II

"So you don't think the 'Avalanche' good business as an investment?"

Dorrington said once more as he and Stedman, after an excellent dinner,

were cabbing it to the track.

"No, no," Stedman answered, "don't touch it! There's better things

than that coming along presently. Perhaps I shall be able to put you

in for something, you know, a bit later; but don't be in a hurry. As

to the 'Avalanche,' even if everything else were satisfactory, there's

too much 'booming' being done just now to please me. All sorts of

rumours, you know, of their having something 'up their sleeve,' and

so on; mysterious hints in the papers, and all that, as to something

revolutionary being in hand with the 'Avalanche' people. Perhaps there

is. But why they don't fetch it out in view of the public subscription

for shares is more than I can understand, unless they don't want too

much of a rush. And as to that, well they don't look like modestly

shrinking from anything of that sort up to the present."

They were at the track soon after seven o'clock, but Gillett was not

yet riding. Dorrington remarked that Gillett appeared to begin late.

"Well," Stedman explained, "he's one of those fellows that afternoon

training doesn't seem to suit, unless it is a bit of walking exercise.

He just does a few miles in the morning and a spurt or two, and then he

comes on just before sunset for a fast ten or fifteen miles--that is,

when he is getting fit for such a race as Saturday's. To-night will be

his last spin of that length before Saturday, because to-morrow will be

the day before the race. To-morrow he'll only go a spurt or two, and

rest most of the day."

They strolled about inside the track, the two highly "banked" ends

whereof seemed to a nearsighted person in the centre to be solid

erect walls, along the face of which the training riders skimmed,

fly-fashion. Only three or four persons beside themselves were in the

enclosure when they first came, but in ten minutes' time Mr. Paul

Mallows came across the track.

"Why," said Stedman to Dorrington, "here's the Governor! It isn't often

he comes down here. But I expect he's anxious to see how Gillett's

going, in view of Saturday."

"Good evening, Mr. Mallows," said Dorrington. "I hope the finger's all

right? Want any more plaster?"

"Good evening, good evening," responded Mr. Mallows heavily. "Thank

you, the finger's not troubling me a bit." He held it up, still

decorated by the black plaster. "Your plaster remains, you see--I was a

little careful not to fray it too much in washing, that was all." And

Mr. Mallows sat down on a light iron garden-chair (of which several

stood here and there in the enclosure) and began to watch the riding.

The track was clear, and dusk was approaching when at last the great

Gillett made his appearance on the track. He answered a friendly

question or two put to him by Mallows and Stedman, and then, giving

his coat to his trainer, swung off along the track on his bicycle,

led in front by a tandem and closely attended by a triplet. In fifty

yards his pace quickened, and he settled down into a swift even pace,

regular as clockwork. Sometimes the tandem and sometimes the triplet

went to the front, but Gillett neither checked nor heeded as, nursed by

his pacers, who were directed by the trainer from the centre, he swept

along mile after mile, each mile in but a few seconds over the two

minutes.

"Look at the action!" exclaimed Stedman with enthusiasm. "Just watch

him. Not an ounce of power wasted there! Did you ever see more regular

ankle work? And did anybody ever sit a machine quite so well as that?

Show me a movement anywhere above the hips!"

"Ah," said Mr. Mallows, "Gillett has a wonderful style--a wonderful

style, really!"

The men in the enclosure wandered about here and there on the grass,

watching Gillett's riding as one watches the performance of a great

piece of art--which, indeed, was what Gillett's riding was. There were,

besides Mallows, Stedman, Dorrington and the trainer, two officials

of the Cyclists' Union, an amateur racing man named Sparks, the

track superintendent and another man. The sky grew darker, and gloom

fell about the track. The machines became invisible, and little could

be seen of the riders across the ground but the row of rhythmically

working legs and the white cap that Gillett wore. The trainer had just

told Stedman that there would be three fast laps and then his man would

come off the track.

"Well, Mr. Stedman," said Mr. Mallows, "I think we shall be all right

for Saturday."

"Rather!" answered Stedman confidently. "Gillett's going great guns,

and steady as a watch!"

The pace now suddenly increased. The tandem shot once more to the

front, the triplet hung on the rider's flank, and the group of swishing

wheels flew round the track at a "one-fifty" gait. The spectators

turned about, following the riders round the track with their eyes. And

then, swinging into the straight from the top bend, the tandem checked

suddenly and gave a little jump. Gillett crashed into it from behind,

and the triplet, failing to clear, wavered and swung, and crashed over

and along the track too. All three machines and six men were involved

in one complicated smash.

Everybody rushed across the grass, the trainer first. Then the cause

of the disaster was seen. Lying on its side on the track, with men and

bicycles piled over and against it, was one of the green painted light

iron garden-chairs that had been standing in the enclosure. The triplet

men were struggling to their feet, and though much cut and shaken,

seemed the least hurt of the lot. One of the men of the tandem was

insensible, and Gillett, who from his position had got all the worst

of it, lay senseless too, badly cut and bruised, and his left arm was

broken.

The trainer was cursing and tearing his hair. "If I knew who'd done

this," Stedman cried, "I'd _pulp_ him with that chair!"

"Oh, that betting, that betting!" wailed Mr. Mallows, hopping about

distractedly; "see what it leads people into doing! It can't have been

an accident, can it?"

"Accident? Skittles! A man doesn't put a chair on a track in the dark

and leave it there by accident. Is anybody getting away there from the

outside of the track?"

"No, there's nobody. He wouldn't wait till this; he's clear off a

minute ago and more. Here, Fielders! Shut the outer gate, and we'll see

who's about."

But there seemed to be no suspicious character. Indeed, except for the

ground-man, his boy, Gillett's trainer, and a racing man, who had just

finished dressing in the pavilion, there seemed to be nobody about

beyond those whom everybody had seen standing in the enclosure. But

there had been ample time for anybody, standing unnoticed at the outer

rails, to get across the track in the dark, just after the riders had

passed, place the obstruction, and escape before the completion of the

lap.

The damaged men were helped or carried into the pavilion, and the

damaged machines were dragged after them. "I will give fifty pounds

gladly--more, a hundred," said Mr. Mallows, excitedly, "to anybody who

will find out who put that chair on the track. It might have ended in

murder. Some wretched bookmaker, I suppose, who has taken too many bets

on Gillett. As I've said a thousand times, betting is the curse of all

sport nowadays."

"The governor excites himself a great deal about betting and

bookmakers," Stedman said to Dorrington, as they walked toward the

pavilion, "but, between you and me, I believe some of the 'Avalanche'

people are in this. The betting bee is always in Mallows's bonnet, but

as a matter of fact there's very little betting at all on cycle races,

and what there is is little more than a matter of half-crowns or at

most half-sovereigns on the day of the race. No bookmaker ever makes a

heavy book first. Still there _may_ be something in it this time, of

course. But look at the 'Avalanche' people. With Gillett away their

man can certainly win on Saturday, and if only the weather keeps fair

he can almost as certainly beat the record; just at present the fifty

miles is fairly easy, and it's bound to go soon. Indeed, our intention

was that Gillett should pull it down on Saturday. He was a safe winner,

bar accidents, and it was good odds on his altering the record, if

the weather were any good at all. With Gillett out of it Lant is just

about as certain a winner as our man would be if all were well. And

there would be a boom for the 'Avalanche' company, on the very eve

of the share subscription! Lant, you must know, was very second-rate

till this season, but he has improved wonderfully in the last month or

two, since he has been with the 'Avalanche' people. Let him win, and

they can point to the machine as responsible for it all. 'Here,' they

will say in effect, 'is a man who could rarely get in front, even in

second-class company, till he rode an 'Avalanche.' Now he beats the

world's record for fifty miles on it, and makes rings round the topmost

professionals!' Why, it will be worth thousands of capital to them. Of

course the subscription of capital won't hurt us, but the loss of the

record may, and to have Gillett knocked out like this in the middle of

the season is serious."

"Yes, I suppose with you it is more than a matter of this one race."

"Of course. And so it will be with the 'Avalanche' company. Don't you

see, with Gillett probably useless for the rest of the season, Lant

will have it all his own way at anything over ten miles. That'll help

to boom up the shares and there'll be big profit made on trading in

them. Oh, I tell you this thing seems pretty suspicious to me."

"Look here," said Dorrington, "can you borrow a light for me, and let

me run over with it to the spot where the smash took place? The people

have cleared into the pavilion, and I could go alone."

"Certainly. Will you have a try for the governor's hundred?"

"Well, perhaps. But anyway there's no harm in doing you a good turn if

I can, while I'm here. Some day perhaps you'll do me one."

"Right you are--I'll ask Fielders, the ground-man."

A lantern was brought, and Dorrington betook himself to the spot where

the iron chair still lay, while Stedman joined the rest of the crowd in

the pavilion.

Dorrington minutely examined the grass within two yards of the place

where the chair lay, and then, crossing the track and getting over the

rails, did the same with the damp gravel that paved the outer ring.

The track itself was of cement, and unimpressionable by footmarks, but

nevertheless he scrutinised that with equal care, as well as the rails.

Then he turned his attention to the chair. It was, as I have said, a

light chair made of flat iron strip, bent to shape and riveted. It had

seen good service, and its present coat of green paint was evidently

far from being its original one. Also it was rusty in places, and

parts had been repaired and strengthened with cross-pieces secured by

bolts and square nuts, some rusty and loose. It was from one of these

square nuts, holding a cross-piece that stayed the back at the top,

that Dorrington secured some object--it might have been a hair--which

he carefully transferred to his pocket-book. This done, with one more

glance round, he betook himself to the pavilion.

A surgeon had arrived, and he reported well of the chief patient. It

was a simple fracture, and a healthy subject. When Dorrington entered,

preparations were beginning for setting the limb. There was a sofa in

the pavilion, and the surgeon saw no reason for removing the patient

till all was made secure.

"Found anything?" asked Stedman in a low tone of Dorrington.

Dorrington shook his head. "Not much," he answered at a whisper. "I'll

think over it later."

Dorrington asked one of the Cyclists' Union officials for the loan of a

pencil, and, having made a note with it, immediately, in another part

of the room, asked Sparks, the amateur, to lend him another.

Stedman had told Mr. Mallows of Dorrington's late employment with the

lantern, and the managing director now said quietly, "You remember what

I said about rewarding anybody who discovered the perpetrator of this

outrage, Mr. Dorrington? Well, I was excited at the time, but I quite

hold to it. It is a shameful thing. You have been looking about the

grounds, I hear. I hope you have come across something that will enable

you to find something out. Nothing will please me more than to have to

pay you, I'm sure."

"Well," Dorrington confessed, "I'm afraid I haven't seen anything very

big in the way of a clue, Mr. Mallows; but I'll think a bit. The worst

of it is, you never know who these betting men are, do you, once they

get away? There are so many, and it may be anybody. Not only that, but

they may bribe anybody."

"Yes, of course--there's no end to their wickedness, I'm afraid.

Stedman suggests that trade rivalry may have had something to do with

it. But that seems an uncharitable view, don't you think? Of course

we stand very high, and there are jealousies and all that, but this

is a thing I'm sure no firm would think of stooping to, for a moment.

No, it's betting that is at the bottom of this, I fear. And I hope,

Mr. Dorrington, that you will make some attempt to find the guilty

parties."

Presently Stedman spoke to Dorrington again. "Here's something that may

help you," he said. "To begin with, it must have been done by some one

from the outside of the track."

"Why?"

"Well, at least every probability's that way. Everybody inside was

directly interested in Gillett's success, excepting the Union officials

and Sparks, who's a gentleman and quite above suspicion, as much so,

indeed, as the Union officials. Of course there was the ground-man, but

he's all right, I'm sure."

"And the trainer?"

"Oh, that's altogether improbable--altogether. I was going to say----"

"And there's that other man who was standing about; I haven't heard who

he was."

"Right you are. I don't know him either. Where is he now?"

But the man had gone.

"Look here, I'll make some quiet inquiries about that man," Stedman

pursued. "I forgot all about him in the excitement of the moment. I was

going to say that although whoever did it could easily have got away by

the gate before the smash came, he might not have liked to go that way

in case of observation in passing the pavilion. In that case he could

have got away (and indeed he could have got into the grounds to begin

with) by way of one of those garden walls that bound the ground just by

where the smash occurred. If that were so he must either live in one of

the houses, or he must know somebody that does. Perhaps you might put

a man to smell about along that road--it's only a short one; Chisnall

Road's the name."

"Yes, yes," Dorrington responded patiently. "There might be something

in that."

By this time Gillett's arm was in a starched bandage and secured by

splints, and a cab was ready to take him home. Mr. Mallows took Stedman

away with him, expressing a desire to talk business, and Dorrington

went home by himself. He did not turn down Chisnall Road. But he

walked jauntily along toward the nearest cab-stand, and once or twice

he chuckled, for he saw his way to a delightfully lucrative financial

operation in cycle companies, without risk of capital.

The cab gained, he called at the lodgings of two of his men assistants

and gave them instant instructions. Then he packed a small bag at his

rooms in Conduit Street, and at midnight was in the late fast train for

Birmingham.