Behind the paddock and winner's circle, on this level, were the jockeys' changing rooms and the offices of the officials food concessions and the first banks of betting windows. Above them were the stands, four terraced tiers, each cantilevered floor with its own bank of betting windows. The first tier was for nonvoting members, next for voting members, and the two top floors set aside for the private boxes and radio room. Each box had its own private kitchen. Each of the ten annually elected stewards had a box and then there were some permanent ones: first his Excellency the governor, patron of the club; then the commander-in-chief; one each for Blacsand the Victoria. And last, Struan's. Struan's was in the best position, exactly opposite the winning post.

"Why's that, tai-pan?" Casey asked.

"Because Dirk Struan began the Turf Club, set the rules, broug::. out a famous racing expert, Sir Roger Blore, to be the first secreta of the club. He put up all the money for the first meeting, money for the stands, money to import the first batch of horses from India and helped persuade the first plenipotentiary, Sir William Longstafi; to deed the land to the Turf Club in perpetuity."

"Come now, tai-pan," Donald McBride, the track steward fc. this meeting, said jovially, "tell it as it happened, eh? You say Dirk 'helped persuade'? Didn't Dirk just 'order' Longstaff to do it?"

Dunross laughed with the others still seated at the table he had hosted, Casey, Hiro Toda and McBride, who had just arrived to visit. There was a bar and three round tables in the box, each seating twelve comfortably. "I prefer my version," he said. "In any event, Casey, the legend is that Dirk was voted this position by popular acclaim when the first stands were built."

"That's not true either, Casey," Willie Tusk called out from the next table. "Didn't old Tyler Brock demand the position as the right of Brock and Sons? Didn't he challenge Dirk to put up the position on a race, man to man, at the first meeting?"

"No, that's just a story."

"Did those two race, tai-pan?" Casey asked.

"They were going to. But the typhoon came too soon, so they say. In any event Culum refused to budge so here we are. This's ours while the course exists."

"And quite right too," McBride said, with his snappy smile. "The Noble House deserves the best. Since the very first stewards were elected, Miss Casey, the tai-pan of Struan's has always been a steward. Always. By popular acclaim. Well, I must be off." He glanced at his watch, smiled at Dunross. With great formality he said, "Permission to start the first race, tai-pan?"

Dunross grinned back at him. "Permission granted." McBride hurried off.

Casey stared at Dunross. "They have to ask your permission to begin?"

"It's just a custom." Dunross shrugged. "I suppose it's a good idea for someone to say, 'All right, let's begin,' isn't it? I'm afraid that unlike Sir Geoffrey, the governors of Hong Kong in the past haven't been known for their punctuality. Besides, tradition is not a bad thing at all gives you a sense of continuity, of belonging and protection." He finished his coffee. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I must do a few things."

"Have fun!" She watched him go, liking him even more than last night. Just then Peter Marlowe came in and Dunross stopped a moment. "Oh hello, Peter, good to see you. How's Fleur?"

"Getting better, thank you, tai-pan."

"Come on in! Help yourself to a drink I'll be back in a moment. Put your money on number five, Excellent Day, in the first! See you later."

"Thanks, tai-pan."

Casey beckoned to Peter Marlowe but he did not see her. His eyes had fixed on Grey who was with Julian Broadhurst out on the balcony, haranguing some of the others. She saw his face close and her heart leaped, remembering their hostility, so she called out "Peter! Hi, come and sit down."

His eyes unglazed. "Oh! Oh hello," he said.

"Come sit down. Fleur's going to be fine."

"She certainly appreciated your going to see her."

"It was a pleasure. Are the kids okay?"

"Oh yes. You?"

"Fantastic. This is the only way to go to a race!" Lunch in the Struan box for the thirty-six guests had been a lavish buffet of hot Chinese foods or, if they preferred, hot steak-and-kidney pie and vegetables, with plates of smoked salmon, hors d'oeuvres and cold cuts, cheeses and pastries of all kinds and as a topper, a meringue sculpture of the Struan Building all prepared in their own kitchen. Champagne, with the best red and white wines, liqueurs. "I'm gonna have to diet for fifty years."

"Not you. How goes it?"

She felt his probing eyes. "Fine. Why?"

"Nothing." He glanced off at Grey again, then turned his attention to the others.

"May I introduce Peter Marlowe? Hiro Toda of Toda Shipping Industries of Yokohama. Peter's a novelist-screenwriter from Hollywood." Then all at once his book rushed into her mind and Changi and three and a half years as a prisoner of war and she waited for the explosion. There was a hesitation between both men.

Toda politely offered his business card and Peter Marlowe gave his in return, equally politely. He hesitated a moment then put out his hand. "How're you?"

The Japanese shook it. "This's an honor, Mr. Marlowe."

"Oh?"

"It's not often one meets a famous author."

"I'm not, no, not at all."

"You're too modest. I liked your book very much. Yes."

"You've read it?" Peter Marlowe stared at him. "Really?" He sat and looked at Toda, who was much shorter than he, lithe and well built, more handsome and well dressed in a blue suit, a camera hanging on his chair, his eyes equally level, the two men of an age. "Where did you find it?"

"In Tokyo. We have many English bookshops. Please excuse me, I read the paperback, not the hardback. There was no hardback on sale. Your novel was very illuminating."

"Oh?" Peter Marlowe took out his cigarettes and offered then,. Toda took one.

Casey said, "Smoking's not good for you, you both know that!"

They smiled at her. "We'll give them up for Lent," Peter Mar- lowe said.

"Sure."

Peter Marlowe looked back at Toda. "You were army?"

"No, Mr. Marlowe. Navy. Destroyers. I was at the Battle of the Coral Sea in '42, then at Midway, sub-lieutenant, later at Guadalcanal. I was sunk twice but lucky. Yes, I was lucky, apparently mole lucky than you."

"We're both alive, both in one piece, more or less."

"More or less, Mr. Marlowe. I agree. War is a curious way cf life." Toda puffed his cigarette. "Sometime, if it would please you and not hurt, I would like to talk about your Changi, about its lessons and our wars. Please?"

"Sure."

"I'm here for a few days," Toda said. "At the Mandarin, back next week. A lunch, or dinner perhaps?"

"Thank you. I'll call. If not this time perhaps next. One day I'll be in Tokyo."

After a pause the Japanese said, "We need not discuss your Changi, if you wish. I would like to know you better. England and Japan have much in common. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I should place my bet." He bowed politely and walked off. Casey sipped her coffee.

"Was that very hard for you? Being polite?"

"Oh no, Casey. No, it wasn't, not at all. Now we're equal, he and I, any Japanese. The Japanese and Koreans I hated were the ones with bayonets and bullets when I had none." She saw him wipe the sweat off, noticing his twisted smile. "'Mahlu,I wasn't ready to meet one here."

"'Mahlu? What's that, Cantonese?"

"Malayan. It means 'ashamed.'" He smiled to himself. It was a contraction of paki mahlu. Mahlu ashamed, paki a Golden Gulley. Malays grant feelings to that part of a woman: hunger, sadness kindness, rapaciousness, hesitancy, shame, anger anything and everything.

"No need to be ashamed, Peter," she said, not understanding. "I'm astonished you'd talk to any of them after all that POW horror. Oh I really liked the book. Isn't it marvelous that he'd read it too?"

"Yes. That threw me."

"May I ask you one question?"

"What?"

"You said Changi was genesis. What did you mean?"

He sighed. "Changi changed everyone, changed values permanently. For instance, it gave you a dullness about death we saw too much of it to have the same sort of meaning to outsiders, to normal people. We're a generation of dinosaurs, we the few who survived. I suppose anyone who goes to war, any war, sees life with different eyes if they end up in one piece."

"What do you see?"

"A lot of bull that's worshipped as the be-all and end-all of existence. So much of 'normal, civilized' life is bull that you can't imagine it. For us ex-Changi-ites we're lucky, we're cleansed, we know what life is really all about. What frightens you, doesn't frighten me, what frightens me, you'd laugh at."

"Like what?"

He grinned at her. "That's enough about me and my karma. I've a hot tip for th " He stopped and stared off. "Good sweet Christ who's that?"

Casey laughed. "Riko Gresserhoff. She's Japanese."

"Which one's Mr. Gresserhoff?"

"She's a widow."

"Hallelujah!" They watched her go across the room, out onto the terrace.

"Don't you dare, PeterI" ~ His voice became Olympian. "I'm a writer! It's a matter of researcht"

"Baloneyl"

"You're right." : "Peter, they say all first novels are autobiographical. Who were you in the book?"

"The hero of course."

"The King? The American trader?

"Oh no. Not him. And that's quite enough of my past. Let's talk about you. You sure you're all right?" His eyes held hers, Willie,, the truth out of her.

"What?"

"There was a rumor that you were in tears last night."

"Nonsense."

"Sure?"

She looked back at him, knowing he saw inside of her. "Of course. I'm fine." A hesitation. "Sometime, sometime I might need a favor."

"Oh?" He frowned. "I'm in McBride's box, two down the hall. It's quite okay to visit if you want." He glanced off at Riko. His pleasure faded. Now she was talking to Robin Grey and Julia. Broadburst, the Labour MPs. "Guess it's not my day," he muttered. "I'll be back later, got to bet. See you, Casey."

"What's your hot tip?"

"Number seven, Winner's Delight."

Winner's Delight, an outsider, won handily by half a length over the favorite, Excellent Day. Hugely pleased with herself, Casey joined the line in front of the winner's pay window clutching her winning tickets, well aware of the envious stares of others who walked along the corridor outside the boxes. Agonized betters were already putting down their money at other windows for the second race that was the first leg of the double quinella. To win a quine11a they had to forecast the first and second runners in any order. The double quinella put the second race together with the fifth that was today's big race. The double quinella payout would be huge, the odds against forecasting four horses immense. The minimum bet was 5 HK. There was no maximum. "Why's that, Linc?" she had asked just before the race, craning over the balcony watching the horses in the gate, all Hong Kongyan with their binoculars focused.

"Look at the tote." The electronic numbers were flashing and changing as money went onto different horses, narrowing the odds, to freeze just before the off. "Look at the total money invested on this race, Casey! It's better than three and a half million Hong Kong. That's almost a dollar for every man woman and child in Hong Kong and it's only the first race. This's gotta be the richest track in the world! These guys are gambling crazy."

A vast roar went up as the starters' gate opened. She had looked at him and smiled. "You okay?"

"Sure. You?"

"Oh yes."

Yes I am, she thought again, waiting her turn to collect her money. I'm a winner! She laughed out loud.

"Oh hello, Casey! Ah, you won too?"

"Oh! Oh hello, Quillan, yes I did." She moved out of her place back to Gornt, the others in the line all strangers to her. "I only had 10 on her but yes I won."

"The amount doesn't matter, it's the winning." Gornt smiled. "I like your hat."

"Thank you." Curious, she thought, both Quillan and Ian had mentioned it immediately. Damn Linc!

"It's very lucky to pick the first winner, first time at the track."

"Oh I didn't. It was a tip. Peter gave it to me. Peter Marlowe."

"Ah yes. Marlowe." She saw his eyes change slightly. "You're still on for tomorrow?"

"Oh. Oh yes. Is it weather permitting?"

"Even if it's raining. Lunch anyway."

"Great. The dock at ten sharp. Which's your box?" She noticed an instant change which he tried to hide.

"I don't have one. I'm not a steward. Yet. I'm a fairly permanent guest at the Blacs box and from time to time I borrow the whole place for a party. It's down the corridor. Would you care to come by? Blacs is an excellent bank an"

"Ah but not as good as the Vic," Johnjohn called out goodnaturedly as he passed. "Don't believe a word he says, Casey. Congratulations! Good joss to get the first. See you both later."

Casey watched him thoughtfully. Then she said, "What about all the bank runs, Quillan? No one seems to care it's as though they're not happening, the stock market's not crashing, and there's no pending doom."

Gornt laughed, conscious of the ears that were tuned to their conversation. "Today is race day, a rarity, and tomorrow will take care of tomorrow. Joss! The stock market opens 10:00 A.M. Monday and next week will decide a lot of fates. Meanwhile every Chinese who could get his money out, has it in his fist, here today. Casey' it's your turn."