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“A distressing incident,” he said, “now happily closed. This little room has seen the dissipation of so many tragedies.”

“You don’t say so?” said Simon dryly. “It’s almost a shrine, isn’t it?”

The other laughed.

“At least,” he said, “its suppliants are very generous.”

“You choose them for their generosity?”

The rogue spread out his hands and put his head on one side.

“That,” he said, with the air of a past-master, “that is the secret of blackmail.”

“Then if I were you,” said Simon, “I should chuck in your hand.” The other stiffened. “If Grey Ruby hadn’t won the Stewards’ Cup, I imagine you would have died about five minutes ago.”

The other stooped to rake the ashes to dust.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But what a magnificent race! Neck and neck for a furlong, and won by a head. I lost a bit on Sweden, but I must confess I enjoy——”

Simon lunged.

“Take my advice,” he said, “and chuck in your hand. You’ve got your money by a fluke—the purest fluke.”

The Master straightened his back, poker in hand.