‘Mental?’
‘His state of mind, man. Was he happy?’
‘Oh no. Far from it. He was suffering. Very sore, he was, and right low in spirits. Not like the Captain at all. He’s always enjoyed his walking, you know. But this time he was talking of giving up. After one day!’
‘Did he eat anything?’ asked Cribb.
Harvey tried to remember.
‘I don’t think so. He took his usual glass of claret, though, and then I left him.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘To the restaurant. I needed a drink, and there’s benches in there where a man can stretch out for a couple of hours.’ ‘And that’s what you did?’
‘Well,’ answered Harvey. ‘I didn’t get the drink. They’d had some kind of trouble in the kitchen-a fire, I think- and nobody was around to serve. So I found myself a corner and kipped for a bit. I finally got some coffee about three-thirty. Oh yes, and Monk came in.’
‘Monk? You’re sure of the time?’
‘Yes, about three-thirty. He sat with me. He must have just come in from outside because he was darned cold. Funny thing, he wanted to fix something up with me. He thought the pace was too warm. If I would hold the Captain back he’d tell Darrell to take things easy. I wouldn’t have it though. I can’t give orders to the Captain like some of them trainers do with their guv’nors. So it was no deal. And blow me, when they got back on track bloody Darrell set off like a hare before hounds.’
‘Full of strychnine,’ commented Cribb. ‘Did Monk say anything else?’
‘No. That was the lot,’ answered Harvey.
‘Right. Tell us about the Captain now. How long have you been with him?’
‘Must be ten years, at least. I served in India with him, you know. He wasn’t walking professional then, of course. Only started that when we got back home, about five years back. Then it was strictly private matches, on the road. Pretty soon he was taking on the best in England and show-ing them clean heels. He wanted to meet Darrell, of course, and that’s how he came to enlist in this tail-chasing squad. Darrell wouldn’t face him on the open road. Said he was prepared to take him on at Islington though. Then it was up to Herriott to arrange the twin tracks. My guv’nor wouldn’t risk his feet among that hob-nailed mob-not until he was forced to join ’em of course. He had no choice after Darrell was out.’
‘So I heard. But he’ll net a tidy sum in bets for his trou-bles.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that. He puts on his own money. He never discusses it with me.’
‘You’ve put something on the Captain yourself, I expect?’ suggested Cribb.
‘Yes, I got pretty fair odds on Monday from one of the bookies here.’
‘Wise man,’ said Cribb. ‘Wish I’d had the foresight to do the same. Now tell me about Wednesday night, will you?’
‘Wednesday?’ Harvey looked vacant.
‘The night Monk died. We’re interested in your move-ments. Remember?’
‘Oh. Wednesday. That was a grim enough evening, I can tell you. The Captain was as low in spirit as I’ve seen him. They’d given him a terrible buffeting on the outside track- he’d been forced to take his chances with them or retire from the race-and he was very short with me. But you’ve got to hand it to him. Come the time to get back on track there he was, ready to get among them again.’
‘He was well ahead at that stage,’ Cribb said in justification. ‘Ah, yes. But I doubted whether he’d keep on his feet till Saturday. And he couldn’t have thought so, either.’
‘So you were out there watching him every step of the way?’
‘I was, until one o’clock, when he came off.’
‘Did you see anything of Sam Monk that night?’ asked Cribb.
‘I don’t think I did.’
‘And when Captain Chadwick came into the tent at one what shape was he in?’
Harvey shook his head sadly at the recollection.
‘The poorest I’ve seen him. He could hardly move a mus-cle. He fell asleep while I was massaging him. I left him.’
‘Where did you sleep? In the restaurant?’
‘Yes. They haven’t provided much for us attendants. I’ve spent every night in there so far.’
‘See anyone else sleeping there?’
‘I was generally too dead beat to notice.’
‘All right,’ said Cribb. ‘Now Mr Harvey. One thing you haven’t explained. You spend all the week in constant atten-dance on your Captain. Then off you go today for a good four hours. What were you doing-trying to dodge me and my constables?’
Harvey smiled feebly.
‘Not really. I was collecting this. I wouldn’t stand a chance of getting one tomorrow. It was hard enough today.’ He was indicating the parcel he held in his lap.
‘Let’s have a look at it, then,’ suggested Cribb.
Slowly and carefully the contents were revealed.
‘What the devil!’ exclaimed Thackeray.
‘What is it then?’ asked Cribb.
‘Game pie,’ answered Harvey. ‘There’s only one estab-lishment in London that makes them like this, and the Captain will have no other. It’s for his victory feast tomor-row night.’
‘Hope it won’t be wasted then,’ commented Cribb. ‘All right, Mr Harvey. We’ll keep you no longer. That’s not to say I won’t be seeing you again.’
When Harvey had left, Cribb added, ‘Wouldn’t count on him being in very good shape when I do, though.’
The Pedestrian Contest at Islington
POSITIONS AT THE END OF THE FIFTH DAY
SATURDAY
CHAPTER 16
Thackeray could not be certain that the night was the coldest that week, but he knew positively that he had not passed such an uncomfortable four hours since he gave up beat-pounding. There was a paraffin stove in the police office. His boot-welts were so near the flame that smoke rose from them. But his toes stayed bloodless all night. He had borrowed a spare great-coat and tried to insulate his already heavily clad body by tucking it around him as he settled in the one available armchair. It was no substitute for a heavy quilt over a decent horse-hair mattress. So he shiv-ered and grumbled and shifted his bulky form about the creaking framework until five in the morning, when the duty constable put a mug of coffee in his hands. He sipped it dolefully.
Sergeant Cribb had left him in charge of the case.
‘Things to check,’ he had said cryptically. ‘People to see. I may be out all of Saturday morning. You must be here through the night. Watch for anything irregular. Now’s the time people start getting jumpy. Be on the alert, Thackeray.’ Like the experienced constable he was, Thackeray inter-preted this order to mean that he should be available and prepared to be roused from his sleep if anything happened. There was a duty constable in the Hall, and Thackeray ordered him in blunt terms to be faultlessly vigilant, and to wake him only for an extreme emergency or Sergeant Cribb’s return. Cynically he suspected that Cribb’s Saturday morning would be spent mainly in his own bed. Perhaps the Sergeant was justified in keeping his ‘movements’ to him-self; he would need to be at his sharpest to trap the killer in the remaining time.
Thackeray finished his drink, and gripped the empty mug in his hands until he was sure it retained no more warmth. Then he stretched his limbs painfully, unwrapped the coat from around him, yawned and stood upright. A glance in a small mirror confirmed that his beard needed no trimming. He tightened his necktie and bent to lace his
