Bill the Better tapped vigorously on the window of Young Lacy’s bedroom until the window was raised and beyond appeared a tousled red head and a pair of keen hazel eyes. Once again the groom was washing his hands with invisible soap, and he said with satisfaction somewhat extraordinary:

“The Black Emperor’s standing outside the Green Swamp gate. Mr Handerson’s saddle and bridle still on ’im. Lunch bag looks empty. No tracks made by Mr Handerson showing as ’owhe left theanimile there and come onacrost to ’is room, or any tracksshowin ’ that ’e came as far as the gate on The Black Emperor’s back.”

The clipped voice of Young Lacy issued from the room.

“Wait there, Bill. I’ll be out in a second.”

It was five seconds and no more when Young Lacy joined Bill the Better. He was arrayed in a wonderful dressing-gown of sky-blue with scarlet facings. His deep red hair wasunbrushed and unruly. Of medium height and yet robust of body, his feet protected by yellow slippers, he did not speak until they were outside the garden gate. Bill the Better was continuing to wash his hands with invisible soap and was still whistling a lively tune.

“Doesn’t it strike you that Mr Handerson may be lying out in Green Swamp Paddock seriously injured?” inquired Young Lacy, deliberately prefixing the name with an aspirate. Some twenty-five years old, he looked a bare nineteen.

“Too right!” replied Bill the Better. “I got a coupler quid on ’imbeing dead, and a quid on ’imbeing that busted up that ’e’sgot to be taken to the hospital at St Albans. As I lost seven and a tray over theflamin ’ rain, I’msorta wanting to make a bit over on Mr Handerson.”

“I suppose you’d bet on your funeral?”

“Yes, any time you like, Mr Lacy. I’m game to bet you a level fiver you dies first outer us two. We can put the money in an envelope wot can be kept in the office safe and handed out to the winner.”