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fail also in the search for vandals； I nevertheless did my best to earn my fee by approaching the problem crabwise； from the side； not by asking questions of the owners of the ponies； but of the newspapermen who had written the columns in the papers。
I did it methodically on the telephone； starting with the local Kent papers； then chasing up the by…line reporters in the London dailies。 Most of the replies were the same： the story had originated from a news agency that supplied all papers with condensed tactual information。 Follow…ups and interpretation were the business of the papers themselves。
Among the newspapers Linda Fern had given me； The Pump had stirred up most disgust； and after about six phone calls I ran to earth the man who'd practically burned holes in the page with the heat of his prose； Kevin Mills； The Pump's chief bleeding hearts reporter。
'A jar？' he said； to my invitation。 'Don't see why not。'
He met me in a pub （nice anonymous surroundings） and he told me he'd personally been down to Kent on that story。 He'd interviewed all the children and their parents and also a fierce lady who ran one of the branches of the Pony Club； and he'd pestered the police until they'd thrown him out。
'Zilch；' he said； downing a double gin and tonic。 'No one saw a thing。 All those ponies were out in fields and all of them were attacked some time between sunset and dawn； which in January and February gave the vandals hours and hours to do the job and vamoose。'
'All dark； though；' I said。
He shook his head。 'They were all done over on fine nights； near the full moon in each month。'
'How many； do you remember？'
'Four altogether in January。 Two of them were blinded。 Two were mares with torn knife wounds up their 。。。 well； birth passages； as our squeamish editor had me put it。'
'And February？'
'One blinded； two more chopped up mares； one cut…off foot。 A poor little girl found the foot near the water trough where her pony used to drink。 Ellis Quint did a brilliant TV programme about it。 Didn't you see it？'
'I was in America； but I've heard about it since。'
'There were trailers of that programme all week。 Almost the whole nation watched it。 It made a hell of an impact。 That pony was the last one in Kent； as far as I know。 The police think it was a bunch of local thugs who got the wind up when there was so much fuss。 And people stopped turning ponies out into unguarded fields； see？'
I ordered him another double。 He was middle…aged； half bald； doing nicely as to paunch。 He wiped an untidy moustache on the back of his hand and said that in his career he'd interviewed so many parents of raped and murdered girls that the ponies had been almost a relief。
I asked him about the later copycat attacks on thoroughbreds in other places； not Kent。
'Copycat？' he repeated。 'So they say。'
'But？' I prompted。
He drank； thought it over； confided。
'All the others；' he said； 'are not in bunches； like Kent。 As far I know…and there may be still others…there were about five very young horses； foals and yearlings； that had things done to them； bad enough mostly for them to have to be put down； but none of them was blinded。 One had his muzzle hacked off。 None of them were mares。 But 。。。' He hesitated； sure of his facts； I thought； but not of how I would react to them。 'Go on。'
'See； three others were two…year…olds； and all of those had a foot off。'
I felt the same revulsion that I saw in his face。
'One in March；' he said。 'One in April。 One last month。'
'Not；' I said slowly； 'at the full moon？'
'Not precisely。 Just on moonlit nights。'
'But why haven't you written about it？'
'I get sent to major disasters；' he said patiently。 'Air crashes； multiple deaths； dozens of accidents and murders。 Some nutter driving around chopping off a horse's foot now and again it's not my absolute priority； but maybe I'll get round to it。 The news agency hasn't picked up on it； but I tend to read provincial papers。 Old habit。 There has been just a par or two here and there about animal vandals。 It's always happening。 Horses； sheep； dogs…weirdos get their mucky hands on them。 e to think of it； though； if there's another one this month I'll insist on giving it the both…barrel treatment。 And now don't you go feeding this to other papers。 I want my scoop。'
'Silence；' I promised； 'if 。。。'
He asked suspiciously 'If what？'
'If you could give me a list of the people whose thoroughbreds have been damaged。'
He said cautiously； 'It'll cost you。'
'Done；' I said； and we agreed both on a fee and on my giving him first chance at any story I might e up with。
We fulfilled his mitment that same afternoon by sending a motorbike courier bearing a sealed brown envelope containing photocopies of several inconspicuous small paragraphs culled from provincial papers in Liverpool； Reading； Shrewsbury； Manchester； Birmingham and York。 All the papers gave the names and vague addresses of the owners of vandalised thoroughbreds； so I set off by car and visited them。
Four days later； when I returned to Linda Ferns' house in Kent； I had heard enough about man's inhumanity to horses to last me for life。 The injuries inflicted； from the hacked…off muzzle onwards； were truly beyond prehension but； pared with the three two…year…olds； were all random and without pattern。 It was the severed feet that were connected。
'I came across his foot by the water trough in the field；' one woman said； her eyes screwing up at the memory。 'I couldn't believe it。 Just a foot。 Tell you the truth； I brought up my breakfast。 He was a really nice two…year…old colt。' She swallowed。 'He wasn't standing anywhere near his foot。 The off…fore； it was。 He'd wandered away on three legs and he was eating grass。 Just eating； as if nothing had happened。 He didn't seem to feel any pain。'
'What did you do？' I asked。
'I called the vet。 He came 。。。 He gave me a tranquilliser。 He said I needed it more than the colt did。 He looked after everything for me。'
'Was the colt insured？' I asked。
She took no offence at the question。 I guessed it had been asked a dozen times already。 She said there had been no insurance。 They had bred the two…year…old themselves。 They had been going to race him later in the year。 They had been to Cheltenham races and had backed the winner of the Gold Cup； a great day； and the very next morning 。。。
I asked her for the vet's name and address； and I went to see him at his home。
'How was the foot taken off？' I asked。
He wrinkled his forehead。 'I don't rightly know。 It was neat。 The colt had bled very little。 There was a small pool of blood on the grass about a yard away from the foot； and that was all。 The colt himself let me walk right up to him。 He looked calm and normal； except that his off…fore ended at the fetlock。'
'Was it done with an axe？'
He hesitated。 'I'd say more like a machete。 Just the one cut； fast and clean。 Whoever did it knew just where to aim for； unless he was simply lucky。'
'Did you tell the police？'
'Sure。 A detective sergeant came out。 He vomited too。 Then I called the knackers and put the colt down。 Bloody vandals！ I'd like to cut off the