Дик Фрэнсис - Rat Race

‘Matthew, throw me the tin.’ It was a whisper, nothing more.

I began to walk towards him, holding out my right arm. Stumbled. Swayed. Frightened him.

The others were closing on him.

No more time. I took a breath. Straightened up,

‘Matthew,’ I said loudly. ‘To save your life, throw me that tin. Throw it now. At once.’

He was upset, uncertain, worried.

He threw the tin.

It was taking Carthy-Todd several seconds to press the transmission buttons. He wasn’t as adept at it as Rupert Tyderman. He wouldn’t be able to see that he had missed his opportunity with the Duke, and that now there was only me. But whatever he did, he’d lost the game.

The red gold tin floated towards me like a blazing sun and seemed to take an eternity crossing the fifteen feet from Matthew. I stretched my right arm forward to meet it and when it landed on my hand I flung it with a bowling action high into the air behind where I was standing, back as far as I could over the parked rows, because behind them, at the rear, there was empty space.

The bomb went off in the air. Three seconds out of my hand, six seconds out of Matthew’s. Six seconds. As long a time as I had ever lived.

The red and gold tin disintegrated into a cracking fireball like the sun, and the blast of it knocked both young Matthew and me with a screeching jolt flat to the ground. The windows in most of the cars in the car park crashed into splinters, and the two Fords just below the explosion were thrown about like toys. Nancy and Midge and the Duke, still sheltered between two cars, rocked on their feet and clung to each other for support.

Along in the stands, we heard later, no one took much notice. The race had started and the commentator’s voice was booming out, filling everyone’s ears with the news that Colin Ross was lying handy and going nicely on the favourite half a mile from home.

Young Matthew picked himself smartly up and said in amazement ‘What was that?’

Midge completed the four bare steps to bis side and held his hand.

‘It was a bomb,’ she said in awe. ‘Like Matt said, it was a bomb.’

I was trying to get myself up off the grass. Even though the Duke was for the present safe, the Fund money was not. Might as well try for set and match...

On my knees, I said to Matthew, ‘Can you see Carthy-Todd anywhere? It was his tin... his bomb...’

‘Carthy-Todd?’ repeated the Duke vaguely. ‘It can’t be. Impossible. He wouldn’t do a thing like that.’

‘He just did,’ I said. I was having no success in getting up any further. Had nothing much left. A strong arm slid under my right armpit, helping me. A soft calm voice said in my ear ‘You look as if you’d be better staying down.’

‘Nancy...’

‘How did you get into this state?’

‘Carthy-Todd... had a knife...’

‘There he is!’ Matthew suddenly shouted. ‘Over there.’

I wobbled to my feet. Looked where Matthew was pointing. Carthy-Todd, running between the rows. Nancy looked too.

‘But that’s,’ she said incredulously, ‘That’s the man I saw in the car with Major Tyderman. I’d swear to it.’

‘You may have to,’ I said.

‘He’s running to get out,’ Matthew shouted. ‘Let’s head him off.’

It was almost a game to him, but his enthusiasm infected several other racegoers who had come early out of the races and found their windows in splinters.

‘Head him off,’ I heard a man shout, and another ‘There, over there. Head him off.’

I leaned in hopeless weakness against a car, and dimly watched. Carthy-Todd caught sight of the growing number converging on him. Hesitated. Changed course. Doubled back on his tracks. Made for the only free and open space he could see. The green grass behind him. The racecourse itself.

‘Don’t...’ I said. It came out a whisper, and even if I’d had a microphone he wouldn’t have heard.

‘Oh God,’ Nancy said beside me. ‘Oh no.’

Carthy-Todd didn’t see his danger until it was too late. He ran blindly out across the course looking over his shoulder at the bunch of men who had suddenly, aghast, stopped chasing him.

He ran straight in front of the thundering field of three year olds sweeping round the last bend to their final flying effort up the straight.

Close bunched, they had no chance of avoiding him. He went down under the pounding hooves like a rag into a threshing machine, and a second later the flowing line of horses broke up into tumbling chaos... crashing at thirty miles an hour... legs whirling... jockeys thudding to the ground like bright blobs of paint... a groaning shambles on the bright green turf... and side-stepping, swaying, looking over their shoulders, the rear ones in the field swerved past and went on to a finish that no one watched.

Nancy said in anguish, ‘Colin!’ and ran towards the rails. The pink and white silks lay still, a crumpled bundle curled in a protective ball. I followed her, plod by plod, feeling that I couldn’t go any further, I simply couldn’t. One car short of the rails, I stopped. I clung on to it, sagging. The tide was going out.

The pink and white ball stirred, unrolled itself, stood up. Relief made me even weaker. Crowds of people had appeared on the course, running, helping, gawping... closing in like a screen round the strewn bodies... I waited for what seemed an age, and then Colin and Nancy reappeared through a thronging wall of people and came back towards the car park.

‘Only stunned for a second,’ I heard him say to a passing enquirer. ‘I shouldn’t go over there...’ But the enquirer went on, looking avid.

Nancy saw me and waved briefly, and ducked under the rails with Colin.

‘He’s dead,’ she said abruptly. She looked sick. ‘That man... he... he was Acey Jones... Colin said you knew... his hair was lying on the grass... but it was a wig... and there was this bald white head and that pale hair... and you could see the line of grease paint... and the black moustache...’ Her eyes were wide. Full of horror.

‘Don’t think about it,’ Colin said. He looked at me. ‘She shouldn’t have come over...’

‘I had to... you were lying there,’ she protested. He went on looking at me. His expression changed. He said ‘Nancy said you were hurt. She didn’t say... how badly.’ He turned abruptly to Nancy and said ‘Fetch the doctor.’

‘I tried to before,’ she said. ‘But he said he was on duty and couldn’t see to Matt before the race in case he was needed...’ She tailed off and looked over at the crowd on the course. ‘He’ll be over there... seeing to those two jockeys...’ She looked back at Colin with sudden fright. ‘Midge said Matt had cut his arm... Is it worse...?’

‘I’ll fetch him,’ Colin said grimly, and ran back to the battlefield. Nancy looked at me with such flooding anxiety that I grinned.

‘Not as bad as all that,’ I said.

‘But you were walking... you threw that bomb with such force... I didn’t realise... You do look ill...’

The Duke and young Matthew and Midge reappeared from somewhere. I hadn’t seen them come. Things were getting hazier.

The Duke was upset. ‘My dear chap,’ he said over and over again. ‘My dear chap...’

‘How did you know it was a bomb?’ Matthew asked.

‘Just knew.’

‘That was a pretty good throw.’

‘Saved our lives,’ said the Duke. ‘My dear chap...’

Colin was back.

‘He’s coming,’ he said. ‘Immediately.’

‘Saved our lives...’ said the Duke again. ‘How can we repay...’

Colin looked at him straightly. ‘I’ll tell you how, sir. Set him up in business... or take over Derrydowns... give him an air taxi business, based near Newmarket. He’ll make you a a profit. He’ll have me for a customer, and Annie, and Kenny... and in fact the whole town, because the Fund can go on now, can’t it?’ He looked at me enquiringly, and I fractionally nodded. ‘It may cost a bit to put right,’ Colin said, ‘But your Fund can go on, sir, and do all the good it was meant to...’