Death At Epsom Downs

asked.

North studied his fingers, straightened the blotter on the desk, and glanced toward the window as though he hoped to find some distraction there. At last he said, reluctantly: “Alfred Day-he was commonly known as Badger-came to me a few days ago, here in this office. He wanted to complain generally about the practice of doping, and specifically as it related to the last running of the Derby. It appears that quite a number of people bet heavily upon Gladiator and have been unable to settle.” His smile was crooked. “He said that he felt doping was bad for business.”

Jack Murray pushed himself away from the wall. “It is, sir,” he said dourly. “For all his other dishonesties, and God knows there were plenty, Badger was an honest bookmaker. He knew horses, and he knew people, and he studied the form book. But doping changes everything, sir. The good bookies hate it, ’cause it makes the outcome less predictable.” He waved his hand, speaking more warmly. “O’ course, they hear the touts and tips, too, and when they think a horse is doped to win, they’re willin’ enough to make their own wager, to cover themselves. But they’re against it, to a man, Admiral. They’d be glad to see it stopped.”

Owen North sat motionless during this speech, his face impassive. He made no answer.

“So it is only Day’s complaint that ties him to the doping?” Charles asked. If he had to look into a murder, particularly one in which half the rogues in Newmarket might be implicated, he’d much rather start with some useful information.

North looked away. “He implied,” he said, “that he could name names, quite important names. Since the matter obviously involved wagering, I suggested that he approach Tattersall’s Committee with his complaint. But he argued that this had to do with the performance of the horse, not the wager, and of course, there is the matter of the objection, which has not yet been settled. He insisted that his complaint was related to the objection, and hence should be heard by the stewards.” The admiral’s eyes were expressionless. “I am sure you understand the stewards’ reluctance to hear such a complaint at this time. In the event, I told him that the matter was under investigation and that he would be contacted.”

“But he didn’t name names,” Charles said, watching the other’s face. He had thought he knew Owen North well, and could testify to his complete straightforwardness. Now, he wasn’t quite sure.

“I’m afraid not.” North turned toward the window so that Charles could see only the shadowed half of his face. “Perhaps you’re thinking that Day’s coming here might have nothing to do with his death, and that the investigation should have been left to the police.” He turned back, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed. He spoke with force. “I know these Newmarket constables, Sheridan. They manage to contain the local thuggery, more or less, and they maintain a decent order at the race meetings. But they cannot be relied upon to keep matters confidential.”

There was a tension in the admiral’s face that Charles couldn’t quite read. Was it apprehension, or evasion, or was it deceit? Charles gave what might have been seen as an affirming nod, and North appeared to relax.

“Indeed,” he said, with a touch of cordiality. “I think you can appreciate why I want you to intervene in this, Charles. The problem is very clear. The Newmarket constabulary simply can’t be allowed to intrude into what might very well turn out to be vital Club interests.”

“Yes,” Charles said. “I see.” He didn’t, really, though, and he was troubled by that elusive look on Owen North’s face. He let the silence lengthen, then sat forward in his chair, engaging the admiral’s eyes. He spoke firmly.

“I cannot undertake this aspect of the investigation without your word as a gentleman that the murderer, if and when he is discovered, will be handed over to the authorites and dealt with according to the law.” If the Club believed itself above the law, or intended to use him to subvert the law, he would wash his hands of this dirty business forthwith. He would walk out of the room and fetch Kate and they could both go back to Bishop’s Keep. He would-

“Oh, very well,” North said shortly, “you may have my word-although I cannot think why you should need it. Naturally, the law will be taken into account.”

Charles said nothing. It was not the wholehearted assurance he had hoped for. But now he was beginning to feel intrigued. North seemed to know, or suspect, more than he was saying. But perhaps more to the point, if Charles refused to take on the investigation, he felt it quite likely that North would find someone else who would-and who might not be so concerned about the law’s jurisdiction.

The admiral, taking silence for consent, smiled with evident relief. “Well, then,” he said briskly, “the matter is in your hands. And of course, you shall have Mr. Murray’s excellent assistance.” He pulled out a gold watch and frowned down at it, then up to the clock on the wall. “Blasted clock is twenty minutes late. I’m afraid I must be off. His Majesty is at the Rothschilds’ today and wants to discuss some Club affairs.” He stood. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to know that you’re looking into this matter for us, Charles. He has the greatest confidence in you.”

When he had gone, Charles allowed the silence to settle. Finally, he looked at Jack Murray, who was staring out the window. “It appears that there is more to this than we knew, Murray.”

“It seems so, sir,” Murray said, turning. His face was glum. “But it’s just as likely that Badger was done in to avoid the payment of a debt, or because he’d crossed someone he shouldn’t.” He sighed heavily. “It’s happened before, sir.”

“I imagine that there is a great deal of risk attached to the profession,” Charles agreed. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to know precisely where Mr. Day carried out his business.”

Murray became more alert. “I do, sir. In St. James Street. Number Twenty-nine.”

“And whether he had an assistant?”

“There’s a clerk, sir, and a partner. The clerk is called Sobersides. The partner is named Baggs, Edward Baggs. Eddie, they call him.”

“Mr. Murray,” Charles said, “you are a fount of information.” He rose and put on his hat. “I propose that we pay a visit to Number Twenty-Nine and see what we can learn from Sobersides or Mr. Edward Baggs, or both.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Regal Lodge

I love acting. It is so much more real than life.

The Picture of Dorian Gray Oscar Wilde

Try as we may, we cannot get behind things to the reality. And the terrible reason may be that there is no reality in things apart from their appearances.

Oscar Wilde

Kate was awakened at eight-thirty when Amelia brought a tray with tea and a copy of the Times, with a front-page story about the International Congress of Women, which would take place later that month at the Church-house, Westminster. The Countess of Aberdeen would preside, and delegates from various colonies and foreign countries were expected. Kate noted the date, June 26, and decided that she would attend. Perhaps there would be an opportunity to speak with interested women about her school.

But important as the Congress might be, it was not topmost in Kate’s mind, for she had a great deal to think about as she sipped her morning tea. Her heart was filled with delight and relief at seeing Patrick. How strong and resourceful he had grown, and how handsome! But although he seemed happy enough, she sensed that he harbored more uneasiness about that horse-and perhaps more guilt over the death of his jockey friend-than he had been willing to show the night before. She hoped Charles would find a way to help the boy.