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“Why would he do that?” Harry asked.
The assistant shrugged. “It could be any number of reasons, ranging from the horse being ill to the owner deciding he wanted to keep it for himself. I heard Rigg-Lyon decided not to retire, so I think the latter is your answer.”
It explained why Mr. Rigg-Lyon withdrew the horse from sale, but it didn’t explain why Mr. Hardwick would be angry about it. The profit wouldn’t go to him.
“I wonder what will happen to Panther now,” the assistant murmured.
“What do you know about Hardwicks, the breeder?” I asked.
“Almost nothing. They’re still establishing themselves. Barnaby Hardwick’s father was a legendary polo player in his day, and one of his horses sired Panther and Leopard. Both are champion polo ponies. Their speed and stamina are quite something to behold, so I hear. Panther is the best of the two, but Leopard also has an excellent reputation. There was a lot of interest in them both, but more for Panther. Still, Leopard will fetch a nice sum for the Hardwicks. There are still two seasons left in him, perhaps three, then he can be used for breeding.”
I considered asking how doping would affect a horse’s price, but the answer to that was obvious and I didn’t want to start a rumor that could ruin the Hardwick family’s business. I didn’t like Mr. Hardwick, but his parents could be good people and unaware of their son’s scheme.
Harry thanked the assistant and indicated I should leave the office ahead of him. “Hardwick knew about the doping,” he said once we were outside. “I’m certain of it now. He probably even encouraged it to drive up the price at auction.”
I agreed. The doping of Panther and Leopard had led to their superior performance on the polo field, and their rising status among that set. Fast horses fetched more money at auction. “I don’t think financial gain was Rigg-Lyon’s motive for doping Panther,” I said. “I think it was purely about winning for him. He loved everything that came with it, the fame and attention. It was like an addiction. That’s why he couldn’t face retiring yet. And to keep winning, he needed Panther, and Panther needed cocaine.” The poor animal was merely an instrument to be cruelly used by Rigg-Lyon and Hardwick. “Hardwick is trying to establish himself as an agent here in London for his parents’ breeding business,” I went on. “The sale of Panther and Leopard was going to help establish his reputation. He didn’t own Panther, and wouldn’t get any money from the sale, but he was the higher profile of the two horses and withdrawing him from the auction would diminish interest overall. That’s why Hardwick was angry when Rigg-Lyon withdrew Panther from sale by back flipping on his retirement plans.”
“Angry enough to kill?”
It was a question we contemplated as we walked towards Hyde Park Corner. We could confront Hardwick, but he wouldn’t admit anything. He would probably refuse to even speak to us. We needed further evidence, and neither of us was sure how to get it.
We walked up Piccadilly in silence and stopped outside the hotel. The traffic flowed better than it had this morning, thanks to the constable monitoring the situation. Taxis deposited guests who were greeted by perspiring porters. Frank and the other doorman merely opened the hotel door for them, neither smiling nor speaking. Goliath and his cohort of porters did their best to fill the silence, but the doormen’s protest was noticed.
“Where are Cobbit and the rest of the mews staff who were blocking the traffic?” I asked.
Frank turned away from me so I posed my question to Goliath.
“The police ordered them to move or face arrest,” he said.
“Did they return to work?” Harry asked.
Goliath shook his head. “I don’t know if they’re going to. Cobbit’s riled them all up, and Sir Ronald isn’t backing down. The guests are angry, the hotel’s reputation is getting smeared all over the city, and no one is talking to anyone.” He indicated Frank’s stiff back. “We porters can’t take on half of the doormen’s work forever. The stalemate has to end soon, but I can’t see how if the two sides aren’t willing to negotiate.”
Frank proved he was listening by turning his head into profile and grunting in response to Goliath’s remarks.
I said goodbye to Harry and suggested we meet again in the morning after contemplating the case overnight.
He murmured agreement as he watched Frank.
Frank didn’t move when I approached the door. He’d opened it for me this morning, but it would seem I was now being lumped in with the rest of the family.
Harry stepped forward and opened the door for me. I smiled as I passed him. He smiled back and released the door once I was through. “She’s a Fox, not a Bainbridge,” I heard him tell Frank. “She’s also a lady. Next time open the door for her.”
My smile widened.
I didn’t stop to speak to anyone in the foyer. I didn’t want to be dragged into the dispute and forced to choose sides, although it seemed Frank had already chosen for me. I headed upstairs and sat at the desk by the window. It was warm on the fourth floor, even with the windows open, and I was glad when Harmony arrived with strawberry-flavored ices in glass bowls. We enjoyed them on the balcony overlooking the park before they melted, while I told her what we’d learned today.
I thought she’d have something to say about the scheme of doping horses before matches, but her only comment on that was to shake her head sadly and say, “Horrible men, both Hardwick and Rigg-Lyon. I have no sympathy for either.” She was more interested in the note Mr. Hardwick had discarded at the polo club, however. “It sounds like something from a book.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lately I’ve been reading old novels set in the Georgian period. Gentlemen were always going on about challenging one another to duels when the reputations of ladies were ruined. Perhaps the author of that note had a wife or sister who was ruined by Rigg-Lyon.”
“And Hardwick knew? It’s possible, I suppose, but a big leap to make.”
Even so, Harmony continued to make it. The more she talked, the more she warmed to her theory. “You need to find out whose wife, sister or other female family member was ruined by Rigg-Lyon. Even though you think a man wrote the note, don’t discount a female author. She could have deliberately disguised her style to make it more masculine.” She gasped. “What if it was Mrs. Rigg-Lyon? We know her husband kept mistresses. What if that made her angry? Then she learned he seduced someone innocent, someone close to her, and it tipped her over the edge. She has nothing to lose if she’s already dying.”
The theory was as sound as any other. I promised to bring it up with Harry in the morning.
