The Iron Horse irc-4 Read online

  ‘That’s what he says, Kitty, but you should bear in mind that one of his horses won the Derby three years ago. As I recall, he hid his true feelings on that occasion as well, dismissing the colt’s chances as no more than average. He knows,’ insisted Johnson. ‘He’s already run the race a dozen times in his head. Get me the name of the winner.’

  ‘I like Hamilton,’ she pointed out. ‘I enjoy his company. I hope to enjoy it for a lot longer. I agree that you helped to get me introduced to him, Marcus, and I’m grateful but I’ve been increasingly uneasy about what you expect of me.’

  ‘All you have to do is to keep your ears open.’

  ‘I’m worried.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Certain things have happened. Frankly, I’m scared.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ she confessed, ‘I don’t know. Something very strange and very alarming is going on. My hatbox was stolen from a hotel. It was later found with a man’s head in it.’

  ‘Never!’ he said, grimacing. ‘How perfectly dreadful!’

  ‘It shook me to the core, Marcus.’

  ‘I can imagine. Oh, you poor thing – no wonder you’re so uneasy about my plan. Look,’ he went on, kneading her hand sympathetically, ‘forget all about that wicked half-brother of yours. You have enough to worry about, I can see.’

  ‘I’m afraid of what might happen next.’

  ‘Are you in touch with the police?’

  ‘No – and I don’t wish to be.’

  ‘You’re like me – you have an aversion to authority.’

  ‘That hatbox belongs to part of my life I’d rather forget.’

  ‘That’s readily understandable. But don’t trouble yourself on my account. Marcus Johnson will find another way to make his fortune.’ He beamed. ‘And when I do, Kitty, I promise that you’ll be a chief beneficiary.’

  Robert Colbeck gave the superintendent an edited version of the visit to the Green Dragon and announced his intention to call at the stables belonging to Hamilton Fido that afternoon. Tallis was brusque.

  ‘Be sure to take your handcuffs with you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To effect an arrest, of course,’ said Tallis. ‘The more I learn, the more convinced I am that Fido is the culprit.’

  ‘He pleaded his innocence.’

  ‘Villains always do that, Inspector.’

  ‘Granted,’ said Colbeck, ‘but, on this occasion, I pay some heed. While Mr Fido is no candidate for sainthood, there’s nothing in his past to indicate he would connive at murder.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

  ‘I’d rather give him the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘Had you been here earlier,’ said Tallis, grinding the remains of his cigar in the ashtray, ‘you might not be so ready to give Mr Fido any leeway. I had a visit from Lord Hendry.’

  ‘Indeed – what did he want?’

  ‘To complain about you and Sergeant Leeming, as it happens.’

  Tallis sat back in his chair and related the conversation he had had with Lord Hendry. While he was interested to hear of the attempt to injure Odysseus, Colbeck was not as ready as the superintendent to attribute the blame to Hamilton Fido. One regret was uppermost in his mind. He was sorry that Tallis had been unable to elicit the name of Lord Hendry’s former mistress.

  ‘We’ll have to find it by other means,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘How relevant do you think it will be?’

  ‘Very relevant – the lady may want her hatbox returned.’

  ‘Given what happened to it, I find that highly unlikely.’

  ‘I still wish to talk to her, Superintendent. She will at least be able to tell us when and where the item was stolen. We intercepted it at Crewe on its way to Ireland. Did it begin its journey in London or elsewhere?’ Colbeck stood up. ‘Perhaps I should speak to Lord Hendry myself,’ he said. ‘It may be that he’ll divulge the name to me.’

  ‘The young lady has vanished forever from his life. I don’t think he’d yield up her name if you stretched him on the rack. In his codex, to all intents and purposes, she is dead and buried.’

  ‘Then I may need to exhume her.’

  Colbeck bade him farewell and went out into the corridor. He had intended to collect his top hat and leave the building. When he entered his office, however, he found that he had a visitor. A short, plump, middle-aged man leapt to his feet apologetically, as if sitting in a chair were a felony. He had the hunted, hangdog look of man who is uncertain if he is doing the right thing.

  ‘Are you Inspector Colbeck?’ he asked.

  ‘I am, sir – who might you be?’

  ‘My name is Dacre Radley.’

  ‘Do sit down, Mr Radley,’ said Colbeck, wondering why his visitor was so nervous. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

  Radley sat down. ‘This may be a fool’s errand, Inspector.’

  ‘Let me decide that.’

  ‘I can’t stay long. I’m on duty again soon.’

  ‘And where would that be, Mr Radley?’

  ‘At the Wyvern Hotel – that’s just off the Strand.’

  ‘I know it well,’ said Colbeck. ‘Expensive but tasteful.’

  ‘We try to maintain high standards.’

  ‘Are you the manager?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Radley sheepishly. ‘I occupy a more lowly position. The manager is Mr Claude Fielding and – had he been aware of what I proposed – he would certainly have stopped me coming here.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘He believes that the privacy of clients is sacrosanct. And so do I, of course, but not when a murder investigation is concerned. It may just be a weird coincidence, Inspector – I rather hope it is – but I was struck by that article in the newspaper about a stolen hatbox.’

  ‘Go on,’ urged Colbeck.

  ‘Well,’ said Radley, licking his lips, ‘the simple fact is that we had a hatbox taken from the hotel not so long ago. I was on duty when the theft was reported.’

  ‘Do you remember the name of the lady who owned it?’

  ‘No, sir, it was never given to me. But I know the name of the gentleman who booked the room for the night.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Mr Hamilton Fido.’

  Colbeck shook his hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Radley,’ he said. ‘That information is very valuable. You’ve rendered us a great service in coming forward like this.’

  ‘You won’t mention anything to Mr Fielding, will you?’

  ‘I’ve no need to speak to him.’

  Radley gasped. ‘I’m so relieved, Inspector. I’ve been torturing myself about whether or not I should come. It preyed on my mind, you see. That hatbox might have been the one taken from the hotel.’

  ‘I’m fairly certain that it was,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘Then I’m glad I came.’ He rose to his feet and bit his lip as he wrestled with his conscience. ‘There is something else I could tell you, Inspector, though I’m not sure that I should. I hope you don’t think I make a habit of this. I’m known for my discretion.’

  ‘Anything you can tell us will be very welcome, sir.’

  ‘The thing is…’ Radley bit his lip again before plunging in. ‘The thing is that the young lady who accompanied Mr Fido, and whom we assumed was Mrs Fido, had been to the Wyvern Hotel once before.’

  ‘But not with the same gentleman, I take it.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Who was her husband on that occasion?’

  ‘I’d hate you to think that our hotel caters for such irregular alliances,’ said Radley with a simpering smile. ‘Most of our guests are highly respectable. We attract only the cream of society. They value the facilities we can offer.’ He leant forward. ‘It was pure chance that I recognised this particular young lady.’

  ‘With whom was she staying?’ prompted Colbeck.

  ‘Lord Hendry.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Standing in front of the fireplace, Lord Geor
ge Hendry gazed at the painting with gathering excitement as if seeing it for the first time. It had been an expensive commission but he felt that the money had been well spent on a superb example of equine portraiture. Odysseus looked astonishingly lifelike, ready to leap off the canvas and parade in style around the paddock. The chestnut colt had the unmistakable look of a born winner. Its owner was so enraptured that he did not hear his wife hobble into the library on a walking stick. Lady Caroline Hendry gave a pained smile.

  ‘I still think that you’re making a mistake,’ she remarked.

  He swung round. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You’re counting your chickens before they’re hatched, George.’

  ‘I’m admiring a Derby winner,’ he said proudly, ‘that’s all.’

  ‘But the horse has not yet won the race.’

  ‘I have complete faith in Odysseus.’

  ‘I’m sure that every other owner has complete faith in his horse as well,’ she said, ‘but none of them would dare to celebrate a triumph that had never actually taken place.’

  ‘You know nothing about racing, Caroline.’

  ‘I know that the favourite does not always win.’

  ‘This one will.’

  ‘How can you be so definite?’

  ‘Because of what happened,’ he said, moving across to help her onto a settee. ‘Sit down a moment, my dear. I can see it’s not one of your better days.’ He sat beside her. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you this in case it upset you but I think you should perhaps know the truth. There’s been an incident near the stables.’

  ‘What kind of incident?’

  ‘Someone tried to disable Odysseus.’

  ‘George!’ she exclaimed in horror.

  ‘The attempt was foiled,’ he assured her, ‘so don’t be alarmed. I reported the incident to the police and uniformed officers will protect the horse when we move him to Epsom. At the moment, he’s being closely guarded at the stables.’

  ‘I hadn’t realised that Odysseus was in any danger.’

  ‘It’s one of the penalties of being a favourite, Caroline. And it’s clear proof,’ he went on, indicating the painting, ‘that this year’s Derby winner is hanging on the wall. If Odysseus were not feared, nobody would try to put him out of the race.’

  ‘Supposing that they try again?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll be ready for them.’

  ‘Do you have any idea who was behind the incident?’

  ‘The choice has to be between Hamilton Fido and Brian Dowd,’ he said. ‘Each owns another fancied horse. Their only hope of success is to have Odysseus eliminated in some way.’

  ‘Did you give those names to the police?’

  ‘Of course I did. My own feeling is that Dowd is the snake in the grass. He stands to gain most if Odysseus fails to run. Limerick Lad is the second favourite. I’ve dealt with Brian Dowd before,’ he said with asperity. ‘I wouldn’t trust that crafty Irishman for a second.’

  ‘What was the other name you mentioned?’

  ‘Hamilton Fido.’

  ‘I thought it sounded familiar. You’ve spoken of him before. Didn’t you tell me that one of his horses was a Derby winner?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Galliard won by two lengths from Highland Chief. My own horse that year came in third so I have a score to settle with Fido. He’s putting a filly in the race, Merry Legs, and she’ll never test Odysseus or even put Limerick Lad under any real pressure. Fido must know in his heart that he can never win. No,’ he decided, ‘on balance, the man behind the attack on us simply has to be Dowd. If my horse does not run, his will take the honours. He suborned some villain to snuff out my chances of winning the Derby.’

  ‘Then why don’t the police arrest him?’

  ‘They say that they need clear evidence.’

  ‘Racing seems such a hazardous world,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Why does it attract so many undesirable characters?’

  He chortled. ‘Since when have I been undesirable?’

  ‘I was not referring to you, George. I was thinking of all the problems associated with the sport. It’s mired in scandal.’

  ‘Great efforts are being made to clean up racing,’ he said with easy pomposity. ‘I was called upon to offer my 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 belong, Caroline.’

  ‘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. ‘Approval?’

  ‘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 you might be in jeopardy.’

  ‘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 m
ust win. Everything depends upon it.’

  ‘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.’