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neral；　not　solely　Filmer's　man。　I　had　seen　him　speak　to　Filmer　only　once　since　the　first　occasion；　which　didn't　mean　he　hadn't　done　so　more　often。　There　were　usually　race　meetings　at　three　of　more　different　courses　in　England　each　day；　and　it　was　a　toss…up；　sometimes；　to　guess　where　either　of　the　quarries　would　go。　Filmer；　moreover；　went　racing　less　often　than　Welfram；　two　or　three　times　a　week　at　most。　Filmer　had　shares　in　a　great　many　horses　and　usually　went　where　they　ran；　and　I　checked　their　destinations　every　morning　in　the　racing　press。
　　The　problem　with　Filmer　was　not　what　he　did；　but　catching　him　doing　it。　At　first　sight；　second　sight；　third　sight　he　did　nothing　wrong。　He　bought　racehorses；　put　them　in　training；　went　to　watch　them　run；　enjoyed　all　the　pleasures　of　an　owner。　It　was　only　gradually；　over　the　ten　years　since　Filmer　had　appeared　on　the　scene；　that　there　had　been　eyebrows　raised；　frowns　of　disbelief；　mouths　pursed　in　puzzlement。
　　Filmer　bought　horses　occasionally　at　auction　through　an　agent　or　a　trainer　but　chiefly　acquired　them　by　deals　struck　in　private；　a　perfectly　proper　procedure。　Any　owner　was　always　at　liberty　to　sell　his　horses　to　anyone　else。　The　surprising　thing　about　some　of　Filmer's　acquisitions　was　that　no　one　would　have　expected　the　former　owner　to　sell　the　horse　at　all。
　　I　had　been　briefed　about　him　by　Millington　during　my　first　few　weeks　in　the　Service；　but　then　only　as　someone　to　be　generally　aware　of；　not　as　a　number　one　priority。
　　'He　leans　on　people；'　Millington　said。　'We're　sure　of　it；　but　we　don't　know　how。　He's　much　too　fly　to　do　anything　where　we　can　see　him。　Don't　think　you'll　catch　him　handing　out　bunches　of　money　for　information；　nothing　crude　like　that。　Look　for　people　who're　nervous　when　he's　near；　right？'
　　'Right。'
　　I　had　spotted　a　few　of　those。　Both　of　the　trainers　who　trained　his　horses　treated　him　with　caution；　and　most　of　the　jockeys　who　rode　them　shook　his　hand　with　their　fingertips。　The　Press；　who　knew　they　wouldn't　answer　questions；　hardly　bothered　to　ask　them。　A　deferential　decorative　girlfriend　jumped　when　he　said　jump；　and　the　male　panion　frequently　in　attendance　fairly　scuttled。　Yet　there　was　nothing　visibly　boorish　about　his　general　manner　at　the　races。　He　smiled　at　appropriate　moments；　nodded　congratulations　to　other　owners　in　the　winners'　enclosures　and　patted　his　horses　when　they　pleased　him。
　　He　was　in　person　forty…eight；　heavy；　about　five　foot　ten　in　height。　Millington　said　the　weight　was　mostly　muscle；　as　Filmer　spent　time　three　days　a　week　raising　a　sweat　in　a　gym。　Above　the　muscle　there　was　a　well…shaped　head；　large　flat　ears　and　thick　black　hair　flecked　with　grey。　I　hadn't　been　near　enough　to　see　the　colour　of　his　eyes；　but　Millington　had　them　down　as　greenish　brown。
　　Rather　to　Millington's　annoyance　I　refused　to　follow　Filmer　about　much。　For　one　thing；　in　the　end　he　would　have　been　certain　to　have　spotted　me；　and　for　another　it　wasn't　necessary。　Filmer　was　a　creature　of　habit；　moving　from　car　to　lunch　to　bookmaker　to　grandstand　to　paddock　at　foreseeable　intervals。　At　each　track　he　had　a　favourite　place　to　watch　the　races　from；　a　favourite　vantage　point　overlooking　the　parade　ring　and　a　favourite　bar　where　hedrank　lager　mostly　and　plied　the　girlfriend　with　vodka。　He　rented　a　private　box　at　two　racecourses　and　was　on　the　waiting　list　at　several　more；　where　his　aim　seemed　to　be　seclusion　rather　than　the　lavish　entertainment　of　friends。
　　He　had　been　born　on　the　Isle　of　Man；　that　tax…haven　rock　out　of　sight　of　England　in　the　stormy　Irish　Sea；　and　had　been　brought　up　in　a　munity　stuffed　with　millionaires　fleeing　the　fleecing　taxes　of　the　mainland。　His　father　had　been　a　wily　fixer　admired　for　fleecing　the　fled。　Young　Julius　Apollo　Filmer　（his　real　name）　had　learned　well　and　outstripped　his　father　in　rich　pickings　until　he'd　left　home　for　wider　shores；　and　that　was　the　point；　Millington　said　gloomily；　at　which　they　had　lost　him。　Filmer　had　turned　up　on　racecourses　sixteen　or　so　years　later　giving　his　occupation　as　'pany　director'　and　maintaining　a　total　silence　about　his　source　of　considerable　ine。
　　During　the　run…up　to　the　conspiracy　trial；　the　police　had　done　their　best　to　unravel　his　background　further；　but　Julius　Apollo　knew　a　thing　or　two　about　off…shore　panies　and　had　stayed　fortably　ravelled。　He　still　officially　lived　on　the　Isle　of　Man；　though　he　was　never　there　for　long。　During　the　Flat　season　he　mostly　divided　his　time　between　hotels　in　Newmarket　and　Paris；　and　in　the　winter　he　dropped　entirely　out　of　sight；　as　far　as　the　Security　Service　was　concerned。　Steeplechasing；　the　winter　sport；　never　drew　him。
　　During　my　first　summer　with　the　Service　he　had　bought；　to　everyone's　surprise；　one　of　the　most　promising　two…year…olds　in　the　country。　Surprise；　because　the　former　owner；　Ezra　Gideon；　was　one　of　the　naturals　aristocrats　of　racing；　a　much　respected　elderly　and　extremely　wealthy　man　who　lived　for　his　horses　and　delighted　in　their　successes。　No　one　had　been　able　to　persuade　him　to　say　why　he　had　parted　with　the　best　of　his　crop　or　for　what　price：　he　bore　its　subsequent　high…flying　autumn；　its　brilliant　three…year…old　season　and　its　eventual　multi…million…pound　syndication　for　stud　with　an　unvaryingly　stony　expression。
　　After　Filmer's　acquittal；　Ezra　Gideon　had　again　sold　him　a　two…year…old　of　great　promise。　The　Jockey　Club　mandarins　begged　Gideon　practically　on　their　knees　to　tell　them　why。　He　said　merely　that　it　was　a　private　arrangement：　and　since　then　he　had　not　been　seen　on　a　racecourse。
　　On　the　day　Derry　Welfram　died　I　drove　homewards　to　London　wondering　yet　again；　as　so　many　people　had　wondered　so　often；　just　what　leverage　Filmer　had　used　on　Gideon。　Blackmailers　had　gone　largely　out　of　business　since　adultery　and　homosexuality　had　been　blown　wide　open；　and　one　couldn't　see　old…fashioned　upright　Ezra　Gideon　as　one　of　the　newly　fashionable　brands　of　transgressor；　an　insider…trader　or　an　abuser　of　children。　Yet　without　some　overwhelming　reason　he　would　never　have　sold　Filmer　two　such　horses；　denying　himself　what　he　most　enjoyed　in　life。
　　Poor　old　man；　I　thought。　Derry　Welfram　or　someone　like　that　had　got　to　him；　as　to　the　witnesses；　as　to　Paul　Shacklebury　dead　in　his　ditch。　Poor　old　man；　too　afraid　of　the　consequences　to　let　anyone　help。
　　Before　I　reached　home　the　telephone　again　purred　in　my　car　and　I　picked　up　the　receiver　to　hear　Millington's　voice。
　　'The　boss　wants　to　see　you；'　he　said。　'This　evening　at　eight；　usual　place。　Any　problem？'
　　'No；'　I　said。　'I'll　be　there。　Do　you　know。。。　er。。。　why？'
　　'I　should　think；'　Millington　said；　'because　Ezra　Gideon　has　shot　himself。'
　　
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　Two
　　
　　The　boss；　Brigadier　Valentine　Catto；　Director　of　Security　to　the　Jockey　Club；　was　short；　spare；　and　a　manding　officer　from　his　polished　toecaps　to　the　thinning　blond　hair　on　his　crown。　He　had　all　the　organizational　skills　needed　to　rise　high　in　the　army；　and　he　was　intelligent　and　unhurried　and　listened　attentively　to　what　he　was　told。
　　I　met　him　first　on　a　day　when　old　Clement　Cornborough　asked　me　again　to　lunch　to　discuss　in　detail；　as　he　said；　the　winding　up　of　the　Trust　he'd　administered　on　my　behalf　for　twenty　years。　A　small　celebration；　he　said。　At　his　club。
　　His　club　turned　out　to　be　the　Hobbs　Sandwich　Club；　near　the　Oval　cricket　ground；　a　Victorian　mini…mansion　with　a　darkly　opulent　bar　and　club　rooms；　their　oak…panelled　walls　decorated　with　endless　pictures　of　gentlemen　in　small　cricket　caps；　large　white　flannels　and　（quite　often）　side…whiskers。
　　The　Hobbs　Sandwich；　he　said；　leading　the　way　through　stained…glass　panelled　doors；　was　named　for　two　great　Surrey　cricketers　from　between　the　wars；　Sir　Jack　Hobbs；　one　of　the　few　cricketers　ever　knighted；　and　Andrew　Sandham；　who　had　scored　one　hundred　and　seven　centuries　in　first…class　cricket。　Long　before　I　was　born；　he　said。
　　I　hadn't　played　cricket　since　distant　days　at　school；　nor　liked　it　particularly　even　then：　Clement　Cornborough　proved　to　be　a　lifelong　fanatic。
　　He　introduced　me　in　the　bar　to　an　equal　fanatic；　his　friend　Val　Catto；　who　then　joined　us　for　lunch。　Not　a　word　about　my　Trust　was　spoken。　The　two　of　them　talked　cricket　solidly　for　fifteen　minutes　and　then　the　friend　Catto　began　asking　questions　about　my　life。　It　dawned　on　me　uneasily　after　a　while　that　I　was　being　interviewed；　though　I　didn't　know　for　what；　and　I　learned　afterwards　that　in　conversation　one　day　during　the　tea　interval　of　a　cricket　match　Catto　had　lamented　to　Cornborough　that　what　he　really　needed　was　someone　who　knew　the　racing　scene　intimately；　but　whom　the　racing　scene　didn't　know　in　return。　An　eyes　and　ears　man。　A　silent；　unknown　investigator。　A　fly　on　racing's　wall　that　no　one　would　notice。　Such　a　person；　they　had　sighed　together；　was　unlikely　to　be　found。　And　that　when　a　few　weeks　later　I　walked　into　Cornborough's　office　（or　at　least　by　the　time　I　left　it）　the　lawyer　had　suffered　a　brainwave　which　he　passed　on　to　his　friend　Val。
　　The　Hobbs　Sandwich　lunch　（of　anything　but　sandwiches）　had　lasted　through　a　good　chunk　of　the　afternoon；　and　by　the　end　of　it　I　had　a　job。　I　hadn't　taken　a　lot　of　persuading；　as　it　seemed　interesting　to　me　from　the　start。　A　month's　trial　on　both　sides。　Brigadier　Catto　said；　and　mentioned　a　salary　that　had　Cornborough　smiling　broadly。
　　'What's　so　funny？'　the　Brigadier　asked。　'That's　normal。　We　pay　most　of　our　men　that　at　the　start。'
　　'I　forgot　to　mention　it。　Tor　here　is。。　um。。。'　He　paused；　perhaps　wondering　whether　finishing　the　sentence　came　under　the　heading　of　breaking　a　client's　right　to　confidentiality；　because　after　a　short　while　he　went　on；　'He'd　better　tell　you　himself。'
　　'I　accept　the　salary；'　I　said。
　　'What　have　you　not　told　me？'　Catto　asked；　suddenly　very　much　the　boss；　his　eyes　not　exactly　suspicious　but　unsmiling：　and　I　saw　that　I　was　not　binding　myself　to　some　slightly　eccentric　friendly　cricket　nut；　but　to　the　purposeful；　powerful　man　who　had　manded　a　brigade　and　was　currently　keeping　horseracing　honest。　I　was　not　going　to　be　playing　a　game；　he　was　meaning；　and　if　I　thought　so　we　would　go　no　further。
　　I　said　wryly；　'I　have　a　private　ine　after　tax　of　about　twenty　times