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asn't my fault； but I know she thinks Silverboy would be alive if I'd let her sleep out there。'
'What happened to him？' I asked neutrally。
Linda shook her head miserably； unable still to tell me。 She was a pretty woman in a conventional thirty…something way： trim figure； well…washed short fair hair； all the health and beauty magazine tips e to admirable life。 Only the dullness in the eyes and the intermittent vibrations in many of her muscles spoke plainly of the long strain of emotional buffeting still assailing her。
'She went out；' she said eventually； 'even though it was bitter cold； and beginning to rain 。。。 February 。。。 she always went to see that his water trough was filled and clean and not frozen over 。。。 and I'd made her put on warm clothes and gloves and a scarf and a real thick woolly hat 。。。 and she came back running； and screaming 。。。 screaming 。。。'
I waited through Linda's unbearable memories。
She said starkly； 'Rachel found his foot。'
There was a moment of utter stillness； an echo of the stunned disbelief of that dreadful morning。
'It was in all the papers；' Linda said； I moved and nodded。 I'd read…months ago…about the blinded Kent ponies。 I'd been busy； inattentive： hadn't absorbed names or details； hadn't realised that one of the ponies had lost a foot。
'I've found out since you telephoned；' I said； 'that round the country； not just here in Kent； there have been another half a dozen or so scattered vandalising attacks on ponies and horses in fields。'
She said unhappily； 'I did see a paragraph about a horse in Lancashire； but I threw the paper away so that Rachel wouldn't read it。 Every time anything reminds her of Silverboy； she has a whole week of nightmares。 She wakes up sobbing。 She es into my bed； shivering； crying。 Please； please find out why 。。。 find out who 。。。 She's so ill 。。。 and although she's in remission just now and able to live fairly normally； it almost certainly won't last。 The doctors say she needs the transplant。'
I said； 'Does Rachel know any of the other children whose ponies were attacked？'
Linda shook her head。 'Most of them belonged to the Pony Club； I think； but Rachel didn't feel well enough to join the Club。 She loved Silverboy…her father gave him to her…but all she could do was sit in the saddle while we led her round。 He was a nice quiet pony； a very nice…looking grey with a darker smoky…coloured mane。 Rachel called him Silverboy； but he had a long pedigree name really。 She needed something to love； you see； and she wanted a pony so much。'
I asked； 'Did you keep any of the newspaper accounts of Silverboy and the other local ponies being attacked？ If you did； can I see them？'
'Yes；' she answered doubtfully； 'but I don't see how they could help。 They didn't help the police。'
'They'd be a start；' I said。
'All right； then。' She left the room and after a while returned with a small blue suitcase； the size for stowing under the seats of aircraft。 'Everything's in here；' she said； passing me the case； 'including a tape of a programme a television pany made。 Rachel and I are in it。 You won't lose it； will you？ We never show it； but I wouldn't want to lose it。' She blinked against tears。 'It was actually the only good thing that happened。 Ellis Quint came to see the children and he was utterly sweet with them。 Rachel loved him。 He was so kind。'
'I know him quite well；' I said。 'If anyone could fort the children； he could。'
'A really nice man；' Linda said。
I took the blue suitcase with its burden of many small tragedies back with me to London and spent indignant hours reading muted accounts of a degree of vandalism that must have been mind…destroying when fresh and bloody and discovered by loving children。
The twenty…minute video tape showed Ellis Quint at his best： the gentle sympathetic healer of unbearable sorrows； the sensible； caring mentator urging the police to treat these crimes with the seriousness given to murders。 How good he was； I thought； at pitching his responses exactly right。 He put his arms round Rachel and talked to her without sentimentality； not mentioning； until right at the end of the programme when the children were off the screen； that for Rachel Ferns the loss of her pony was just one more intolerable blow in a life already full of burdens。
For that programme； Rachel had chosen to wear the pretty blonde wig that gave her back her pre…chemotherapy looks。 Ellis； as a final dramatic impact； had shown for a few seconds a photo of Rachel bald and vulnerable： an ending poignant to devastation。
I hadn't seen the programme when it had been broadcast： from the March date on the tape； I'd been away in America trying to find an absconding owner who'd left a monstrous training account unpaid。 There were； anyway； many of Ellis's programmes I hadn't seen： he presented his twenty…minute twice…weekly journalistic segments as part of an hour…long sports news medley； and was too often on the screen for any one appearance to be especially fanfared。
Meeting Ellis； as I often did at the races； I told him about Linda Ferns calling me in； and asked him if he'd learned any more on the subject of who had mutilated the Kent ponies。
'My dear old Sid；' he said； smiling； 'all of that was months ago； wasn't it？'
'The ponies were vandalised in January and February and your programme was aired in March。'
'And it's now June； right？' He shook his head； neither distressed nor surprised。 'You know what my life's like； I have researchers digging out stories for me。 Television is insatiably hungry。 Of course； if there were any more discoveries about these ponies； I would have been told； and I would have done a follow…up； but I've heard nothing。'
I said； 'Rachel Ferns； who has leukaemia； still has nightmares。'
'Poor little kid。'
'She said you were very kind。'
'Well 。。。 ' He made a ducking； self…deprecating movement of his head； ' 。。。 it isn't so very difficult。 Actually that programme did marvels for my ratings。' He paused。 'Sid； do you know anything about this bookmaker kickback scandal I'm supposed to be doing an expose on next week？'
'Nothing at all；' I regretted。 'But Ellis； going back to the mutilations； did you chase up those other scattered cases of foals and two…year…old thoroughbreds that suffered from vandalism？'
He frowned lightly； shaking his head。 'The researchers didn't think them worth more than a mention or two。 It was copycat stuff。 I mean； there wasn't anything as strong as that story about the children。' He grinned。 'There were no heartstrings attached to the others。'
'You're a cynic；' I said。
'Aren't we all？'
We had been close friends for years； Ellis and I。 We had ridden against each other in races； he as a charismatic amateur； I as a dedicated pro； but both with the inner fire that made hurtling over large jumps on semi…wild half…ton horses at thirty miles an hour seem a wholly reasonable way of passing as many afternoons as possible。
Thinking； after three or four months of no results from the police or the Ellis Quint programme； that I would probably fail also in the search for vandals； I nevertheless did my best to earn my fee by approaching the pr