df.theedge-第2节
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beyond doubt arranged the stable lad's killing。
Julius Apollo Filmer smirked with satisfaction at the 'Not Guilty' verdict and clasped his lawyer in a bear…hug。 Justice had been mocked。 The stable lad's parents wept bitter tears over his grave and the Jockey Club ground its collective teeth。 Millington swore to get Filmer somehow； anyhow； in the future； and had made it into a personal vendetta； the pursuit of this one villain filling his mind to the exclusion of nearly everything else。
He had spent a great deal of time in the Newmarket pubs going over the ground the regular police had already covered； trying to find out exactly what Paul Shacklebury； the dead stable lad； had known to the detriment of Filmer。 No one knew or no one was saying。 And who could blame anyone for not risking a quick trip to the ditch。
Millington had had more luck with the hysterical witness； now back home but still suffering fits of the shivers。 She； the witness； was a chambermaid in the hotel where Filmer had plotted。 She had heard； and had originally been prepared to swear she had heard Filmer say to an unidentified man； 'If he's dead； he's worth five grand to you and five to the hatchet； so go and fix it。'
She had been hanging fresh towels in the bathroom when the two men came in from the corridor； talking。 Filmer had been abrupt with her and bundled her out and she hadn't looked at the other man。 She remembered the words clearly but hadn't of course seen their significance until later。 It was because of the word 'hatchet' that she remembered particularly。
A month after the trial Millington got from her a half…admission that she'd been threatened not to give evidence。 Who had threatened her' A man she didn't know。 But she would deny it。 She would deny everything； she would have another collapse。 The man had threatened to harm her sixteen…year…old daughter。 Harm he'd spelled out all the dreadful programme lying ahead。
Millington； who could lay on the syrup if it pleased him； had persuaded her with many a honeyed promise （that he wouldn't necessarily keep） to e for several days to the races； and there； from the safety of various strategically placed security offices； he'd invited her to look out of the window。 She would be in shadow； seated； fortable； invisible； and he would point out a few people to her。 She was nervous and came in a wig and dark glasses。 Millington got her to remove the glasses。 She sat in an upright armchair and twisted her head to look over her shoulder at me； where I stood quietly behind her。
'Never mind about him；' Millington said。 'He's part of the scenery。'
All the world went past those windows on racing afternoons； which was why； of course； the windows were where they were。 Over three long sessions during a single week on three different racecourses Millington pointed out to her almost every known associate and friend of Filmer's； but she shook her head to them all。 At the fourth attempt； the following week； Filmer himself strolled past； and I thought we'd have a repeat of the hysterics： but though our chambermaid wobbled and wept and begged for repeated assurances he would never know she had seen him； she stayed at her post。 And she astonished us； shortly after； by pointing towards a group of passing people we'd never before linked with Filmer。
'That's him；' she said； gasping 'Oh my God。。。 that's him。。。 I'd know him anywhere。'
'Which one？' Millington said urgently。
'In the navy。。。 with the grey sort of hair。 Oh my God。。。 don't let him know。。。' Her voice rose with panic。
I could hear the beginnings of Millington's reassurances as I fairly sprinted out of the office and through to the open air； slowing there at once to the much slower speed of the crowd making its way from paddock to stands for the next race。 The navy suit with the silvery hair above it was in no hurry； going along with the press。 I followed him discreetly for the rest of the afternoon； and only once did he touch base with Filmer； and then as if accidentally； as between strangers。
The exchange looked as if navy…suit asked Filmer the time。 Filmer looked at his watch and spoke。 Navy…suit nodded and walked on。 Navy…suit was Filmer's man； all right； but was never to be seen to be that in public： just like me and Millington。
I followed navy…suit from the racecourse in the going…home traffic and telephoned from my car to Millington。
'He's driving a Jaguar；' I said； 'licence number A 576 FDD。 He spoke to Filmer。 He's our man。'
'Right。'
'How's the lady？' I asked。
'Who？ Oh； her。 I had to send Harrison all the way back to Newmarket with her。 She was half off her rocker again。 Have you still got our man in sight？'
'Yep。 '；
'I'll get back to you。'
Harrison was one of Millington's regular troops； an ex…policeman； heavy； avuncular； near to pensioned retirement。 I'd never spoken to him； but I knew him well by sight； as I knew all the others。 It had taken me quite a while to get used to belonging to a body of men who didn't know I was there； rather as if I were a ghost。
I was never noticeable。 I was twenty…nine； six foot tall； brown haired； brown eyed； twelve stone in weight with； as they say； no distinguishing features。 I was always part of the moving race crowd； looking at my race…card； wandering about； looking at horses； watching races； having a bet or two。 It was easy because there were always a great many other people around doing exactly the same thing。 I was a grazing sheep in a flock。 I changed my clothes and general appearance from day to day and never made acquaintances； and it was lonely quite often； but also fascinating。
I knew by sight all the jockeys and trainers and very many owners； because all one needed for that was eyes and race…cards； but also I knew a lot of their histories from long memory； as I'd spent much of my childhood and teens on racecourses； towed along by the elderly race…mad aunt who had brought me up。 Through her knowledge and via her witty tongue I had bee a veritable walking data bank； and then； at eighteen； after her death； I'd gone world…wandering for seven years。 When I returned； I no longer looked like the unmatured youth I'd been； and the eyes of the people who had known me vaguely as a child slid over me without recognition。
I returned to England finally because at twenty…five I'd e into inheritances from both my aunt and my father； and my trustees were wanting instructions。 I had been in touch with them from time to time； and they had despatched funds to far…flung outposts fairly often； but when I walked into the hushed book…lined law office of the senior partner of Cornborough； Cross and George； old Clement Cornborough greeted me with a frown and stayed sitting down behind his desk。
'You're not。。。 er。。。' he said； looking over my shoulder for the one he'd expected。
'Well。。。 yes； I am。 Tor Kelsey。'
'Good Lord。' He stood up slowly； leaning forward to extend a hand。 'But you've changed。 You。。。 er。。。'
'Taller； heavier and older；' I said； nodding。 Also suntanned； at that moment； from a spell in Mexico。
'I'd。。。 er。。。 pencilled in lunch；' he said doubtfully。
'That would be fine；' I said。
He took me to a similarly hushed restaurant full of other solicitors who nodded to him austerely。 Over roast beef he told me that I would never have to work for a living （which I knew） and in the same breath asked what I was going to do with my life； a question I couldn't answer。 I'd spent seven years learning how to live； which was different； but I'd had no formal training in anything。 I felt claustrophobic in offices and I was not academic。 I understood machines and was quick with my hands。 I had no overpowering ambitions。 I wasn't the entrepreneur my father had been； but nor would I squander the fortune he had left me。
'What have you been doing？' old Cornborough said； making conversation valiantly。 'You've been to some interesting places； haven't you？'
Travellers' tales were pretty boring； I thought。 It was always better to live it。 'I mostly worked with horses；' I said politely。 'Australia； South America； United States； anywhere。 Racehorses； polo ponies； a good deal in rodeos。 Once in a circus； '
'Good heavens。'
'It's not easy now； though； and getting harder； to work one's passage。 Too many countries won't allow it。 And I won't go back to it。 I've done enough。 Grown out of it。'
'So what next？'
'Don't know。' I shrugged。 'Look around。 I'm not getting in touch with my mother's people； so don't tell them I'm here。'
'If you say so。'
My mother had e from an impoverished hunting family who were scandalized when at twenty she married a sixty…five…year…old giant of a Yorkshireman with an empire in second…hand car auctions and no relatives in Burke's Peerage。 They'd said it was because he showered her with horses； but it always sounded to me as if she'd been truly attracted。 He at any rate was besotted with her； as his sister； my aunt； had often told me； and he'd seen no point in living after she was killed in a hunting accident； when I was two。 He'd lasted three years and died of cancer； and because my mother's family hadn't wanted me； my aunt Viv Kelsey had taken me over and made
