I grinned.

"And Arthur Simmons has that guarantee?"

"Yes. And as he's English, he would fade indis- tinguishably into the racing scene. It occurred to me as I was paying my bill after lunch.

So I asked the way here and drove straight up, to see what he was like. "

"You can talk to him, certainly," I said, standing up.

"But I don't think it will be any good."

"He would be paid far in excess of the normal rate," he said, misunderstanding me.

"I didn't mean that he couldn't be tempted to go," I said, 'but he just hasn't the brain for anything like that. "

He followed me back out into the spring sunshine. The air at that altitude was still chilly and I saw him shiver as he left the warmth of the house. He glanced appraisingly at my still bare chest.

"If you'll wait a moment, I'll fetch him," I said, and walking round the corner of the house, whistled shrilly with my fingers in my teeth towards the small bunkhouse across the yard. A head poked inquiringly out of a window, and I shouted, "I want Arthur."

The head nodded, withdrew, and presently Arthur Simmons, elderly, small, bow-legged, and of an endearing simplicity of mind, made his crab-like way towards me. I left him and Lord October together, and went over to see if the new filly had taken a firm hold on life. She had, though her efforts to stand on her poor misshapen foreleg were pathetic to see.

I left her with her mother, and went back towards Lord October, watching him from a distance taking a note from his wallet and offering it to Arthur. Arthur wouldn't accept it, even though he was English. He's been here so long, I thought, that he's as Australian as anyone. He'd hate to go back to Britain, whatever he says when he's drunk.

"You were right," October said.

"He's a splendid chap, but no good for what I want. I didn't even suggest it."