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small black box； attached to which were a pair of wicked…looking rods。 John Omally cleared his throat with a curiously mechanical coughing sound。 'Hand me the diamonds； Jim；' he said in a cold dead voice。 'We have other plans for them。'
Pooley's mouth dropped open in horror。 Clasping his diamonds to his bosom； he kicked over the table on to the robot double of his dearest friend and made for the door。
'You're both barred；' screamed Neville； finding his voice； as the sleeveless Jim passed him by at speed； a raging Irishman with a black transistor radio close upon his heels。
As the two pounded off up the Baling Road they all but collided with a brace of young gentlemen； who were strolling towards the Swan； studying a racing paper。
'Did you see what I just saw？ asked Jim Pooley； rubbing at his eyes and squinting off after the rapidly diminishing duo。
John Omally shook his head。 'No；' said he。 'I am certain that I could not。 How do you fancy Lucky Number for the three…fifteen？'
'What； out of that new Lateinos and Romiith stable？ I wouldn't put my money on that。'
THE END
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