“If he does mean anything to you, why don’t you let him have the money and tell him you don’t want him to race?”
“Are you mad?” She burst out laughing. “Think of the thrill I’m going to have. I’m gambling with a million dollars. I shall watch every yard of the race. Think of George, scared stiff, knowing that if he doesn’t win, hundreds of his little suckers will be ruined. Suppose others get ahead of him. Think how he will feel then. Suppose he finds he just can’t win, then his only chance is to kill himself. By God! What a sensation! Will he value his little suckers more than his life?” Her eyes looked a little mad. “I don’t care what it costs me, I wouldn’t miss this race for anything in the world.”
I went to the door. “Your attitude is incredible,” I said. “I don’t think we have anything further to say to each other. Good night.”
She ran over to me. “Wait,” she said. “You write novels, don’t you? What a wonderful story this will make for you. It only wants that little twist that all good stories have. Just wait for that.” She laughed in my face. “Oh, it’s such a lovely little twist. You’ll be so very thrilled when you know about it.”
I went out of the room and left her there. I was sure that she was a little insane, and the thought of George getting himself involved with such a woman made me sick at heart.
The race was due to start at eleven o’clock. George and I went off early together. We left the house quietly without saying good-bye to Myra.
George said that he didn’t want to see her until the race was over. He looked very ill as he sat at the wheel of the Bugatti, and he drove at a steady twenty-five miles an hour the whole way to the aerodrome. It took us a very short while to reach the Florida course, where the race was being held. He asked me to come to the pits just before the race was to start. “I’d like to have your good wishes,” he said.
I hung about watching the bustle and activity that inevitably precedes a big race. I watched the vast crowd slowly arriving. I thought I saw Myra and her party arrive and take seats in the grandstand, but I wasn’t sure. I had made up my mind to watch the race from the pits.
Finally, a mechanic came running towards me and I went to meet him. “Mr. Hemingway is about ready now, sir,” he said.
I saw he was looking worried. And as we walked towards the pits, where I could see about two dozen cars lining up, I asked him what he thought of George’s chances.