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thanks for showing me around.’ Grant was glad to see the end of the policeman now.
    They shook hands and Crawford said: ‘See you ’round,’ and went out into the night.
    The steak, Grant found, justified none of the claims Crawford had made for it. It was stringy and grossly overcooked,and Grant suspected that it would have tasted slightly ‘off’ if it had not tasted so overwhelmingly of burnt leather.
    Nevertheless he felt much more clear-headed when he had eaten it, and the accompanying pile of soggy potato chips, and drunk the coffee which tasted, and looked like, milk which had been diluted with water, discoloured with some brown substance, and heated. The fare at the Two-up school was not, he decided, of the same standard as the entertainment, but probably was better than the average meal served in outback cafes.
    He looked at his watch. It was eleven-thirty. His aircraft left for the east at eleven-thirty. He had twelve hours to fill in.
    He made a pretence, for his own benefit, of considering what he would do now—go to bed, drink some more, go for a stroll. But he knew quite well that he intended to go back and watch the Game. He had been more interested in the spectacle than he cared to admit; moreover, an as yet bloodless phantom of intention was flitting about the darker recesses of his mind and he was pretending he could not see it.
    In the playing room yet another man in the ring had built an imposing collection of notes about his feet. He lost the lot in a moment when the pennies fell with tails to the carpet.
    Grant stayed against one of the walls, watching intentlythe method of betting. His thoughts were running to the odds involved in heads or tails being thrown four times in succession, and he was very aware of the notes in his wallet.
    Normally he seldom gambled, because opportunity seldom arose. But now he could feel in himself an emotion that was completely new to him—the strange passion that gamblers know.
    ‘It would not matter a great deal,’ he told himself, ‘if I lost the seventeen pounds or so I have in cash—and I might win.’
    Deliberately he evoked the phantom, calling it into the light, recognised it as intention and gave it the authority of his will.
    He took a five-pound note from his wallet.
    The prospect of actually laying the bet produced a sense of diffidence, and he moved vaguely forward through the crowd with the note in his hand. Just in front of him, on the edge of the ring, a man had about a hundred pounds at his feet and was crying:‘Come on, another fifty wanted on tails. Anybody betting tails?’
    Grant stood indecisively. He felt gauche among these confident gamblers and could not quite bring himself to lean forward and drop his five pounds on to the floor. Besides, he was not at all convinced of the infallibility of the system of distribution of winnings.
    The note was snatched from his fingers.
    ‘On tails, mate?’ said a seedy-looking character who was standing directly behind the man calling for business.
    Grant nodded because he could not think of anything else to do, and saw his five-pound note flutter to the floor.
    Presently the controller called: ‘All set?’ and the coins were spun.
    ‘Tails!’ And Grant found himself pushed aside as players pressed forward to collect their winnings. He attempted to struggle forward himself, but could not summon the self-confidence required. Soon all was ready for the next spin, and Grant was crushed back against the wall, with no idea of the whereabouts of the man with whom he had laid his bet.
    So much, he thought, for each man taking his due. He looked around angrily for someone from whom to claim his money, but with no real hope.Then he saw the seedy-looking character jumping up and down, trying to look over the heads of the crowd.
    He was saying loudly: ‘Anybody seen a tall bloke with a coat on? Anybody seen a tall fair sort of bloke with a coat on?’
    Grant waved at him energetically and he came weaving