“Watch what that tall guy does in the next race,” she heard someone say nearby. “That’s what I’m going to do. He’s a pro. He’s got a sixth sense about these turtles. He just wins and wins and wins.”

But watching what the tall man did in the next race was an option that turned out not to be available. He had disappeared from the pool area somewhere between the second and third races. And so, Denise noted with unexpectedly sharp displeasure, had the woman from Connecticut.

Thompkins, still following his Hegbert system, bet fifty on Number Six in the third race, cashed in at two to one, then dropped his new winnings and fifty besides backing Number Four in the fourth. Then he invited Denise to have dinner with him on the terrace. What the hell, she thought. Last night she had had dinner alone; very snooty, she must have seemed. It hadn’t been fun.

In the uneasy first moments at the table they talked about the tall man. Thompkins had noticed his success with the turtles also. “Strange guy,” he said. “Gives me the creeps—something about the look in his eye. But you see how he makes out at the races?”

“He does very well.”

“Well? He cleans up! Can’t lose for winning.”

“Some people have unusual luck, I suppose.”

“This ain’t luck. My guess is maybe he’s got a fix in with the boys—like they tell him what turtle’s got the mojo in the upcoming race. Some kind of high sign they give him when they’re lining up for the throw-in.”

“How can that be? Turtles are turtles. They just swim around in circles until one of them happens to hit the far wall with his nose.”

“No,” said Thompkins. “I think he knows something. Or maybe not. But the guy’s hot for sure. Tomorrow I’m going to bet the way he does, right down the line, race by race. There are other people here doing it already. That’s why the odds go down on the turtle he bets, once they see which one he’s backing. If the guy’s hot, why not get in on his streak?”