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'Sid；' Norman's voice said； 'do you realise the trial is due to start two weeks on Monday？'
'I do realise。'
'Then get a move on； with this alibi。'
'Yes； sir； Detective Inspector。'
He laughed。 'Put the bugger back behind bars。'
On the Tuesday I went to see the Shropshire duchess； for whom I had ridden winners in that former life。 She even had a painting of me on her favourite horse； but I was no longer her favourite jockey。
'Yes； of course Ellis was here all night；' she confirmed。 Short； thin； and at first unweling； she led me through the armour…dotted entrance hall of her draughty old house to the sitting…room where she had been watching the jump racing on television when I arrived。
Her front door had been opened to me by an arthritic old manservant who had hobbled away to see if Her Grace was in。 Her Grace had e into the hall clearly anxious to get rid of me as soon as possible； and had then relented； her old kindness towards me resurfacing like a lost but familiar habit。
A three…mile steeplechase was just finishing； the jockeys kicking side by side to the finish line； the horses tired and straining； the race going in the end to the one carrying less weight。
The duchess turned down the volume； the better to talk。
'I cannot believe； Sid；' she said； 'that you've accused dear Ellis of something so disgusting。 I know you and Ellis have been friends for years。 Everyone knows that。 I do think he's been a bit unkind about you on television； but you did ask for it； you know。'
'But he was here 。。。？' I asked。
'Of course。 All night。 It was five or later when everyone started to leave。 The band was playing still。。。 we'd all had breakfast。。。'
'When did the dance start？' I asked。
'Start？ The invitations were for ten。 But you know how people are。 It was eleven or midnight before most people came。 We had the fireworks at three…thirty because rain was forecast for later； but it was fine all night； thank goodness。'
'Did Ellis say goodnight when he left？'
'My dear Sid； there were over three hundred people here last Friday night。 A succes fou； if I say it myself。'
'So you don't actually remember when Ellis left？'
'The last I saw of him he was dancing an eightsome with that gawky Raven girl。 Do drop it； Sid。 I'm seeing you now for old times' sake； but you're not doing yourself any good； are you？'
'Probably not。'
She patted my hand。 'I'll always know you； at the races and so on。'
'Thank you；' I said。
'Yes。 Be a dear and find your own way out。 Poor old Stone has such bad arthritis these days。'
She turned up the volume in preparation for the next race； and I left。
The gawky Raven girl who had danced an eightsome reel with Ellis turned out to be the third daughter of an earl。 She herself had gone off to Greece to join someone's yacht； but her sister （the second daughter） insisted that Ellis had danced with dozens of people after that； and wasn't I； Sid Halley； being a teeny weeny twit？
I went to see Miss Richardson and Mrs Bethany； joint owners of the Windward Stud Farm； home of the latest colt victim： and to my dismay found Ginnie Quint there as well。
All three women were in the stud farm's office； a building separate from the rambling one…storey dwelling house。 A groom long…reining a yearling had directed me incuriously and I drew up outside the pinkish brick new…looking structure without relish for my mission； but not expecting a tornado。
I knocked and entered； as one does with such offices； and found myself in the normal clutter of desks； puters； copiers； wall charts and endless piles of paper。
I'd done a certain amount of homework before I went there； so it was easy to identify Miss Richardson as the tall bulky dominant figure in tweed jacket； worn cord trousers and wiry grey short cropped curls。 Fifty； I thought； despises men。 Mrs Bethany； a smaller； less powerful version of Miss Richardson； was reputedly the one who stayed up at night when the mares were foaling； the one on whose empathy with horses the whole enterprise floated。
The women didn't own the farm's two stallions （they belonged to syndicates） nor any of the mares： Windward Stud was a cross between a livery stable and a maternity ward。 They couldn't afford the bad publicity of the victimised yearling。
Ginnie Quint； sitting behind one of the desks； leapt furiously to her feet the instant I appeared in the doorway and poured over me an accumulated concentration of verbal volcanic lava； scalding； shrivelling； sticking my feet to the ground and my tongue in dryness to the roof of my mouth。
'He trusted you。 He would have died for you。'
I sensed Miss Richardson and Mrs Bethany listening in astonishment； not knowing who I was nor what I'd done to deserve such an onslaught； but I had eyes only for Ginnie； whose long fondness for me had fermented to hate。
'You're going to go into court and try to send your best friend to prison 。。。 to destroy him 。。。 pull him down 。。。 ruin him。 You're going to betray him。 You're not fit to live。'
Emotion twisted her gentle features into ugliness。 Her words came out spitting。
It was her own son who had done this。 Her golden idolised son。 He had made of me finally the traitor that would deliver the kiss。
I said absolutely nothing。
I felt； more intensely than ever； the by now accustomed and bitter awareness of the futility of rebellion。 Gagged by sub judice； I'd been unable all along to put up any defence； especially because the Press had tended to pounce on my indignant protests and label them as 'whining' and 'diddums'； and 'please teacher； he hit me 。。。' and 'it's not fair； I hit him first'。
A quick check with a lawyer had confirmed that though trying to sue one paper for libel might have been possible； suing the whole lot was not practical。 Ellis's jokes were not actionable and； unfortunately； the fact that I was still profitably employed in my chosen occupation meant that I couldn't prove the criticism had damaged me financially。
'Grit your teeth and take it；' he'd advised cheerfully； and I'd paid him for an opinion I gave myself free every day。
As there was no hope of Ginnie's listening to anything I might say； I unhappily but pragmatically turned to retreat； intending to return another day to talk to Miss Richardson and Mrs Bethany； and found my way barred by two new burly arrivals； known already to the stud owners as policemen。
'Sergeant Smith reporting； madam；' one said to Miss Richardson。
She nodded。 'Yes； sergeant？'
'We've found an object hidden in one of the hedges round the field where your horse was done in。'
No one objected to my presence； so I remained in the office； quiet and riveted。
Sergeant Smith carried a long narrow bundle which he laid on one of the desks。 'Could you tell us； madam； if this belongs to you？'
His manner was almost hostile： accusatory。 He seemed to expect the answer to be yes。
'What is it？' Miss Richardson asked； very far from guilty perturbation。
'This； madam；' the sergeant said with a note of triumph； and lifted back folds of filthy cloth to reveal their contents； which were two long wooden handles topped by heavy metal clippers