The Iron Horse

‘Have you ever known him injure a horse on purpose?’

‘I can’t say that I do.’

‘Then why do you assume that he must be behind this crime?’

‘Past experience,’ said Fido. ‘Every time our horses have been pitted against each other, we’ve had trouble from Dowd. If he can stoop to putting a spy in my stables, you can see how desperate he is.’

‘You’re wrong, sir,’ Colbeck told him. ‘John Feeny was no spy. My belief is that the killer wanted him to act as spy against Brian Dowd. We spoke to Mr Dowd earlier. He’s a shrewd man.’

‘Shrewd and slimy.’

‘There seem to be a lot of slimy individuals on the Turf, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘Our superintendent holds the view that horseracing is only a polite word for criminal activity.’

‘Yes,’ said Fido, ‘from people like Brian Dowd.’

‘Let’s put one myth to rest,’ said Colbeck, ‘because it’s patently clouding your judgement. When he worked at your stables, John Feeny developed an attachment to a young lady at a nearby inn. They even talked of marriage. She told me categorically that Feeny left Ireland after an argument with his employer and Mr Dowd now admits as much. Feeny was loyal to your stables, Mr Fido – he told the girl how much he’d love to see Merry Legs win the Derby instead of Limerick Lad.’

‘She will win, Inspector.’

Leeming grinned. ‘Do I have your word on that, sir?’

‘I wouldn’t put her in the race if I expected her to lose.’

‘That’s what you’re doing with Princess of Fire.’

‘She’s only in the Derby for experience. Merry Legs is there to wipe the smiles off the gloating faces of Brian Dowd and Lord Hendry.’

‘That’s in the lap of the gods at the moment,’ said Colbeck. ‘With regard to the poisoning of the dog, however, my own theory is that the person responsible is the same man who murdered John Feeny and who may also have tried to eliminate Odysseus from the Derby. Not content with those crimes, he’s made two attempts to ensure that Tim Maguire will not ride in Mr Dowd’s colours on Wednesday.’

‘Catch him before he causes any more damage,’ said Fido.

‘That’s our intention, sir,’ Colbeck promised. ‘Turning to another but not unconnected matter, we’re still waiting for the young lady who owned that hatbox to come forward.’

‘I’ve advised her to do so.’

‘She seems disinclined to take your advice, Mr Fido.’

‘I can’t compel her, Inspector.’

‘Perhaps not but you could apply more pressure, I feel. Point out to her that it’s in her best interests to assist us. Her hatbox was stolen and used in the course of a heinous crime. Surely she would want the killer to be apprehended.’

‘She does – it would relieve her mind greatly.’

‘Relieve mine by making her cooperate with the police. If she persists in avoiding us,’ said Colbeck, ‘we are bound to think that the lady has something she prefers to keep hidden.’

‘That’s not the case at all.’

‘Then use your influence over her, Mr Fido.’

‘My hands are rather full at the moment,’ said the other. ‘This is the most frantic time of the year for me.’

‘We’re not exactly short of work ourselves, sir,’ Leeming put in.

Colbeck smiled wryly. ‘That’s an understatement, Victor,’ he said. ‘This year’s Derby is keeping us well and truly on our toes. I still have hopes of watching the race itself but I’ll not enjoy it if the killer is still at large. He’ll be here, Mr Fido, ready to create more chaos for all of us. We need every ounce of help we can get from every available source. Tell that to the young lady,’ he ordered. ‘Either she comes forward voluntarily or we go looking for her with a warrant.’

The first day of Derby Week had been a sustained ordeal for Lord Hendry. Outwardly, it was a story of gain. He gained respect, flattery and admiration. Everyone he knew sought his advice. All of them congratulated him on the position that Odysseus held in the betting. He should have sailed through the day on recurring waves of affection and goodwill. Inwardly, however, he was contemplating a story of loss. He had failed in his attempt to borrow money from various friends. Pleasant discussions over glasses of champagne had all ended in polite refusal. Even his brother-in-law had turned down his request. As a gambling man, Lord Hendry had endured serious losses in recent months and he needed to recoup them on the Derby but he could only do that if he had enough capital to place on his horse. Everything depended on that one headlong race.

Another loss that troubled him was that of Kitty Lavender. He had been shocked to learn that she had betrayed him by turning to the one man he detested above all others. Lord Hendry’s loss was accentuated by Hamilton Fido’s gain. It was the bookmaker who would now enjoy her luscious kisses, her soft caresses and all of her unparalleled skills as a lover. Rather than yield her up to Fido, he would have preferred to keep her as his mistress and allow her to be seen with him in public.

Overarching all the other losses was the imminent loss of his life. He was a good shot but, if he fought a duel against a younger man, there was no guarantee that he would come through it alive. Lord Hendry could see only two ways out of his predicament. He could try to appease Kitty by writing her a letter of abject apology, hoping that she would make Fido stay his hand. Or he would have to make sure that the duel never took place by having his opponent disabled beforehand. Of the two possibilities, the second had more attraction. He had never apologised to one of his mistresses and did not wish to set a precedent with Kitty Lavender. Causing pain to a disagreeable bookmaker, on the other hand, would be pleasurable.

Though he wore a benign smile and waved to acquaintances on all sides, he was glad to be leaving Epsom at the end of the day. His carriage was waiting for him and he clambered into it. No sooner had he settled back than a man appeared beside him.

‘Lord Hendry?’ he enquired.

‘I have that honour, sir.’

‘It’s a dishonourable name, in my opinion,’ said Marcus Johnson baldly. ‘Titles should be bestowed on those who deserve them and who learn to behave with the dignity commensurate with their station. You are unable to do that.’

‘Who the devil are you?’ demanded Lord Hendry.

‘My name is Marcus Johnson.’

‘Then I bid you good day, Mr Johnson.’

‘Not so fast,’ said Johnson, reaching into the carriage to grab his arm. ‘I haven’t introduced myself fully yet. I’m surprised that Kitty hasn’t mentioned me to you. I’m her half-brother.’

‘I don’t care who you are – take your hand off me.’

Johnson released him. ‘Kitty told me what you did to her.’

‘I’m done with the woman. She belongs to my past.’

‘You can’t shake her off like that, my lord. It’s unkind, ungrateful and monstrously unfair. Have you had a visit from Hamilton Fido yet?’ Johnson laughed at his startled reaction. ‘Yes, I see that you have. As a matter of record, I was the one who told him how you struck Kitty.’

‘It was a glancing blow – nothing more.’

‘If it were the slightest touch, it would be unpardonable and we both know that it was far more than that. You might have cut her face open or taken her eye out. Did that never occur to you?’

‘You heard what I said, Mr Johnson – good day to you.’

‘You’ll not escape me that easily,’ said Johnson, opening the door to jump into the carriage.

‘Get out or I’ll have you thrown out!’

‘I’ll leave when I’m ready, Lord Hendry.’

‘I’ll stand no more of this infernal impudence.’

‘What are you going to do?’ taunted Johnson, grabbing the cane from the other man. ‘Hit me with this?’ He snapped the cane across his knee and tossed both pieces onto the ground. ‘I just wanted to deliver a message,’ he went on, leaning over to whisper in Lord Hendry’s ear. ‘I know that Hamilton planned to challenge you to a duel. I hope you survive – then I can have the supreme pleasure of shooting you myself.’