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enough to open his eyes again they focused on a scrubbing-brush lying in a pool of carbolic. He crossed himself, swore violently and bundled the bedclothes over his shivering body and head.
    SAM MONK RETURNED to the Hall before four and hur-ried to the restaurant.
    ‘What did you want?’ asked the only other customer, who sat at the end of a long table with an empty cup and saucer in front of him. It was Chadwick’s man, Harvey.
    ‘Coffee. Is there anyone inside?’
    ‘Coffee’s all you will get. They’ve had a fire in there. Smell it?’
    Monk went through the service door and shortly emerged with a steaming mug. He sat with Harvey.
    ‘Now’s the time the cold really finds you,’ observed Harvey, conversationally. Monk was silent, sipping from his mug.
    ‘I can’t think why they chose November for this bloom-ing race,’ Harvey continued. ‘A God-awful month for any-thing. Some maniac fancied it would draw the public, I suppose. A good chance of racing being fogged off and they have to go somewhere.’
    Monk continued to brood, so Harvey tried again:
    ‘Of course, this place is a bad choice, if you want my opinion. A bloody bad choice. So big it is that you might as well be out in the open. Indoor sport, it’s called, and we sit here in blinking overcoats trying to keep our blood from freezing.’
    Monk was emerging from his reverie. He studied Harvey.
    ‘You’re with Chadwick, ain’t you?’
    Caution flickered across Harvey’s eyes.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘My name’s Monk.’
    ‘I know. You’re Darrell’s trainer.’
    ‘I wanted to talk with you. This lick they set themselves today—it was bloody lunacy. They can’t keep at it like this for six days. They’ll burn each other off and leave the prize money to the second-raters.’
    Harvey evaded Monk’s eyes.
    ‘You think so?’
    ‘Look, I’m not new to this game. I’ve seen mixes before, mate. Your man’s as far gone as mine or I wouldn’t speak of it. Now I ain’t suggesting we fix the result—nothing like that. All I’m saying is that it’s bad tactics to throw everything into a six-day too soon. Hold your man steady and I’ll tell mine the same. It’s the only chance the poor buggers have.’ Harvey pushed his cup aside.
    ‘Sorry, chum. That’s not our way. If Darrell’s lame and can’t keep up, my guv’nor ain’t waiting for him. No deal. But I’ll give you some advice gratis. If you’ve backed Darrell heavy, get some rhino on my man, as he’s never been more certain of winning. Ah well, time I got him on the track again.’
    Elated by his display of loyalty, Harvey stood up, nod-ded to Monk, and made for the exit. From there he turned to watch the back view of the other trainer as he dispatched the coffee in gulps that visibly scalded his gul-let. Before Monk was on his feet Harvey slipped through the door.
    MONK ROUGHLY TUGGED the blankets from around Darrell’s shoulders.
    ‘Four o’clock, Charlie. Good rest?’
    Darrell moaned and lay inert.
    ‘Chadwick will be back on track in no time. Here, drink this. Make you stronger at once.’
    He lifted himself on to an elbow, and swallowed the trainer’s concoction. It tasted like no drink on earth, but he knew enough about Monk’s bracers to value their potency above their flavour.
    ‘Fill it up again. God, I need a livener.’
    Monk obliged, and began preparing the calf’s bladder covering for Darrell’s blistered heel. The runner was already reviving.
    ‘Where did you get to while I was sleeping? Get any rest yourself?’
    ‘I lay down a bit, but got no sleep to speak of,’ Monk replied candidly. ‘Now help me with this sock. Draw it slowly over the foot while I hold this in place.’
    In a short time Darrell was dressed in his racing-kit.
    ‘I talked with Harvey, Chadwick’s trainer,’ continued Monk. ‘Tried to get some agreement about the pace, but he’d have none of it. Bastard. My guess is that Chadwick will try to break you in the next twelve hours. He’ll