Read Online Dick Francis's Gamble by Felix Francis - Free Book Online

grandstand steps for a few seconds, looking at him, but he made no further obscure reference to whatever was clearly troubling him.
    â€œRight, then,” I said. “No doubt I’ll see you sometime in the office. Bye, now.”
    â€œYes,” he replied. “Right. Good-bye.”
    I walked away leaving him there, standing ramrod straight and looking out across the track as if in deep thought.
    I wondered what that had all been about.
    Â 
    Â 
    M ark Vickers won twice more during the afternoon, including the big race on Yellow Digger at the relatively long odds of eight to one, giving Mark a four-winner lead over Billy Searle in the championship race, and me a tidy payout from the Tote.
    Billy Searle was not in the least bit happy when he emerged from the Weighing Room after the last race for our meeting.
    â€œBloody Vickers,” he said to me. “Did you see the way he won the first? Beat the poor animal half to death with his whip. Stewards should have banned him for excessive use.”
    I decided not to say that I actually thought that Mark Vickers had been rather gentle with his use of the whip in the first race, and had in fact ridden a textbook finish with his hands and heels to win by a head. Perhaps, in the circumstances, it wouldn’t have been very diplomatic. I also chose not to mention to Billy that Mark was a client of mine as well.
    â€œBut there’s still plenty of time left for you to catch him,” I said, although I knew there wasn’t, and Mark Vickers was bang in form while Billy was not.
    â€œIt’s my bloody turn,” he said vehemently. “I’ve been waiting all these years to get my chance, and now, with Frank injured, I’m going to bloody lose out to some young upstart.”
    Life could be hard. Billy Searle was four years older than me and he’d been runner-up in the championship for each of the past eight years. Every time, he’d been beaten by the same man, the jump jockey recognized by all as the best in the business, Frank Miller. But Frank had broken his leg badly in a fall the previous December and had been out of action now for four months. This year, for the first time in a decade, it would be someone else’s turn to be champion jockey, but, after today’s triple for Mark Vickers, it seemed likely that it wouldn’t be Billy. And time was no longer on Billy’s side. Thirty-three is getting on for a jump jockey, and the new crop of youngsters were good, very good, and they were also hungry for success.
    It was obvious to me that Billy was in no real mood to discuss his finances even though it had been he, not me, who had called the previous afternoon asking for this urgent meeting at Cheltenham. But I’d come all the way from London to talk to him and I didn’t want it to be a wasted journey.
    â€œWhat was it that you wished to discuss?” I asked him.
    â€œI want all my money back,” he said suddenly.
    â€œWhat do you mean ‘back’?” I asked.
    â€œI want all my money back from Lyall and Black.”
    â€œBut your money is not with Lyall and Black,” I said. “It’s in the investments that we bought for you. You still own them.”
    â€œWell, I want it back anyway,” he said.
    â€œWhy?” I asked.
    â€œI just do,” he said crossly. “And I don’t need to tell you why. It’s my money, and I want it back.” He was building himself into a full-blown fury. “Surely I can do what I like with my own money?”
    â€œOK. OK, Billy,” I said, trying to calm him down. “Of course you can have the money back. But it’s not that simple. I will need to sell the shares and bonds you have. I can do that tomorrow.”
    â€œFine,” he said.
    â€œBut, Billy,” I said, “some of your investments were bought with long-term growth in mind. Just last week I acquired some thirty-year government bonds for you. If I