Free Dead Ringer by Roy Lewis Page A

about his plump thighs in a pompous gesture. ‘Mr Wood is in no position to describe the state of mind of Lord George.’
    When Baron Alderson agreed grumpily Cockburn smiled. ‘I waive the question. The matter can be dealt with later. Please continue, Mr Wood. What happened then?’
    ‘The protest was taken to the Committee of the Jockey Club.’
    ‘What was the result of the objection?’
    ‘It was refused.’
    ‘And then?’
    ‘The rest is a matter of undisputed fact,’ Wood said stoutly. ‘
Running Rein
was permitted to run and won the Derby. Colonel Peel’s horses
Orlando
and
Ionian
lost. And then, to my surprise, Colonel Peel refused to honour his bets. I was thus forced to bring this action.’
    ‘The details of the betting, and the amounts involved, are to be seen in the affidavits, my lord,’ Cockburn drawled. He began to go through the individual amounts until Fitzroy Kelly rose and announced airily that the amounts of the debts were not in dispute. I could guess why: he didn’t want the extent of Bentinck’s betting, and interest in disputing the identity of
Running Rein
to be emphasized in open court. The mob didn’t like it and feet drummed again. Baron Alderson scowled them to silence.
    As Cockburn ended his examination, the Solicitor General rose to cross examine the corn merchant, and as might be expected, went straight to what the other side saw as the point in issue.
    ‘How long did you own the horse before entering it for the Derby?’
    ‘Three months.’
    ‘From whom did you purchase the animal?’
    ‘A Mr Lewis Goodman.’
    ‘And what was the ground on which Colonel Peel has refused to honour the bets placed?’
    Wood hesitated, flushing. ‘He claimed that
Running Rein
was not eligible since it was in reality a four year old.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    Fitzroy Kelly sat down. He had made no reference to the enquiry before the Committee of the Jockey Club. It was something we could use to twist the knife.
    Cockburn nodded to me to deal with re-examination. I roseand smiled at Wood, putting him more at ease, injecting some confidence into him, even though the blood was hammering in my own veins. My first big opportunity, with a baying mob and a courtroom full of reporters….
    ‘Is
Running Rein
a four year old, Mr Wood?’
    ‘Certainly not.’
    ‘And are you alone in your opinion?’
    ‘I have the animal’s pedigree from Mr Goodman.’
    ‘And this claim of Colonel Peel … that the horse is really a four year old, had not this claim been dealt with elsewhere previously? Had it not already been answered on a previous occasion?’
    ‘Of course,’ Wood said quickly, recognizing my drift. ‘It was the substance of the protest made prior to the race, to the Jockey Club, by Lord George Bentinck.’
    ‘Which was …’
    ‘Refused, sir.’ Indignantly, Ernest Wood appealed to the judge. ‘The Stewards of the Jockey Club supported me, but Colonel Peel still refused to pay out after the race was won, because of the insistence of Lord George Bentinck!’
    A storm of hissing and catcalling broke out as the unruly mob at the back of the room stamped their feet and expressed their support of the corn merchant against the might of the racing aristocracy. Bentinck was scarlet-faced with anger as he leaned forward, thick fingers clamped on his gold-topped walking stick. Baron Alderson hammered at the bench, and the lady seated beside him fluttered her fan while her companion Lord Stradbroke leaned forward to assure her all was well and this scene would not be comparable in its conclusion to the storming of the Bastille. When the noise finally subsided, I sat down and Wood was released from the witness box.
    Cockburn smiled slightly at me, nodded, satisfied with the uproar, and then rose to his feet. It was time to call Lewis Goodman.
    Goodman was well over six feet in height. There was a great deal of chattering in the courtroom and it was evident that his appearance was well recognized by the