He removed himself smartly from bay four and pretended to be looking for Etty in bay three, but finally his uncertainty got the better of him and he turned to come and meet me.

'Do you know where Carlo is?' he asked without preamble.

'Where would you expect him to be?' I said.

He blinked. 'In his room- I knock on his door when I am ready- but he wasn't there. Have you- have you seen him?'

'At four o'clock this morning,' I said casually. 'He was fast asleep in the back of your car. I imagine he is still there.'

He turned his head away as if I'd punched him.

'He came, then,' he said, and sounded hopeless.

'He came,' I agreed.

'But you didn't- I mean- kill him?'

'I'm not your father,' I said astringently. 'Carlo got injected with some stuff he brought for Buckram.'

His head snapped back and his eyes held a fury that was for once not totally directed at me.

'I told him not to come,' he said angrily. 'I told him not to.'

'Because Buckram could win for you next week?'

'Yes- no- You confuse me.'

'But he disregarded you,' I suggested, 'And obeyed your father?'

'I told him not to come,' he repeated.

'He wouldn't dare disobey your father,' I said dryly.

'No one disobeys my father,' he stated automatically and then looked at me in bewilderment. 'Except you,' he said.

'The knack with your father,' I explained, 'is to disobey within the area where retaliation becomes progressively less profitable, and to widen that area at every opportunity.'

'I don't understand.'

'I'll explain it to you on the way to Doncaster,' I said.

'I am not coming with you,' he said stiffly. 'Carlo will drive me in my own car.'

'He'll be in no shape to. If you want to go to the races I think you'll find you either have to drive yourself or come with me.'

He gave me an angry stare and didn't admit he couldn't drive. But he couldn't resist the attraction of the races, either, and I had counted on it.

'Very well. I will come with you.'

After we had ridden back from Racecourse side with the first lot I told him to talk to Margaret in the office while I changed into race-going clothes, and then I drove him up to the Forbury Inn for him to do the same.

He bounded out of the Jensen almost before it stopped rolling and wrenched open one of the Mercedes' rear doors. Inside the car a hunched figure sitting on the back seat showed that Carlo was at least partially awake, if not a hundred per cent receptive of the Italian torrent of abuse breaking over him.

I tapped Alessandro on the back and when he momentarily stopped cursing, said, 'If he feels anything like I did after similar treatment, he will not be taking much notice. Why don't you do something constructive, like getting ready to go to the races?'

'I'll do what I please,' he said fiercely, but the next minute it appeared that what pleased him was to change for the races.

While he was indoors, Carlo made one or two remarks in Italian which stretched my knowledge of the language too far. The gist, however, was clear. Something to do with my ancestors.

Alessandro reappeared wearing the dark suit he had first arrived in, which was now a full size too large. It made him look even thinner, and a good deal younger, and almost harmless. I reminded myself sharply that a lowered guard invited the uppercut, and jerked my head for him to get into the Jensen.

When he had closed the door, I spoke to Carlo through the open window of the Mercedes. 'Can you hear what I say?' I said. 'Are you listening?'

He raised his head with an effort and gave me a look which showed that he was, even if he didn't want to.

'Good,' I said. 'Now, take this in. Alessandro is coming with me to the races. Before I bring him back, I intend to telephone to the stables to make quite sure that no damage of any kind has been done there- that all the horses are alive and well. If you have any idea of going back today to finish off what you didn't do last night, you can drop it. Because if you do any damage you will not get Alessandro back tonight- or for many nights- and I cannot think that Enso Rivera would be very pleased with you.'

He looked as furious as his sorry state would let him.

'You understand?' I said.

'Yes.' He closed his eyes and groaned. I left him to it with reprehensible satisfaction.

'What did you say to Carlo?' Alessandro demanded as I swept him away down the drive.

'Told him to spend the day in bed.'

'I don't believe you.'

'Words to that effect.'

He looked suspiciously at the beginnings of a smile I didn't bother to repress, and then, crossly, straight ahead through the windscreen.

After ten silent miles I said, 'I've written a letter to your father. I'd like you to send it to him.'

'What letter?'

I took an envelope out of my inner pocket and handed it to him.

'I want to read it,' he stated aggressively.

'Go ahead. It isn't stuck. I thought I would save you the trouble.'

He compressed his mouth and pulled out the letter.

He read:

Enso Rivera,

The following points are for your consideration. 1. While Alessandro stays, and wishes to stay, at Rowley Lodge, the stable cannot be destroyed. Following any form or degree of destruction, or of attempted destruction, of the stables, the Jockey Club will immediately be informed of everything that has passed, with the result that Alessandro would be banned for life from riding races anywhere in the world.

2. Tommy Hoylake.

Should any harm of any description come to Tommy Hoylake, or to any other jockey employed by the stable, the information will be laid, and Alessandro will ride no more races.

3. Moonrock, Indigo and Buckram.

Should any further attempts be made to injure or kill any of the horses at Rowley Lodge, information will be laid, and Alessandro will ride no more races.

4. The information which would be laid consists at present of a full account of all pertinent events, together with (a) the two model horses and their handwritten labels; (b) the results of an analysis done at the Equine Research Establishment on a blood sample taken from Indigo, showing the presence of the anaesthetic promazine; (c) X-ray pictures of the fracture of Indigo's near foreleg; (d) one rubber mask, worn by Carlo; (e) one hypodermic syringe containing traces of anaesthetic, and (f) one truncheon, both bearing Carlo's fingerprints.

These items are all lodged with a solicitor, who has instructions for their use in the event of my death.

Bear in mind that the case against you and your son does not have to be proved in a court of law, but only to the satisfaction of the Stewards of the Jockey Club. It is they who take away jockeys' licences.

If no further damage is done or attempted at Rowley Lodge, I will agree on my part to give Alessandro every reasonable opportunity of becoming a proficient and successful jockey.

He read the letter through twice. Then he slowly folded it and put it back in the envelope.

'He won't like it,' he said. 'He never lets anyone threaten him.'

'He shouldn't have tried threatening me,' I said mildly.

'He thought it would be your father- and old people frighten more easily, my father says.'

I took my eyes off the road for two seconds to glance at him. He was no more disturbed by what he had just said than when he had said his father would kill me. Frightening and murdering had been the background to his childhood, and he still seemed to consider them normal.

'Do you really have all those things?' he asked. 'The blood test result- and the syringe?'

'I do indeed.'

'But Carlo always wears gloves-' He stopped.

'He was careless,' I said.

He brooded over it. 'If my father makes Carlo break any more horses' legs, will you really get me warned off?'