms of the sallow man in the mourning clothes. The man put out both hands to steady the sudden weight, or to fend it off. There were profuse apologies all round, and an attempt at straightening clothes. The ill-footed stranger muttered something, then apparently saw an acquaintance in the distance, and still talking, took himself off. A smart young woman materialized next to the dark man and begged him to come immediately and witness some good fortune of hers, while two other fellows having a heated discussion on the merits or demerits of a certain horse, took over almost the same spot of ground.
    The stout man brushed himself down, drawing a deep breath. Then his hand stopped convulsively, halfway down his body, dived into his vest pocket, and came out empty.
    “My watch!” he howled in anguish. “My money! My seals! I had three gold seals on my watch chain! I’ve been robbed!”
    Emily swivelled round and tugged on Ashworth’s sleeve.
    “George!” she said urgently. “George, I just saw a man robbed! He was robbed of his watch and seals!”
    Ashworth turned round, a slightly indulgent smile on his mouth.
    “My dear Emily, it happens all the time at the races.”
    “But I saw it! It was most cleverly done. This man bumped him from behind and forced him almost on top of another, who ran his hands over him, and like a conjuror must have removed his possessions! Aren’t you going to do something?”
    “What do you suggest?” His eyebrows rose. “The man who took them will be innocently engaged in something quite different by now, and the goods themselves will have been passed on to someone else neither you nor the victim has ever seen.”
    “But it only happened this moment!” she protested.
    “And where is the thief?”
    She stared round. There was no one she recognized, except the victim and the two arguers. She turned back to George helplessly.
    “I can’t see him.”
    He grinned.
    “Of course not, and even if you tried to pursue