Wobble to Death by Peter Lovesey Read Free Book Online Page A

a strategy of straw-clutching.
    Now this cripple of three hours ago was completing his second mile in less than twelve minutes. Chadwick, by con-trast, was having to force his taut muscles to work. It was hard enough walking; raising a run was unthinkable. Twice Darrell had lapped him, and now he could hear the boots bearing down on him again. This time, as though to empha-sise his new role, Darrell spoke as he moved out to overtake. ‘Care to run a few laps with me? Easier that way.’
    ‘Not at present,’ Chadwick answered, between gasps.
    The infernal man was chopping his stride, talking over his shoulder.
    ‘We might make six hundred by Saturday if we share the pace,’ continued Darrell. ‘Settle the race in the final stages, but both beat the record.’
    Chadwick shook his head, but said nothing, and Darrell, after shrugging his shoulders and opening his arms expan-sively, cruised on ahead.
    The runners on the outer track were following these developments with interest. Williams spoke first.
    ‘What’s this? Charlie Darrell’s bloody swan-song, I reckon.’
    ‘What d’you mean?’
    ‘Obvious. He’s finished. Tryin’ to run Chadwick into the ground before ’e stops.’
    ‘No, no,’ said Chalk, from long experience, ‘Charlie ain’t the man to try that. Besides, ’e don’t look done in to me. ’E’s ’ad one of Monk’s bracers. That’s what’s ’appened to him. Two hours from now ’e’ll be creeping round like the rest of us. Mark my words.’
    O’Flaherty was sceptical.
    ‘It’s bloody early in the race to be touching that stuff. I’ve got a pick-me-up for myself, but I shan’t let it pass my lips before Thursday.’
    Williams rarely let an opportunity pass.
    ‘Sure you didn’t take it as a night-cap, Feargus, before you saw the spook?’
    The Irishman lashed out with an arm, but Williams had once earned his living as a pugilist, and ducked neatly.
    IN THE BOARDROOM, Herriott and Jacobson were review-ing the first day’s takings, which amounted to a little over £260.
    ‘It could be a deal worse, Walter. With the £170 we took in entries we’ve already covered the hire of the Hall. Monday and Tuesday are never good days in these affairs. Astley reckons to double his receipts on the third and four days, and then double them again for the last two.’
    ‘There’s still two and a half thousand in expenses to cover,’ Jacobson reminded him. ‘If Darrell doesn’t blow up we ought to get good reports in the Press. But the moonstruck idiot is on the track now, spurting like a harrier. He’ll never keep going, Sol. He wasn’t a sound investment.’
    Herriott exhaled noisily.
    ‘One moment, Walter. You’re the manager of this race, and you are responsible to me for seeing that it proceeds successfully. I picked out two of the best men in England, on good advice—the dregs and lees don’t concern us—and I’ve staked a fortune on this promotion. You’—and he laid a fat finger on Jacobson’s sleeve—‘will see that Darrell doesn’t drop out. He runs till Saturday, or walks, or crawls. Understand me?’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ answered Jacobson, ‘but you understand this, Sol. I agree I’m responsible for all the arrangements. I’ve appointed teams of judges and scorers who are working well in difficult conditions. I’ve spent weeks over preparations— printing, advertising, hiring officials, contractors for the stand, gate-keepers, commissionaires, police—’
    ‘All right, Walter. You’ve done well up to now—’
    ‘And there have been belts and medals to prepare, and all the entries to sift. That was my work, and it’s done, even if I knew nothing of pedestrianism before last June. What’s been your contribution, Sol?’
    ‘Three thousand pounds of my money, among other things.’
    Months of stifled resentment were inflaming Jacob-son now.
    ‘Well, I can tell you what those other things are. Press interviews and escorting lady visitors—and one other duty that you