‘I might for a while longer. Let the bastards sweat a bit, thinking they’ve killed me.’

‘And who exactly are the bastards?’

‘That’s what I’m wanting you to find out, mate. So we can nail them, good and proper.’

And with that he had gone, disappearing into the undergrowth.

I sat there for a while longer, wondering what to do.

Was Gary right or was he being a fantasist? Could it really be the case that someone was trying to manipulate all of British racing for their own greedy ends? And if so, how did I stop them?

I was quite cross that I’d driven all the way up here and still Gary hadn’t told me the names of anyone he suspected.

What should I do now? Simply drive the four hours home again?

I thought about anyone else I knew in Middleham.

In all there were about a dozen trainers based in and around the town, and I knew most of them either personally or by reputation. A few, like Gary, were former jockeys, and one of those, Simon Paulson, had been riding in my era, and we’d shared a number of close battles together.

Surely it couldn’t do any harm to pay him a visit.

Simon’s stables were in the shadow of the ancient castle, the ruins dark and somewhat intimidating under the leaden sky.

I pulled the Skoda into his yard just after two thirty, when all should have been quiet. I just hoped he hadn’t gone to Doncaster, but that was unlikely as Doncaster on this day was flat racing, and he only trained jumpers. And he surely wouldn’t have gone all the way to the jump meeting at Ascot, but I was worried that he might be at the one at Carlisle.

He wasn’t.

He opened his front door at my second ring, but didn’t seem too pleased to have his Sunday afternoon slumbers disturbed, and especially not by me.

‘Hello, Sid,’ he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes. ‘Long time no see. What brings you all the way up here? Or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘Just passing through on my way home,’ I lied. ‘I was up at Kelso races yesterday.’

‘I was there too! Had a winner. But I didn’t see you.’

‘I was in a corporate box all day, keeping out of the rain.’ I smiled. ‘Yes, well done with Regal Monarch in the Borders Chase.’

I’d just used my phone to check yesterday’s Kelso weather and also the racing results on the Racing Post website. Regal Monarch had won easily, in a downpour.

‘Yeah, did well, didn’t he? That was his fifth straight win in a row.’

He stepped out of the door and closed it behind him. Then he glanced down at my left hand, as everyone did. I was well used to it.