"The iron horse" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marston Edward)

CHAPTER FIVE

When he eventually returned to London, it was too late for Victor Leeming to report to the superintendent so he was glad to postpone that unappealing duty until the following day. There was a further delay. Edward Tallis spent all morning at a meeting with the commissioner. It was not until early afternoon that Leeming was able to speak to the superintendent. He approached the office with trepidation. Robert Colbeck enjoyed sparring with Tallis and welcomed their encounters. Leeming viewed them as nerve-racking ordeals. With the inspector beside him, he could put on a brave face at such interviews. When he had to confront the superintendent alone and unaided, he quailed inwardly.

Plucking up his courage, the sergeant knocked on the door. The invitation for him to enter was an angry bellow. Superintendent Tallis, it appeared, was not at his most docile. Leeming went in.

'I've been waiting for you,' said Tallis irritably. 'What kept you?'

'Nothing, sir…that is…I mean…well, you see…'

'Spare me your excuses, sergeant. I know from past experience that they'll be embarrassingly weak. What do you have to report?'

'I went to Cambridge yesterday,' said Leeming.

'That much I know. Tell me something I don't know.'

'It's a very pleasant place, Superintendent.'

'I don't want a guided tour of the town,' snapped Tallis. 'I want to hear what evidence you managed to gather.'

'Ah, yes.'

'Take a seat while you give it.'

Leeming sat down. 'Thank you, sir.'

Consulting his notebook throughout, he gave a halting account of his visit to the Angel Hotel and explained that the hatbox had not been stolen from there. When Leeming passed on a description of the woman who had stayed in Cambridge with Lord Hendry, the superintendent's eyebrows went up and down like a pair of dancing caterpillars. A note of moral outrage came into his voice.

'That does not sound like his lawful wife.'

'She was so much younger than him, sir,' said Leeming. 'The inspector was certain that the real Lady Hendry had not been at that hotel. He sensed it from the start.'

'Let's forget Inspector Colbeck for a moment, shall we?' said Tallis with a sniff. 'All that interests me at this juncture is what you found out about that hatbox.'

'It must have been stolen elsewhere.'

'Then why did Lord Hendry lie about it?'

'I intend to ask him that very question, sir.'

'No, no – don't do that. We don't want Lord Hendry to know that we've found him out. That will only throw him on the defensive. Also, of course,' he went on, stroking his moustache, 'the fact that he and a certain person spent the night together may have nothing whatsoever to do with the crime we are investigating.'

'Inspector Colbeck felt that it did.'

'I told you to keep him out of this.'

'But he's usually right about such things, sir.'

'We have to tread very carefully,' insisted Tallis, thinking it through. 'Lord Hendry has misled two officers of the law and I deprecate that but it is not, at this stage, an offence that renders him liable to arrest. It may well be that this so-called "Lady Hendry" told him that the hatbox was stolen from that hotel. What she said to him was thus passed on to you in good faith. Conceivably, he may be the victim of her deception.'

'His wife is the real victim here,' noted Leeming.

Tallis nodded. 'One of the many perils of marriage.'

'It has its compensations, sir.'

'How can you compensate for adultery?'

'That's not what I meant, Superintendent. Because one man goes astray, it doesn't mean that marriage itself is at fault. There's nothing so wonderful as being joined together in holy matrimony. Family life is a joy to me.'

'We are not talking about you, Leeming.'

'You seemed to be criticising the whole idea of marriage.'

'I was,' said Tallis vehemently, 'and I'll continue to do so. Lord Hendry's case is only one of thousands. All over London, husbands and wives readily forget the vows they took so solemnly at the altar. If adultery were made the crime that it should be, every gaol in the country would be bursting at the seams.'

'For every bad marriage, there are dozens of good ones.'

'How do you know?'

'It stands to reason, sir.'

'Then why do we have to deal with so much domestic strife? Policemen in some parts of the city seem to spend half their time stopping married couples from trying to kill each other. Wives have been bludgeoned to death. Husbands have been poisoned. Unwanted children have had their throats cut.'

'We only get to see the worst cases, superintendent.'

'They show the defects of the institution of marriage.'

Victor Leeming bit back what he was going to say. Arguing with the superintendent was never advisable. He decided that it was better to weather the storm of Tallis's vituperation in silence. The tirade against holy matrimony went on for a few minutes then came to an abrupt stop.

'Where were we?' demanded Tallis.

'You thought Lord Hendry might be the victim of deception, sir.'

'It's a possibility we have to consider.'

'What we need to find out is who that other Lady Hendry was.'

'I doubt very much if he would volunteer the information.'

'Since the hatbox belonged to her,' said Leeming, 'it may even be that she was a party to the conspiracy to murder. She only pretended that the item was stolen.'

'That would implicate Lord Hendry as well.'

'Not necessarily, sir.'

'You met him – what manner of man was he?'

'Exactly what you'd expect of a lord, sir,' recalled Leeming, pulling at an ear lobe. 'He was dignified, well spoken and a bit too haughty for my liking. He seemed honest enough to me until Inspector Colbeck pointed out something I'd missed. Lord Hendry was a proper gentleman.' He became confidential. 'And the best thing about the visit was that he told us who'd win the Derby. I know where to put my money now.'

Tallis scowled. 'You intend to place a bet, Sergeant?'

'Just a small amount, sir.'

'I don't care if it's only a brass farthing. Gambling is sinful. Think what a bad example you're setting.'

'Everyone bets on the Derby.'

'I don't and nor should you.'

'Why not, Superintendent?'

'Because it only encourages crime,' said Tallis. 'Bookmakers are, by definition, thoroughgoing villains. They rig the betting so that they can never lose and they exploit gullible fools like you. They're a despicable breed who should be hung in chains and left to rot.'

Leeming was roused. 'Betting is harmless fun, sir.'

'It's a foul disease.'

'People are entitled to dream.'

'Not if their dreams have a selfish foundation. That's what gambling is about, sergeant – investing little money in the hope of making a large amount. Work!' declared the superintendent, pounding his desk with a fist. 'That's the only decent way to acquire money.'

'But when people have worked,' said Leeming, stung by the blanket condemnation of gambling, 'they're entitled to spend it how they wish. Betting on the Derby is a tradition.'

'A very bad tradition.'

'Wanting to win is a normal human urge, sir.'

'But common sense tells you that the overwhelming majority of people will lose. All that gambling does is to fill up debtors' prisons. In the case of the Derby, it's part of the whole ugly panoply of crime.'

'What's criminal about putting a few shillings on a horse?'

'You're helping to fund a national scandal,' said Tallis, raising his voice and gesticulating as he warmed to his theme. 'What are the constituent elements of the Derby? I'll tell you, Sergeant. Violence, theft, deceit, drunkenness, gluttony, gambling and sexual licence – all played out against a background of loud music, bawling crowds and a loss of inhibition that would make any true Christian weep.'

'I like to think I'm a true Christian,' said Leeming meekly.

'Then why do you condone this annual saturnalia?'

'All I want to do is to put money on Odysseus.'

'Off-course betting was banned last year. Surely, you're not intending to go to Epsom for the express purpose of being tricked by a bookmaker?' He saw Leeming shrink back in his chair. 'I hope you're not thinking of flouting the law by indulging in illegal betting.'

'It would never cross mind, sir,' said Leeming hastily, wishing that he had held his peace. He sought a means of escape. 'Thank you, Superintendent – you've talked me out of it.'

'At least, some good may have come out of this conversation.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Let's put the Derby from our minds, shall we?'

'But this murder is connected to the race.'

'Inspector Colbeck is the only person who thinks that.'

'I agree with him,' said the sergeant loyally. 'There's a huge amount of money at stake, sir. Whenever that happens, you'll always have corruption of some sort or other.'

'That's exactly what I've been saying.'

'The inspector wouldn't have gone to Ireland on a whim.'

'I reserve my judgement on that particular venture,' said Tallis coolly. 'I still fear that it may have been a wild goose. While we're waiting for Inspector Colbeck to return from his unnecessary visit to Ireland, exercise your mind with this question – what is the name of the bogus Lady Hendry?'

Lord Hendry was not known for his patience. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted when he needed it. Waiting quietly was an alien concept to him. Instead of relaxing in a chair, he paced the room like a caged animal, checked his watch every few minutes and kept pulling back the curtain to look out into the street below. The time arranged for the meeting came and went. Half an hour soon scudded past. His impatience gave way to a cold anger that was, in turn, replaced by a burning desire for revenge. When he saw that it was an hour past the appointed time, he could stand the suspense no longer. Snatching up his hat, he moved towards the door. Before he reached it, however, someone tapped on the other side.

Torn between rage and hope, he flung open the door.

She had come at last.

'Where on earth have you been?' he demanded.

'I was unavoidably detained.'

'By whom?'

'If you'll let me in,' she said with an appeasing smile, 'then I might be able to explain.' He stepped aside so that she could enter the room then shut the door. 'First of all, let me apologise.'

'You're an hour late, Kitty!'

'Be grateful that I came at all. When I got your letter, my first instinct was to burn it along with all the others. It was only after calm reflection that I felt you deserved the right to see me.'

'I told you how important it was.'

'Important to you, George,' she said with mock sweetness, 'but not quite so important to me, I suspect. Before we go any further, let me make one thing crystal clear. If the purpose of this meeting is to make overtures to me, then I may as well leave immediately. After what happened between us, I could never countenance a return to our earlier situation.'

Kitty Lavender glanced around the room with mingled distaste and nostalgia. They were in the London hotel where their romance had first started and it aroused mixed emotions in her. She was a graceful woman in her twenties with a startling beauty that was enhanced by exquisite clothing. Her blonde ringlets hung around the flower-trimmed edges of a poke bonnet. Kitty Lavender had the bearing and assurance of an aristocrat even though she had been born much lower down the social scale. In spite of himself, Lord Hendry felt the pull of an old affection.

'You look positively divine,' he said, appraising her with a smile.

She stiffened. 'I need no compliments,' she said frostily.

'At least, take a seat while you're here.'

'I'll not be staying.'

'Doesn't this room bring back memories?'

'Ones that I'd prefer to forget.'

'Have it your way,' he said, reverting to a subdued fury. 'I asked you here for one reason only. What happened to that hatbox I bought you in Jermyn Street?'

'Hatbox!' she echoed with a splutter. 'You brought me all the way here to talk about a hatbox?'

'Yes, I did – and you won't leave until I know the truth.'

Kitty bridled. 'You can't keep me against my will.'

'I'll do as I wish.'

'Stand aside,' she ordered as he put his back against the door. 'If you don't do so at once, I shall call for help.'

'Answer my question, Kitty – or would you rather have it put to you by the police? I've already had them banging on my door.'

'The police?'

'Two detectives from Scotland Yard.'

She was mystified. 'And they asked you about my hatbox?'

'It's taken on a gruesome significance,' he told her. 'It was found at Crewe railway station with a severed head inside it.'

She opened her mouth to emit a silent scream of horror then she slumped onto a chair. Seeing her distress, he tried to put a consoling hand on her shoulder but she waved him away. Kitty Lavender pulled out a delicate lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. It was some time before she was able to collect herself.

'Can this be true, George?' she asked.

'Unfortunately, it can.'

'But how did they know it was my hatbox?'

'The milliner's name was inside. Inspector Colbeck visited him and discovered who purchased it. That brought the inspector to me.'

'What did you tell him?'

'The same as I told that posturing ninny Elijah Swinnerton – that I was buying the hat and hatbox for my wife. To get rid of him, I said that it had been stolen from that hotel in Cambridge.'

'Supposing that he checks your story?'

'There's no chance of that,' he said confidently. 'Besides, I made sure that I didn't give him the name of the hotel. But the fact remains that your hatbox was responsible for the police visit. It was highly disturbing, Kitty. Had I not been there, Caroline might have spoken to them and discovered what I had been doing in Jermyn Street. That would have been a catastrophe.'

'It's your own fault for buying gifts for another woman.'

'You wanted that hat.'

'I did – it was perfect for me.'

'At the time, I was happy to get it for you, Now, however,' he went on, 'I wish I'd never gone anywhere near that confounded shop.'

'Near the shop – or near to me?'

Their eyes locked and he felt a surge of affection. Though they had parted acrimoniously, he had not forgotten the intimacies he had once shared with her in that very room. He tried to read her thoughts but could no longer do so. Uncertain whether she was teasing him or flirting with him, he dared to believe that it might be the latter. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the bed in which they had spent their first night together.

'I never regretted being near to you, Kitty.'

'That's not what you said the last time we met.'

'I was provoked, as you well know.'

'So was I, George.'

She held his gaze a little longer then stood up to walk past him. Whatever lingering fondness he felt for her, it was not requited. All that Kitty could think about was the hatbox.

'You were not so far from the truth,' she said.

'What do you mean?'

'As it happens, the hatbox was stolen from a hotel but it was not the one where we stayed in Cambridge.'

'Which hotel was it?' he asked.

'That's of no concern to you.'

'It's of every concern, Kitty. A hatbox that I bought as a present is at the centre of a murder investigation. I want to know exactly what happened to it.'

'So do I, George.'

'What was the name of the hotel?'

'I'm not telling you.'

'And I suppose you won't tell me the name of the man who took you there either, will you?' he said nastily. 'What did he have to buy you to win your favours?'

She struck a pose. 'I'm saying nothing.'

'Was the hotel in London?'

'Nothing whatsoever.'

'Oh, no,' he gasped as realisation hit him with the force of a blow. 'Please don't tell me that it was here – in our hotel. Even you would never sink that low, Kitty.'

'I must be on my way.'

'Then it was here.'

'It was a mistake to meet you again. I should have had the sense to foresee that.' She moved away. 'Goodbye, George.'

'But the conversation is not over yet.'

'Yes, it is – for good.'

'There are still things to discuss.'

'Not any more.'

'You haven't explained why you were so late.'

'No,' she said with utter disdain. 'I haven't, have I?'

With a tinkle of laughter, Kitty Lavender went out of the room and left the door wide open. Lord Hendry was mortified.

Madeleine Andrews had had a full day. After doing her domestic chores, she had visited the market to buy food then spent several hours on her painting of a Crampton locomotive. It was only when light began to fade in the early evening that she put her easel aside. After cooking herself a meal, she gave herself the pleasure of starting a new book. Borrowed from Robert Colbeck, it had been warmly recommended by him. As she settled down beside the lamp, it occurred to her that she was probably the only woman in London who was reading John Francis's History of the English Railway; Its Social Relations and Revelations (1820-45).

The writing was lively and the material absorbing to someone with her abiding interest in the subject. Madeleine became so immersed in the book that she did not hear a cab approaching in the street outside or even the sound of the front door opening. Caleb Andrews came into the house with a knowing grin on his face.

'Hello, Maddy,' he said.

'Oh!' she cried, looking up in surprise. 'I didn't expect you for hours yet, Father.'

'Does that mean there's no supper yet?'

'I can soon make some.'

'Stay here and entertain our visitor.'

'What visitor?'

'This stray gentlemen I picked up in Crewe.'

He stood aside so that Robert Colbeck could come into the house. Doffing his top hat, the detective gave Madeleine a polite bow.

'I hope I'm not interrupting anything,' he said.

'No, no,' she told him, leaping to her feet and putting the book aside. She straightened her dress. 'I was reading.'

'That book on railways, is it?' asked Andrews scornfully. 'Why bother with that when you only have to ask me? I can tell you more about railways than John Francis will ever know.'

'Your father's train brought me back to London,' said Colbeck.

'I wish I'd known that you were coming,' said Madeleine.

'I did promise to call in when I returned from Ireland.'

'How was it?'

'Invite him to sit down,' said Andrews, nudging her, 'and make him feel welcome. I need to have a wash. That's one thing your book won't say about work on the railway – how dirty you get.'

Whisking off his cap, he went out to the kitchen and closed the door firmly behind him. Colbeck stepped forward to give Madeleine a proper greeting, taking both hands and kissing her on the lips.

'I missed you,' she said.

'I wish I could have taken you with me.'

'Was the journey worthwhile?'

'Extremely worthwhile,' he replied. 'I know the identity of the murder victim now and I got some more insights into the ramifications of the racing world.'

'Do you have a suspect?'

'A possible one.'

'Who is he?'

He was cautious. 'Let me speak to the gentleman first. He may well turn out to be wrongly accused. In my experience, we rarely find our perpetrators this easily. I fancy that I have a long way to go in the investigation yet.'

'But you still think the murder may be linked to the Derby?'

'There's no doubt about it.'

'Why?'

'The victim was a groom. He worked at the stables where one of the fancied runners in the race is kept.'

Madeleine smiled. 'I've always wanted to go to the Derby,' she said wistfully. 'Father keeps telling me that it's no place for a young lady to go on her own but it sounds so exciting.'

'Highly exciting and unique.'

'You've been?'

'A number of times,' he told her. 'But don't give up hope, Madeleine. You may get to see the race one day.' He squeezed her shoulders tenderly. 'There's something I wanted to say before your father comes back in.'

'Oh, he'll stay in the kitchen for a while. Father can be tactful when he wants to be. Has he told you about his theory yet?'

'He did nothing else on the cab ride from Euston. According to Mr Andrews, instead of rushing off to Ireland, I should be searching for a wayward lady in Crewe who had a dalliance with the murder victim. It seems that the killer was a jealous husband. Your father has obviously devoted time to thinking about the case,' said Colbeck tolerantly, 'even though he's not in possession of the salient facts.'

'What did you want to say to me?'

'Only that you look as lovely as ever.'

She laughed. 'In this old dress – stop lying to me.'

'It's not the dress that matters, it's the young lady inside it.'

'You pay me the sweetest compliments.'

'Thank you.' He became serious. 'I need to ask you a favour, Madeleine. Unbeknown to the superintendent, you've been able to help me a couple of times in the past. If Mr Tallis ever found out, he'd probably have me boiled in oil but I'll take that risk. Could I impose on you to assist me again, please?'

'Of course, Robert – it's no imposition.'

'It may not be necessary but I'd like to have you in reserve.'

'Why?'

'Why else? There's a lady in the case.'

'Ah, I see. You want to set a thief to catch a thief.'

'Not exactly,' he said. 'This particular lady may turn out to be a hapless victim but she does hold critical information. I need to get it from her and that may involve you.'

'I'll do anything you ask me, Robert.'

He smiled roguishly. 'You might care to rephrase that,' he said. 'It puts you in a position of great vulnerability.'

'I trust you completely.'

'Then I'll do nothing to break that trust.'

'Who is this lady?'

'That's the problem – I don't have her name yet.'

'But you think she's involved in some way?'

'Oh, yes,' he said. 'I need to ask her about a missing hatbox.'

If he had not become a bookmaker, Hamilton Fido could easily have pursued a career on the stage. Tall, slim and lithe, he had an actor's good looks, mellifluous voice and sheer presence. In his black frock coat and fawn trousers, he was an arresting figure with his mane of black wavy hair almost brushing his shoulders. Still in his thirties, Fido was so astute, well informed and ruthless that he had become one of the most successful bookmakers in London. His office was in an upstairs room in the tavern where he sometimes staged exhibition bouts with promising young boxers. In the courtyard at the rear of the building, illegal cock fights and dogfights were also arranged for those who liked to mix blood with their betting.

Hamilton Fido was seated at his desk, poring over a copy of the Sporting Times, when the door suddenly opened. Panting slightly, Kitty Lavender stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Fido did not even bother to look up.

'Go away, whoever you are,' he ordered. 'I'm too busy.'

'You're not too busy to see me, Hamilton.' She slammed the door for effect. 'I need to talk to you.'

'Kitty!' he exclaimed, going across to embrace her. 'What are you doing here?'

'Let go of me,' she said, turning her face away when he tried to kiss her. 'It's not that sort of visit.'

He released her and stepped back. 'What's the matter?'

'That's what I've come to tell you.'

'Can I offer you a drink?'

'No, I just want you to listen to me.'

'I'll do that all day and all night,' said Fido, leering politely at her. 'Especially all night.' He conducted her to a chair and sat beside her. 'You look distressed, my darling. Has anything happened?'

'Do you remember that stolen hatbox?'

'The one that was taken from that hotel?'

'Yes, Hamilton.'

'Forget all about it,' he advised. 'I know it was a shock at the time but I forced the management to pay for a new one. When a theft occurs on their premises, they must take responsibility.'

'That's not the point.'

'If you're still upset, I'll buy you another one – two, if you wish.'

'You're not listening to me,' she complained.

He took her hand. 'I won't let anything trouble you,' he said, placing a gentle kiss on it. 'You're mine now and I'll look after you.'

'My hatbox has been found, Hamilton.'

'What?'

'By the police.'

His smile vanished instantly and he let go of her hand. Recovering quickly, he gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. 'That's wonderful news,' he said. 'Where was it found?'

'At the railway station in Crewe.'

'Crewe – now that rings a bell.'

'Apparently, it had a man's head in it.'

Kitty's face crumpled at the memory. When he reached out to embrace her, she went willingly into his arms. He held her tight for a few moments then drew back so that he could look her in the face.

'You obviously don't read the newspapers, my darling. There was an item days ago about a severed head being discovered in Crewe. It never crossed my mind that it was found in your hatbox.'

'Well, it was.'

'How do you know?'

'Let's just say that I was reliably informed.'

'Have the police been in touch with you?'

'No,' she replied, 'and there's no reason why they should. They won't be able to connect me with the hatbox.'

'Then what are you worrying about?'

'You, Hamilton – don't you see the implications?'

'All I can see is that my little darling has been badly shaken and that my job is to soothe her. You must have had a terrible jolt when you heard the news.'

'It made me feel sick, Hamilton.'

'Try to put the whole thing behind you. It's the best way.'

'How can I?' she asked in despair. 'This affects both of us. It was quite deliberate.'

'What was?'

'The theft of that hatbox – somebody stole it on purpose. That means somebody knew we were staying at that hotel. We must have been watched, Hamilton. That terrifies me.'

'I told nobody where we were going – neither did you.'

'One of us must have been followed.'

'In that case,' he said with a flash of anger, 'you're right to be alarmed. I won't stand for it, Kitty. I'm bound to make enemies in my profession but I didn't think any of them would go this far. The murder victim must be linked to me in some way. This is an attack on me and the worst of it is that you were involved.'

'I'm frightened,' she confessed. 'I keep looking over my shoulder in case someone is following me.'

'We can soon solve that problem, Kitty. I'll have one of my men act as your bodyguard. Nobody will dare to come anywhere near you.'

'What about you?'

'I can look after myself,' he said, flicking his coat open to show her the pearl-handled pistol he kept in a leather holster. 'There are too many bad losers about these days. I have to protect myself.'

'I keep thinking about that severed head.'

'Somebody will pay for that, mark my words!'

'I didn't believe that anyone could do such a thing,' she said. 'Who do you think the victim could be, Hamilton?'

'I intend to find out straight away. I didn't get where I am today without knowing who and when to bribe. I have two or three policemen in my pocket, Kitty. It's time they earned their money,' he said harshly. 'I'll have that name before the day is out.'

'John Feeny?' said Victor Leeming. 'Who was he, Inspector?'

'An Irish lad with ambitions to be a jockey.'

'Poor devil!'

'He came to England to better himself,' said Colbeck sadly, 'and fell foul of someone. Brian Dowd spoke well of him. Feeny had a real love of horses and he worked hard for low pay.'

'I can sympathise with that,' muttered the sergeant.

'What have you been doing while I was gone, Victor?'

'Trying to keep out of the superintendent's way.'

Colbeck grinned. 'I enjoy playing that game as well,' he said. 'Did you learn anything useful in Cambridge?'

'I think so, sir.'

It was early morning and they were in an office at Scotland Yard. Leeming gave him a brief account of his visit to the Angel Hotel and passed on the description of Lady Hendry that he had drawn out of the manager. Colbeck was interested to hear that the hatbox had not been stolen on the occasion of the couple's visit to Cambridge.

'I've proved that it was not Lord Hendry's wife,' said Leeming.

'That was my feeling from the outset.'

'I mean, I've got evidence right here, Inspector.' He pointed to a pile of newspapers on the desk. 'Lord Hendry has a busy social life. I wondered if he'd ever been featured in London Illustrated News. So I went through all these back copies.'

'Very commendable, Victor.'

'I found two drawings of him, both quite accurate. I recognised him immediately.' He sifted through the papers. 'One showed him at the races in Newmarket but this one,' he went on, picking up a copy, 'was more interesting. It shows his wife as well.'

Robert Colbeck took the newspaper from him and studied the illustration. The caption told him that he was looking at the wedding of Lord Hendry's daughter but it was not the bride who caught his eye. It was Lady Caroline Hendry, standing beside her husband, who held his attention. In age, height and in every other way, she differed sharply from the description of the woman who had accompanied Lord Hendry to the Angel Hotel in Cambridge.

'It says in the article,' Leeming pointed out, 'that Lady Hendry devotes all her time to charity.'

'I don't think even she would be charitable enough to lend her husband to another woman.' Colbeck put the newspaper down. 'If the artist is to be trusted, they have a beautiful daughter.'

'What would she think if she knew the truth about her father?'

'I hope that she never does, Victor.'

'Will we have to speak to Lord Hendry again?'

'I'm sure that we will, said Colbeck. 'Before that, however, I'll have to give my report to the superintendent. Did he say anything about my visit to Ireland?'

'He felt it was a complete waste of time.'

Colbeck laughed. He went out, walked along the corridor and knocked on a door. The booming voice of Edward Tallis invited him in.

'The prodigal returns,' said the superintendent sardonically as his visitor entered. 'When did you get back?'

'Last evening, sir.'

'Then why didn't you come here? You know how late I work.'

'I had some calls to make.'

'Nothing should have taken precedence over me, Inspector.'

'I felt that it did,' Colbeck took the drawing from his pocket and unfolded it before putting it in front of Tallis. 'His name is John Feeny,' he explained. 'His parents died years ago. His only living relative was the uncle with whom he'd been staying while he was in England. As next of kin, the uncle deserved to be told of his nephew's death at the earliest opportunity.'

'How did you get this uncle's address?'

'From a young man called Jerry Doyle, sir – Feeny was a good friend of his. They kept in touch.'

Tallis indicated the drawing. 'Who identified this?'

'Brian Dowd, sir – John Feeny used to work for him as a groom.'

'What was Feeny doing in England?'

'Trying to become a jockey,' said Colbeck. 'But I couldn't rely wholly on Mr Dowd's identification. It was, after all, only based on a rough drawing of the deceased. When I got back to London, therefore, I took John Feeny's uncle to the morgue where he was shown his nephew's head. It shook him badly but we have what we needed – a positive identification from a family member.'

'Good,' said Tallis grudgingly. 'We now have a head, a body and a name – a degree of progress at last. What else did you learn in Ireland?'

Colbeck had carefully planned what he was going to say so that his report was concise yet filled with all the relevant detail. While in Ireland, he had been shown around the stables and talked at length about Limerick Lad's chances in the Derby.

'His trainer thinks he's a certain winner,' he said.

'I hope you're not suggesting that I place a bet on the Irish horse, Inspector. Gambling is hateful to me. I had to talk Sergeant Leeming out of falling under its wicked spell.'

'My major concern is to ensure that it's a fair race, sir.'

'Mine is to solve a murder.'

'The two things go together,' Colbeck reasoned. 'That severed head was destined for Brian Dowd as a warning of how desperate one of his rivals is to prevent Limerick Lad from winning.'

'Then you must arrest the man immediately,' said Tallis.

'Who?'

'Hamilton Fido, of course – his guilt is undeniable.'

'I think he's entitled to a presumption of innocence before we accuse him of the crime. Mr Dowd may have pointed the finger at him but we have to bear in mind that the two of them are sworn enemies. The villain may be someone else entirely.'

'What conceivable motive could he have?'

'The most obvious one, Superintendent,' said Colbeck, 'and that's financial gain. If someone has bet heavily on one horse, the best way to protect his investment is to impede any other runner who's likely to be a serious contender.'

'You told me that the Derby was a three-horse race.'

'That's the received wisdom, sir, but one should never rule out the possibility that an outsider could win. It's happened in the past. It only needs the favoured horses to have an off day, or for their jockeys to make bad tactical mistakes. Look at the evidence we've collected so far, sir,' said Colbeck. 'A severed head is found in a hatbox belonging to the mistress of the man who owns the Derby favourite, Odysseus. The head was destined for Brian Dowd, owner and trainer of another fancied runner, Limerick Lad. The murder victim worked at stables owned by Hamilton Fido, whose filly, Merry Legs, also features well in the betting. The three most dangerous horses have been singled out.'

'What do you conclude, Inspector?'

'That we may have seen the opening moves in a campaign to set the respective owners at each other's throats. If they feel they've been abused, they'll seek retribution. No quarter will be given. It's possible that of the three horses – Odysseus, Merry Legs and Limerick Lad – one or two might not even make the starting post at Epsom.'

'Do you predict more skulduggery?' asked Tallis.

'No, sir,' replied Colbeck calmly. 'I don't predict it – I guarantee it. In my considered opinion, the worst is yet to come.'

Hidden in the trees, he kept the stables under surveillance all morning and bided his time. From his elevated position, he had a good view of the yard through his telescope. When the colt appeared, he recognised Odysseus immediately and knew that his moment was at hand. The travelling box was hauled into the yard by a cart drawn by a pair of matching grey dray-horses. It was time for him to move. Mounting his horse, he rode off until he reached the steepest part of the incline. Then he tethered his horse behind some thick bushes and took up his position. Five minutes later, the travelling box was pulled out of the stables to begin the long, slow climb up the hill.

The man was taking no chances. In case he was seen, he was wearing a wide-brimmed hat pulled down low over his forehead and a scarf that covered the lower half of his face. His clothing was nondescript. Even close friends would not have been able to identify him. He remained concealed in the undergrowth until he could hear the clatter of hooves and the rattle of the cart and the travelling box getting closer and closer.

When the vehicles finally drew level with him, he acted swiftly. Leaping out of his hiding place, he ran to the coupling pin that held the cart and travelling box together. He grabbed it, yanked it out and flung it into the long grass. The vehicles parted dramatically. As the cart was driven forward, the travelling box rolled crazily backward down the hill, swaying from side to side and gathering speed all the time. Reaching a bend, it left the road altogether and spun wildly out of control until it turned over with a sickening crash.

The man did not linger. His mission had been completed. Before the driver of the cart even realised what had happened, the man was already back in the saddle, riding off to report the good news.