I shall not describe the race.  After the first round or two, what with dust in my eyes and my neck aching from turning my head so rapidly, I just sat back and let them spin in front of me.

It was after a dozen laps or so, with number thirteen doing as well as any of them, that Tish was arrested.

Charlie Sands came up beside the car with a gentleman named Atkins, who turned out to be a county detective.  Charlie Sands was looking stern and severe, but the detective was rather apologetic.

“This is Miss Carberry,” said Charlie Sands.  “Aunt Tish, this gentleman wishes to speak to you.”

“Come around after the race,” Tish observed calmly.

“Miss Carberry,” said the detective gently, “I believe you are back of this race, aren’t you?”

“What if I am?” demanded Tish.

Charlie Sands put a hand on the detective’s arm.  “It’s like this, Aunt Tish,” he said; “you are accused of practicing a short-change game, that’s all.  This race is sewed up.  You employ those racing-cars with drivers at an average of fifty dollars a week.  They are hardly worth it, Aunt Tish.  I could have got you a better string for twenty-five.”

Tish opened her mouth and shut it again without speaking.

“You also control the betting privileges.  As you own all the racers you have probably known for a couple of weeks who will win the race.  Having made the Fein favorite, you can bet on a Brand or a Bonor, or whatever one you chance to like, and win out.  Only I take it rather hard of you, Aunt Tish, not to have let the family in.  I’m hard up as the dickens.”

“Charlie Sands!” said Tish impressively.  “If you are joking—­”

“Joking!  Did you ever know a county detective to arrest a prominent woman at a race-track as a little jest between friends?  There’s no joke, Aunt Tish.  You’ve financed a phony race.  The permit is taken in your name—­L.L.  Carberry.  Whatever car wins, you and Ellis take the prize money, half the gate receipts, and what you have made out of the betting—­”

Tish rose in the machine and held out both her hands to Mr. Atkins.

“Officer, perform your duty,” she said solemnly.  “Ignorance is no defense and I know it.  Where are the handcuffs?”

“We’ll not bother about them, Miss Carberry”, he said.  “If you like I’ll get into the car and you can tell me all about it while we watch the race.  Which car is to win?”

“I may have been a fool, Mr. County Detective,” she said coldly; “but I’m not a knave.  I have not bet a dollar on the race.”

We were very silent for a time.  The detective seemed to enjoy the race very much and ate peanuts out of his pocket.  He even bought a red-and-black pennant, with “Morris Valley Races” on it, and fastened it to the car.  Charlie Sands, however, sat with his arms folded, stiff and severe.

Once Tish bent forward and touched his arm.

“You—­you don’t think it will get in the papers, do you?” she quavered.