But Mr. Cazenove was thoroughly aroused.  “You’re hedging,” he sneered; “you’re scared.”

“Nonsense,” said Albert Edward.  “I have never known what fear is—­not since the Armistice, anyhow.  I am one of the bravest men I have ever met.  What are you doing with all that money?”

“Putting it down for you to cover,” said Cazenove firmly.

Albert Edward sighed.  “All right, then, if you will have it so.  William, old bean, I’m afraid I shall have to trouble you for a trifle more out of the Mess Fund. Noblesse oblige, you know.”

MacTavish and the Babe departed with the quest to prepare his mount for the ordeal, while Albert Edward and I sought out Ferdinand and Isabella, our water-cart pair.  Isabella was fast asleep, curled up like a cat and purring pleasantly, but Ferdinand was awake, meditatively gnawing through the wood-work of his stall.  With the assistance of the line-guard we saddled and bridled him; but at the stable door he dug his toes in.  It was long past his racing hours, he gave us to understand, and his union wouldn’t permit it.  He backed all round the standings, treading on recumbent horses, tripping over bails, knocking uprights flat and bringing acres of tin roofing clattering down upon our heads, Isabella encouraging him with ringing fanfares of applause.

At length we roused out the grooms and practically carried him to the starting-point.

“You’ve been the devil of a time,” William grumbled.  “Cazenove’s been waiting for twenty minutes.  See that light over there?  That’s where MacTavish is.  He’s the winning-post.  Keep straight down the mud-track towards it and you’ll be all right.  Don’t swing sideways or you’ll get bunkered.  Form line.  Come up the mule.  Back, Cazenove, back!  Steady.  Go!”

The rivals clapped heels to their steeds and were swallowed up in the night.  I looked at my watch, the hands pointed to 10.30 exactly.  William and I lit cigarettes and waited.  At 10.42 MacTavish walked into us, his lamp had given out and he wanted a new battery.

“Who won?” we inquired.

“Won?” he asked.  “They haven’t started yet, have they?”

“Left here about ten minutes ago,” said William.  “Do you mean to say you’ve seen nothing of them?”

At that moment two loud voices, accompanied by the splash of liquid and the crash of tin, struck our ears from different points of the compass.

“Sounds to me as if somebody had found a watery grave over to the left,” said the Babe.

“Sounds to me as if somebody had returned to stables over to the right,” said I.

We trotted away to investigate.  ’Twas as I thought; Ferdinand had homed to his Isabella and was backing round the standings once more, trailing the infuriated Albert Edward after him, sheets of corrugated iron falling about them like leaves in Vallombrosa.

“Bolted straight in here and scraped me off against the roof,” panted the latter.  “Suppose the confounded apple-fancier won ages ago, didn’t he?”