'No- I shan't bother the police. Not yet, anyway.' He opened his mouth to protest, so I went straight on, 'There are very good reasons. I can't tell you them- but they do exist.'

'Oh well, it's up to you.' His eyes slid sideways towards Moonrock's box, and his eyebrows asked the question.

'I don't know,' I said. 'What do you think? Looking back.'

He thought for several seconds, which meant he was serious, and then said 'It would have taken a good heavy blow to smash that hock. Wouldn't have thought anyone would bother, when a pastern like Indigo's would be simple.'

'Moonrock just provided the idea for Indigo?' I suggested.

'I should think so.' He grinned. 'Mind it doesn't become an epidemic.'

'I'll mind,' I said lightly; and knew I would have to.

Alessandro showed no sign that Etty had given him my message about wanting to see him. He strode straight out of the yard towards his waiting car and it was only because I happened to be looking out of the office window that I caught him.

I opened the window and called to him.

'Alessandro, come here a minute-'

He forged straight on as if he hadn't heard, so I added 'To talk about your first races.'

He stopped in one stride with a foot left in the air in indecision, then changed direction and came more slowly towards the window.

'Go round into the owners' room,' I said. 'Where you were lying on the sofa-' I shut the window, gave Margaret a whimsical rueful placating smile which could mean whatever she thought it did, and removed myself from earshot.

Alessandro came unwillingly into the owners' room, knowing that he had been hooked. I played fair, however.

'You can have a ride in an apprentice race at Catterick four weeks today. On Pullitzer. And on condition that you don't go bragging about it in the yard and antagonising all the other boys.'

'I want to ride Archangel,' he said flatly.

'It sometimes seems to me that you are remarkably intelligent and with a great deal of application might become a passable jockey,' I said, and before his self-satisfaction smothered him, added, 'And sometimes, like today, you behave so stupidly and with such little understanding of what it takes to be what you want to be, that your ambitions look pathetic.'

The thin body stiffened rigidly and the black eyes glared. Since I undoubtedly had his full attention, I made the most of it.

'These horses are here to win races. They won't win races if their training programme is hashed up. If you are told to do a half speed gallop on Clip Clop and you work him flat out and tire him beyond his capacity, you are helping to make sure he takes longer to prepare. You won't win races unless the stable does, so it is in your own interest to help train the horses to the best of your ability. Disobeying riding orders is therefore just plain stupid. Do you follow?'

The black eyes looked blacker and sank into the sockets. He didn't answer.

Then there is this fixation of yours about Archangel. I'll let you ride him on the Heath as soon as you show you are good enough, and in particular responsible enough, to look after him. Whether you ever ride him in a race is up to you, more than me. But I'm doing you a favour in starting you off on less well known horses at smaller meetings. You may think you are brilliant, but you have only ridden against amateurs. I am giving you a chance to prove what you can do against professionals in private, and lessening the risk of you falling flat on your face at Newbury or Kempton.'

The eyes were unwavering. He still said nothing.

'And Indigo,' I went on, taking a grip on my anger and turning it out cold and biting, 'Indigo may have been of no use to you because he no longer raced, but if you cause the death of any more of the horses there will be just one less for you to win on.'

He moved his jaw as if with an effort.

'I didn't- cause the death of Indigo.'

I took the tin out of my pocket and gave it to him. He opened it slowly, compressed his mouth at the contents, and read the label.

'I didn't want- I didn't mean him to kill Indigo.' The supercilious smile had all gone. He was still hostile, but defensive. 'He was angry because Traffic had thrown me.'

'Did you mean him to kill Traffic, then?'

'No, I did not,' he said vehemently. 'As you said, what would be the point of killing a horse I could win a race on?'

'But to kill harmless old Indigo because you bumped your head off a horse you yourself insisted on riding-' I protested with bitter sarcasm.

His gaze, for the first time, switched to the carpet. Somewhere, deep down, he was not too proud of himself.

'You didn't tell him,' I guessed. 'You didn't tell him that you insisted on riding Traffic.'

'Miss Craig told me to,' he said sullenly.

'Not the time he threw you.'

He looked up again, and I would have sworn he was unhappy. 'I didn't tell my father I was knocked out.'

'Who did?'

'Carlo. The chauffeur.'

'You could have explained that I did not try to harm you.'

The unhappiness turned to a shade of desperation.

'You have met him,' he said. 'It isn't always possible to tell him things, especially when he is angry. He will give me anything I ask for, but I cannot talk to him.'

He went away and left me speechless.

He couldn't talk to his father.

Enso would give Alessandro anything he wanted- would smash a path for him at considerable trouble to himself and would persist as long as Alessandro hungered, but they couldn't talk.

And I- I could lie and scheme and walk a tightrope to save my father's stables for him.

But talk with him, no, I couldn't.

'Did you know,' Margaret said, looking up casually from her typewriter, 'that Alessandro is living down the road at the Forbury Inn?'

'No, I didn't,' I said, 'But it doesn't surprise me. It goes with a chauffeur-driven Mercedes, after all.'

'He has a double room to himself with a private bathroom, and doesn't eat enough to keep a bird alive.'

'How do you know all this?'

'Susie brought a friend home from school for tea yesterday and she turned out to be the daughter of the resident receptionist at the Forbury Inn.'

'Any more fascinating intimate details?' I asked.

She smiled. 'Alessandro puts on a track suit every afternoon and goes off in the car and when he comes back he is all sweaty and has a very hot bath with nice smelly oil in it.'

'The receptionist's daughter is how old?'

'Seven.'

'Proper little snooper.'

'All children are observant- And she also said that he never talks to anyone if he can avoid it except to his chauffeur in a funny language-'

'Italian,' I murmured.

'- and that nobody likes him very much because he is pretty rude, but they like the chauffeur still less because he is even ruder.'

I pondered. 'Do you think,' I said, 'that via your daughter, via her school chum, via her receptionist parent, we could find out if Alessandro gave any sort of home address when he registered?'

'Why don't you just ask him?' she said reasonably.

'Ah,' I said. 'But our Alessandro is sometimes a mite contrary. Didn't you ask him, when you completed his indentures?'

'He said they were moving, and had no address.'

'Mm,' I nodded.

'How extraordinary- I can't see why he won't tell you. Well, yes, I'll ask Susie's chum if she knows.'

'Great,' I said, and pinned little hope on it.

Gillie wanted to come and stay at Rowley Lodge.

'How about the homeless orphans?' I said.

'I could take some weeks off. I always can. You know that. And now that you've stopped wandering round industrial towns living in one hotel after another, we could spend a bit more time together.'