by Anne Morice
Robin was locking the boot, which he then tested, to make sure it was secure.
‘Did you find it?’
‘Yes, underneath the rug and mackintosh cover. I suppose he didn’t think of looking that far down.’
‘So that’s one worry out of the way.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t all that worried. I guessed it would be there.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘so did I.’
(3)
I have a system, when it comes to backing horses, which is to put my money on anything whose name has theatrical associations. It has not made my fortune yet and has been known to land me in such uneconomic ventures as backing three horses in a field of five. I stick to it, however, in the belief that consistency must pay eventually and because it provides a personal, as well as financial, interest in the outcome. Moreover, I do not consider that I lose any more by it than those who follow tipsters, or, more risky still, are knowledgeable about form.
I had explained all this to Toby, while studying our cards before the first race in the outdoor bar of the Members’ Enclosure, where we had arranged to meet Robin, and he then left me there while he went to place our bets.
Two minutes later Jock Symington detached himself from a group consisting of two red-faced, confident looking men and one hatchet-faced, confident looking woman, and came over to join me.
‘Got a nice day for it, anyway,’ he remarked, waving a rolled up copy of Sporting Life in the general direction of the nice day. His other hand was clutching a race card and a tumbler of whisky, so I invited him to sit down. ‘Thanks, I will. Your husband not here, then?’
‘Oh yes, he’ll be along presently. He had to stop off in Chissingfield. Toby’s here too, as you saw. He’s gone to join the Tote queue.’
‘Ah, too bad! I’ve missed the bus then.’
‘You mean you had a hot tip for us?’
‘No, I wouldn’t rate it as high as that, but if you fancy a long shot, it might be worth a flutter.’
‘One of yours?’
‘No, this one is trained by an ex-jockey who used to ride for me. It’s only his second season, but things are coming right for him and he could have a winner here. Give us your card and I’ll mark it for you.’
When he handed it back I was disgusted to find that he had put a cross against number eleven, which was called Mr Doolittle. Mindful of Jimmie’s warning, I muttered:
‘I think I had better find Toby and tell him about this. If Robin comes, will you say I’ll be back in five minutes?’
‘No, you stay here and wait for him. I’ll see to it for you. Fiver be all right?’
‘Oh yes, fine, thanks awfully,’ I said, thinking that to lose ten pounds on the first race would not be a propitious start and, after a moment’s sombre silence, Mr Symington said:
‘Bad business that, at your hotel last night. I suppose that’s what’s keeping your husband now?’
‘No, what makes you think so?’
‘Oh well, the word gets around, you know.’
‘I do know, but it’s the wrong word. We’re just visitors, here on holiday. It was a shocking thing to happen and it would be absurd to pretend it hasn’t spoilt things, but there’s no more to it than that. Was it Louisa who gave you the idea that he was working on it officially?’
‘Not that I recall. I did speak to her on the telephone this morning, but that was about something else.’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ I chipped in, seizing the chance to change the subject. ‘She’s riding for you this afternoon, isn’t she? I must say, I do admire her.’
‘Admire her?’ he repeated in an abstracted voice, as though thinking of something else.
‘For her courage in going through with it, in spite of everything. I know I couldn’t. After all, Verity was a friend, as well an employee and it can’t be much fun for them, or very good for business either, but she tells me she’s determined. . . .’
I tailed off here because he had closed his eyes and was shaking his head about, as people sometimes do when they are being teased by a persistent wasp. Seeing no wasp, I asked:
‘Is anything the matter?’
‘What? No, not really,’ he replied, opening his eyes, ‘just something I remembered . . . you’ll have to excuse me, I’m afraid. Got to make a telephone call.’
‘What have you been saying to Jock Symington to get him so steamed up?’ Robin asked. ‘He bellowed at me about where to find you and then swept on like a man possessed.’
‘I honestly don’t know, Robin. It was most peculiar. We were chatting away and he suddenly went off his head. Never mind, whatever fit has come upon him may yet save my bacon. Tell me how you got on?’
‘I will, later. We’d better move now, hadn’t we, if we’re not to miss the first race?’
‘Oughtn’t we to wait for Toby?’
‘Oh, he’s all right. I met him coming away from the Tote. He’s gone to spread himself out over a bench for three on the grass opposite the winning post.’
‘Too late now, then. What a pity!’
‘What is?’
‘Whichever way it goes, I shall be at least one fiver down the drain.’
Mr Doolittle won by a length, at eighteen to one.
‘Come along, both of you!’ I said, ‘champagne all round! Do you realise that if by some miracle Mr Symington backed it each way, I shall have won over three hundred pounds?’
‘It is more likely that he forgot all about it,’ Toby said, ‘which would serve you right for being so morbidly distrustful.’
‘I am not to blame for that, it is Jimmie’s fault. The second time he has given me bad advice.’
‘It is your fault for listening to him, though. You ought to have realised by now that he has the mind of an adolescent and judges the world and everyone in it in those terms.’
Something in this remark caused me to lose my concentration and I dropped my race card on the grass. Straightening up again, I spoke my thoughts aloud:
‘Oh yes, of course, Stephanie! How stupid of me not to have seen it before. It explains everything.’
‘Not to me, I must tell you. How about you, Robin?’
‘I shan’t try. The excitement of winning has turned her brain.’
‘Not so far as to forget that you were going to tell us what passed between you and the Superintendent this morning,’ I reminded him, taking a quick look round the outdoor bar, to see if Jock Symington was among those present, which he was not. ‘How did it go?’
‘Most of it would bore you stiff. Just a question of plod, plod, sift, sift through the evidence so far, which, as you know, amounts to less than a row of beans. Only two new facts have come to light and they both relate to Young Mr Winthrop. It seems that at some point between trying to ring me and getting run over, he formed the intention of writing me a letter.’
‘I cannot cut my way through all this jargon,’ Toby complained, ‘I should have thought he either wrote you a letter, or he did not?’
‘It’s quite simple. Before he left his house for the last time he had started a letter. It consisted of half a page of shaky handwriting and was found inside a pile of papers beside his blotter. So he may not have decided whether to complete it or not. Or perhaps he had every intention of doing so, but was interrupted. It is something no one is every likely to know. Hence the jargon. Satisfied?’
‘Yes, that will do. What had he written up to that point?’
‘That, having heard I was back in the neighbourhood, he had attempted to ring me up, but without success and, on reflection, had decided that what he had to say would be more appropriately contained in a letter. Full stop.’
‘And that was all?’
‘That was all.’
‘How heartbreaking for you! One more paragraph and he might have named the murderer.’
‘I doubt it. If he’d had anything as sensational as that up his sleeve, I don’t think he’d have kept it there all this time. It is more likely that he would have roused himself
to make the trip to London.’
‘So you are not heartbroken?’
‘It is disappointing, naturally, but it does at least reinforce the theory that, the accident was contrived. Unfortunately, it also widens the field there. Numerous unknown people could have been aware that he was trying to get in touch with me.’
The voice on the loudspeaker by the paddock was urging the jockeys to get mounted, please, so, recalling them to business, I said:
‘That means we only have five minutes left. I can’t find a single horse in this race with the right sort of name. Do you think I might forget the system for once and back one called Junior Scribe? It does sound so apt.’
‘Yes, it does and I should go ahead, if I were you. This is going to be your lucky day and we must all make the most of it.’
None of us had anything to celebrate after the second race, so we stayed on our bench in the sun and I reopened the conversation where it had been left off: ‘When you said he might have been interrupted, was that just a guess?’
‘No, there are grounds for believing it.’
‘What grounds?’
‘Yesterday evening, before Verity’s murder was reported and most of the available manpower switched to that, Wilkins had two men on house-to-house calls, trying to piece together how Winthrop had spent his last few hours. He lived alone and looked after himself, with just a daily help, a woman named Mrs Crawley, who came for two hours every morning. So that wasn’t very fertile ground, but fortunately the old lady opposite, a Miss Smiley, whose name belies her nature, is an invalid, with nothing much to pass the time but keep her eyes skinned on the house across the road. It can’t provide much excitement, because Winthrop had very few visitors and kept to a regular routine. However, yesterday afternoon there was a break in the pattern.’
‘What happened then?’
‘He did have visitors. They arrived at about two o’clock and Miss Smiley was of the opinion that they cannot have been expected.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because after lunch on Thursday he always went to the market, to stock up with supplies for the weekend. He preferred to go in the afternoon, when it was less crowded, and also it was usually possible to pick up some bargains when the stalls were beginning to close down. However, it looks as though Miss Smiley may have been wrong because the front door was opened almost immediately and the two visitors went inside.’
‘Did she recognise them?’
‘No, but you and Toby will. An elderly couple, he tall and white haired and she wearing a lavender coloured dress.’
‘Oh, I see! The Fellowes out on their cross country tramp! How long did they stay?’
‘Miss Smiley was unable to tell us that. Her masseuse had arrived in the meantime, leaving her so tired, or so relaxed perhaps, that she fell asleep until tea time.’
‘So they might all have gone to the market together? Has the Superintendent asked them about it?’
‘He will have by now. He telephoned the hotel while I was there, to make an appointment. Mrs Fellowes answered the call herself, which was a coincidence, unless she’s been put in charge of the switchboard this morning.’
‘Oh well, I daresay Louisa has gone for a gallop, to limber up for her race. Did Mrs Fellowes sound put out?’
‘Not remotely. Wilkins had the impression that she assumed his business had something to do with their stolen property. Needless to say, he did not bother to disabuse her.’
‘I doubt if his duplicity will do him any good,’ Toby said. ‘The object, presumably, was to spring it on her, before she had time to concoct some pretty story about having gone to the wrong house by mistake, but in my opinion he would need to get up earlier in the morning to catch that one out. No doubt, she’ll be bored stiff, poor lady, but not half as bored as he’ll be when she’s finished with him. What am I to back for you in this race, Tessa?’
‘Nothing, thank you. There are only two runners and it’s no use backing them both because in this situation things are always so arranged that the favourite wins by a mile.’
‘So why not back the favourite?’
‘Because it’s called Woolamoolamoo, which signifies nothing, unless it happens to be a minor character in Hiawatha. Also it’s trained by Jock Symington, so the system could break down this time. Now that I’m rich, I’m going to be like Mr God and only bet on certainties.’
‘What about My Alys for the three-thirty?’ was his next question, as we studied the card once more, Woolamoolamoo having won by a mile.
‘In Wonderland? It’s not spelt that way and, besides, it’s not strictly a play.’
‘I know that, I was thinking of the girl in Hay Fever.’
‘There isn’t a girl with a name anything like that in Hay Fever.’
‘Please yourself, but you may live to regret it.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ I said, getting up. ‘Back in ten minutes.’
I started with a tour of the outdoor bar, in the hope of being accosted by a beaming Jock Symington, pockets bulging with my winnings, but he was not there. Mr God, who was there, in the company of one of the red-faced men from the previous cast, told me he’d shortly be seeing him in the paddock and could pass on a message.
‘I just wanted to thank him for his tip.’
‘Paid off, did it?’
‘Handsomely.’
‘Good! He’ll be pleased about that, if I get a chance to tell him, but he’s got a lot on his plate at present. Some business going on with the stewards.’
The next stop was the Ladies’ Cloakroom, which landed me in another waste of precious time. Race courses being the last stronghold of male chauvinism, no facilities are provided for the women jockeys and half the public washrooms had been partitioned off for them to change in. As a result, it was eighteen minutes past three when I came out, but there was a telephone kiosk beside the entrance, so I leapt inside and dialled a number which I had noted down in my diary a few days earlier.
Roberta answered and, realising from the signals and clanking of coins that I was in a public call box, invited me to hang up, so that Jimmie could ring me back and we could conduct the conversation with less turmoil. He did so within half a minute and I said:
‘Is there a character in Hay Fever called A-L-Y-S?’
‘No, I don’t think so. No, there isn’t.’
‘That’s all right, then.’
‘Why do you want to know? Have you got a bet on it?’
‘No, other way round. You’re sure, are you?’
‘I ought to be. I played in the damn thing eight performances a week for ten weeks.’
‘Yes, so you did. Which reminds me: was it during that tour that you met Verity? Jimmie! Are you still there, Jimmie?’
‘I don’t know. I think I may have fainted. Did she tell you . . . ? Oh, hell! Listen, Tessa, what do you think you’re doing? Trying to trap me, or something?’
‘No, what I’m trying to do is profit by your father’s advice. It’s the only thing I got from him, so I may as well make the most of it.’
‘What’s he been telling you?’
‘That the ingredients of success are ninety percent information and ten percent luck. At the moment I’m working on the ninety, so goodbye and thanks for your help.’
‘Who won?’ I asked the solitary figure on the bench.
‘My Alys streaked past the post three lengths ahead of her nearest rival.’
‘Oh dear, so you were right!’
‘In a sense, but it will not do me any good. The horse did very well, hardly out of breath, but the rider fell off at the first fence and completed the journey on foot.’
‘That’s good! My ten percent is still keeping its head above water. Where’s Robin?’
‘He said he was getting bored and would go home. To his spiritual home, I suspect.’
‘To catch up with the latest from Superintendent Wilkins?’
‘Quite so. I am about ready for a sight of home myself, my temporal on
e, I mean. How would you feel about leaving tomorrow?’
‘I doubt if I’ll be able to drag Robin away. Now that he’s getting wound up again, he’s really enjoying the holiday. He won’t have much time for me, though, so I may decide to go to Roakes with you. I’ll let you know this evening.’
The die was cast before that, however, because only a few minutes later the voice on the tannoy announced that the non-runner in the fifth race was number fourteen. There was no need to check it on the race card, for I had been watching the riders’ names going up on the board beside the finishing post and I already knew which one was missing.
‘Come on!’ I said. ‘And let’s just hope you can remember where you left your car and we shan’t find that some fool of a driver has wedged you in. There’s been too much time wasted already and we haven’t a minute to lose.’
By the time we found it we could hear the distant cheers and groans from the crowd we had fought our way through to get there, signifying that it was now past four o’clock.
‘Do we know where we’re going?’ he asked, backing out on to the grass.
‘Not the faintest idea, but when in doubt ask a policeman. There’ll be one on point duty when we come out and he’s bound to know. You can drop me off there, if you like, and go ahead to start packing.’
(4)
Half an hour later, in an office in Robin’s spiritual home, I was saying: ‘What a fool I was not to have foreseen it! No wonder Jock Symington behaved as though one of us had gone mad. And when you told us, Robin, that Mrs Fellowes had answered the telephone herself, that really should have clinched it.’
‘And what was the significance of that?’ the Superintendent enquired.
‘Well, she is not one to exert herself unnecessarily and it can’t then have been later than midday, nearly four hours before Louisa was due to appear in the paddock. She had told us earlier that she had nothing much to do this morning, since all the hotel guests were out for lunch and it was closed to non-residents. So the fact that she wasn’t near the switchboard should have been a warning. Presumably, people would still be ringing up for advance reservations and they’d be needed more than ever now, if the hotel wasn’t to go out of business.’