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ft the Piccadilly restaurant in a taxi and got the driver to make two reconnoitring passes round the railed central garden。
All seemed quiet。 I paid the driver； walked without incident up the steps to the front door； used my key； went up to the next floor and let myself into the haven of home。
No ambush。 No creaks。 Silence。
I retrieved a few envelopes from the wire basket clipped inside the letter box and found a page in my Fax。 It seemed a long time since I'd left； but it had been only the previous morning。
My cracked arm hurt。 Well； it would。 I'd ridden races and winners…now and then with cracks： disguising them； of course； because the betting public deserved healthy riders to carry their money。 The odd thing was that in the heat of a race one didn't feel an injury。 It was in the cooler ebbing of excitement that the disfort returned。
The best way； always； to minimise woes was to concentrate on something else。 I looked up a number and phoned the handy acquaintance who had set up my puters for me。
'Doug；' I said； when his wife had fetched him in from an oil change； 'tell me about listening in to mobile phones。'
'I'm covered in grease；' he plained。 'Won't this do another time？'
'Someone is listening to my mobile。'
'Oh。' He sniffed。 'So you want to know how to stop it？'
'You're dead right。'
He sniffed again。 'I've got a cold；' he said； 'my wife's mother is ing to dinner and my sump is filthy。'
I laughed： couldn't help it。 'Please； Doug。'
He relented。 'I suppose you've got an analog mobile。 They have radio signals that can be listened to。 It's difficult； though。 Your average bloke in the pub couldn't do it。'
'Could you？'
'I'm not your average bloke in the pub。 I'm a walking mid…life crisis halfway through an oil change。 I could do it if I had the right gear。'
'How do I deal with it？'
'Blindingly simple。' He sneezed and sniffed heavily。 'I need a tissue。' There was a sudden silence on the line； then the distant sound of a nose being vigorously blown； then the hoarse voice of wisdom in my ear。
'OK；' he said。 'You ditch the analog； and get a digital。'
'I do？'
'Sid； being a jockey does not equip the modern man to live in tomorrow's world。'
'I do see that。'
'Everyone；' he sniffed； 'if they had any sense； would go digital。'
'Teach me。'
'The digital system；' he said； 'is based on two numbers； nought and one。 Nought and one have been with us from the dawn of puters； and no one has ever invented anything better。'
'They haven't？'
He detected my mild note of irony。 'Has anyone；' he asked； 're…invented the wheel？'
'Er； no。'
'Quite。 One cannot improve on an immaculate conception。'
'That's blasphemous。' I enjoyed him always。
'Certainly not；' he said。 'Some things are perfect to begin with。 E = mc2； and all that。'
'I grant that。 How about my mobile？'
'The signal sent to a digital telephone；' he said； 'is not one signal； as in analog； but is eight simultaneous signals； each transmitting one eighth of what you hear。'
'Is that so？' I asked dryly。
'You may bloody snigger；' he said； 'but I'm giving you the goods。 A digital phone receives eight simultaneous signals； and it is impossible for anyone to decode them； except the receiving mobile。 Now； because the signal arrives in eight pieces； the reception isn't always perfect。 You don't get the crackle or the fading in and out that you get on analog phones； but you do sometimes get bits of words missing。 Still； no one can listen in。 Even the police can never tap a digital mobile number。'
'So；' I said； fascinated； 'where do I get one？'
'Try Harrods；'he said。
'Harrods？'
'Harrods is just round the corner from where you live； isn't it？'
'More or less。'
'Try there； then。 Or anywhere else that sells phones。 You can use the same number that you have now。 You just need to tell your service provider。 And； of course； you'll need an SIM card。 You have one； of course？'
I said meekly； 'No。'
'Sid！' he protested。 He sneezed again。 'Sorry。 An SIM card is a Subscribers Identity Module。 You can't live without one。'
'I can't？'
'Sid； I despair of you。 Wake up to technology。'
'I'm better at knowing what a horse thinks。'
Patiently he enlightened me； 'An SIM card is like a credit card。 It actually is a credit card。 Included on it are your name and mobile phone number and other details； and you can slot it into any mobile that will take it。 For instance； if you are someone's guest in Athens and he has a mobile that accepts an SIM card； you can slot your card into his phone and the charge will appear on your account； not his。'
'Are you serious？' I asked。
'With my problems； would I joke？'
'Where do I get an SIM card？'
'Ask Harrods。' He sneezed。 'Ask anyone who travels for a living。 Your service provider will provide。' He sniffed。 'So long； Sid。'
Amused and grateful； I opened my post and read the Fax。 The Fax being most accessible got looked at first。
Handwritten； it scrawled simply； 'Phone me；' and gave a long number。
The writing was Kevin Mills'； but the Fax machine he'd sent it from was anonymously not The Pump's。
I phoned the number given； which would have connected me to a mobile； and got only the infuriating instruction； 'Please try later。'
There were a dozen messages I didn't much want on my answering machine and a piece of information I definitely didn't want in a large brown envelope from Shropshire。
The envelope contained a copy of a glossy county magazine； one I'd sent for as I'd been told it included lengthy coverage of the heir…to…the…dukedom's ing…of…age dance。 There were； indeed； four pages of pictures； mostly in colour； acpanied by prose gush about the proceedings and a plete guest list。
A spectacular burst of fireworks filled half a page； and there in a group of heaven…gazing spectators； there in white dinner jacket and all his photogenic glory； there unmistakably stood Ellis Quint。
My heart sank。 The fireworks had started at three…thirty。 At three…thirty； when the moon was high； Ellis had been a hundred miles north…west of the Windward Stud's yearling。
There were many pictures of the dancing； and a page of black and white shots of the guests； names attached。 Ellis had been dancing。 Ellis smiled twice from the guests' page； carefree； having a good time。
Damn it to hell； I thought。 He had to have taken the colt's foot off early。 Say by one o'clock。 He could then have arrived for the fireworks by three…thirty。 I'd found no one who'd seen him arrive； but several who swore to his presence after five…fifteen。 At five…fifteen he had helped the heir to climb onto a table to make a drunken speech。 The heir had poured a bottle of champagne over Ellis's head。 Everyone remembered that。 Ellis could not have driven back to Northampton before dawn。
For two whole days the previous week I'd traipsed round Shropshire； and next door Cheshire； handed on from grand house to grander； asking much the same two questions （according to sex） did you dance with Ellis Quint or did you drink/eat with him。 The answers at first had been freely given； but； as time went on； news of my mission spread before