Dick Francis - Enquiry

‘Don’t they wear masks, at this club?’ I asked.

Ferth looked surprised. ‘Why, yes, they do. I asked him who could know about him... in order to blackmail him... and he said he didn’t know, they all wore masks. Hoods, actually, was the word he used. Hoods... and aprons...’ He was revolted.

‘All leather?’

He nodded. ‘How can they?’

‘They do less harm than the ones who go out and rape small children.’

‘I’m glad I...’ he said passionately.

‘Me too,’ I said. ‘But it’s just luck.’ Gowery had been unlucky, in more ways than one. ‘Someone may have seen him going in, or leaving afterwards.’

‘That’s what he thinks. But he says he doesn’t know the real names of any of his fellow members. They all call each other by fanciful made up names, apparently.’

‘There must be a secretary... with a list of members?’

Ferth shook his head. ‘I asked him that. He said he’d never given his own name to anyone there. It wasn’t expected. There’s no annual subscription, just ten pounds in cash every time he attends. He says he goes about once a month, on average.’

‘How many other members are there?’

‘He didn’t know the total number. He says there are never fewer than ten, and sometimes thirty or thirty-five. More men than women, usually. The club isn’t open every day; only Mondays and Thursdays.’

‘Where is it?’

‘In London. He wouldn’t tell me exactly where.’

‘He wants... needs... to keep on going,’ I said.

‘You don’t think he will!’

‘After a while. Yes.’

‘Oh no...’

‘Who introduced him to the club, do you know?’

‘He said it couldn’t be the person who introduced him to the club. She was a prostitute... he’d never told her his real name.’

‘But she understood his needs.’

He sighed. ‘It would seem so.’

‘Some of those girls make more money out of whipping men than sleeping with them.’

‘How on earth do you know?’

‘I had digs once in the next room to one. She told me.’

‘Good Lord.’ He looked as if he’d turned over a stone and found creepy-crawlies underneath. He had plainly no inkling of what it was like to be a creepy-crawly. His loss.

‘Anyway,’ he said slowly, ‘You will understand why he accepted that package at its face value.’

‘And why he chose Lord Plimborne and Andy Tring.’

Lord Ferth nodded. ‘At the end, when he’d recovered a little, he understood that he’d chosen them for the reasons you said, but he believed at the time that they were impulsive choices. And he is now, as you would expect, a very worried and troubled man.’

‘Was he,’ I asked, ‘Responsible for this?’

I held out to him the letter Tony had received from the Stewards’ Secretaries. He stood up, came to take it, and read its brief contents with exasperation.

‘I don’t know,’ he said explosively. ‘I really don’t know. When did this arrive?’

‘Tuesday. Post-marked noon on Monday.’

‘Before I saw him... He didn’t mention it.’

‘Could you find out if it was his doing?’

‘Do you mean... it will be all the more impossible to forgive him?’

‘No. Nothing like that. I was just wondering if it was our little framer-blackmailer at work again. See those words “It has been brought to our attention”...? What I’d like to know is who brought it.’

‘I’ll find out,’ he agreed positively. ‘That shouldn’t be difficult. And of course, disregard the letter. There won’t be any question now of your having to move.’

‘How are you going to work it? Giving our licences back. How are you going to explain it?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘We never have to give reasons for our decisions.’

I smothered a laugh. The system had its uses.

Lord Ferth sat down in the chair again and put the letter in his briefcase. Then he packed up the tape recorder and tucked that away too. Then with an air of delicately choosing his words he said, ‘A scandal of this sort would do racing a great deal of harm.’

‘So you want me to take my licence back and shut up?’

‘Er... yes.’

‘And not chase after the blackmailer, in case he blows the gaffe?’

‘Exactly.’ He was relieved that I understood.

‘No.’ I said.

‘Why not?’ Persuasion in his voice.

‘Because he tried to kill me.’

‘ What? ’

I showed him the chunk of exhaust manifold, and explained. ‘Someone at the dance,’ I said. ‘That means that our blackmailer is one of about six hundred people, and from there it shouldn’t be too hard. You can more or less rule out the women, because few of them would drill through cast iron wearing an evening dress. Much too conspicuous, if anyone saw them. That leaves three hundred men.’

‘Someone who knew your car,’ he said. ‘Surely that would narrow it down considerably.’

‘It might not. Anyone could have seen me getting out of it at the races. It was a noticeable car, I’m afraid. But I arrived late at the dance. The car was parked right at the back.’

‘Have you...’ he cleared his throat. ‘Are the police involved in this?’

‘If you mean are they at present investigating an attempted murder, then no, they are not. If you mean, am I going to ask them to investigate, etc. then I haven’t decided.’

‘Once you start the police on something, you can’t stop them.’

‘On the other hand if I don’t start them the blackmailer might have another go at me, with just a fraction of an inch more success. Which would be quite enough.’

‘Um.’ He thought it over. ‘But if you made it clear to everyone now that you are not any longer trying to find out who framed you... he might not try again.’

I said curiously, ‘Do you really think it would be best for racing if we just leave this blackmailing murderer romping around free?’

‘Better than a full-blown scandal.’

The voice of Establishment diplomacy.

‘And if he doesn’t follow your line of reasoning... and he does kill me... how would that do for a scandal?’

He didn’t answer. Just looked at me levelly with the hot eyes.

‘All right, then,’ I said. ‘No police.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Us, though. We’ll have to do it ourselves. Find him and deal with him.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘I’ll find him. You deal with him.’

‘To your satisfaction, I suppose,’ he said ironically.

‘Absolutely.’

‘And Lord Gowery?’

‘He’s yours entirely. I shan’t tell Dexter Cranfield anything at all.’

‘Very well.’ He stood up, and I struggled off the bed on to the crutches.

‘Just one thing,’ I said. ‘Could you arrange to have that package of Lord Gowery’s sent to me here?’

‘I have it with me.’ Without hesitation he took a large Manila envelope out of the briefcase and put it on the bed. ‘You’ll understand how he fell on it with relief.’

‘Things being as they were,’ I agreed. He walked across the sitting-room to the way out, stopping by the chest to put on his coat.

‘Can Cranfield tell his owners to shovel their horses back?’ I said. ‘The sooner the better, you see, if they’re to come back in time for Cheltenham.’

‘Give me until tomorrow morning. There are several other people who must know first.’

‘All right’

He held out his hand. I transferred the right crutch to the left, and shook it.

He said, ‘Perhaps one day soon... when this is over... you will dine with me?’

‘I’d like to,’ I said.

‘Good.’ He picked up his bowler and his briefcase, swept a last considering glance round my flat, nodded to me as if finalising a decision, and quietly went away.