“Yes,” Bradford said.

“Don’t like that,” the doctor said darkly. “No need to call attention to doping, don’t you agree? Stewards wouldn’t like that.”

“The stewards?” Bradford asked innocently.

The doctor laughed. “Are you as green as that, young man?” His voice turned bitter. “The stewards know who’s profiting from the American invasion, especially from that boy Sloan. They don’t want to do anything that might upset the applecart.”

“Tod Sloan, the jockey? He’s connected with Wishard and Clark?”

“You are green,” the doctor replied with a sniff. “Lord William Beresford brought Sloan over here, and Sloan brought Wishard and the others. Lord William has arranged with the Prince for Sloan to ride in the Royal colors next season. Who knows? Maybe Wishard will be moving over to Egerton House to show what he can do.”

“But that’s the royal racing-stables!” Bradford exclaimed. “H.R.H. wouldn’t be associated with something as unsportsmanlike as-” He stopped, recollecting himself just in time, and pocketed the envelope. “Your fee?” He leaned closer and shouted. “How much?”

“A tenner ought to do it,” the doctor said.

“Greedy old buzzard,” Bradford muttered, reaching into his pocket.

“What’s that you say, Murphy?” the doctor asked sharply.

“Cheap at twice the price,” Bradford replied.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Admiral North looked up from the papers on his desk. “Ah, Sheridan,” he said, and stood with a broad smile, extending his hand. “I was just thinking of you, and wondering how you and Murray were getting on with things.” He gestured courteously. “Please, sit down.”

“I thought it was time to let you know what progress we have made,” Charles said, seating himself in one of the leather chairs. “Although I fear that what we have learned is of precious little practical use.” He added, “I was hoping that perhaps you might have learned something you would be willing to share with me.”

“Only a bit of gossip here and there,” the admiral said. “Nothing very material, I’m afraid.” He opened the desk drawer, took out a box of cigars, and pushed them toward Charles. “Help yourself, Sheridan. The finest Cuban. A present from H.R.H.”

“Thank you, no,” Charles said. He was not fond of the Prince’s cigars, costly though they might be. He took out his pipe and while he filled it, tamped it, and lit it, sketched out what he and Murray had pieced together from their inspection of the St. James Street premises; from the proprietor of the Great Horse; and from their questioning of Day’s clerk, the man called Sobersides.

“No progress?” North asked, raising one tufted eyebrow. “On the contrary, Charles, you seem to have made quite a lot of it. You’ve certainly narrowed the field of suspects to a great degree. It sounds to me as if Day was playing a dangerous game that was bound to make him a very unpopular man in several circles.” He clipped off the end of a cigar and lit it. “Organizing the bookmakers against certain stables-that’s a risky business, however one looks at it. I should have thought Badger had been playing the game long enough to know better.”

“He was doing what he thought had to be done,” Charles said, watching North’s face. “Since he hadn’t been able to persuade the Club to rule doping illegal-”

North slammed his fist on his desk so hard that the lamp chimney rattled. “We can’t rule it illegal, damn it!” he exploded angrily. “To do so would be to invite gossip, even scandal. It would suggest that unsportsmanlike behavior has already taken place, that the Club has not properly controlled-” He stopped, recollecting himself, and wiped a drop of spittle from his gray beard. “It would stir up a great deal of Turf controversy and focus undue attention on Turf practices,” he said carefully. “And you know how H.R.H. feels about that. How we all feel about it.”

“Yes, I know,” Charles agreed, “although I must say that from what I have seen, doping injures horses and plays havoc with ordinary betting. And it would seem to encourage a certain criminal element and invite the commission of crime-as Day’s murder suggests.”

“It is not at all clear that Day was killed because of the doping,” North said flatly. “In fact, all the evidence goes in the other direction. He was obviously murdered by that partner of his-what did you say his name was?”

Charles sighed. “Baggs, Edward Baggs.”

“Yes, well. If the clerk-Sobersides, or Moore, or whatever he’s called-will testify that he heard Baggs threaten Badger, that should be enough to convince the coroner’s jury. I know Coroner Drummond. I’ll speak to him about the matter so that he’s aware of our interest, and to the chief constable, as well. Meanwhile, I suggest that you have Murray concentrate on locating Baggs. The very fact that the man has left town so precipitously ought to make his guilt plain. And don’t bother interrogating him-we can turn that little job over to the police.”

“There are one or two other possibilities,” Charles said. “The American trainer, Jesse Clark, was in the Great Horse just before the murder, engaged in argument with Day. As was Pinkie Duncan. Their motives seem to me to be at least equal to that of Baggs.”

North frowned. “I shouldn’t like-” He paused, as if he were thinking how to frame his sentence. “The partner made a clear threat in the presence of a witness. I should focus on that fellow Baggs, if I were you.”

Charles drew on his pipe, reflecting that North seemed inordinately eager to view the murder as a falling-out between business associates. If Baggs were indicted, no other motives would be explored in the coroner’s inquest and the question of doping would be separated from that of the murder-an outcome that North obviously desired. But it was not as easy as that.

“There is one other thing you should know,” Charles said quietly. “Mrs. Langtry is involved in this business, exactly how and to what extent, I have yet to determine.”

Owen North seemed, Charles thought, to turn pale. “Mrs. Langtry?” he asked. He coughed. “I must say, that seems rather… far-fetched. However, people will gossip. I’m sure you haven’t found any evidence of her involvement.” He placed an unmistakable emphasis on the word evidence.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” Charles said, and thought that North seemed even paler. “When I went through Day’s effects, I found a note from the lady in his pocket, instructing him to meet her at nine on Monday night, at St. Mary’s Square.”

“But she was at the Rothschilds’ on Monday night!” North exclaimed in an agitated tone. “We talked there! She could not have-Why, it’s impossible! She was as cool and lovely as always. She-” He pressed his lips together for a moment, then said again, “It’s impossible.”

“She says she arrived at something close to ten,” Charles said. “There would have been ample time for her to have met Day and shot the man. And as far as coolness is concerned, Mrs. Langtry is an actress. She is perfectly capable of masking her real feelings.” If she has any, Charles added to himself.

North took out his handkerchief and blotted his forehead. “I’m sure it was much earlier than that when she came in. In fact, I’d swear to it. At least nine, I believe, perhaps before that. Yes, surely before that. Ponsonby was there. He saw her arrive. He’ll swear, too.”

Fritz Ponsonby was one of H.R.H.’s closest confidants. He would swear to anything to protect the Royal person. “Mrs. Langtry herself told me that it was three-quarters past,” Charles said without inflection.