A handbell clanged sharply. There was an electric smell in the air, and a muting of the noise of the crowds. Then down thundered the ragged charging line towards the grandstand and past and away in a scud of hooves and flying earth and tanbark. There was a glimpse of sharp, pale faces half-hidden by goggles, a stream of pounding shoulders and hindquarters, a flash of wild white eyes and a confusion of numbers amongst which Bond caught only the vital No. 10 well to the fore and close in to the rails. And then the dust was settling and the brown-black mass was at the first corner and slowly streaming round the bottom straight and Bond felt the glasses slip in the sweat round his eyes.
No. 5, a black outsider, was leading by a length. Was this some unknown horse that was going to steal the show? But then there was No. 1 level with him and then No. 3. And No. 10 half a length behind the leaders. Just these four out in front and the rest bunched three lengths away. Round the corner and now No. 1 was in the lead. The Whitney black. And No. 10 was fourth. Down the long straight opposite and No. 3 was moving up – with Tingaling Bell on the chestnut at his heels. They both passed No. 5 and were well up with No. 1 who was still leading by half a length. And then the first top bend and the top straight, and No. 3 was leading with ‘Shy Smile’ second and No. 1 a length behind. And ‘Shy Smile’ was coming up level with the leader. He was level, and they were coming into the final corner. Bond held his breath. Now! Now! He could almost hear the whirr of the concealed camera in the big white post. No. 10 was ahead, right on the bend, but No. 3 was inside on the rails. And the crowd was howling for the favourite. Now Bell was inching towards the grey, his head well down on his horse’s neck on the outside, so that he could pretend that he couldn’t see the grey horse on the rails. Inch by inch the horses drew closer and, suddenly, ‘Shy Smile’s’ head hid No. 3’s head, then his quarters were in front and, yes, ‘Pray Action’s’ boy suddenly stood right up in his stirrups, forced to take-up by the foul, and at once ‘Shy Smile’ was a length ahead.
There was an angry roar from the crowd. Bond lowered his glasses and sat back and watched as the foam-flecked chestnut thundered past the post below him with ‘Pray Action’ five lengths behind and ‘Come Again’ just failing to beat him into second place.
Not bad, thought Bond, as the crowd howled around him. Not bad at all.
And how brilliantly the jockey had done it! His head so well down that even Pissaro would have to admit Bell couldn’t see the other horse. The natural curve-in for the final straight. The head still well down as he passed the post and the whip flailing for the last few lengths as if Tingaling still thought himself only half a length ahead of No. 3.
Bond watched for the results to be posted. There was a chorus of whistles and cat-calls. ‘No. 10, “Shy Smile”, five lengths. No. 3, “Pray Action:, ½ length. No. 1, “Come Again”, three lengths. No. 7, “Pirandello”, three lengths.’
And the horses came cantering back for the weighing-in, and the crowd yelled for blood as Tingaling Bell, grinning all over his face, threw his whip to the valet and slipped off the sweating chestnut and carried his saddle to the scales.
And then there was a great burst of cheering. Opposite the name of ‘Shy Smile’ the word OBJECTION, white on black, had been slipped in, and the loudspeaker was saying: ‘Attention please. In this race there has been an objection lodged by Jockey T. Lucky on No. 3, “Pray Action”, against the riding of Jockey T. Bell on No. 10, “Shy Smile”. Do not destroy your tickets. I repeat, Do not destroy your tickets.’
Bond took out his handkerchief and wiped his hands. He could imagine the scene in the projection room behind the judges’ box. Now they would be examining the film. Bell would be standing there looking hurt, and, beside him, No. 3’s jockey looking still more hurt. Would the owners be there? Would the sweat be running down Pissaro’s fat jowls into his collar? Would some of the other owners be there, pale and angry?
And then came the loudspeaker again and the voice saying:
‘Attention please. In this race, No. 10, “Shy Smile”, has been disqualified and No. 3, “Pray Action”, has been declared the winner. The result is now official.’
Amidst the thunder of the crowd, Bond got stiffly up from his seat and walked off in the direction of the bar. And now for the pay-off. Perhaps a Bourbon and branch-water would give him some ideas about getting the money to Tingaling Bell. He was uneasy about it. And yet the Acme Baths sounded an easy enough place. Nobody knew him in Saratoga. But after that he would have to stop working for Pinkertons. Call up Shady Tree and complain about not getting his five thousand. Worry him about his own payoff. It had been fun helping Leiter push these people around. Next would come Bond’s turn.
He pushed his way into the crowded bar.
13 | ACME MUD AND SULPHUR
