Lord Hendry was unequivocal. ‘That’s one race he won’t win.’
‘Limerick Lad is a fine colt – my sergeant has seen him.’
‘But did he time him over the Derby distance, Inspector? I think not. I know exactly how fast the Irish horse can run on that course and it puts him seconds behind Odysseus.’
‘I can’t believe that Mr Dowd was kind enough to tell you about Limerick Lad,’ said Colbeck. ‘You must have obtained details about the horse’s speed by underhand means.’
‘My trainer likes to weigh up the competition.’
‘I’d be interested to hear how he goes about it, Lord Hendry. But I’ve detained you far too long,’ he continued, getting up and reaching for his top hat. ‘I’m sorry that you feel unable to assist us in our enquiries.’
‘I
‘Having met Mr Dowd, I’m inclined to absolve him of the charges you make against him. Mr Fido, however is a different matter. He sails very close to the wind. In fact,’ said Colbeck, ‘I expect to be speaking to him on that very subject in the near future.’
Sergeant Leeming’s vigil did not last long. Twenty minutes after he had taken up his post in the Lamb and Flag, he saw someone coming out of Scotland Yard and glancing around furtively. When he recognised the man, the shock momentarily took his breath away. It was Detective Constable Peter Cheggin, a friend of the sergeant’s. They had served in uniform together and, since their move to the Detective Department, they had often chatted over a drink in the very public house where Leeming was concealed. As a policeman, Cheggin had always been fearless and reliable. Leeming was distressed to learn that his friend had been corrupted.
He left the room at speed and raced down the stairs. Opening the front door, he slipped through it and hid in the porch of the neighbouring building. There was no danger of his being seen. Peter Cheggin was too preoccupied with trying to find a cab. When one finally came along Whitehall, he stepped out to flag it down. Leeming was afraid that a second cab would not come in time for him to follow the first but his fears were groundless.
Cheggin did not climb into the cab. He merely gave something to the driver and issued some instructions. When the driver was paid, he nodded his thanks. Cheggin hastened back to his office. A message was being sent. Leeming knew that he had to intercept it. As the cab set off, therefore, he dashed out into the middle of the road and held up both arms. The driver pulled the horse to a halt and rid himself of a torrent of expletives. His rage turned to meek apology when Leeming identified himself as a detective.
‘I want that letter you were just given,’ said Leeming.
‘But the gentleman paid me, sir,’ wailed the driver.
‘That was Constable Cheggin and he was breaking the law in sending that message. If you deliver it, you’ll be arrested and charged as an accomplice.’
‘I did nothing wrong, sir!’
‘Then give me the letter and be on your own way.’
‘The driver was downcast. ‘Do I have to give the money back as well?’ he asked morosely.
‘What money?’ said Leeming, feeling that the driver deserved to keep it. ‘I didn’t see any money being exchanged between you. All I need is that letter.’
‘Then it’s yours.’
The driver handed over the missive and flicked the reins to set the horse off again. Leeming, meanwhile, glanced at the name and address on the letter. It was being dispatched to Hamilton Fido. The ruse had worked. Anger bubbled inside Leeming. He knew that he should report what he had seen to the superintendent but this was no time to follow instructions. Putting the letter in his pocket, he went after the man who had written it.
Peter Cheggin was a tall stringy man in his thirties. He was in the office belonging to Robert Colbeck, leafing through the case file that related to the murder investigation. When Leeming walked in, the other man immediately put the file back on the desk and pretended to move a few other items around.
‘Hello, Victor,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I was told to tidy up in here.’
‘Not by Inspector Colbeck – he keeps the place spotless.’
‘That’s why there was so little to do.’
‘I’m glad I bumped into you, Peter,’ said Leeming. ‘Some mail arrived for you.’ He took out the letter and held it out. ‘A cabman delivered it just this minute.’
Cheggin turned white. Seeing the letter, he knew at once that he had been caught. He shrugged, gave a strained smile then, without warning, hurled himself at Leeming, intending to push him aside so that he could make his escape. The sergeant was ready for him. Moving swiftly to one side, he grabbed Cheggin by both arms and swung him hard against the wall before using both fists to pummel him. Cheggin fought back and they grappled wildly in the middle of the room. A chair was knocked over, a potted plant was toppled from its perch and all the papers on Colbeck’s desk went flying as the two men flailed about.
Cheggin had the strength of desperation but Victor Leeming slowly got the upper hand. Subduing an offender was the part of police work that he liked best. Fuelled by resentment and by a sense of betrayal, he shoved, shook, punched, pulled and squeezed hard before using his knee to explore Cheggin’s groin. When the constable doubled up in agony, Leeming took his opportunity to fell him with a swift uppercut. Cheggin collapsed in a heap on the floor and groaned. Breathing hard, Leeming stood over him.
‘You were one of us, Peter,’ he said, ‘and you let us down.’
‘I needed the money,’ croaked the other.
‘You won’t need money in prison and that’s where you’re going for this.’ Leeming glanced at the debris they had caused. ‘Look at the mess you made. Inspector Colbeck won’t like that at all.’
The noise of the fight had brought a knot of onlookers and they stood at the open door. Superintendent Tallis pushed through them and came into the office. He looked with dismay at the dishevelled state of the two men.
‘What, in heaven’s name, is going on here?’ he shouted.
‘I made an arrest, sir,’ explained the sergeant, taking Cheggin by the scruff of the neck to hoist him to his feet. ‘This is the man who’s been spying on us, Superintendent – he’s all yours.’
CHAPTER NINE
Kitty Lavender spent most of the morning on a shopping spree, buying what she considered to be the last few vital accessories for her visit to Epsom Downs during Derby Week. She wanted to look at her best for the occasion. A hansom cab returned her to her lodgings and, when she alighted from it, she was laden with boxes and packages. Her landlady was at the window as she arrived and, seeing what Kitty was carrying, she came to open the front door for her.
‘Thank you, Mrs Collier,’ said Kitty, stepping into the house. ‘I didn’t have a spare hand to ring the doorbell.’
‘You have a visitor, Miss Lavender,’ said the landlady, a small, rotund, motherly woman. ‘I showed him up to your room.’
Kitty was wary. ‘It’s not Mr Johnson again, is it?’
‘No, Miss Lavender.’
‘Then it must be Mr Fido.’
‘It’s not him either.’
‘Oh – then who is it?’
‘Your father.’
Kitty was nonplussed. Since her father had died years before, she knew that it could not possibly be him. Somebody had entered her lodgings under false pretences and that disturbed her. Hiding her alarm from the landlady, she struggled upstairs with her shopping then put down one of the boxes so that she could open the door of her drawing room. Lord Hendry was sitting in a chair. When he saw how burdened she was, he got up and walked over to her.
‘Let me help you, Kitty,’ he volunteered.
She was shocked. ‘What are
‘Let’s get everything inside first, shall we?’ he said, picking up the box from the floor and ushering her into the room. He closed the door behind him. ‘We don’t want your landlady to overhear us. She believes that I’m your father. We can’t have her thinking that we committed incest.’
