“Hard to believe, but that’s the case, m’dear. When our English chaps lose, they lose honorably. They pay up, even if it takes the family’s last shilling. Take Lord Hunt, f’r instance, handing over Glenoaks to Henry Radwick so he could settle fair and square. That’s the way to lose, by Jove!” He punched the air. “You may be bloody and sore, but stand up and take your losses like a man-that’s a sportsman for you. Not the Americans, though. Not an ounce of honor, not a shred. That sniveling little fellow John Bass, for instance. Took the boat back to New York owing Alfred Day sixty thousand pounds on the Derby.”
“Sixty thousand pounds?” Charles murmured in some amazement, thinking back to his conversation with Badger’s clerk. That was an enormous loss for a bookmaker, even one as successful as Day. Why hadn’t Oliver Moore mentioned it? But then, perhaps he hadn’t known about it. Perhaps it had been a private wager, off the books. He frowned, wondering who the devil John Bass was, and whether the loss might have had anything to do with Alfred Day’s murder.
“Sixty thousand pounds,” the colonel repeated emphatically, with some satisfaction. “I heard Lord Hunt talking about it at the stable this afternoon, when I went over to have a look at one of my horses.”
“Colonel Hogsworth is speaking of the Grange House Stable,” Bradford said in a meaningful tone, with a glance at Charles. To Hogsworth, he remarked, “ Sheridan is planning to have a couple of horses trained at the Grange. We were there yesterday, as a matter of fact, to have a look around. Old Angus Duncan used to train for my father at Marsden Manor, you know. He’s quite an impressive fellow.”
The colonel pursed his lips. “I’d think twice about putting my horses there if I were you, Lord Charles,” he said judiciously. “I’m pulling out as soon as I find another stable. Old Angus is fine, as you say, but I don’t like the idea of that nephew of his taking over. Pinkie, his name is.”
“Oh?” Charles asked, raising his eyebrows. “Pinkie is assuming responsibility for the stable? Nothing was said of that.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a stout lady in a stained apron open the door and signal to her mistress that dinner was ready.
“Well, it’s so,” the colonel said. “I shouldn’t wonder if the stable goes right downhill when Angus is gone. Afraid Pinkie does not have his uncle’s upstanding character. Been involved in several rather shady-”
“Dinner has been announced,” Mrs. Hogsworth said, standing. “Tonight is the serving maid’s night out, so we shall be served by our cook.” She stood and took Charles’s arm. “And might I suggest that we find some other subject for our dinner discussion than horses and murders?” She smiled sweetly at Bradford, who was taking Edith in. “Perhaps you and Edith could tell us, Lord Marsden, what you did in Cambridge today. And after we’ve eaten, dear Edith has agreed to honor us with a few songs.”
And with that, they all went in to dinner.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
If, of all words of tongue and pen, The saddest are ‘It might have been,’ More sad are these we daily see: ‘It is, but hadn’t ought to be!’
Mrs. Judge Jenkins Bret Harte
As Charles and Bradford drove back from Wolford Lodge to the livery stable, Charles gave Bradford a sketch of the long day’s doings, beginning with the conversation at the Jockey Club and ending with the talk he and Jack Murray had had with Sobersides, at the farmhouse near Snailwell.
“So Mrs. Langtry may be involved in Day’s murder,” Bradford said, in some amazement, having heard of her note to Day that Charles had found in the dead man’s pocket, and her missing gun.
“Kate doesn’t think she shot him,” Charles said, getting down to turn the horse and gig over to the sleepy stableboy. “And on the whole, I’m inclined to agree. It’s clear that Mrs. Langtry meant to meet Badger in St. Mary’s Square to tell him that she could not repay the money she owed him, but I doubt that the man actually made it that far. The evidence suggests that he was murdered shortly after leaving the Great Horse.”
Bradford alighted from the gig. “But her gun is missing,” he said, frowning. “And ten thousand pounds is a great deal of motive. Doesn’t it strike you as highly coincidental?”
“We have no idea whether it was her gun that killed him,” Charles reminded him as they walked off.
There was a silence. “Well, then, what do you think of Colonel Hogsworth’s theory? Jesse Clark certainly had a strong motive, as well as opportunity. If Badger were successful in organizing the Newmarket and London bookmakers, they could put an end to doping.”
“To some of it, perhaps,” Charles said. “Although I’m not as certain as you and Jack Murray that a coalition of bookmakers could stop the practice. More likely, they’d just stir up a scandal in the newspapers- which the stewards certainly don’t want.” He thought again of Owen North, and the strange undercurrents in their morning interview. “The stewards had as much reason as Clark to stop Badger from doing what he threatened to do.”
Bradford slanted him a questioning glance. “Are you suggesting that the Club might have arranged Badger’s murder?” His tone implied that it was an incredible suggestion.
They turned off the High Street and onto Wellington Street. A horse and rider passed them, hooves clip-clopping on the cobbles, but otherwise the street was silent and deserted, and dark shadows filled the intervals between the gas lamps. “I think we ought to entertain the possibility,” Charles said reluctantly. “You know how strongly the Marlborough Set feel about public scandal, especially where wagering is concerned. The last time they were dragged into court, in the Tranby Croft affair, it was a complete fiasco. In the eyes of the country, they looked like fools and dilettantes, with nothing on earth to do but play cards and hurl petty accusations of cheating at one another. If the press made a scandal out of horse doping-”
“But murder!” Bradford exclaimed. “Do you really think the Club would stoop to it?”
“The stewards have a motive,” Charles said firmly. “I can’t overlook it. But I want to interview Eddie Baggs. According to Badger’s clerk, he threatened to kill Badger. Murray is getting a line on him. I hope to be able to see him tomorrow or the next day.”
“What of the clerk himself?” Bradford asked. “Might Sobersides have done it? You say he fled and is hiding out.”
“He’s afraid of Baggs,” Charles said. “After talking with the fellow, I doubt he’d have the courage to fire a gun, even in self-defense.” He paused. “But there’s no shortage of other suspects. I wonder what we should make of this business of Day’s being cheated of sixty thousand pounds by John Bass. Seems like a great amount of money.” Frowning, he added, “I suppose I ought to have a look in the safe at Alfred Day’s home and see what can be found there.”
Still talking, Charles and Bradford turned through the gate and up the path to Hardaway House. As they mounted the stoop, a figure slipped out of the shadows and stepped forward. Charles was startled, until he saw that it was Patrick.
“I’ve brought the bottle, Lord Charles,” he said, holding out a brown-paper package. “It’s got a label on it.”
For a moment, Charles had to ransack his memory. Then he exclaimed: “The dope bottle! A label, you say?”
“With the veterinary’s name on it,” Patrick said. “I hadn’t noticed it before, but it’s there.”
“Very good, boy,” Bradford said. He held open the door. “Come in. Let’s go upstairs where there’s light and see what you’ve brought.”
Now, in the best of all possible worlds, events would have fallen out exactly as Kate had described in her instructions to Amelia that afternoon. Charles would have been mounting the dark stairs behind
