“Want a lift, Charlie?”

“I’m okay,” he said cheerfully. “My plates of meat are good for a lot of miles, yet!” He looked down at his<brown-and-white shoes.

“Give yourself a rest,” urged the driver. “Hop in!”

He was at the kerbside, and it was very hot and although he would never have admitted it, Charlie’s feet were not as comfortable as usual. And free rides did not come every day. So he opened the door and got in — and stumbled over the leg of a man sitting tucked away in the corner behind the door.

“What the hell . . . I” he began, but before he could go on the man hit him a vicious blow on the side of the head.

He gasped and flopped down. In a flash, his assailant had his right arm twisted behind him in a hammer-lock, forcing him into a curious, half-kneeling, half-crouching position.

Charlie, sweating freely, tried to turn his head, but he could not see his captor’s face.

“What — what’s going on?” he squeaked.

‘‘Just answer a few questions, Charlie,” the man said.

“Who — who are you?”

“Never mind who I am. What have you been telling the cops?”

“I-I never tell the cops anything, I-God! Don’t!” The man had twisted his arm so hard that it felt as if it would snap.

“You’ve been talking to Lemaitre,” the man stated, flatly.

Charlie was so astonished that he did not even deny it.

“What was it about, Charlie?” The calm voice was very insistent.

“It-it wasn’t anything, I-don’t do that!” he shrieked. “You’ll break my arm!”

“That isn’t all I’ll break if you don’t tell me the truth!” threatened the man in the corner. “What did you tell Lemaitre about?”

“It-it wasn’t—” Charlie gasped again and then almost screamed, the pain was great. “It was only a joke! I told him some Derby horses were going to be fixed-it was only a joke!”

“That’s one of the best jokes you’ve ever told,” the man said, and for the first time he sounded deadly. “What exactly did you tell him?”