“Nice day for a ride in the country, old chap,” Zavala said with a lame attempt at an upper-crust English accent.

“Tallyho, bangers and mashed and the rest of it,” Austin said.

Taking their time, they brought their horses to a trot and came out on the other side of the woods where the trees had been cleared for a road allowed by the security patrol. There was no fence, only a number of NO TRESPASSING signs facing outward, each with its own motion-activated cameras.

Zavala took a small black box from his pocket and pushed a button. When a light glowed green, they rode between two of the signs across open land, then onto a public road. A big pickup truck with a horse trailer attached was pulled off the side of the road.

Spider Barrett got out of the truck's cab as the two men rode up. After the horses were led into the trailer and the door locked, Zavala handed the black box to Barrett. “Worked like a charm,” he said.

“It's a pretty simple concept,” Barrett said. “This gadget doesn't interrupt the transmission, which they'd pick up immediately. It just delays it for a couple of hours. They'll eventually get a speeded-up picture of you two guys, but it will be too late, and they won't be able to make much sense out of it. Let me show you something even more exciting.”

He opened the truck door and removed a small television screen from the cab. It was plugged into the cigarette lighter outlet. He switched the set on and Gant's image appeared on the small screen, saying, “This is private property,” followed by Austin's laconic “Do tell.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you were a wiseass?” Zavala said.

“Constantly.”

Barrett fast-forwarded to a picture of Doyle. “This is the sonofabitch who tried to kill me,” he said.

Austin removed the baseball hat and examined the tiny camera lens hiding in the Harley-Davidson logo on the crown. “Mr. Doyle would have been very surprised if he knew that your beady eyes were watching him from the grave.”

Barrett laughed. “What was your impression of Gant?”

“Brilliant. Arrogant. Psychopath. I was watching him after the foxhunt. He was gazing at the killing ground as if it were a shrine.”

“Gant always gave me the creeps. I could never figure out why Tris hooked up with him.”

“Evil doings make strange bedfellows, I guess. I didn't think he would go for my appeal to reason, but it gave me a chance to size him up, and plant a bug under the garden table before I left.”

“It's working fine, but hasn't picked up anything yet.”

“Do you think the Trouts will have any better luck with Margrave?” Austin said.

“I hope so, but I'm not very optimistic.”

Austin thought about his encounter with Gant. “Neither am I,” he said.

HERE'S TO ARTHUR C. CLARKE," Gant said, raising his glass high.