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A �5 deficit in his expense account could be easily explained, he thought. But back in his room he checked his money and found that the note he'd given Miss Millington was a 50, not a 5. Since this would be less easy to explain, he went back with the idea of exchanging notes. In the interval, Miss Millington discovered her new affluence and decided to give up hotel work in favor of a visit to an ex-beau in Darlington.
While Drummer was recounting all this to Binstead, the key turned in the lock of Miss Millington's door, and she came out. She was carrying her small suitcase.
"I'm sorry to have to leave you this abruptly," she said to the hotelman, "but opportunities such as this come seldom to a girl."
The last anyone saw of her, she was walking out through the hotel door.
Drummer, by this time, was reduced to tears. "I'm ruined," he blubbered. "What'll I do? What'll I do?" Obviously his firm would give short shrift to a �3-a-week salesman who was out by some �50.
To Binstead, the problem seemed nothing more than an ordinary commercial setback, for inexplicable shortages of cash come all too often to racing journalists. And he offered what seemed a perfectly sensible solution: "Just pick a winner at Gosforth Park today, and put a bundle on."
"But—what if it loses?"
Binstead patiently explained to Drummer that his situation would be worsened only in degree and that the final solution would probably be the same. Either way, Drummer would have to throw himself into the Tyne.
"But you haven't told me the name of the horse."
"Barcaldine," Binstead said firmly and wandered off in search of a drink.