High stakes - By Dick Francis Page 0,33

not bump me right off altogether.’

Allie looked horrified, which was nice. Charlie was more prosaic.

‘Bodies are notoriously difficult to get rid of,’ he said. ‘I would say that Jody and Ganser Mays made a rapid assessment and reckoned that dumping you drunk in London was a lot less dangerous than murder.’

‘There was another man as well,’ I said, and described my friend with sun glasses and muscles.

‘Ever seen him before?’ Charlie asked.

‘No, never.’

‘The brawn of the organisation?’

‘Maybe he has brain, too. Can’t tell.’

‘One thing is sure,’ Charlie said, ‘If the plan was to discredit you, your little escapade will be known all round the racecourse by tomorrow afternoon.’

How gloomy, I thought. I was sure he was right. It would make going to the races more uninviting than ever.

Allie said, ‘I guess you won’t like it, but if I were trying to drag your name through the mud I’d have made sure there was a gossip columnist in court this morning.’

‘Oh hell.’ Worse and worse.

‘Are you just going to lie there,’ Charlie said, ‘and let them crow?’

‘He’s got a problem,’ Allie said with a smile. ‘How come he was wandering around Jody’s stable at that time anyway?’

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Now that’s the nub of the matter, I agree. And if I tell you, you must both promise me on your souls that you will not repeat it.’

‘Are you serious?’ Allie said in surprise.

‘You don’t sound it,’ Charlie commented.

‘I am, though. Deadly serious. Will you promise?’

‘You play with too many toys. It’s childish.’

‘Many civil servants swear an oath of secrecy.’

‘Oh all right,’ Charlie said in exasperation. ‘On my soul.’

‘And on mine,’ Allie said lightheartedly. ‘Now do get on with it.’

‘I own a horse called Energise,’ I said. They both nodded. They knew. ‘I spent half an hour alone with him in a crashed horsebox at Sandown.’ They both nodded again. ‘Then I sent him to Rupert Ramsey and last Sunday morning I spent half an hour alone with him again.

‘So what?’ Charlie said.

‘So the horse at Rupert Ramsey’s is not Energise.’

Charlie sat bolt upright so quickly that his omelette plate fell on the carpet. He bent down, feeling around for bits of egg with his astounded face turned up to mine.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Definitely. He’s very like him, and if I hadn’t spent all that time in the crashed horsebox I would never have known the difference. Owners often don’t know which their horse is. It’s a standing joke. But I learnt Energise that day at Sandown. So when I visited Rupert Ramsey’s I knew he had a different horse.’

‘So,’ said Charlie slowly, ‘you went to Jody’s stable last night to see if Energise was still there.’

‘Yes.’

‘And is he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Absolutely certain?’

‘Positive. He has a slightly Arab nose, a nick near the tip of his left ear, a bald spot about the size of a twopenny piece on his shoulder. He was in box number thirteen.’

‘Is that where they found you?’

‘No. You remember, Allie, that we went to Newmarket?’

‘How could I forget?’

‘Do you remember Hermes?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Was that the chestnut?’

‘That’s right. Well, I went to Trevor Kennet’s stable that day with you because I wanted to see if I could tell whether the Hermes he had was the Hermes Jody had had… if you see what I mean.’

‘And was he?’ she said, fascinated.

‘I couldn’t tell. I found I didn’t know Hermes well enough and anyway if Jody did switch Hermes he probably did it before his last two races last summer, because the horse did no good at all in those and trailed in at the back of the field.’

‘Good God,’ Charlie said. ‘And did you find Hermes at Jody’s place too?’

‘I don’t know. There were three chestnuts there. No markings, same as Hermes. All much alike. I couldn’t tell if any of them was Hermes. But it was in one of the chestnut’s boxes that Jody and the others found me, and they were certainly alarmed as well as angry.’

‘But what would he get out of it?’ Allie asked.

‘He owns some horses himself,’ I said. ‘Trainers often do. They run them in their own names, then if they’re any good, they sell them at a profit, probably to owners who already have horses in the stable.’

‘You mean…’ she said, ‘that he sent a horse he owned himself to Rupert Ramsey and kept Energise. Then when Energise wins another big race he’ll sell him to one of the people he trains for, for a nice fat sum, and keep on training him himself?’

‘That’s