Some came in coaches pulled by four stately horses, some in dog carts. Some rode alone, with the hooves of their horses kicking up clods of mud that spattered the multitudes of pedestrians who walked singly, in pairs, or in small groups to their eventual destination.
Limping to assuage the pain of his many bruises, Watters hunched his shoulders and walked with the others, looking up only to curse when a carriage sprayed him with liquid mud. He blinked to try and clear his vision and winced at the pain.
"Two to one on Lancashire," somebody sidled up to him. "Two to one."
Watters swore at him and lifted his cane. The men slid away to approach a more congenial customer.
"Where are the police?" Watters looked around. With so much traffic across Hampstead Heath, it was apparent that somethi
