DIAMONDS ARE FOREVER BY IAN FLEMING

“They’ll be getting ready for the morning works,” said Leiter. “The gallops. This is the time the trainers hate most. When the owners come.”

They leant against the rail, thinking about the early morning, and about breakfast, and the sun suddenly caught the trees half a mile away on the other side of the track and brushed the topmost branches with pale gold, and in minutes the last shadows had gone and it was day.

As if they had been waiting for the sign, three men appeared from among the trees away to the left, and one of them was leading a big chestnut with a blaze face and four white stockings.

“Don’t look at them,” said Leiter softly. “Turn your back on the track and watch that file of horses coming up. That old bent man with them is ‘Sunny Jim’ Fitzsimmons, greatest trainer in America. And those are the Woodward horses. Most of them will be winners this meeting. Just look casual and I’ll keep an eye on our friends. Wouldn’t do to seem too interested. Now let’s see, there’s a stable-boy leading Shy Smile and that’s Budd all right and my old friend Lame-brain in a beautiful lavender shirt. Always a dresser. Nice-looking horse. Powerful shoulders. They’ve taken the blanket off him and he doesn’t like the cold. Bucking around like mad with the stable-boy hanging on. Sure hope he doesn’t kick Mr Pissaro in the face. Now Budd’s got him and he’s quietened down. Budd’s given the boy a leg up. Leading him on to the track. Now he’s cantering slowly up the far side of the track to one of the furlong posts. The hoodlums have got their watches out, they’re looking round. They’ve spotted us. Just look casual, James. Once the horse gets going they won’t be interested in us. Yeah. You can turn round now. Shy Smile’s on the far side of the track and they’ve got their glasses on her to be ready for the off. And it will be four furlongs. Pissaro’s just by the fifth post.”

Bond turned and looked along the rail to his left at the two stocky intent figures with the sun glinting on their glasses’and on the watches in their hands and, although he didn’t believe in these people, the dusk seerned to seep out around them from under the golden elms.

“He’s off.” Far away Bond could see a flying brown horse rounding the top end of the track and turning into the long stretch towards them. At that distance, not a sound came to them, but quickly there was a soft drumming on the tan track that grew until, with a swift thunder of hooves, the horse rounded the bend in front of them, right up against the far rails, and hurtled on the last furlong towards the watching men.

A tingle of excitement ran down Bond’s spine as the chestnut flashed by, its teeth bared and its eyes wild with the effort, its gleaming quarters pounding and the breath snorting out of its wide nostrils, the boy’on its back arched like a cat in the stirrups, his face low down and almost touching the horse’s neck. And then they had gone in a spray of sound and upflung earth and Bond’s eyes moved to the two watching men, now crouching, and he saw the two arms jerk downwards as they jammed down the stops on their watches.

Leiter touched him on the arm and they moved casually away and back under the trees towards the car.

“Moving dam’ well,” commented Leiter. “Better’than the real Shy Smile ever did. No idea what the time was, but he was certainly burning up the track. If he can do that for a mile and a quarter he’ll get home. And he’ll have an allowance of six pounds seeing as how he hasn’t won a race this year. And that’ll give him an extra edge. Now let’s go and have the hell of a breakfast. It’s given me an appetite seeing these crooks so early in the morning.” And then he added softly, almost to himself, “And then I’m going to see how much Master Bell will take to ride foul and get himself disqualified.”

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