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“You are in serious trouble,” I began. “Not only have you been spying on the players in the changing room, but you doped Panther before last Saturday’s match. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Bert had nothing to say. He stood there, sullen.
“Is that why you murdered Vernon Rigg-Lyon? To silence him?”
His head jerked up. “No! I didn’t kill him.”
“Were you worried he would tell the major?”
“It wasn’t me!”
“Or did you kill him so he wouldn’t force you to dope Panther a second time?”
He struggled against Harry, but Harry’s grip was too firm.
“Answer her,” he growled, giving Bert a shake.
Sweat beaded on Bert’s brow and he looked like he wanted to cry. I felt sorry for him. All of his troubles could be traced back to a predilection that was taboo, one that he hadn’t chosen. His breaths came hard and fast as panic set in.
We needed to banish the panic if we wanted the truth from him. If he thought we’d hand him over to the major, he’d not tell us anything. “I believe you,” I assured him. “I don’t think you killed Mr. Rigg-Lyon. If you trust us, and tell us what you know, we’ll put in a good word with the major and ask him to keep your secret.”
Bert swallowed hard.
Harry slowly released him but didn’t step back in case Bert tried to run off again. “Did you dope Panther?”
Bert gave a slight nod. “Mr. Rigg-Lyon came up to me one day, a couple of weeks before he died, when they last played here. He told me he knew I was a Peeping Tom. He said he’d tell the major unless I injected Panther with a mixture he gave me. He didn’t tell me what was in it, but I guessed. I used to be a groom at a racing stable, and they injected their horses with a cocaine and caffeine mixture. It’s why I left and came here. I thought there’d be no doping in polo,” he added with a bitter sneer. “I felt sick about it, but I did it. I had to. He gave me no choice.”
“Was it just Panther?” Harry asked.
“And Leopard, Mr. Hardwick’s horse.”
“What about the rest of the Polo and Gun Club team’s horses?”
Bert shook his head. “Just those two.”
“Did Mr. Hardwick know?” I asked.
Bert snorted. “Course he bloody knew. He must have. Those two told each other everything.”
I frowned as something occurred to me. “It wasn’t Rigg-Lyon you were spying on, was it? It was Hardwick.”
He scuffed the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “It was Rigg-Lyon,” he muttered. “But it was Hardwick who caught me.”
Harry and I exchanged glances. Mr. Hardwick was indeed a liar. What else had he lied about?
Bert looked up at Harry. “What happens now?”
Harry stepped aside to let him pass. “Now you return to work. We’ll speak to the major on your behalf, if you like.”
Bert gave a small nod then scurried away, arms folded and head down as if trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible.
I sighed as I walked alongside Harry towards the clubhouse. “We need to confront Hardwick about all his lies. He has accumulated a number of them.”
Harry checked his watch. “After lunch. We should find a teashop nearby, or we can return to the city, if you prefer.”
We often didn’t stop for lunch when we were in the middle of an investigation. I got the feeling from the expectant way Harry looked at me that he wanted to talk about things other than the murder.
“I can’t today. I’m supposed to have a picnic with Flossy and some friends.”
