Curiously enough she was almost alone in her opinion among her friends. Those who had any pretensions to knowledge of racing shrugged their shoulders when she mentioned the horse's name. But she held doggedly to her opinion. True he was an outsider at twenty to one, but then outsiders did sometimes win in face of all the experts. She did a mental calculation. At twenty to one she would stand to win six thousand with an outlay of three hundred pounds. If she could get five hundred pounds on it would be ten thousand. She need not have written to Larry Hughes after all. Why, she would be several thousands in hand. She had that optimistic confidence which delights the soul of the bookmaker, when he beholds it in a rich punter. The price had shortened to fifteens before she had laid out her full five hundred, but she felt satisfied. She had by her own wit and shrewdness got out of her financial dilemma. It only wanted the formality of running the race. Someone touched her on the shoulder. She looked round quickly. A beefy man in a morning coat, that did not fit so exquisitely as others round about, raised his hat. "I beg your pardon," he said. She bowed and passed on. Detective sergeant Malone lifted his eyebrows interrogatively to the man by his side. "Is that the woman who passed the stumer cheque?" he asked. The other shook his head dubiously. "I couldn't swear to it. She's like her but I wouldn't care to be certain." All unaware that she had been under the scrutiny of a cashier of the Midland Bank, Mrs. Gertstein made her way back to the grand stand. In a few minutes the race would start and the runners were already taking their places at the gate. She focussed her glasses and tried to make out Bonnie Chevalier. The draw for places was likely to have an important bearing on the race. Her heart moved a beat quicker as she picked out the blue, white and gold that marked Bonnie Chevalier's rider. The starters danced round in a colourful welter as they were coaxed to their order. But she had only eyes for one. She gave a sigh of relief as she noted that he had drawn an inside place. The score or so of colours shifted again with a sudden plunge. They were off. A muffled roar came to her ears, growing in intensity as the race drew towards her. Bonnie Chevalier had shot to the front with a cloud of rivals pressing him hard. Her hands tightened on the glasses. The field began to space out. She lowered her glasses, which she found difficulty in keeping steady, and leaned forward in tense eagerness. One of the leaders stumbled and went down, with lashing hoofs and writhing body. There was a little confusion, and she uttered an exclamation of dismay, as the favourite stealing out of the tangle began to draw alongside Bonnie Chevalier.