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

CHAPTER SEVEN

Standing in front of the fireplace, Lord George Hendry gazed at the painting with gathering excitement as if seeing it for the first time. It had been an expensive commission but he felt that the money had been well spent on a superb example of equine portraiture. Odysseus looked astonishingly lifelike, ready to leap off the canvas and parade in style around the paddock. The chestnut colt had the unmistakable look of a born winner. Its owner was so enraptured that he did not hear his wife hobble into the library on a walking stick. Lady Caroline Hendry gave a pained smile.

'I still think that you're making a mistake,' she remarked.

He swung round. 'What's that?'

'You're counting your chickens before they're hatched, George.'

'I'm admiring a Derby winner,' he said proudly, 'that's all.'

'But the horse has not yet won the race.'

'I have complete faith in Odysseus.'

'I'm sure that every other owner has complete faith in his horse as well,' she said, 'but none of them would dare to celebrate a triumph that had never actually taken place.'

'You know nothing about racing, Caroline.'

'I know that the favourite does not always win.'

'This one will.'

'How can you be so definite?'

'Because of what happened,' he said, moving across to help her onto a settee. 'Sit down a moment, my dear. I can see it's not one of your better days.' He sat beside her. 'I wasn't going to tell you this in case it upset you but I think you should perhaps know the truth. There's been an incident near the stables.'

'What kind of incident?'

'Someone tried to disable Odysseus.'

'George!' she exclaimed in horror.

'The attempt was foiled,' he assured her, 'so don't be alarmed. I reported the incident to the police and uniformed officers will protect the horse when we move him to Epsom. At the moment, he's being closely guarded at the stables.'

'I hadn't realised that Odysseus was in any danger.'

'It's one of the penalties of being a favourite, Caroline. And it's clear proof,' he went on, indicating the painting, 'that this year's Derby winner is hanging on the wall. If Odysseus were not feared, nobody would try to put him out of the race.'

'Supposing that they try again?' she asked.

'We'll be ready for them.'

'Do you have any idea who was behind the incident?'

'The choice has to be between Hamilton Fido and Brian Dowd,' he said. 'Each owns another fancied horse. Their only hope of success is to have Odysseus eliminated in some way.'

'Did you give those names to the police?'

'Of course I did. My own feeling is that Dowd is the snake in the grass. He stands to gain most if Odysseus fails to run. Limerick Lad is the second favourite. I've dealt with Brian Dowd before,' he said with asperity. 'I wouldn't trust that crafty Irishman for a second.'

'What was the other name you mentioned?'

'Hamilton Fido.'

'I thought it sounded familiar. You've spoken of him before. Didn't you tell me that one of his horses was a Derby winner?'

'Yes,' he replied. 'Galliard won by two lengths from Highland Chief. My own horse that year came in third so I have a score to settle with Fido. He's putting a filly in the race, Merry Legs, and she'll never test Odysseus or even put Limerick Lad under any real pressure. Fido must know in his heart that he can never win. No,' he decided, 'on balance, the man behind the attack on us simply has to be Dowd. If my horse does not run, his will take the honours. He suborned some villain to snuff out my chances of winning the Derby.'

'Then why don't the police arrest him?'

'They say that they need clear evidence.'

'Racing seems such a hazardous world,' she said with a sigh. 'Why does it attract so many undesirable characters?'

He chortled. 'Since when have I been undesirable?'

'I was not referring to you, George. I was thinking of all the problems associated with the sport. It's mired in scandal.'

'Great efforts are being made to clean up racing,' he said with easy pomposity. 'I was called upon to offer my advice as how it might happen. One obvious way, of course, is to exclude members of the lower orders from entering horses in major races – social inferiors like Fido and Dowd, for instance. They don't belong, Caroline.'

'I'm so glad that I don't have to rub shoulders with people like that. My charity work may not be as exhilarating as watching a horse race but I do have the pleasure of working with kindred spirits.'

'So do I – most of the time.'

'There won't be many archdeacons at the Derby.'

'That's where you're wrong, my dear,' he said. 'Men of the cloth are as addicted to the event as anyone else. We'll have prelates galore on Derby Day and there'll be more than one bishop placing a shrewd bet on the race. If you don't believe me, come and see for yourself.'

'No, thank you, George – you know how much I hate crowds.'

'You ought to be there for Odysseus's crowning moment.'

'Tell me about it after the race,' she said.

'There's still time for you to profit from it, Caroline. I was not joking when I said that you could put a wager on my horse. It's a sure passport to making money.'

'But I don't want to make money,' she said firmly, 'especially not in that way. I've always regarded gambling as rather vulgar. It's the resort of those who want something for nothing.'

'It's a reward for risk,' he explained. 'If people are bold enough to venture a tidy sum on a horse, they have the right to enjoy the winnings. What's vulgar about that?'

'It's something I could never lower myself to, George.'

'Try – just this once.'

'No, I'm sorry. I can't.'

'Wouldn't you even consider giving me a loan so that I can place a bet on your behalf?' She sat up with righteous indignation and he retreated quickly. 'No, no, that was a foolish suggestion. I take it back. Your money is your own and you must be the sole arbiter of how and when it is spent.'

'That's exactly what I intend to be.'

'I'll importune you no more,' he said apologetically. 'Besides, I don't need further capital. I've already placed a substantial bet on Odysseus.' He glanced up at the painting. 'I expect him to win by at least three clear lengths.'

'Then I'll be the first to congratulate you.'

'Thank you, Caroline.'

He touched her hand with distant affection. Having no more money of his own to invest in Odysseus, he had hoped to be able to charm some additional cash from her even though he knew how unlikely that would be. He seethed inwardly at her rejection. Why could his wife have an urge to subsidise a lunatic asylum while denying her own husband the benefit of her wealth? It was unjust.

'George,' she said quietly.

'Yes, my dear.'

'That incident you told me about – it alarms me.'

'I choose to see it as the ultimate seal of approval.'

She was puzzled. 'Approval?'

'It's startling confirmation from one of my rivals that Odysseus is the undisputed favourite. Since he can't be beaten in a fair race, someone did his best to take him out of it.'

'I'm afraid that you might be in jeopardy.'

'No, my dear – Odysseus and his jockey are the targets.'

'And you say they'll be protected by the police?'

'Security will be very tight from now on.'

'Good.' Struggling to her feet, she crossed to the fireplace and looked up at Odysseus. Her husband came to stand beside her. She turned to him. 'Do you really believe he can win?'

'I do, Caroline,' he replied, trying to keep a note of desperation out of his voice. 'Odysseus must win. Everything depends upon it.'

'Stay where you are!' ordered the man. 'Or I'll blow your brains out.'

It was not the welcome that Victor Leeming had expected when he stepped down from the cab and walked up the drive. As soon as the sergeant reached one of the outbuildings, a burly individual jumped out to confront him with a shotgun. Staring at the gleaming barrels, Leeming elected to comply with the instruction. The guard ran an unflattering eye over him.

'What's your name, you ugly bugger?' he demanded.

'Detective Sergeant Leeming from Scotland Yard.'

The man sniggered. 'Oh, is that right? Well, if you're a detective, I'm the Angel Bleeding Gabriel.' He jabbed the weapon at Leeming. 'Tell me your real name, you lying devil.'

'I just did.'

'Now you're provoking me, aren't you?'

'What's going on, Seamus?' called a voice.

Brian Dowd ambled down the drive to see what was causing the commotion. Leeming showed proof of his identity and explained that he had come at the instigation of Robert Colbeck.

'Why didn't he come himself?' asked Dowd.

'He had to make enquiries elsewhere – at Mr Fido's stables.'

'That's where the trouble started, Sergeant. John Feeny was murdered by one of Hamilton Fido's henchmen and they sent me the lad's head to frighten me – but I don't frighten that easy.'

'I do,' admitted Leeming, keenly aware that the shotgun was still pointed at him. 'Could you please persuade your friend here to put his weapon away?' Dowd gave a nod and Seamus withdrew into the nearest building. 'Thank you, sir – I appreciate that.'

'Nobody gets close to Limerick Lad,' said Dowd.

'I was hoping that I might.'

'You?'

'It's one of the reasons I was glad to be sent here, sir. I know nothing about horses but I do like a flutter on the Derby. The problem is that I'm very confused,' he went on. 'Lord Hendry assured us that Odysseus would be first past the post but, when we met Mr Fido earlier today, I had the impression he felt his own horse would win.'

'Merry Legs doesn't have a prayer.'

'What about Odysseus?'

Dowd was positive. 'Second place behind Limerick Lad.'

'Inspector Colbeck said that you'd commend your horse.'

'I don't commend him, Sergeant – I believe in him.'

Turning on his heel, he led his visitor round to the yard. There were a dozen stalls in all and most of them seemed to be occupied. Outside one of them, a groom was cleaning a racing saddle. As the lad bent forward, Leeming noticed that he had a gun tucked into his belt.

'Are all your employees armed, sir?' he asked.

'After what happened with John Feeny, I'm taking no chances.'

'Very wise.'

'Did Inspector Colbeck manage to find the boy's uncle?'

'Yes – the deceased was formally identified by a blood relation.'

'It's not the deceased who needs to be identified but the fiend who killed him and the man who paid him to do it.'

'We know your opinion on that subject, sir.'

'Then arrest Mr Fido and beat the truth out of him.'

He stopped beside one of the stalls and his manner changed at once. Limerick Lad was a bay colt with a yellowish tinge to his coat. Dowd looked at him with paternal pride.

'There he is – the next winner of the Derby.'

Hearing the trainer's voice, the animal raised his head from the bucket of water and came across to the door. He nuzzled up against Dowd then let out a loud whinny. Leeming was fascinated. He had never been so close to a thoroughbred horse before and he marvelled at the colt's sleek lines and perfect proportions. The sense of latent power in Limerick Lad was thrilling. Leeming had only heard about the other two potential winners of the Derby. Now he was inches away from the one horse who could challenge them and it made him think again about where he should place his money. He was touched by the affection between horse and trainer. Brian Dowd patently loved his colt but it was equally obvious that he had subjected it to a strict training regime. Limerick Lad was in prime condition.

'Breeding,' said Dowd, stroking the animal's neck. 'That's what's paramount in horseracing – good breeding. Limerick Lad is by Piscator out of Cornish Lass, who ran second in the Oaks. Piscator won the Derby and the St Leger. Do you see what I mean, Sergeant?' he said. 'There's a family tradition to maintain. Limerick Lad comes from the very best stock.'

Leeming was entranced. 'I can see that, Mr Dowd.'

'He won't let us down.'

'I'm sure he won't, sir.'

The trainer gave his horse a final pat on the neck before leading his visitor a few paces away. Then he looked Leeming in the eye.

'Why exactly did you come here?' he asked.

'Inspector Colbeck thought that, as a courtesy, you should be kept up to date with our investigation.'

'That was very considerate of him. I'll be interested to hear what progress you've made so far.'

'It's been slow but steady, Mr Dowd.'

Leeming explained what the Detective Department had been doing. On the journey back from Bethnal Green, he had been schooled by Colbeck to release certain facts while holding others back. At the mention of Hamilton Fido's name, Dowd scowled but held his tongue. The sergeant gauged his reactions throughout.

'Inspector Colbeck made one suggestion,' he said, 'and I must confess that it would never have occurred to me.'

'What might that be?'

'That, in fact, Mr Fido is in no way implicated in the murder.'

'He has to be!' cried Dowd. 'John Feeny worked at his stables.'

'You've jumped to the obvious conclusion, sir, as you were meant to do. But supposing that both you and Mr Fido are incidental victims of this crime?'

'Fido as a victim – impossible!'

'The inspector thinks otherwise,' said Leeming. 'Since there's bad blood between you and Mr Fido, he wonders if someone is trying to heat it up even more. A third party might have set out to stoke up the mutual antagonism in order to have you snarling insults at each other. That would distract the pair of you from the important job of preparing your horses for the Derby.'

Dowd was adamant. 'The man you want is Hamilton Fido,' he said through gritted teeth. 'Over the last couple of years, my horses have consistently beaten his. He's not the kind of man to take that lying down. He had to hit back and he used John Feeny to do it. There's something you ought to know, Sergeant,' he continued. 'The reason that Limerick Lad will win the Derby is not simply because he's the finest horse in the field. He has the best jockey on his back – Tim Maguire. I've lost count of the number of times that Mr Fido has tried to poach Tim so that he'll ride in his colours.'

'There's nothing illegal in that, sir. Every owner would like to have the best jockey riding for him.'

'Only one would offer a huge bribe to make sure that my colt lost the race. That's what was dangled in front of Tim Maguire – five hundred pounds to pull Limerick Lad out of the reckoning.'

'Five hundred!' Leeming whistled in amazement. 'Do you know who made the offer?'

'Hamilton Fido.'

'Are you sure?'

'The letter was unsigned,' said Dowd, reaching inside his coat, 'but I'm sure it had Mr Fido's name on it in invisible ink. Since he couldn't have Tim in the saddle on Merry Legs, he wanted to make use of him another way.'

'That's a very serious allegation, Mr Dowd.'

'Read the letter for yourself.'

'Thank you,' said Leeming, taking it from him and unfolding the paper. The letter was short but explicit. He read it in seconds. 'This is evidence, sir – may I keep it?'

'Please do, Sergeant.'

'I take it that Maguire was not tempted.'

'Tim rides for me and nobody else,' boasted Dowd. 'When he sent that letter, there was something about my jockey that Hamilton Fido obviously didn't know.'

'And what was that, sir?'

'He has the same problem as John Feeny.'

'Problem?'

'He's illiterate. You don't need to be able to read in order to ride a horse. All you have to do is to recognise a winning post when you see one. The joke is on Mr Fido,' said Dowd with a grim chuckle. 'When he received that letter, Tim Maguire didn't have a clue that he was being offered a bribe.'

When he saw Hamilton Fido for the second time that day, Robert Colbeck was not given as cordial a welcome. The bookmaker was at his stables, talking to his trainer, Alfred Stenton, a bear-like man in his forties with a grizzled beard and tiny deep-set eyes. They looked up as the detective approached them across the yard. Stenton showed curiosity but Fido's face registered annoyance until he concealed it behind his practised smile.

'We meet again, Inspector,' he said.

'I remembered your saying that you'd be coming here this afternoon,' said Colbeck. 'Have you established yet how John Feeny got a job here when he'd been in the employ of your fiercest rival?'

'Alfred explained that to me.'

He introduced the trainer and Stenton took over. He had a deep voice, a slow delivery and a bluff manner. Hands on hips, he stood with his legs planted wide apart.

'Don't blame me,' he said stoutly. 'I'd no idea that the lad had worked for Brian Dowd. He told me he came from Cork where he'd been a groom for three years. One of my boys had a nasty accident so I needed a replacement. John Feeny came along at the right time.'

Colbeck wanted to hear more. 'A nasty accident?'

'He was kicked by a horse, Inspector – broke his leg.'

'Was there anything suspicious about it?'

The trainer shook his head. 'If you want to know the truth, the lad deserved what he got. He'd been drinking heavily and he knew I didn't allow beer at the stables. You need a clear head when you're dealing with racehorses,' said Stenton. 'They can be a real handful if you get on the wrong side of them. He was grooming Bold Buccaneer and slapped him on the rump. That was asking for trouble.'

'How did John Feeny know there was a vacancy here?'

'A friend recommended him.'

'Someone from the stables?' said Colbeck.

'Yes, Inspector,' replied Stenton. 'Ned Kyle, one of my jockeys, spoke up for him. They grew up together in Cork.'

'Why didn't Kyle warn you?' asked Fido angrily. 'He must have known about Feeny's link with Dowd.'

'He swears that he didn't,' said the trainer, 'and I took him at his word. Ned is as honest as the day is long. He'd not deceive me. In any case, he and John Feeny hadn't seen each other for years. How could Ned possibly know where he'd been working?'

'Feeny was unlikely to tell him,' observed Colbeck. 'He knew he'd never get a job here if Brian Dowd's name was mentioned.'

Stenton snorted. 'I'd have thrown him out on his ear.'

'He winkled his way in here to spy,' said Fido.

'It doesn't look that way,' said Colbeck. 'It seems that he only got the job by default. If another groom hadn't been kicked by a horse, John Feeny would still be looking for work.'

'That's my view as well,' said Stenton.

'On the other hand, someone knew about Feeny's past.'

'What do you mean, Inspector?'

'A couple of letters were sent to Jerry Doyle, a lad at Mr Dowd's stables. Since Feeny couldn't write, he must have got a friend to pen the letters for him.'

'Someone from here,' said Fido vengefully. 'Ned Kyle, perhaps.'

'He'd never do such a thing,' argued Stenton.

'Maybe we have another spy in the camp.'

'I'd like a word with Kyle, if I may,' said Colbeck.

'I'll see if I can find him for you, Inspector,' said Stenton, moving off. 'But I'll tell you right now – Ned is as clean as a whistle.'

The trainer walked away and left the two men alone.

'It looks as if someone let you down, Mr Fido,' began Colbeck. 'When I arrived here, you were patently surprised to see me. Nobody warned you of my visit this time.'

'After this morning's meeting,' said Fido, 'I didn't think that we had anything more to say to each other.'

'There have been developments, sir.'

'Oh?'

'Your informant at Scotland Yard is obviously unaware of them so I felt it my duty to pass on the information myself. Lord Hendry reported an incident related to the Derby.'

'In what way?'

'Someone did his best to cause Odysseus serious injury.'

'I'm sorry to hear that,' said Fido blandly.

'Luckily, the attempt was thwarted.'

'Why are you telling me, Inspector? You surely can't believe that I'm in any way culpable.'

'I make no assumptions, sir.'

'Lord Hendry pointed the finger at me – is that it?'

'Your name was mentioned to the superintendent.'

'I'm astounded that he didn't have posters printed with a picture of me as the wanted man,' said Fido with a laugh. 'Every time there's a crime or a misdemeanour on a racecourse, Lord Hendry accuses me.'

'Brian Dowd was also named as a suspect.'

'Then he's nearer the mark there.'

'There doesn't appear to be any mutual respect in the world of horseracing,' said Colbeck with disapproval. 'Does the concept of friendly rivalry mean nothing to you?'

Fido was amused. 'Not if you want to be a winner,' he said flatly. 'All's fair in love and racing, Inspector. What about your world? Do you regard criminals as no more than friendly rivals?'

'I take your point, sir.'

'There's no virtue in being a gallant loser.'

'Let me change the subject,' said Colbeck, glancing around the yard where several people were busy at work. 'Though you might wish to continue this discussion where we can have a little more privacy.'

'Why?'

'I have to touch on a more personal matter.'

'Touch away,' said Fido, spreading his arms invitingly. 'I've nothing to hide.'

'Then perhaps you'd be good enough to confirm that you stayed at the Wyvern Hotel in London recently.'

Fido bristled. 'What sort of question is that, Inspector?'

'A pertinent one, sir.'

'I often stay at hotels in the city.'

'The one that interests me is the Wyvern – just off the Strand.'

'I can't say that I remember staying there,' said Fido.

'You're a very distinctive figure,' Colbeck pointed out. 'Had you visited the hotel, the staff would doubtless recognise you again. And, of course,' he went on, 'your name would be in the hotel register. In fact, I have it on good authority that that is so.'

'In that case, I suppose I must have spent a night there.'

'You and your companion, sir.'

Fido smiled. 'I've always been a sociable fellow.'

'You were not very sociable on this occasion, it seems. When a hatbox was stolen from your room, you upbraided the hotel staff and demanded restitution.' The bookmaker's smile froze. 'The hatbox later turned up at Crewe with John Feeny's head in it, so you'll understand why we have such an interest in your hotel accommodation on that particular night.'

'What are you after, Inspector?'

'The name of the lady with whom you were staying, sir.'

'It has no relevance whatsoever to your investigation.'

'Let me be the judge of that, Mr Fido.'

'The lady was the victim of a crime.'

'Then it should have been reported to the police.'

'There was no need,' said Fido. 'The manager had the sense to accept responsibility and offer compensation. As far as we were concerned, the matter was closed.'

Colbeck was tenacious. 'It falls to me to reopen it,' he said. 'I believe that there may have been a specific reason why that particular hatbox was stolen. It's therefore important that I know the name of the person who owned it.'

Fido lowered his voice. 'Are you married, Inspector?'

'No, sir, I'm a bachelor.'

'So am I,' confided the other. 'We are two of a kind – single gentlemen who take their pleasures where they find them and who protect the identity of any lady involved. Such conduct will inevitably attract condemnation from those of more puritanical disposition but, I'm glad to say, it's not an offence that's found its way into the statute book. If it had, some of our most distinguished politicians – the late Duke of Wellington among them – would have been liable to arrest.'

'I'm not here to discuss the duke's indiscretions.'

'Mine are equally outside your purview, Inspector.'

'I require the name of that young lady.'

'And I decline to give it to you.'

'That's tantamount to obstructing the police,' warned Colbeck.

'I prefer to see it as the act of a gentleman.'

'Your definition of gentlemanly behaviour does not accord with mine, Mr Fido. I thought you were keen for this crime to be solved.'

'I am,' asserted the other. 'I want the killer brought to justice.'

'Then why refuse to cooperate? John Feeny lost his life in the most grisly way. My job,' said Colbeck, 'is to gather every conceivable scrap of evidence. Consequently, I would like to speak to the young lady with whom you stayed at the Wyvern Hotel.'

'I can relay your questions to her, Inspector.'

'That will not suffice.'

'Then you are going to be disappointed.'

'Are you ashamed of the lady for some reason?'

'No,' rejoined Fido, 'and I resent your insinuation. I do not need to buy a lady's favours, Inspector Colbeck. Strange as it may seem, I happen to believe in romance. Do you know what that means?'

'Of course, sir,' said Colbeck, thinking fondly of Madeleine Andrews. 'Being a member of the Metropolitan Police Force does not make us oblivious to emotion.'

'Then see it from my point of view. If a young lady had put the ultimate trust in you, would you break that trust by revealing her identity?'

'Probably not.'

'We agree on something at last.'

'Not exactly, sir,' said Colbeck, 'but I spy a way out of this dilemma. Approach the lady yourself and explain the situation in which we find ourselves. Tell her that she can contact me at Scotland Yard and that I will treat everything she says in strict confidence. Who knows?' he asked meaningfully. 'It may well be that she is more anxious for this murder to be solved than you seem to be.'

Kitty Lavender was in her bedroom, seated in front of the dressing table and looking in the mirror as she fastened her diamond earrings in place. When she heard a knock on the door, she went through to the drawing room to see who her visitor might be. Opening the door, she was taken aback to see Marcus Johnson standing there with a warm and mischievous smile.

'I thought we were going to keep out of each other's way for a while,' she said. 'What brought you here?'

'A hansom cab.'

'Don't jest, Marcus.'

'I came on the off-chance of catching you in,' he said, doffing his hat. 'Your landlady recognised me and let me into the house.'

'In that case, you'd better come in.'

Kitty stood back so that he could go past her then she closed the door behind her. She was not sure if she was pleased to see him. Her half-brother tended to vanish from her life for long periods then surface when he needed money or help or both. Kitty wondered what he was after this time.

The drawing room was large, well proportioned and filled with exquisite Regency furniture. Long, gilt-framed mirrors had been artfully used to make the room seem even bigger than it was. Fresh flowers stood in a vase. Marcus Johnson looked around.

'I always like coming here,' he said. 'I just wish that I could afford a suite of rooms like this.'

'You're a nomad. You never stay in one place long enough.'

'That's true – though this house would tempt me.'

'It was recommended to me by a close friend.'

He grinned. 'I won't ask his name,' he said, putting his hat down on a table. 'Well, I won't stay long, Kitty. I just wanted the pleasure of seeing the look of amazement on your face.'

'Why should I be amazed?'

'Because I've not come to borrow money from you.'

'That's a relief,' she said.

'In fact, I'm here to do the exact opposite.' Thrusting a hand into his coat pocket, he extracted a pile of banknotes. 'I'm going to repay in full what I owe you.'

'Marcus!' she exclaimed.

'You see? I knew that you'd gasp with disbelief.'

'It's so…unexpected.'

'Be honest, Kitty,' he said with a laugh. 'I'm your half-brother. You've no need to mince words with me. It's not only unexpected, it's totally uncharacteristic. Marcus Johnson is one of Nature's borrowers. Until today, that is.' He waved the banknotes. 'Go on – take them.'

'Are you sure?'

'They're not forgeries.'

'Even so,' she said, hesitating.

He laughed again. 'Am I held in such low esteem that you do not believe I could acquire the money honestly? I have to disappoint you,' he went on. 'I neither robbed a bank nor dressed up as a highwayman to waylay an unsuspecting coach. I won at cards, Kitty. I had a run of luck at the card table last night that was unprecedented. And that, my dear sister, is how I'm able to pay off my debt to you.'

'Thank you, Marcus,' she said, taking the money and the kiss that came with it. 'But do not fritter away the rest of your winnings.'

'No sermons, please – I know when to stop.'

'Then your judgement has improved.'

'I've put youthful impetuosity behind me,' he declared, 'where gambling is concerned, anyway. When it comes to beautiful women, however, it's a different matter. In that regard, I'm ever prey to impulsive action.'

'Does that mean you have someone in mind?'

'I have a dozen ladies in mind, Kitty!'

'For marriage or for pleasure?'

'I'm not the marrying kind,' he said airily. 'I ventured into holy matrimony once and found it a most inhibiting place to be. I like the freedom of the open road. You were right. I'm essentially a nomad.'

'How long will you be staying in London?'

'That depends how well I do during Derby Week.'

'What happens if your run of luck continues?'

'Then I'll probably spend the summer in Paris.'

'And if you lose at Epsom?'

'I'll be back to borrow that money off you again.'

'It's no longer available,' she told him, slipping it into the drawer of a mahogany side-table. 'The kindest thing I can do is to refuse you any more loans. That will make you stand on your own feet.'

'I think I've finally learnt to do that, Kitty.'

'I sincerely hope so.'

'Well,' he said, collecting his hat, 'now that I've settled my debts, I'll be on my way. Unless, of course, those keen ears of yours picked up something from Hamilton Fido.'

'I haven't even seen him since we last met.'

'Make a point of doing so.'

'He's too preoccupied with the Derby.'

'Surely he's taking you to Epsom on his arm.'

'Yes, he loves to display me.'

'You're a jewel among women, Kitty. He wears you with pride. But don't forget me, will you? Last-minute information is the best kind. I can place my heaviest bet immediately before the race.' He winked at her. 'Can I count on your help?'

'I don't like to be pestered, Marcus.'

'Blood is thicker than water.'

'As you wish,' she said with a tired smile. 'I'll see what I can find out from Hamilton. How will I get in touch with you?'

'You won't need to,' he told her, 'because I'll get in touch with you. Thank you again for the loan of that money.' He kissed her on both cheeks. 'Take my advice and grow accustomed to the notion that your half-brother will soon be a very wealthy man.'

The Shepherd and Shepherdess was a half-timbered inn, situated on the bank of a river. Built almost three hundred years earlier, it served the needs of the village and also attracted customers from further afield. Since it was only a couple of miles from the stables, it did not take Robert Colbeck long to get there. When they reached the inn, the inspector clambered out of the cab and told the driver to wait.

'How long will you be, guv'nor?' asked the man.

'Long enough,' said Colbeck, understanding the question.

The man jumped quickly down from the cab, tethered his horse and went into the bar to slake his thirst. Colbeck bought drinks for both of them before introducing himself to the landlord. He asked if he might speak to Bonny Rimmer and, moments later, a short, pretty, dark-haired, rosy-cheeked young woman came into the bar, wiping her hands on her apron. She was plainly terrified at having been summoned by a detective from Scotland Yard. After trying to put her at ease with a few pleasantries, Colbeck requested that they move to somewhere other than the bar. Still apprehensive, Bonny took him to a little room at the rear. As they sat down together, Colbeck put his glass of brandy on the table.

'I believe you know a jockey named Ned Kyle,' he said.

'Yes, sir,' she replied. 'He often comes in here.'

'I've just spoken to him at the stables. He struck me as an honest, straightforward person. Would you agree?'

'Oh, I would. Ned is a good man. He never causes trouble.'

'Does that mean some of the others do?'

'They get a bit excited, that's all,' said Bonny nervously.

'What about John Feeny?'

She brightened immediately. 'John?'

'Was he rather boisterous at times?'

'No, sir,' she replied, 'he's always quiet, is John. He likes his beer, mind you – they all do – but he doesn't have the money to drink too much. That'll change when he becomes a jockey, though. He might even earn as much as Ned.'

Colbeck felt a surge of pity for her. She was talking as if John Feeny were still alive and about to fulfil his ambitions. When he had spoken to Ned Kyle at the stables, the inspector had learnt two things. The first was that Kyle was completely unaware of his friend's link with Brian Dowd and the second concerned Bonny Rimmer. During his visits to the inn, John Feeny and the barmaid had developed a close friendship.

From the way she talked about him, it was clear that she was in love with the Irishman. It was equally clear that she believed she would soon see him again. Colbeck had not bought the drink for himself. He moved it across to her before he spoke.

'I have some sad news to pass on, Miss Rimmer,' he said.

'What about?'

'John Feeny.'

She tensed. 'Has he been arrested?'

'It's rather more serious than that, I'm afraid.'

'He's been injured?'

'John Feeny is dead,' said Colbeck gently, steadying her with a hand as she reeled from the news. 'He was murdered.'

Bonny Rimmer was stunned. Her mouth fell open, her eyes darted wildly and her whole body trembled. When she began to sob convulsively, Colbeck provided her with a handkerchief and a consoling arm. Since she was in no state to hear the full details of the crime, he decided to keep them from her. He waited until she was over the worst of the shock, then he held the brandy to her lips.

'Drink some of this,' he coaxed. 'It might help you.'

Bonny consented to take a sip. She pulled a face at the sharp taste of the brandy but it helped to bring her to her senses. Of her own volition, she took a second, longer sip before turning her watery eyes on Colbeck.

'Who could possibly want to harm John?' she asked.

'That's what I'm trying to find out, Miss Rimmer, and I'm hoping that you might be able to assist me.' She shrugged hopelessly. 'Ned Kyle told me that you and John were good friends. Is that true?' She nodded. 'According to him, John was always talking about you at the stables.'

'Was he?' The information brought a modicum of comfort and she managed a pale smile. 'We liked each other.'

'When did you last see him?'

'It must have been over a week ago.'

'How did he seem?'

'John was very happy,' she said. 'He was always happy when we were together. But he did warn me that he wouldn't be able to see me for a while because of Derby Week. Mr Stenton wanted the grooms on duty all the time to guard the horses. John said he'd try to sneak off but he never turned up.' She burst into tears again. 'Now I know why.'

Colbeck offered her the brandy once more and she had another sip.

'Did he tell you anything about his work?' he said.

'He told me lots, Inspector. Riding was everything to John. He wanted to be a jockey like Ned. He worked somewhere in Ireland but they wouldn't let him ride. They said he'd never make a jockey and it really hurt John. He came to England to prove himself.'

'Do you know the name of the stables in Ireland?'

'Oh, yes,' she said. 'I wrote letters to a friend of his there.'

'Jerry Doyle?'

She blinked in surprise. 'How do you know that?'

'I spoke to him while I was in Dublin,' said Colbeck. 'He showed me the letters – you have nice handwriting, Miss Rimmer.'

'Thank you, sir – I was taught to read and write proper.'

'In one of the letters, John said that he'd met someone very special but he didn't give your name.' She blushed visibly. 'You did him a great favour in writing on his behalf.'

'John wanted to learn to do it himself. I said I'd teach him.'

'That was very kind of you.'

'I'd do anything for John,' she affirmed.

'Did he have any enemies at the stables?'

'No, he got on very well with everyone, Inspector.'

'That was the impression I got when I spoke to some of the other grooms. John Feeny had fitted in very well. He had prospects.'

'He did,' she said, 'and he was about to come into some money.'

'Really?'

'I was the only person he told. He wouldn't even tell people like his uncle or Ned Kyle about it. But he told me,' she went on. 'We had no secrets from each other, you see.'

'And where was this money to come from?'

'A man he'd met.'

'What did John have to do to get it?'

'He had to give him as much information as he could about Limerick Lad – that's the Irish horse in the Derby.'

'Yes, I know.'

'John was to see this man somewhere and be paid to talk about the stables where he'd worked. He owed no loyalty to Mr Dowd, the trainer,' she insisted. 'He only held John back. Besides, John was working for Mr Stenton and wanted Merry Legs to win the Derby.'

'Did John say when and where he'd meet this man?'

'No, Inspector.'

'Did he give you the man's name?'

'John didn't know it.'

'What did he tell you about him?' Colbeck pressed.

'Only that he was a gentleman and offered a lot of money.'

'Was he English or Irish?'

'Oh, English,' she said, 'and he knew a lot about racing. John told me he was very nice at first but he did threaten him once.'

'Really?'

'When he gave John a job, Mr Stenton warned him that he wasn't to speak to anyone – anyone at all – outside the stables about what went on there. People are always trying to bribe the grooms and jockeys for information. John swore that he'd say nothing,' she said. 'When this man first got in touch with him, John thought it might be best if he said nothing at all to him – not even about a rival stables. It was then the man made his threat.'

'What did he threaten?'

'He told John he had a choice,' she recalled. 'He could either talk about Limerick Lad and earn his reward, or, if he refused, then he'd lose his job because Mr Stenton would be told where John used to work in Ireland. John had to agree, Inspector,' she said fervently. 'He was afraid that if he lost his job, he'd lose me as well. Besides, he needed the money. So he agreed to do what the man asked.'

'Thank you, Miss Rimmer,' said Colbeck, watching a tear trickle down her cheek. 'You've been very helpful.'

'Can I ask you a question now, sir?'

'Of course.'

'How was John killed?'

Robert Colbeck took a deep breath before speaking.