The Affair of the Avalanche Bicycle and Tyre, Co., Ltd. | Page 4

finger's all
right? Want any more plaster?"
"Good evening, good evening," responded Mr. Mallows heavily.
"Thank you, the finger's not troubling me a bit." He held it up, still
decorated by the black plaster. "Your plaster remains, you see -- I was a
little careful not to fray it too much in washing, that was all." And Mr.
Mallows sat down on a light iron garden-chair (of which several stood
here and there in the enclosure) and began to watch the riding.

The track was clear, and dusk was approaching when at last the great
Gillett made his appearance on the track. He answered a friendly
question or two put to him by Mallows and Stedman, and then, giving
his coat to his trainer, swung off along the track on his bicycle, led in
front by a tandem and closely attended by a triplet. In fifty yards his
pace quickened, and he settled down into a swift even pace, regular as
clockwork. Sometimes the tandem and sometimes the triplet went to
the front, but Gillett neither checked nor heeded as, nursed by his
pacers, who were directed by the trainer from the centre, he swept
along mile after mile, each mile in but a few seconds over the two
minutes.
"Look at the action!" exclaimed Stedman with enthusiasm. "Just watch
him. Not an ounce of power wasted there! Did you ever see more
regular ankle work? And did anybody ever sit a machine quite so well
as that? Show me a movement anywhere above the hips!"
"Ah," said Mr. Hallows, "Gillett has a wonderful style -- a wonderful
style, really!"
The men in the enclosure wandered about here and there on the grass,
watching Gillett's riding as one watches the performance of a great
piece of art -- which, indeed, was what Gillett's riding was. There were,
besides Mallows, Stedman, Dorrington and the trainer, two officials of
the Cyclists' Union, an amateur racing man named Sparks, the track
superintendent and another man. The sky grew darker, and gloom fell
about the track. The machines became invisible, and little could be seen
of the riders across the ground but the row of rhythmically working,
legs and the white cap that Gillett wore. The trainer had just told
Stedman that there would be three fast laps and then his man would
come off the track.
"Well, Mr. Stedman," said Mr. Mallows, "I think we shall be all right
for Saturday."
"Rather!" answered Stedman confidently. "Gillett's going great guns,
and steady as a watch!"

The pace now suddenly increased. The tandem shot once more to the
front, the triplet hung on the rider's flank, and the group of swishing
wheels flew round the track at a "one-fifty" gait. The spectators turned
about, following the riders round the track with their eyes. And then
swinging into the straight from the top bend, the tandem checked
suddenly and gave a little jump. Gillett crashed into it from behind, and
the triplet, failing to clear, wavered and swung, and crashed over and
along the track too. All three machines and six men were involved in
one complicated smash.
Everybody rushed across the grass, the trainer first. Then the cause of
the disaster was seen. Lying on its side on the track, with men and
bicycles piled over and against it, was one of the green painted light
iron garden-chairs that had been standing in the enclosure. The triplet
men were struggling to their feet, and though much cut and shaken,
seemed the least hurt of the lot. One of the men of the tandem was
insensible, and Gillett, who from his position had got all the worst of it,
lay senseless too, badly cut and bruised, and his left arm was broken.
The trainer was cursing and tearing his hair. "If I knew; who'd done
this," Stedman cried, "I'd pulp him with that chair!"
"Oh, that betting, that betting!" wailed Mr. Mallows, hopping about
distractedly; "see what it leads people into doing! It can't have been an
accident, can it?"
"Accident? Skittles! A man doesn't put a chair on a track in the dark
and leave it there by accident. Is anybody getting away there from the
outside of the track?"
"No, there's nobody. He wouldn't wait till this, he's clear off a minute
ago and more. Here, Fielders! Shut the outer gate, and we'll see who's
about."
But there seemed to be no suspicious character. Indeed, except for the
ground-man, his boy, Gillett's trainer, and a racing man, who had just
finished dressing in the pavilion, there seemed to be nobody about
beyond those whom everybody had seen standing in the enclosure. But

there had been ample time for anybody, standing unnoticed at the outer
rails, to get across the track in the dark, just after the riders