“Who’re you?” he demanded thinly. “What do you want?”

“We’ve come to talk to you, Mr. Baggs,” Charles said, wondering just who the man had feared might find him. The police, perhaps? Or someone else?

The man cleared his throat. “There’s no Baggs here,” he said indistinctly. “You’ve got the wrong house. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be off. I’ve a train to catch.”

“It’s Baggs, all right,” Murray said in a low voice to Charles. “I saw him once, with Badger. No mistaking those glasses. He’s blind as a bat without them.” At the mention of Badger’s name, the man pressed his lips together.

“Mr. Baggs,” Charles said. “I am Charles Sheridan and this is Jack Murray. We are conducting a private investigation, commissioned by the Jockey Club, into the murder of your partner. We would like to ask you a few questions, please.”

The dog growled low in his throat. Baggs put down his portmanteau and straightened his shoulders, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “A… private investigation?” he asked hesitantly.

“Right,” Murray answered gruffly. “We ain’t police.” He booted the dog outside, closed the door, and shoved the bolt into place. The action was clearly a threat.

Baggs’s chin began to quiver. “I… I don’t know anything about Badger,” he said plaintively. “I heard he’d been shot, but I’d already made plans to leave before that happened. I’ve been… I’ve decided to go into a different line of work, you see. In America. I’m looking for more opportunity.”

“That’s interesting,” Charles said, as Murray began to edge around the table. He gave Baggs an encouraging smile. “It is a natural thing to want more opportunity, and I congratulate you on your initiative. But what about your business in Newmarket? I’ve heard that it’s thriving. I shouldn’t think you’d want to leave it.”

“Business?” Baggs asked uneasily, his glance shifting from Charles to Murray. He took a step backward, in the direction of the fireplace. “That’s all over. Badger and I ended our partnership the week before, quite… quite amicably.”

“Amic’bly, huh?” Murray snarled, now standing within an arm’s length of Baggs. He spoke in a thick Cockney accent that made him seem larger and more menacing than he was. “That ain’t wot Sobersides sez. ’E sez you threatened to kill Badger if ’e didn’t lay off about the doping. ’E sez ’e’ll swear to it in court. So wot about it, huh? You killed ’im, right? You killed Badger.”

“No!” Baggs took another step backward. His eyes were wide and frightened behind his glasses, his mouth was working. “We… we may have had a few hard words. But-”

“When I said that your business was thriving, I was speaking of your connection with the Americans,” Charles said mildly. “I understand from various sources that you have undertaken a new business arrangement with them, which was in part the reason for terminating your relationship with Mr. Day.”

“That ain’t all,” Murray said menacingly. He thrust his face close to Baggs’s and growled, “You ’ad a row wiv Badger at the Great Horse jes’ before ’e was killed-a big row. You wuz seen, and ’eard, Baggs, so don’t try to lie out of it.”

Charles pulled out a chair from the table and sat down, crossing his legs. He leaned back. “I fear that Mr. Murray is correct,” he said regretfully. “The proprietor will testify that you followed Badger out of the pub and didn’t come back. I’m very much afraid that the police believe that you are the killer, Mr. Baggs. They’re looking for you, you see. They will no doubt trace you, just as we did.” He shook his head, the gesture seeming to say that it was a pity that such a promising career could be cut off by so dreadful a misunderstanding.

Baggs sagged against the fireplace mantel. “I… I’m not the man they’re looking for,” he whispered. His eyes were terrified. “I… I swear it.”

Murray yanked the other chair forward. “Oh, yeah?” He put a thick hand on Baggs’s shoulder and forced him into the chair. “You sure look like that man to me, Baggs, you do fer a fact. You and Badger ’ad a row, you followed ’im out in the alley, you shot ’im.” He leaned over and shouted into Baggs’s ear. “You did it. Didn’t you?”

Baggs shook his head wordlessly, his eyes rolling.

Charles leaned forward. “Then who did?” he asked softly.

“I… don’t know,” Baggs said. He blinked rapidly, as if he were blinking back tears. “I… didn’t see.”

Murray reached down and snatched Baggs’s thick glasses. “Lemme see them specs o’ yers. Mebbe you need better lenses, huh? Mebbe that way, you can see.”

“Give me back my spectacles!” Baggs cried, leaping up from the chair and grabbing at the air. “I can’t see without them!”

Roughly, Murray pushed him back onto the chair. “But you couldn’t see wiv ’em, now, could you, guv’nor? You couldn’t see ’oo killed Badger, right? So they ain’t much good to you, are they?” He held up the glasses with a grating laugh. “So mebbe I’ll jes’ step on ’em.”

“No, no!” Baggs turned to Charles, begging. “Stop him, please, sir!” He rubbed his eyes with the backs of both hands, like a schoolboy. “Make him give them back, sir!”

“I’m afraid that Mr. Murray is deplorably single-minded,” Charles said sadly. “He has his own methods for getting information, and he does not take direction well. You will have to undertake to persuade him yourself.”

Baggs was openly weeping now. “What… what do you want?”

Murray leaned close. “The truth!” he thundered. “ ’Oo killed Alfred Day?” He put the spectacles on the floor and raised one foot as if to crush them.

Faced with this terrifying loss, Baggs broke down completely.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Kate put Amelia on the afternoon train back to Bishop’s Keep; then, carrying one small portmanteau with her, took a hansom to Hardaway House, stopping along the way to buy a few things for tea. She lit the fire, put on the gas kettle, and had just sat down on the sofa to write in her journal when Charles entered the room, accompanied by a small man in a checked tweed suit, green bow tie, and bowler hat, smelling strongly of cigars.

“Kate!” Charles exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, my very dear,” Kate replied quietly. She lifted her face for his welcoming kiss, glad to be out of the emotional storms which seemed to whirl around Lillie, glad to be back in the calm haven of her husband’s presence.

“But why aren’t you at Regal Lodge?” Charles asked. “I assumed that you would be staying another day, at the least.” From his expression, Kate could see that he was both excited and troubled. He turned toward the other man. “Kate, this is Mr. Jack Murray, the Jockey Club’s investigator and formerly of Scotland Yard. Mr. Murray, Lady Sheridan, my wife.”

“Delighted, ma’am,” Murray said, snatching off his hat.

“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Murray,” Kate said. “Charles has spoken highly of your abilities and experience.” She turned to Charles. “I left Regal Lodge,” she said in answer to his question, “because I couldn’t bear to stay. I fear that a little of Mrs. Langtry goes a very long way, at least for me.” She glanced up. “Please pardon me if that seems a rude thing to say, Mr. Murray.”

“I’m afraid I know just what you mean, my lady,” Jack Murray said ruefully.

“Jack was one of the Scotland Yard men on the Langtry jewel theft case,” Charles explained. “He had dealings with Mrs. Langtry then.”