At noon Mr. Ellis telephoned Tish that the grand-stand was sold out and that almost all the parking-places that had been reserved were taken.  Charlie Sands came home to luncheon with a curious smile on his face.

“How are you betting, Aunt Tish?” he asked.

“Betting!”

“Yes.  Has Ellis let you in on the betting?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Tish said sourly.  “Mr. Ellis controls the betting so that it may be done in an orderly manner.  I am sure I have nothing to do with it.”

“I’d like to bet a little, Charlie,” Aggie put in with an eye on Tish.  “I’d put all I win on the collection plate on Sunday.”

“Very well.”  Charlie Sands took out his notebook.  “On what car and how much?”

“Ten dollars on the Fein.  It made the best time at the trial heats.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said Charlie Sands.  “Suppose we put it on our young friend next door.”

Bettina rather sniffed.  “On Jasper!” she exclaimed.

“On Jasper,” said Charlie Sands gravely.

Tish, who had hardly heard us, looked up from her plate.

“Bettina is betting,” she snapped.  “Putting it on the collection plate doesn’t help any.”  But with that she caught Charlie Sands’ eye and he winked at her.  Tish colored.  “Gambling is one thing, clean sport is another,” she said hotly.

I believe, however, that whatever Charlie Sands may have suspected, he really knew nothing until the race had started.  By that time it was too late to prevent it, and the only way he could think of to avoid getting Tish involved in a scandal was to let it go on.

We went to the track in Tish’s car and parked in the oval.  Not near the grandstand, however.  Tish had picked out for herself a curve at one end of the track which Mr. Ellis had said was the worst bit on the course.  “He says,” said Tish, as we put the top down and got out the vacuum bottle—­oh, yes, Mr. Ellis had sent Tish one as a present—­“that if there are any smashups they’ll occur here.”

Aggie is not a bloodthirsty woman ordinarily, but her face quite lit up.

“Not really!” she said.

“They’ll probably turn turtle,” said Tish.  “There is never a race without a fatality or two.  No racer can get any life insurance.  Mr. Ellis says four men were killed at the last race he promoted.”

“Then I think Mr. Ellis is a murderer,” Bettina cried.  We all looked at her.  She was limp and white and was leaning back among the cushions with her eyes shut.  “Why didn’t you tell Jasper about this curve?” she demanded of Tish.

But at that moment a pistol shot rang out and the races were on.

The Fein won two of the three small races.  Jasper was entered only for the big race.  In the interval before the race was on, Jasper went round the track slowly, looking for Bettina.  When he saw us he waved, but did not stop.  He was number thirteen.