Move Your Blooming Corpse by D. E. Ireland

brought him in on a stretcher. It was him, all right.” Brody frowned. “I wish I’d told a racing official this morning. Because of the trouble at the Derby, they would have thrown him out of Ascot altogether.” He paused. “Is he the one who killed Miss Price?”
    â€œWe don’t know yet,” Jack said. “Were you here when Miss Price came to the stables?”
    â€œI never saw her. Of course, I’d never met her before, but I didn’t see any ladies in here after the race.” Brody shook his head in disgust. “It’s not right that strangers who have no business being in the stable come here and wander about. This sort of thing wouldn’t have happened last year.”
    â€œAre you referring to the horse thieves?”
    â€œYes. For a time, we kept a close eye on anyone coming to the stables, but we’ve gotten lazy. That means it’s sure to happen again.”
    â€œSomeone’s kidnapping racehorses?” Eliza asked.
    â€œThe first horse was stolen five years ago,” the Duchess said. “Then a little over three years ago, thieves took a champion mare called Red Glory right off the Sussex farm where she was stabled. Even worse, the horse carried a foal at the time. No ordinary foal, either.”
    â€œI remember,” Higgins broke in. “It was in all the papers. She had been bred with some great racing champion a few months earlier.”
    â€œMaximus,” Sir Walter said. “No greater champion has graced the Turf since. Any foal with the bloodline of Maximus and Red Glory would be worth a fortune.”
    â€œBut they found the mare, didn’t they?” Higgins said.
    â€œA year later, wandering along a country road in Yorkshire.” The Duchess looked somber. “Thank heaven Red Glory was alive and well. However, she had already given birth. And there’s been no sign of that filly or colt since.” She frowned. “I suspect the foal died, or was sold off for breeding purposes. Not that it will do them any good. If you can’t prove the bloodlines, a horse’s offspring are worth little.”
    â€œSome racehorse owners have claimed their horse was born to Red Glory,” added Brody. “But like Her Ladyship says, they can’t prove it.”
    Doolittle leaned forward in excitement. “What if that foal was our own Dancer?”
    â€œAlfred, you know perfectly well Calypso and Lady Carlin are the sire and dam of the Donegal Dancer,” the Duchess said, not bothering to conceal her exasperation.
    â€œWhatever happened to these horse thieves?” Eliza asked.
    â€œNever caught,” Sir Walter said. “The following year, they stole another champion racehorse called Sea Wind. Such a tragedy. Because no one could pay the outrageous ransom, the horse was found dead a month later. Another attempt was made to steal a prize mare this past April down near Lincolnshire, but the grooms scared the thieves off.”
    â€œThis is awful,” Eliza said. “Jack, you must find these horrible people.”
    â€œThe Yard is working on it, along with a few other cases. Now getting back to today’s events.” Jack gestured at the jockey’s coat. “The Donegal Dancer’s racing colors are purple and green, the same colors of the suffragette movement. Who registered them?”
    â€œI registered the silks, Detective Inspector,” Sir Walter said. “After all, I am the Wrexham Racing Syndicate’s agent. But the Duchess of Carbrey chose those colors.”
    Jonathon Turnbull glared at the older woman. “She never asked our permission, either. Not that I would have given it. She knows how I feel about those infernal women.”
    â€œExactly,” the Duchess said with a cool smile. “I am aware of your backward attitude about women’s suffrage, which Miss Price inexplicably shared.”
    â€œI wonder if Hewitt knew they were the