“I mean that Pickett told you all about his win in great excitement, did he not?” I said with a calmness I did not feel. “He’d have been quite thrilled by his good turn of luck, wanting to share the news with a man he considered a friend.”
Christie’s smooth countenance, for once, cracked. He stared first at me then at Langley then Grenville in astonishment.
“Did he announce this one day when you saw him at Tattersall’s?” I went on to Langley without remorse. “Or perhaps not until you visited him in his rooms on Monday night. He must at some point showed you the token. Worth thousands, I believe. What stake had he put on that very outside horse, at thirty-to-one odds against?”
Langley looked as though he might be sick. “Two hundred guineas,” he whispered. “His legacy plus some of the money his Bedfordshire friends had given him to purchase the fowling pieces.”
“At thirty-to-one?” Grenville said in shock. “Two hundred would return a great deal of money for the poor chap.”
“Indeed.” I leaned on my walking stick. “Too much of a return for Pickett to resist making such a wager. Did you try to talk him into sharing the winnings with you, his friend who enjoyed race meetings as much as he did? Or did you simply try to take the token from him?”
“He held onto it like grim death,” Langley said, his voice hoarse. “I only wanted to look at the bloody thing, but Pickett suddenly behaved as though he feared I’d rob him. He fought me. I’m not sure why I pulled out my knife, but the next thing I knew, it was between his ribs. He fell and expired in the space of a moment.”
Langley gasped for breath as he finished, a gloved hand at his heart. Christie’s men watched him in amazed alarm, Christie more cynically. Christie had regained his composure by now and regarded Langley with detachment.
A direct hit to the heart would explain the lack of blood on Pickett and his clothing. A man could die of a small wound like that, the bleeding happening inside him, with little seeping out.
However, such a blow, with the victim expiring in an instant, was unlikely to occur by chance. Nor would the knife simply appear in Langley’s hand at the opportune time.
I decided not to argue with Langley—I’d leave the whys and wherefores for a clever magistrate like Sir Montague Harris.
“You took the token and ran?” I asked.
Langley nodded. “May God forgive me.”
“That will be up to God,” Grenville broke in. “On the other hand, I doubt your friends will pardon you. A duel over a dishonored debt is one thing. Quite another to commit murder to collect on another man’s wager.” Grenville put a few paces between himself and Langley as though he did not want to be soiled by the man’s proximity.
Langley reached into his coat. I tensed, as did Brewster and Christie, but he only retrieved a folded and soiled piece of paper. Opening it, he revealed a single square of cork with a bright red mark on one side, the indication that the wager had been for the horse to win.
“It is worth six thousand guineas,” Langley said faintly, as though we’d understand and excuse his actions.
Christie darted forward before I or Brewster could stop him and snatched the token from Langley. He moved quickly out of reach and thrust the piece of cork into the fire that burned in the paneled fireplace, dropping it into the heart of its flames.
“Now, it is worth nothing,” Christie announced. “Captain, please remove this man from my shop.”
Langley stared at Christie in horror. I feared Langley would lunge for the man, ready to kill a second time. Instead, Langley abruptly turned and sprinted for the door.
He found Brewster there to stop him. Langley swiftly produced a knife, the movement more practiced than what he’d claimed he’d made when he’d faced Pickett. Brewster, in one deft motion, relieved him of it.
Brewster then grabbed the fiercely struggling Langley by the collar and half-dragged him out of the chamber and the house itself. Langley fought like the very devil, and Grenville and I hurried to aid Brewster.
Our assistance proved unnecessary. Langley went suddenly still when a tall man with a head of pale hair and a ruddy face stepped squarely in front of them outside the front door.
“Brought me the murderer of Mr. Pickett, eh, Captain Lacey?” Pomeroy bellowed to every house in the square. “I think I’ll have this conviction for myself, and Spendlove can sing for it. Thank you kindly, Captain. I won’t forget it.”
When I at last reached home, Donata cried out when she viewed my battered and stitched-together face. She ordered me to bed and hovered while Barnstable doctored my wounds with his minty-scented ointment, the man clucking with disapproval at my state.
Donata was not one to sit at a sickbed, but once Barnstable was finished, she ordered her lady’s maid to send her excuses for whatever engagements she’d promised to attend and remained in my chamber. Once Jacinthe had gone, Donata slid off her peignoir and climbed into the bed with me.
She settled against my side, being careful not to jostle my injured limbs, and demanded the entire tale. I told her all, from what I’d learned since we’d spoken last, ending with luring Langley to the betting shop.
“Grenville told me he was at Langley’s lodgings when Langley received Hawes’s note,” I said as I finished the tale. “Grenville had gone to set up the interview I’d wanted. When I made that arrangement, I believed someone at the Arlington had done in Pickett, and I only sought Mr. Langley’s opinion on whether Pickett had wagered on a long-odds horse. I realized when Hawes sincerely denied killing Pickett that though he’d covered up the murder, he hadn’t committed it himself. That made Langley a strong possibility. He shared Pickett’s love of the races, and if Pickett had crowed to anyone about finally winning on a horse, it would be Langley.”
Donata had propped herself on one arm to listen. “Grenville knew none of this?”
“I did not have time to inform him. But Grenville is astute, and he might have already suspected Langley. When Langley received Hawes’s note to meet him at Christie’s, Grenville encouraged him to answer it and even offered his carriage to take him there.”
“Let us bless Grenville and his keen perception.” Donata’s soft hair brushed my shoulder as she lay down again. “You could have let Mr. Pomeroy and Brewster apprehend the man while you returned home and rested.”
