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“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.

I shall not describe the race. After the first round or two, what with dust in my eyes and my neck aching from turning my head so rapidly, I just sat back and let them spin in front of me.

It was after a dozen laps or so, with number thirteen doing as well as any of them, that Tish was arrested.

Charlie Sands came up beside the car with a gentleman named Atkins, who turned out to be a county detective. Charlie Sands was looking stern and severe, but the detective was rather apologetic.

“This is Miss Carberry,” said Charlie Sands. “Aunt Tish, this gentleman wishes to speak to you.”

“Come around after the race,” Tish observed calmly.

“Miss Carberry,” said the detective gently, “I believe you are back of this race, aren’t you?”

“What if I am?” demanded Tish.

Charlie Sands put a hand on the detective’s arm. “It’s like this, Aunt Tish,” he said; “you are accused of practicing a short-change game, that’s all. This race is sewed up. You employ those racing-cars with drivers at an average of fifty dollars a week. They are hardly worth it, Aunt Tish. I could have got you a better string for twenty-five.”

Tish opened her mouth and shut it again without speaking.

“You also control the betting privileges. As you own all the racers you have probably known for a couple of weeks who will win the race. Having made the Fein favorite, you can bet on a Brand or a Bonor, or whatever one you chance to like, and win out. Only I take it rather hard of you, Aunt Tish, not to have let the family in. I’m hard up as the dickens.”

“Charlie Sands!” said Tish impressively. “If you are joking–“

“Joking! Did you ever know a county detective to arrest a prominent woman at a race-track as a little jest between friends? There’s no joke, Aunt Tish. You’ve financed a phony race. The permit is taken in your name–L.L. Carberry. Whatever car wins, you and Ellis take the prize money, half the gate receipts, and what you have made out of the betting–“