Easing his shoulders against the chair’s back, Dillon nodded. “So what do we have? You’ve witnessed one successful substitution, that of Flyin’ Fury, but we have no evidence to prove it.”
Rus nodded.
“You know of another substitution, one that’s in the process of being set up. Blistering Belle, and I know just which race they’ll change her in-the October Handicap.”
“Precisely. By then, she’ll have run three races and won by miles in each. She’ll start favorite, without a doubt.”
“But this time, we have proof-a way you can tell the real Belle apart from her double.”
“But,” Rus cut in, “we need both horses to demonstrate the substitution. Just pointing to one horse, whether it be Belle or the other, proves nothing. And we haven’t got both horses. I’ve been trying to find where Harkness and Crom are hiding the substitutes and the real champions when they’re away from the stable. I know which direction they head off in, but without a horse, I haven’t been able to follow.”
Dillon nodded. “That’s something we can investigate.”
After a moment, he glanced up and saw Rus frowning at him; he raised his brows.
“You seem predisposed to believing me. To taking this seriously.” Rus glanced at Pris, then back at Dillon. “Why? It’s an amazing tale, and could be just that for all you know.”
Dillon smiled. “Quite aside from your sister dragooning me into rescuing you, what you’ve discovered is the other half of what we-myself and others-have already been investigating.” Briefly, he described the rumors about the races in the spring season, how he’d been asked to investigate, how the initial inquiries Barnaby made had turned up little, then how, ironically, Rus’s efforts to gain access to the register had spurred them to push harder.
What they’d subsequently uncovered-the likelihood of substitutions, Collier’s involvement and his suspicious death, his elusive partner, and the rumors of a suspect race run at Newmarket a few weeks ago-made Rus sit up. “That had to be Flyin’ Fury.”
“We should have confirmation from London soon.” Dillon eyed Rus. “Did you ever hear mention of Cromarty having a partner?”
Rus shook his head. “He’s been in the game for decades. I’ve not heard any whisper that he’s hard-pressed.” Then he grimaced. “Of course, a man like Cromarty wouldn’t trumpet such a thing. Who knows?”
“My thinking entirely. So it’s possible.”
After a moment, Rus looked at Dillon. “This register-is there any information in it we could use as proof? To help with proof?”
Pris snorted. “It’s full of information, but proof?” She met Dillon’s eyes, and prayed she wouldn’t blush.
His lips curved, but then he looked at Rus. “If there was any point on which the substitutes and the real champions differed, yes, the register would help-it lists the points used to verify horses’ identities, and if I so decree the stewards could do a full check on any horse before any race. However, if the horses are as alike as you say, that won’t help.”
Rus nodded. “Can we look through the register to identify the substitutes? They’re Thoroughbreds, and by no means poor specimens. Chances are they’ll be in the same age groups as Flyin’ Fury and Blistering Belle. I’m thinking that whoever owns them could be asked to explain.”
“Assuming that’s not Cromarty himself.” Dillon considered. “It’s not illegal to own two very similar horses. However, if he does own both those champions and their look-alikes, it would certainly give us reason to focus a great deal more attention on him and his runners.”
Reaching across his desk, he pulled a sheet of paper to him. Selecting a pen, he dipped it in the inkpot; resting the paper on the flat of his chair’s arm, he scrawled.
Craning her neck, Pris read Flyin’ Fury and Blistering Belle.
“Tell me all you can about these horses.” Dillon glanced at Rus. “I’ll set my clerks scanning the register tomorrow morning-let’s see what we turn up.”
Rus gave a general description, then a more technical listing of the horses’ points. Pris sat back, thinking rather than listening. When Dillon and Rus finished, she asked, “How are we going to find where they’re hiding Blistering Belle and her imposter?”
Both Dillon and Rus looked at her, then exchanged a glance.
Dillon sat back, met her eyes. “We aren’t. None of us can. We’re all too recognizable.”
She frowned. He went on, “The last thing we need is for Cromarty and Harkness to know we’re watching them. They know Rus has guessed enough to raise questions, but having seen me with you”-Dillon angled his head at her-“they’ll assume Rus has already spoken with me, but I’ve taken no action and it’s been three days, so presumably he failed to convince me of anything. With luck they’ll feel safe again, enough to go ahead with the Blistering Belle substitution. If they run scared and don’t, then we-myself and the authorities-won’t have any chance to catch them and shut the racket down.”
Dillon paused, considering, then looked again at her. “Exactly how best to handle this situation…I admit I don’t know, especially when you add in the possibility of a ‘silent partner’ lurking in the background. I want to expose him, too, not just bring Cromarty down. If his actions with Collier are any guide, at the first hint of trouble, this man will eradicate any link to himself and simply switch the substitutions to some other stable next season.”
He looked at Rus. “I don’t want to act precipitously and show the villain our hand before we’re ready to act, before we’ve identified him. And we’re not in any position to do anything yet-we need more information, then we’ll plan.”
Rus was nodding. Dillon switched his gaze to Pris. “So we’ll find out who owns the imposters, and we’ll have someone track Crom to learn where they’re hiding the switched horses. One of my grooms-”
“Patrick.” She sat forward. “He’s at the Carisbrook house, much closer to the Rigby farm, and he’ll understand and be careful.”
Dillon nodded. “Good idea.”
Rus was frowning. “Patrick’s here?” Then he grimaced. “I suppose he would be, if Eugenia is.” He shook his head. “I still can’t take it in that you all upped stakes and came after me.”
Pris regarded him with affectionate scorn. “I can’t believe you ever imagined we wouldn’t.”
“Yes, well.” Dillon glanced at the clock over the mantelpiece. “It’s late-we need to get you back to Lady Fowles.” He glanced at Rus as he stood. “I’ll introduce you to Jacobs-he’ll show you your room. Other than our staff, all of whom have been with us forever, the only one here is my father, and he already knows the official side of this.”
“He was the Keeper of the Stud Book before Dillon.” Pris rose as Rus got to his feet.
Dillon led the way to the door, then paused and turned around. He studied her for a moment, then looked at Rus. “Lady Fowles, Miss Blake, and Miss Dalling will no doubt be keen to visit you. Luckily, our recent social appearances will serve as an excuse-no one will be surprised to see your aunt’s carriage turn into the Hillgate End drive, or to find Lady Fowles taking tea with my father.” He glanced at her, and smiled. “The perfect camouflage.”
She saw the fleeting gleam in his eyes, part amusement, part…was it male satisfaction? She wished she could read what was going on in his brain. “We’ll call tomorrow morning.” Stretching up, she kissed Rus’s rough cheek, then hugged him hard. “Patrick will come, too, and you can tell him about Crom, and in which direction he takes the horses to be hidden.”
Rus kissed her back, patted her shoulder. Then he looked at Dillon and held out his hand. “Thank you. It might be your duty to investigate this matter, yet I’m still in your debt.”