Rus took a long swallow of ale. “That was…hard to understand. But then two days later, the imposter was back. And then came the race, and it was the other horse that ran as Flyin’ Fury, and got beaten. He came fifth.”

He sighed. “I knew then, or at least guessed what had to be going on. I thought about going to the race stewards. The next morning, I went to check on the imposter, and lo and behold, it was the real Flyin’ Fury again! And then Harkness decided Fury needed to be spelled, and they sent him back to Ireland.

“I was sure, then, that my suspicions were correct, but I didn’t have an ounce of proof. Both the real Flyin’ Fury and the imposter were gone, and if I said anything, it would be Harkness’s and more importantly Cromarty’s word against mine, and the truth is that favorites often do lose. Good runners have bad spells. There was nothing I could point to as proof of anything.”

Pris frowned. “But why were they switching the horses back and forth?’

“To have the imposter in sufficiently good condition to pass the stewards’ prerace check.” Dillon glanced at her. “If a horse hasn’t been prepared to a certain degree, the stewards can stop it from running, which is almost the same as losing the race, but won’t have the same effect-the desired effect-wager-wise, and will also start an inquiry into the trainer’s preparation, and that’s the last thing a substitution racket needs. So they’ll make sure the substitute horse is reasonably prepared, and as they can’t risk both horses being seen simultaneously, they switch the substitute in and out of the string in the weeks before the race.”

Pris stared at him, then looked at Rus. “So you decided to look at the Breeding Register?”

Rus shook his head. “Not then. Almost immediately, something else happened. Cromarty has a young filly, just over two years old, and she’s lightning on legs. She’s unbeatable in a sprint. I’d been working with her since I started with Cromarty-she’s young, so needs more preparation. Blistering Belle-she went out in the first meet and left the other runners standing. In the second meet, she did even better. Then, in the week after Flyin’ Fury went home, I went into the stable one morning, and it wasn’t Blistering Belle.”

Rus caught Dillon’s eye. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but I couldn’t fault a single point on that horse. Physically, she was a perfect match for Belle, only I knew she wasn’t Belle.”

Dillon frowned. “Who rides Belle in training, at gallops?”

“Crom-Harkness’s man.”

“So there’s no one who’s in any position to corroborate your view?”

Rus shook his head. “But with Belle, I don’t need anyone else’s opinion. I have proof.” He glanced at Pris, drawing her in. “Belle hates red apples-won’t touch them-but most horses love them, of course. I tried the imposter in Belle’s stall, and she lipped a ripe pippin from my palm quick smart. And that was my downfall-Harkness saw me do it. He didn’t know about Belle and red apples, but he took note-nothing was more certain but that he’d mentioned it to Crom. They’re thick as thieves, those two, and Crom did know-he’d see what it meant.”

“And Harkness would then know that you knew,” Pris said. “So what did you do?”

Rus drew a deep breath. “I made a much bigger mistake. I went to Cromarty-a gentleman and a peer. I was sure he wasn’t involved, that it was Harkness and Crom behind what ever was going on. I knew I only had the time it would take Harkness to find Crom and ask about the apple. Cromarty was in his study in the manor-I went in and told him all I’d learned, all I suspected.

“He was shocked. Appalled and shaken.” Rus’s lips twisted. “I realize now that it was because I’d found out, but at the time his reaction fitted. He told me to leave it all to him, that he would deal with the problem immediately. I agreed, and left. I heard him give orders to have Harkness summoned.”

Rus paused, then went on, “By the time I reached the stable yard, my thumbs were pricking. Things didn’t feel right-shouldn’t Cromarty have tried to dismiss what I’d said? He’d just sat there and goggled at every assertion I’d made. He never protested. And he hadn’t questioned me on any of the details.” His lips thinned. “I didn’t go back to my room. I hid in the yard until I saw Harkness go in, then scooted around the house, and listened under Cromarty’s study window.”

Rus blew out a breath. “I heard Cromarty tell Harkness that I knew of their scheme, and then they discussed how to get rid of me-to silence me. I didn’t wait to hear their decision. I raced back, packed my things, and hied out into the night.”

“Where did you go?” Pris asked.

Rus grinned. “I spent the first night in the church at Swaffam Prior. I reasoned it was the last place Harkness and Crom would look. After that I moved either at night or during training times. But I knew I had to get proof, unequivocal proof of whatever’s going on.” His gaze switched to Dillon’s face. “Until I have that-enough so the authorities can arrest Cromarty, Harkness, and Crom-it’s too dangerous to come out of hiding.”

Dillon held Rus’s gaze and gave thanks that he, unlike his sister, had a healthy respect for the situation they were facing. A good grasp of it, too, if the fear shadowing his green eyes was any guide. Rus had cheated death by minutes, and he knew it. Thoroughbred racing was known as the sport of kings, and just like the kings who’d established it, the sport had a darker side.

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.”