And it was all over the newspapers, ’n’ you couldn’t turn on a radio without someone blastin’ about it.”

Morgan nodded. “Yeah. Sure. I remember that. This match race was cooked up to get those two racers, Sun Raider and Cyclone, together. Boy, those babies sure could run. Broke just about every track record, didn’t they?” Morgan didn’t wait for Harrity’s reply. “And there was lots of talk about what was goin’ to happen when those two bolts of lightnin’ got together in Chicago. Then there was the big race.…” Morgan’s brow furrowed and his eyes met Harrity’s. “Then … then …,” his words came fast, “I remember now, Harrity. Neither of ’em won! They were both beaten by a mystery horse! A horse someone got into the race the last minute. The name of that horse is right on the tip of my tongue.…”

As Morgan hesitated, Harrity said, “He was called the Black, Morgan. Nothin’ more, just that. And he was ridden by a kid, a young kid by the name of … Alec Ramsay!” Harrity’s voice was clipped, excited. “And that black stallion ran all over Sun Raider and Cyclone.”

“That’s it, Harrity! That’s it! Alec Ramsay … that was his name, all right. And there was a story, too, about how he got hold of this horse. The papers played it up big.”

“Sure, and we got good reason to remember it,” Harrity said, lowering his voice. “The kid was comin’ back from India on the Drake.…”

“The Drake …” Morgan’s voice was tense. “She went down off the coast of Portugal with all on board.”

Harrity took it up again. “This black stallion was aboard, picked up at … Addis.” His eyes swept back up the stairs, and he muttered, “That was Addis back there.”

“The horse saved the kid’s life, didn’t he? Dragged him to one of those islands off the coast. And about a month later, after all hope had been given up, they were picked up and brought to New York.”

“And then to Flushing,” Harrity added. “Alec Ramsay, Flushing, New York.” He jerked his head in the direction of the hold. “And that’s just where this little devil is goin’.”

Morgan began walking down the steps again, followed by Harrity. “Y’remember hearin’ anything more about the Black and this Alec Ramsay?” Morgan asked without looking back. “After the race, I mean.”

“You know as well as I do how long we were out on that South Africa trip right after,” Harrity said. “Of course I didn’t hear nothin’.”

“I was just thinkin’ about that black stallion we just saw,” Morgan muttered. “He sure looked like what I imagined the Black should look like. From everything I’ve read about him, anyway.”

Harrity said, thoughtfully, “I was thinkin’ about that, too.” Shrugging his shoulders, he added, “But he sure can’t be in Flushing and Arabia at the same time, that’s certain. And I still can’t figure out that black baby in the hold. Wonder where he comes in on it?”

“Forget it,” Morgan said.