Enquiry - By Dick Francis Page 0,4

an amateur, nodded non-committally. The other one was asleep.

I suspected Gowery kicked him under the table. He woke up with a jerk, said ‘Eh? Yes, definitely,’ and eyed me suspiciously.

It’s a farce, I thought incredulously. The whole thing’s a bloody farce.

Gowery nodded, satisfied,. ‘Hughes never picked up his whip.’

The fat bullying Stipe was oozing smugness. ‘I am sure you will find this next film relevant, sir.’

‘Quite,’ agreed Gowery. ‘Show it now.’

‘Which film is this?’ Cranfield enquired.

Gowery said, ‘This film shows Squelch winning at Reading on 3rd January.’

Cranfield reflected. ‘I was not at Reading on that day.’

‘No,’ agreed Gowery. ‘We understand you went to the Worcester meeting instead.’ He made it sound suspicious instead of perfectly normal. Cranfield had run a hot young hurdler at Worcester and had wanted to see how he shaped. Squelch, the established star, needed no supervision.

The lights went out again. The Stipe used his baton to point out Kelly Hughes riding a race in Squelch’s distinctive colours of black and white chevrons and a black cap. Not at all the same sort of race as the Lemonfizz Crystal Cup. I’d gone to the front early to give myself a clear view of the fences, pulled back to about third place for a breather at midway, and forced to the front again only after the last fence, swinging my whip energetically down the horse’s shoulder and urging him vigorously with my arms.

The film stopped, the lights went on, and there was a heavy accusing silence. Cranfield turned towards me, frowning.

‘You will agree,’ said Gowery ironically, ‘That you used your whip, Hughes.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I said. ‘Which race did you say that was?’

‘The last race at Reading,’ he said irritably. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know.’

‘I agree that the film you’ve just shown was the last race at Reading, sir. But Squelch didn’t run in the last race at Reading. The horse in that film is Wanderlust. He belongs to Mr Kessel, like Squelch does, so the colours are the same, and both horses are by the same sire, which accounts for them looking similar, but the horse you’ve just shown is Wanderlust. Who does, as you saw, respond well if you wave a whip at him.’

There was dead silence. It was Cranfield who broke it, clearing his throat.

‘Hughes is quite right. That is Wanderlust.’

He hadn’t realised it, I thought in amusement, until I’d pointed it out. It’s all too easy for people to believe what they’re told.

There was a certain amount of hurried whispering going on. I didn’t help them. They could sort it out for themselves.

Eventually Lord Gowery said, ‘Has anyone got a form book?’ and an official near the door went out to fetch one. Gowery opened it and took a long look at the Reading results.

‘It seems,’ he said heavily, ‘That we have the wrong film. Squelch ran in the sixth race at Reading, which is of course usually the last. However, it now appears that on that day there were seven races, the Novice Chase having been divided and run in two halves, at the beginning and end of the day. Wanderlust won the seventh race. A perfectly understandable mix-up, I am afraid.’

I didn’t think I would help my cause by saying that I thought it a disgraceful mix-up, if not criminal.

‘Could we now, sir,’ I asked politely, ‘See the right film? The one that Squelch won.’

Lord Gowery cleared his throat. ‘I don’t, er, think we have it here. However,’ he recovered fast, ‘We don’t need it. It is immaterial. We are not considering the Reading result, but that at Oxford.’

I gasped. I was truly astounded. ‘But sir, if you watch Squelch’s race, you will see that I rode him at Reading exactly as I did at Oxford, without using the whip.’

‘That is beside the point, Hughes, because Squelch may not have needed the whip at Reading, but at Oxford he did.’

‘Sir, it is the point,’ I protested. ‘I rode Squelch at Oxford in exactly the same manner as when he won at Reading, only at Oxford he tired.’

Lord Gowery absolutely ignored this. Instead he looked left and right to his Stewards alongside and remarked, ‘We must waste no more time. We have three or four witnesses to call before lunch.’

The sleepy eldest Steward nodded and looked at his watch. The younger one nodded and avoided meeting my eyes. I knew him quite well from his amateur jockey days, and had often ridden against him. We had all been pleased when he had been made