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
‘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.
‘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
‘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
‘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
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.
