“That’s not very conclusive,” said Bernard.
“I know,” I replied. “But his name keeps popping up. And he seems somehow connected with lots of what’s been going on.” I paused. “If I was dead certain that it was him, then I’d be telling this to the police. But, I have to admit, I’m slightly afraid they might just laugh at me. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to try it out on you first.” I looked at Toby, Sally and Bernard, but I couldn’t read their minds. I knew that Caroline believed me.
“It does all seem a bit far-fetched to me,” Sally said. She turned to Caroline. “What do you think?”
“I know it’s true,” said Caroline with certainty. “You might ask how I can be sure, so I’ll tell you.” She looked up at me and smiled lopsidedly. “I have been badly frightened by what has happened to Max over the past ten days. I was at the poisoned dinner and was dreadfully ill that night, and we have all seen the photos of the bombing and have heard Max’s description of what it was like after the explosion. There can be no doubting that those things did happen.”
“No,” said Bernard. “No doubt whatsoever.”
“And Max’s car did collide with a bus, and his house did burn down.”
“Yes,” said Bernard. “We don’t doubt those things happened either. The question is whether they were genuine attempts to murder him.”
“I presume,” she said, “that there’s no question that Max did have his arm broken by someone wielding a polo mallet just for mentioning this man Komarov’s name. I saw the mallet.”
Bernard looked around at Toby and Sally. “I think we can agree that Max had his arm broken, but was it because he mentioned Komarov’s name or because he had one of these balls?”
“Both,” I said. “But I was definitely threatened with the mallet before I even showed them the ball. The Komarov name was the key.”
“And,” said Caroline, “someone went into my flat when I was in America.”
“What do you mean?” said Bernard.
“Two men told my neighbor a pack of lies and managed to convince her to let them into my flat. I don’t know why, but we think they must have planted something there that would let them know when we got back.”
“But how did they know where you live?” said Bernard.
“Whoever it was must have followed me there,” I said.
“But why?” said Bernard.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “If someone could fix the brakes on my car the night I had dinner with Caroline, then they only had to follow me to the restaurant to know who I was seeing.”
“But that doesn’t mean they know where she lives,” said Bernard.
“I don’t know,” I said again. “If they saw me with her, they could have found out where she lives. Perhaps they followed her home.”
“That’s surely very unlikely,” said Bernard.
“It was surely unlikely that someone would bomb Newmarket races,” I said, “but they did.” I stared at Bernard. “And you were able to find out where Caroline lives.”
“That’s different,” he said.
“How exactly did you do that?” asked Caroline accusingly. “And you got my telephone number as well. How was that?”
Bernard went bright red, but he refused to say how he did it. He mumbled a bit about databases and so on, and about the data-protection act. As I had suspected, what he had done wasn’t entirely legal.
“But you are sure someone was in your flat,” he said, trying to get us back on track.
“Absolutely positive,” she said. She told them briefly about things being moved in her medicine cabinet. Sally nodded. It must be a girl thing, I thought.
They all sat silently, digesting what Caroline and I had just told them. But were we getting anywhere? I wondered. There were so many questions, and I was far too short of answers.
“Sally,” I said, “do you think we could have some tea?”
“Of course,” she said. She seemed relieved to be able to get up and move. She went out to the kitchen. It somehow broke up the formality of the gathering. Bernard started apologizing to Caroline. Now, that had me worried.
Toby sat and turned the ball over and over in his hands. “I suppose…” he said, almost to himself. “No, that’s ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous?” I asked him.
He looked up at my face. “I was just thinking aloud,” he said.
“So tell me your thoughts,” I urged him. Caroline and Bernard stopped talking and looked expectantly across at Toby.
“No, it was nothing,” he said.
“Tell us anyway,” I said.
“I was just wondering if it could be used for marbling.”
There was a brief silence as we thought about what he had said.
“And what the hell is ‘marbling’?” asked Bernard in his best lawyer voice.
“It’s not the proper name, but it’s what I call it,” Toby said.
“Call what?” asked Sally, coming back into the room with a silver tray, with teapot, cups and so on, plus some chocolate biscuits that clearly caught Bernard’s eye.
“Toby was just saying that this ball could be used for marbling,” I said.
“What’s that?” she asked, setting the tray down on a table.
“Yes, what is this marbling?” implored Bernard.
Toby looked at Caroline and he seemed a bit embarrassed. “It’s placing a large glass marble in the uterus of a mare to simulate a pregnancy.”
“But why would anyone do that?” asked Caroline.
“To stop her coming into season,” said Toby.
“Sorry,” said Bernard. “You’ve lost me.”
“Suppose you don’t want a filly or a mare coming into season at a certain time,” said Toby. “You place a large marble or two through her cervix and into the uterus. The fact that there is something in the uterus already seems somehow to fool the animal into thinking that she is pregnant, so she doesn’t ovulate, come into season or go into heat.”
“Why would that be a problem anyway?” I asked.
“Well, sometimes it may be that you want the mare in season at an exact moment-say, for breeding on a specific day to a stallion-so you could marble the mare for a few weeks, then remove the marbles and-hey, presto-the mare comes into heat almost immediately. I don’t know it all; you’d have to ask a vet. But I do know it’s done a lot. Some show jumpers are kept off heat for major competitions. Otherwise, they can go all moody and don’t behave properly. Just like a woman.” He laughed, and Sally playfully smacked his knee.
“Or a polo pony,” I said. “I doubt you would want a female polo pony to be in season during a match, especially if there were some male ponies playing as well.”
“Certainly not if any of them were full horses,” said Toby.
“Full horses?” asked Bernard, munching on a biscuit.
“Stallions,” said Toby. “As opposed to geldings.”
Bernard seemed to wince a little, and he put his knees tightly together.
“So you think this ball could be used instead of a glass marble?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “They’re about the same size. But it would have to be sterilized. At least on the outside.”
“How many did you say could be inserted?” I asked.
“One or two is normal, I think,” he said. “But I do know that at least three have been used. Maybe more. You would have to ask a vet.”
“Wouldn’t they just fall out?” asked Caroline, amused.
“No,” said Toby. “You need to give the mare an injection to open the cervix to get them in. The marbles are placed in the uterus through a tube that looks like a short piece of plastic drain-pipe. When the injection wears off, the cervix closes and keeps them in. Easy. I’ve seen it done.”
“But how do you get them out again?” I asked.
“I’ve never actually seen them come out,” he said, “but I think you just give the mare the cervix-opening injection and the marbles are pushed out naturally.”