df.theedge-第7部分

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　　Filmer　left　the　unsaddling　enclosure　with　a　smirk　of　self…satisfaction　and　was　immediately　confronted　by　a　young　man　who　tried　to　thrust　a　briefcase　into　his　hand。
　　Julius　Apollo's　face　turned　from　smug　to　fury　quicker　than　Shergar　won　the　Derby；　as　Paul　Shacklebury　would　have　said。　Filmer　wouldn't　take　the　case　and　he　practically　spat　at　the　offerer；　his　black　head　going　forward　like　a　striking　cobra。　The　young　man　with　the　briefcase　retreated　ultra…nervously　and　in　panic　ran　away；　and　Filmer；　regaining　control　of　himself；　began　looking　around　in　the　general　direction　of　stewards　and　pressmen　to　see　if　any　of　them　had　noticed。　He　visibly　sighed　with　relief　that　none　of　them　showed　any　sign　of　it…and　he　hadn't　looked　my　way　at　all。
　　I　followed　the　demoralized　young　man；　who　still　held　on　to　the　briefcase。　He　made　straight　for　the　men's　cloakroom；　stayed　there　for　a　fair　time　and　came　out　looking　pale。
　　Filmer's　effect　on　people's　guts；　I　reflected；　would　put　any　laxative　to　shame。
　　The　shaken　youth　with　the　briefcase　then　made　his　nervous　way　to　a　rendezvous　with　a　thin；　older　man　who　was　waiting　just　outside　the　exit　gate；　biting　his　nails。　When　the　thin　man　saw　the　briefcase　still　in　the　nervous　youth's　possession　he　looked　almost　as　furious　as　Filmer　had　done；　and　a　strong　argument　developed　in　which　one　could　read　the　dressing…down　in　the　vigorous　chopping　gestures；　even　if　one　couldn't　hear　the　words。
　　Thin　man　poked　nervous　man　several　times　sharply　in　the　chest。　Nervous　man's　shoulders　drooped。　Thin　man　turned　away　and　walked　off　deep　into　the　car　park。
　　Nervous　man　brought　the　briefcase　with　him　back　through　the　gate　and　into　the　nearest　bar；　and　I　had　to　hang　around　for　a　long　time　in　the　small　crowd　there　before　anything　else　happened。　The　scattered　clientele　was　watching　the　television：　nervous　man　shuffled　from　foot　to　foot　and　sweated；　and　kept　a　sharp　look…out　at　the　people　passing　by　outside　in　the　open　air。　Then；　some　time　after　Filmer's　second　runner　had　tried　and　（according　to　the　closed…circuit　mentary）　lost；　Filmer　himself　came　past；　tearing　up　betting　tickets　and　not　looking　pleased。
　　Nervous　man　shot　out　from　his　waiting　position　just　inside　the　door　of　the　sheltering　bar　and　offered　the　briefcase　again；　and　this　time　Filmer　took　it；　but　in　fierce　irritation　and　with　another　sharp　set　of　glances　around　him。　He　saw　nothing　to　disturb　him。　He　was　leaving　after　the　fifth　of　the　six　races　and　all　forms　of　authority　were　still　engaged　to　his　rear。　He　gripped　the　case's　handle　and　strode　purposefully　out　on　his　way　to　his　car。
　　Nervous　man　shuffled　a　bit　on　the　spot　a　bit　more　and　then　followed　Filmer　through　the　exit　gate　and　into　the　car　park。　I　tagged　along　again　and　saw　both　of　them　still　making　for　their　transport；　though　in　different　directions。　I　followed　nervous　man；　not　Filmer；　and　saw　him　get　into　the　front　passenger　seat　of　a　car　already　occupied　by　thin　man；　who　still　looked　cross。　They　didn't　set　off　immediately　and　I　had　time　to　walk　at　a　steady　pace　past　the　rear　of　their　car　on　the　way　to　my　own　which　was　parked　strategically；　as　ever；　near　the　gate　to　the　road；　for　making　quick　following　getaways。　I　memorized　their　number　plate　in　case　I　later　lost　them：　and　out　on　the　road；　fortably　falling　into　place　behind　them；　I　telephoned　Millington。
　　I　told　him　about　the　briefcase　and　read　him　the　number　plate　still　ahead　in　my　sight。
　　'The　car's　going　north；　though；'　I　said。　'How　far　do　you　want　me　to　go？'
　　'What　time's　your　flight　tomorrow？'
　　'Noon；　from　Heathrow。　But　I　have　to　go　home　first　to　pick　up　my　gear　and　passport。'
　　He　thought　for　a　few　moments。　'You'd　better　decide　for　yourself。　If　he　gets　on　the　motorway　to　Scotland。。。　well；　don't　go。'
　　'All　right。'
　　'Very　interesting；'　Millington　said；　'that　he　didn't　want　to　be　seen　in　public　accepting　that　briefcase。'
　　'Very。'
　　'Anything　special　about　it？'
　　'As　far　as　I　could　see；'　I　said；　'it　was　black；　polished；　possibly　crocodile；　with　gold　clasps。'
　　'Well；　well；'　Millington　said　vaguely。　'I'll　get　back　to　you　with　that　car　number。'
　　The　thin　man's　car　aimed　unerringly　for　the　motorway　in　the　direction　of　Scotland。　I　decided　to　keep　on　going　at　least　until　Millington　called　back；　which　he　did　with　impressive　speed；　telling　me　that　my　quarry　was　registered　to　I。　J。　Horfitz；　resident　of　Doncaster；　address　supplied。
　　'All　right；'　I　said；　'I'll　go　to　Doncaster。'　An　hour　and　a　bit　ahead；　I　thought；　with　plenty　of　time　to　return。
　　'Does　that　name　Horfitz　ring　any　bells　with　you？'　Millington　asked。
　　'None　at　all；'　I　said　positively。　'And　by　the　way；　you　know　that　promising　young　apprentice　of　Pete　Shaw's？　All　that　talent？　The　silly　young　fool　passed　some　verbal　info　to　a　new　character　on　the　racecourse　who　turned　out　to　be　writing　the　book　for　Collie　Goodboy。　Collie　Goodboy　thought　it　good　news。'
　　'What　was　it；　do　you　know？'
　　'Pete　Shaw　had　a　runner　in　the　second　race；　third　favourite；　finished　nearly　last。　The　apprentice　knew　the　score；　though　he　wasn't　riding　it。'
　　'Huh；'　Millington　said。　'I'll　put　the　fear　of　God　into　the　lot　of　them；　Pete　Shaw；　the　owner；　the　jockey；　the　apprentice　and　Collie　Goodboy。　Stir　them　up　and　warn　them。　I　suppose；'　he　said　as　an　afterthought；　'you　didn't　get　any　photos？　We　haven't　any　actual　proof？'
　　'Not　really。　I　took　one　shot　of　the　apprentice　talking　to　Collie's　man；　but　they　had　their　backs　to　me。　One　of　Collie's　man　with。　One　of　Collie　s　board　with　the　generous　odds。'
　　'Better　than　nothing；'　he　said　judiciously　'It'll　give　them　all　an　unholy　fright。　The　innocent　ones　will　be　livid　and　sack　the　guilty；　like　they　usually　do。　Clean　their　own　house。　Save　us　a　job。　And　we'll　keep　a　permanent　eye　on　that　stupid　apprentice。　Ring　me　when　you　get　to　Doncaster　'
　　'OK。　And　I　took　some　more　photos　One　of　the　nervous　young　man　with　the　briefcase；　one　of　him　with　the　thin　man。。　er。。。　I。　J。　Horfitz　possibly；　I　suppose；　and　one　of　Filmer　with　the　briefcase；　though　I'm　not　sure　if　that　one　will　be　very　clear；　I　had　almost　no　time　and　I　was　quite　far　away；　and　I　was　using　the　cigarette　lighter　camera；　it's　less　conspicuous。'
　　'All　right。　We　need　that　film　before　you　go。　Um。。。　er　。。。　you'd　better　give　me　a　ring　when　you're　on　the　way　back；　and　I'll　have　thought　of　somewhere　we　can　meet　tonight。　Right？'
　　'Yes；　'I　said。　'Right。'
　　'This　Horfitz　person；　what　did　he　look　like？'
　　'Thin；　elderly；　wore　a　dark　overcoat　and　a　black　trilby；　and　glasses。　Looked　ready　for　a　funeral；　not　the　races。'
　　Millington　grunted　in　what　seemed　to　me　to　be　recognition。
　　'Do　you　know　him？'　I　asked。
　　'He　was　before　your　time。　But　yes；　I　know　him。　Ivor　Horfitz。　It　must　be　him。　We　got　him　warned　off　for　life　five　years　ago。'
　　'What　for？'
　　'It's　a　long　story。　I'll　tell　you　later。　And　I　don't　think　after　all　you　need　to　spend　all　that　time　going　to　Doncaster。　We　can　always　find　him；　if　we　want　to。　Turn　round　at　the　next　exit　and　e　back　to　London；　and　I'll　meet　you　in　that　pub　at　Victoria。　Not　the　snack…bar；　the　pub。'
　　'Yes；　right。　See　you　in　about。。。　um。。。　two　and　a　half　hours；　with　luck。'
　　Two　and　a　half　hours　later；　beer　and　pork　pie　time　in　a　dark　far　corner　in　a　noisy　bar；　Millington's　preferred　sort　of　habitat。
　　I　gave　him　the　exposed　but　undeveloped　film；　which　he　put　in　his　pocket　saying；　'Eyes　in　the　back　of　my　head；'　with　conspicuous　satisfaction。
　　'Who　is　Horfitz？'　I　said；　quenching　the　long　drive's　thirst　in　a　half…pint　of　draught。　'Did　you　know　he　knew　Filmer？'
　　'No；'　he　said；　answering　the　second　question　first。　'And　Filmer　wouldn't　want　to　be　seen　with　him；　nor　to　be　seen　in　any　sort　of　contact。'
　　'What　you're　saying；'　I　said　slowly；　'is　that　the　messenger；　the　nervous　young　man；　is　also　known　by　sight　to　the　stewards。。。　to　you　yourself　probably。。。　because　if　he　were　an　unidentifiable　stranger；　why　should　Filmer　react　so　violently　to　being　seen　with　him；　to　being　seen　accepting　something　from　him？'
　　Millington　gave　me　a　sideways　look。　'You've　learned　a　thing　or　two；　haven't　you；　since　you　started。'　He　patted　the　pocket　containing　the　film。　'This　will　tell　us　if　we　know　him。　What　did　he　look　like？'
　　'Fairly　plump；　fairly　gormless。　Sweaty。　Unhappy。　A　worm　between　two　hawks。'
　　Millington　shook　his　head。　'Might　be　anyone；'　he　said。
　　'What　did　Horfitz　do？'　I　asked。
　　Millington　bit　into　pork　pie　and　took　his　time；　speaking　eventually　round　escaping　crumbs　of　pastry。
　　'He　owned　a　small　stableful　of　horses　in　Newmarket　and　employed　his　own　trainer　for　them；　who　naturally　did　what　he　was　told。　Very　successful　little　stable　in　a　quiet　way。　Amazing　results；　but　there　you　are；　some　owners　are　always　lucky。　Then　the　trainer　got　cold　feet　because　he　thought　we　were　on　to　him；　which　we　actually　weren't；　we'd　never　reckoned　him　for　a　villain。　Anyway；　he　blew　the　whistle　on　the　operation；　saying　the　strain　was　getting　too　much　for　him。　He　said　all　the　horses　in　the　yard　were　as　good　as　interchangeable。　They　ran　in　whatever　races　he　and　Horfitz　thought　they　could　win。　Three…year…olds　in　two…year…old　races；　past　winners　in　maidens…at…starting；　any　old　thing。　Horfitz　bought　and　sold　horses　continually　so　the　yard　never　looked　the　same　from　week　to　week；　and　the　stable　lads　came　and　went　like　yo…yos；　like　they　do　pretty　much　anyway。　They　employed　all　sorts　of　different　jockeys。　No　one　cottoned　on。　Horfitz　had　some　nice　long…priced　winners　but　no　bookmakers　hollered　foul。　It　was　a　small　unfashionable　stable；　see？　Never　in　the　newspapers。　Because　they　didn't　run　in　big　races；　just　small　ones　at　tracks　the　press　don't　go　to；　but　you　can　win　as　much　by　betting　on　those　as　on　any　others。　It　was　all　pretty　low　key；　but　we　found　out　that　Horfitz　had　made　literally　hundreds　of　thousands；　not　just　by　betting　but　by　selling　his　winners。　Only　he　always　sold　the　real　horses　which　fitted　the　names　on　the　race…card；　not　the　horses　that　had　actually　run。　He　kept　those　and　ran　them　again；　and　sold　the　horses　in　whose　names　they'd　run；　and　so　on　and　so　on。　Audacious　little　fiddle；　the　whole　thing。'
　　'Yes；'　I　agreed；　and　felt　a　certain　amount　of　awe　at　the　energy　and　organization　put　into　the　enterprise。