Move Your Blooming Corpse by D. E. Ireland Page A

suffragette colors,” Eliza said.
    â€œI saw a small flag in his satchel. Was it a suffragette flag?” Higgins glanced up at Jack, who nodded.
    â€œIf Miss Price was opposed to women’s suffrage, and Mr. Hewitt was a champion of it…” Eliza looked over at Higgins.
    â€œBut how would he know she opposed the movement?” Higgins asked.
    Jack turned to the jockey. “You’re free to go, Mr. Brody. I believe you’re scheduled to ride in the next race.”
    â€œYes, sir. Thank you, sir. I need to change my silks.”
    After Brody hurried off, Jonathon Turnbull banged his fist on the table. “We’ve told you what we can, Inspector. Now what have you found out about this dead fool who ran in front of the horses?”
    â€œOh, Mr. Hewitt is still alive,” Jack said. “He was only unconscious when taken to hospital. His injuries are severe but not fatal. Once Mr. Hewitt is able to speak, we intend to find out everything possible. In the meantime, I need to know why there are so many owners of the Donegal Dancer. This is a racing syndicate, I presume?”
    â€œIndeed it is,” Doolittle said. “The Wrexham Racing Syndicate.”
    â€œWhy Wrexham?”
    â€œYou should know that, Jack.” Doolittle wagged a finger at his nephew. “Wrexham is the Welsh town where I was born and raised.”
    Jack gave a rueful grin. “You’re right, I should have remembered. But how did you become part of it?”
    Doolittle thumbed his waistcoat. “Turnbull and I met at a boxing match this spring. Since we were such sporting men, we got to talkin’ about horse racing. Sounded like a right bit of fun, owning a racehorse. And seeing how I came into money this year, Turnbull suggested I join the syndicate. Glad I am of it, too.”
    â€œOwning a racehorse is expensive,” Turnbull added. “Sharing expenses through a syndicate reduces the share of the winnings, but it also reduces the risk. I formed the syndicate after Diana and the Saxtons bought a share of the horse. It was a wise business decision.”
    â€œThe only wise one he’s ever made,” Lady Saxton said under her breath.
    Turnbull ignored her. “And I was the one who initially bought the horse. I learned through an acquaintance of Ahearn Griffith’s death. He ran Derryfield Farm in Kildare. The estate was selling off his whole lot of horses, and at quite reasonable prices. I sent an agent to scout his stock, and he recommended buying the colt.”
    â€œAnd how could I not buy a share of a horse called the Donegal Dancer?” Doolittle turned to Eliza. “After all, your mum came from Donegal. And she loved to dance, too. Seemed like a sign, it did.”
    She reached over and squeezed his hand.
    â€œThe Duchess spoke of the horse’s sire and dam,” Higgins said. “I assume their bloodlines are impressive.”
    â€œLady Carlin was a champion in her own right. A blood bay like the Dancer, but without the star,” Sir Walter said. “And Calypso won a fair number of races himself in his day.”
    â€œHow many members are in the syndicate?” Jack asked.
    â€œSix. No, wait. Five, now that Miss Price is gone,” Doolittle said.
    â€œJonathon was first, and he asked Miss Price. She brought in Saxton. I became an owner after watching a few of Dancer’s practice runs.” The Duchess gestured at Doolittle. “Alfred joined us in March. The name was the Turnbull/Price Syndicate, but that wouldn’t suffice once more of us joined. So we came up with Wrexham.”
    â€œI was the last one to become a member,” Sir Walter added.
    The Duchess smiled at him. “Since Sir Walter is Senior Steward of the Jockey Club, we asked him to act as our agent. He handles all the syndicate’s legal and financial transactions.”
    â€œYou own a string of successful horses already, Your Ladyship,” Jack said.