Death At Epsom Downs

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.”

“More than I cared to, ma’am,” Murray put in fervently, “begging your pardon.”

“I understand,” Kate said with a sympathetic smile. She could imagine the scene: Lillie a study in astonished horror and dismay; Lillie complaining melodramatically about the inability of the Yard to catch the criminals; Lillie indignant and betrayed when the police failed to return her jewels. And if she had been complicit in the theft, the whole thing would have been nothing more or less than a grand performance: Mrs. Lillie Langtry starring in the role of the beautiful and helpless victim of an appalling robbery.

The kettle was steaming. Kate got up, poured hot water into the tea pot, and set out three china cups she had found in the sideboard. As she assembled a tray of cheeses and purchased biscuits, she said, “I met Spider this afternoon.”

“You met him?” Charles asked, with open excitement. “He came to Regal Lodge?”

“Yes,” Kate said. “He gave Lillie a horse.” She smiled as she added, over her shoulder, “A horse named Tarantula, of course. Exactly as one might expect from a Spider.”

“Tarantula?” Murray frowned. “That’s Lord Hunt’s horse. The one he lost on so heavily last year.”

“Lord Hunt?” Kate looked around sharply. “Is that Spider’s real name?”

“You didn’t get the man’s name, then?” Charles asked.

Kate shook her head. “I asked, but both he and Lillie avoided answering, and I didn’t like to press, for fear of seeming overly curious. The man had ridden a horse, so there was no driver I might ask.” She put the tray on the small table in front of the sofa. “Will you be so kind as to pour the tea, Charles?” she added, going for her purse. “I have something to show you.”

While Charles poured, Kate opened her purse and took out the derringer and the brandy snifter, each wrapped in a handkerchief. She put them on the table next to the tray and opened the handkerchiefs.

“By thunder!” Mr. Murray exclaimed, letting out his breath. “Is this-”

“The missing derringer,” Charles said, with satisfaction. “Kate, my sweet, you are a treasure of treasures. Where in the world did you happen on it?”

“In the drawer in the drawing room,” Kate said, sitting beside Charles on the sofa. “Spider was alone in the room when I came in. It occurred to me that if he were indeed the man who took the gun, he might have taken the opportunity to return it. After he and Lillie went out to the stable, I looked in the drawer-and there it was.”

Charles slipped his arm around her waist and hugged her. “Wonderful, Kate!”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Mr. Murray said, “but what about the brandy snifter?”

“The man called Spider was drinking from that glass,” Kate said. “I thought you might like to see if his fingerprints are on it, Charles. To be compared to any you might be able to find on the gun,” she added. “I was wearing gloves when I picked up both objects.”

“Fingerprints?” Murray asked, surprised. He raised both eyebrows. “You’re speaking of that dactyloscopy business that Edward Henry is pushing at the Yard?”

“Oh, you know about that, then, do you, Jack?” Charles asked, pleased.

Murray nodded. “A friend of mine, Sergeant Randal, has been taking fingerprints at Sir Francis Galton’s South Kensington laboratory for some years, and he keeps me posted on the progress. According to Sergeant Randal, Henry has been using dactyloscopy in India with a great deal of success. He thinks there’s a chance that the Anthropometry Bureau might be compelled to at least give the method a trial.” His face became gloomy. “Although I personally doubt that will happen. The Home Secretary is convinced that anthropometry provides the best means of identification. Barking up the wrong tree, if you ask me,” he added. “Measuring noses and ears isn’t precise enough. Too much chance for error. And the record-keeping is preposterous.”

“Fingerprint records aren’t much of an improvement,” Charles remarked. “And even if the Yard takes up fingerprinting, the courts will still have to accept it as evidence. And that is some distance in the future.”

Kate frowned. “It’s all well and good to have the fingerprints on the gun-they might be of some help. But isn’t the first task to match the gun to the crime? How is that to be done without-”

“Without the fatal bullet?” Charles reached into his pocket and took out a bullet, putting it on the table. “Here it is, Kate. Taken yesterday from Badger’s body by Dr. Stubbings. We’ll fire a test round and see whether we can determine any similarities.”

Murray was even more gloomy. “The experts at the Yard don’t think ballistics evidence counts for much, either. And no court in England has ever been presented with a case involving such a thing. However, it won’t hurt to give it a try. There’s a first time for everything.” He put down his teacup and stood. “I don’t imagine any of us has a.41 caliber bullet handy for a test-firing, so I’ll just pop around to the gun shop before it closes.” He bowed to Kate. “Ma’am.”

When Murray had gone, Kate turned back to her husband, feeling a surge of excitement. “Charles, this is wonderful! Now that you have these pieces of physical evidence, you can confront Lord Hunt and force him to confess to killing-”

“Lord Hunt?” Absently, Charles got up from the sofa to get his fingerprint kit out of his satchel. “But Reggie Hunt didn’t kill Alfred Day.”

“He didn’t?” Kate frowned. “But I thought Mr. Murray said that Taratula belonged to Lord Hunt. Charles, I am very confused.”

His kit in his hand, Charles sat back down on the sofa. He seemed lost in thought. “Reggie Hunt owed a great deal of money to the man Mrs. Langtry calls Spider,” he said slowly. “In payment of the debt, Spider took Hunt’s estate and half his stable-including the horse, I suppose.”

Kate stared at Charles, wide-eyed. “Then who is Spider? And how did you find him out?”

“We learned Spider’s identity from Eddie Baggs,” Charles replied. “Baggs followed Badger out of the pub and was standing in the shadows at the back of the Great Horse. He saw, and heard, the entire encounter from beginning to end.”

“But that means that there’s an eyewitness!” Kate exclaimed excitedly, “and that none of this fingerprint or ballistics evidence matters! With the testimony of an eyewitness, any jury in the land will convict the man. Who is he, Charles?”

“His name,” Charles said soberly, “is Henry Radwick. He’s a moneylender-and quite a successful one, at that, judging from those who patronize him. Half of the members of the Jockey Club have been in the man’s debt at one time or another. Lord Hunt certainly isn’t the only one who has owed him money.”

“But why did he shoot Mr. Day?”

“According to Baggs, Radwick was in a violent temper. He had discovered that Badger was attempting to blackmail Mrs. Langtry. According to Baggs, as Radwick pulled the trigger, he shouted, ‘She’s mine, do you hear? I won’t let you hurt her!’ ”

“So it was a crime of passion,” Kate said, thinking of what she had heard through the drawing room window. Yes, the man who had declared that he would not let Lillie marry Suggie de Bathe was capable of killing someone in a fit of rage. She felt sure of that. There was something wrong with that scenario, though. The crime was committed with Lillie’s gun, coolly and deliberately taken from the drawer in her drawing room.

Kate frowned. “Spider-Radwick, I mean-stole Lillie’s gun. He anticipated using it. That doesn’t sound like a crime of passion. It sounds quite deliberate.”

“You’re right, Kate,” Charles replied. “By Radwick’s own admission, which you overheard, he was involved in the jewel theft and in Edward Langtry’s death. In fact, it’s entirely possible that he masterminded both, with or without Lillie’s prior consent. I’m conjecturing that Radwick knew something of Badger’s threat-although perhaps not the entire scheme-and that he took Lillie’s gun, anticipating its possible use. After all, if Radwick allowed Badger to blackmail her, how long would it be before Badger began making demands on him, as well?”

“But why Lillie’s gun?” Kate persisted. “A man of Spider’s resources-surely he could have found a different weapon.”

Charles shrugged. “Perhaps he felt some sense of dramatic irony, using Lillie’s gun to kill the man who threatened to betray her.”

“Or perhaps he felt he might use it to gain some hold over her,” Kate said quietly. “Perhaps he thought to keep her from marrying Suggie de Bathe, and persuade her to marry him instead. I wonder whether, after I left this afternoon, he boasted to Lillie that he murdered Alfred Day for her sake. Do you suppose he opened the drawer to show her the gun he used?”

Anticipating her next thought, Charles said, with a wry smile: “If he did, do you suppose he guessed that Lady Sheridan is now in possession of Mrs. Langtry’s derringer?”

Kate gave a little shrug. “There’s one thing I don’t quite understand, Charles. Why was Radwick called Spider?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Charles said. “There might be some kind of private association, of course. But the word ‘spider’ is also a perjorative term for moneylenders.”

“Lurking in the corners, I suppose,” Kate said thoughtfully. “Weaving webs to ensnare their innocent prey.”

“Something like that,” Charles said. “Although in this case, I suspect that the innocent are not quite as innocent as they might like to appear. Certainly Lord Hunt knew what he was doing when he laid his family’s estate as a pledge against a gambling debt.”

Kate pursed her lips. “When Radwick is tried, this whole ugly business is going to come out in the courts, isn’t it? His motive, and so on, I mean. Lillie will be called as a material witness, won’t she?” She paused, as the import of this idea began to sink in. “And then the whole thing will come out, won’t it, Charles? The jewel theft, Edward Langtry’s death-” Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat as she began to imagine all of the consequences of a murder trial in open court, with the press and the public looking on. “She’ll be ruined, Charles! Utterly ruined! Everyone knows that she’s still close to the Prince-it will be a terrible scandal.”

With a sigh that was both regretful and ironic, Charles opened his fingerprint kit. “Somehow I doubt it will come to that, Kate. I doubt it very much.”