Everyone knew that the two samples would look the same, and they did. Gowery passed the sheet of paper signficantly to the other Stewards, and they all compared and nodded.
‘It’s a fake,’ I said again. ‘I never had a letter like that.’
Gowery ignored me. To Oakley he said, ‘Please tell us where you found the money.’
Oakley unnecessarily consulted his notebook. ‘The money was folded inside this note, fastened with a rubber band, and both were tucked behind the photo of Hughes’s girl friend, which you see in the picture.’
‘It’s not true,’ I said. I might as well not have bothered. No one listened.
‘You counted the money, I believe?’
‘Yes my Lord. There was five hundred pounds.’
‘There was no money,’ I protested. Useless. ‘And anyway,’ I added desperately, ‘Why would I take five hundred for losing the race when I would get about as much as that for winning?’
I thought for a moment that I might have scored a hit. Might have made them pause. A pipe dream. There was an answer to that, too.
‘We understand from Mr Kessel, Squelch’s owner,’ Gowery said flatly, ‘That he pays you ten per cent of the winning stake money through official channels by cheque. This means that all presents received by you from Mr Kessel are taxed; and we understand that as you pay a high rate of tax your ten per cent from Mr Kessel would have in effect amounted to half, or less than half, of five hundred pounds.’
They seemed to have enquired into my affairs down to the last penny. Dug around in all directions. Certainly I had never tried to hide anything, but this behind-my-back tin-opening made me feel naked. Also, revolted. Also, finally, hopeless. And it wasn’t until then that I realised I had been subconsciously clinging to a fairy tale faith that it would all finally come all right, that because I was telling the truth I was bound to be believed in the end.
I stared across at Lord Gowery, and he looked briefly back. His face was expressionless, his manner entirely calm. He had reached his conclusions and nothing could overthrow them.
Lord Ferth, beside him, was less bolted down, but a great deal of his earlier heat seemed to have evaporated. The power he had generated no longer troubled Gowery at all, and all I could interpret from his expression was some kind of resigned acceptance.
There was little left to be said. Lord Gowery briefly summed up the evidence against us. The list of former races. The non use of the whip. The testimony of Charlie West. The bets struck on Cherry Pie. The riding orders given in private. The photographic proof of a pay off from Cranfield to Hughes.
‘There can be no doubt that this was a most flagrant fraud on the racing public… No alternative but to suspend your licences… And you, Dexter Cranfield, and you, Kelly Hughes, will be warned off Newmarket Heath until further notice.’
Cranfield, pale and shaking, said, ‘I protest that this has not been a fair hearing. Neither Hughes nor I are guilty. The sentence is outrageous.’
No response from Lord Gowery. Lord Ferth, however, spoke for the second time in the proceedings.
‘Hughes?’
‘I rode Squelch to win,’ I said. ‘The witnesses were lying.’
Gowery shook his head impatiently. ‘The Enquiry is closed. You may go.’
Cranfield and I both hesitated, still unable to accept that that was all. But the official near the door opened it, and all the ranks opposite began to talk quietly to each other and ignore us, and in the end we walked out. Stiff legged. Feeling as if my head were a floating football and my body a chunk of ice. Unreal.
There were several people in the waiting-room outside, but I didn’t see them clearly. Cranfield, tight lipped, strode away from me, straight across the room and out of the far door, shaking off a hand or two laid on his sleeve. Dazed, I started to follow him, but was less purposeful, and was effectively stopped by a large man who planted himself in my way.
I looked at him vaguely, Mr Kessel. The owner of Squelch.
‘Well?’ he said challengingly.
‘They didn’t believe us. We’ve both been warned off.’
He hissed a sharp breath out between his teeth. ‘After what I’ve been hearing, I’m not surprised. And I’ll tell you this, Hughes, even if you get your licence back, you won’t be riding for me again.’
I looked at him blankly and didn’t answer. It seemed a small thing after what had already happened.