Chapter 1 Invitation to a Train Ride

Introduction

You have to understand that a prize-winning horse is worth millions . . .

There is enough money in the world of horse-racing to make it very attractive to criminals. And one of the worst of these is Julius Filmer, a known murderer. Filmer has promised to take revenge on the horse-racing world after a recent attempt to catch him. How will he do it?

The great horse-racing season in Canada is about to begin. Owners from all over the world will travel across the country, from Toronto to Vancouver, on a special train - and Filmer will be on it. Filmer, and friends.

There is only one way to stop him. Someone eke must join the train to watch Filmer — and be ready to act. . .

Dick Francis is one of the most successful thriller writers in the world. He was born in 1920 in South Wales. He can't remember learning to ride: for him it was as easy as learning to walk. He served in the Royal Air Force during the Second World War, becoming a professional rider in 1948. For ten years he was one of Britain's top jockeys. When he left the sport in 1957, he became a racing journalist. He wrote his first book, the story of his life, in the same year. Then he began to write crime stories — always set in the world of horses and horse-racing. The first of these, Dead Cert (1962), was a success and he has written over thirty books since then — about one a year. All of them have been best-sellers. He has won prizes both in America and Britain for his books.

Chapter 1 Invitation to a Train Ride

I was following Derry Welfram at a race meeting when he dropped to the ground and lay face down in the mud in the light rain. Several people walked straight past him, thinking that he was drunk. I knew that he wasn't drunk, because I'd been following him all afternoon — and, in fact, for some days. However, I didn't go up to see what was wrong or to try to help him: I didn't want anyone to see me with Welfram.

It was soon clear that this was not just an unconscious drunk. A doctor came out of the race track building, turned Welfram over, did some tests and started to hit him hard on the chest. He carried on at this for a while, but eventually gave up. An ambulance arrived and took Welfram's body away.

I headed for the bar: that was where the gossip would be. I moved around the room, listening, and it wasn't long before I overheard a woman ask her husband whether he'd heard about that man who died of a heart attack earlier.

It was a pity, I thought, that Welfram had died — not because anyone would miss him, but because it put me and my boss, Brigadier Valentine Catto, back to where we started. The investigation had got nowhere so far.

My name is Tor Kelsey. I work for the Jockey Club* as a kind of policeman — or some would say as a spy. The horse-racing world is attractive to criminals, and our job is to catch them and warn them off, if possible, or get them banned from any further involvement in horse-racing. On extreme occasions, we bring in the official police force.

One of the worst criminals to inhabit the horse-racing world was Julius Apollo Filmer. Tall and elegant, he mixed with the highest levels of society, because they were the ones with the money and the horses. Nobody knew exactly how he did it, but he managed to persuade people to sell him their best horses cheaply. You have to understand that a prizewinning horse is worth millions. So why would people sell? The paperwork was all nice and legal, but something rotten was in the air. We were certain that Filmer used blackmail and threats, but we needed hard evidence.

A few months ago, we almost had the evidence. A young groom foolishly boasted in a pub that what he knew could spell big trouble for Mr Julius Filmer. Two days later, the groom turned up dead in a ditch. The police found four witnesses to pin the planning of the crime on Filmer, but on the day of the trial they either left the country or changed their stories, with the result that Filmer got off. Once again, Filmer's threats and blackmail had proved successful, and justice had failed to be done.

However, one of the frightened witnesses hinted to Catto (who could be rather persuasive himself) that it was Welfram who had threatened him, until he changed ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

* A jockey rides horses in races. The Jockey Club looks after the interests of horse-racing.his story. So Catto gave me the job of finding out all I could about Welfram, with a
view to proving that he was Filmer's man. But now Welfram was dead.

A few days later, Catto asked to see me and we met at his club. We discussed Welfram's death for a while, but he soon came to the point.

'Have you ever heard of the Transcontinental Race Train?' he asked.

'Yes,' I said. I'd spent some months in Canada. 'Owners from all over the world take their horses to Canada and travel right across the country, in considerable luxury, stopping here and there to enter their horses in races. It's a famous event in Canada. But why do you ask?'

'Filmer's going on it this year,' Catto replied. 'In fact, it looks as though he's made special arrangements in order to go on it: he recently bought a half share in a horse that was already entered for the train. It seems that he is up to something. He's still angry about the trial: he has threatened to hit back at the world's racing authorities — for persecuting him, he says.'

'If anyone ever deserved persecution, he does,' I said. 'But what on earth could he do on the train?'

'That's for you to discover,' Catto said. 'I've contacted the head of the Canadian Jockey Club — an old friend of mine called Bill Baudelaire - and he's arranged for a place for you on the train.'

'I hope you remembered to buy me a horse as well,' I joked, 'otherwise they'll soon find out that I'm not an owner and get suspicious.'

Catto laughed. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'In fact, other people go on the train as well, not just owners. People go just to attend the races and have a good holiday. Of course, these racegoers don't travel as luxuriously as the owners . . .'

'Oh, great!' I said sarcastically. 'Thanks for a ten-day,
uncomfortable journey!'

'No, no!' exclaimed Catto. 'You're not going as a racegoer. They travel in a different part of the train from the owners, so you wouldn't be able to keep an eye on Filmer.'

'Well, what am I going as, then?' I asked.

'As a waiter,' Catto said. He smiled at my surprise, and added, 'These rich people hardly notice waiters: you'll be well placed to listen and spy.' Then he brought the conversation to an end. You're due to meet Baudelaire in Ottawa — he'll tell you more. Oh, and Tor — take care: Filmer's a murderer.'

Date: 2015-12-24; view: 2044