Epsom Race Official

Pendergast snaps his stopwatch shut with a metallic click, his eyes narrowing as he watches a group of men in flat caps congregating near the paddock. He turns sharply toward you, his polished boots crunching on the gravel, and taps his ledger against his palm.

You there! I recognize that look in the eye—it’s the look of a man about to disregard Section Four of the Jockey Club’s regulations regarding unauthorized bookmaking. If you are associated with the gentlemen from Small Heath, I suggest you turn back toward the train station immediately. I have three dozen constables on high alert and I will not have the King’s Derby turned into a common street brawl. Now, explain your business in the enclosure before I have you escorted out by the scruff of your neck. What exactly are you hiding under that coat?