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too. He’s in a bad way.”
    Higgins was about to add his sentiments when Jack emerged from the stall. “You’re right, Lizzie,” he said, brushing straw from his trouser legs. “I should have sent him elsewhere. I got caught up examining the crime scene.”
    Jack gestured to another policeman a few feet away. “Detective Boyd, you and Detective Toller take Mr. Longhurst to the infirmary. Have a doctor tend to him, but keep him there until I am able to question him.”
    Eliza began to protest, but he held up his hand. “Sorry, Lizzie. Until I have the chance to talk to everyone involved, no one can leave.”
    A moment later, the two detectives half carried Gordon Longhurst out of the stall. Higgins winced. The man looked dreadful. What a damned awful day.
    Once the police had taken Longhurst, Higgins turned to Jack. “Who would do such a vile thing? Killing someone with a pitchfork is unspeakable.”
    â€œThere’s also a sizable lump on the back of her head, along with a bruise on her cheek,” Jack said. “I suspect someone struck her first, causing her to fall. The killer must have used the pitchfork to finish her off.”
    Eliza shuddered. “Are there any fingerprints on the pitchfork?”
    â€œIt looks as if someone wiped it clean. We’ll take it to the lab for analysis.”
    Guilt hung heavy on Higgins’s mind. If only he’d found a policeman sooner and informed them about Hewitt and the gun. They might have prevented him from running onto the racetrack, which put the horses and jockeys at serious risk. Far worse was the likelihood that Hewitt killed Diana. After all, what other suspicious person was lurking about Ascot with violent intentions? If Hewitt was the murderer, Higgins would blame himself until the day he died.
    â€œI didn’t find evidence to indicate who was with Miss Price in that stall,” Jack said.
    â€œBut who would kill her?” Eliza asked. “And why?”
    â€œAs far as we know, the only dangerous man at Ascot was Hewitt,” Higgins said.
    â€œMaybe Miss Price learned about Hewitt’s plan to run out on the track and tried to stop him,” Jack said. “Killing her with a pitchfork seems a barbaric response.”
    â€œHow much longer are you going to keep the owners in there?” Higgins jerked his head toward the stall, where a babble of irritated voices grew louder by the minute. He was glad Pickering had taken his mother home. After what happened last month, she didn’t need to be involved in yet another murder investigation.
    â€œThank you for reminding me.” Jack stepped over to the half-gate of the stall. “Ladies and gentlemen, I need everyone to follow me. My men have found a meeting room in the other building which should comfortably accommodate us.”
    Another hue and cry rose up.
    â€œProtest all you like,” he said sternly, “but none of the Donegal Dancer owners may leave until after I have taken a statement.”
    â€œThis is unconscionable.” Lady Saxton’s affronted voice was unmistakable. “Who do you think you are to treat us in this beastly manner?”
    â€œI am in charge of investigating this murder. If you don’t wish to speak to me here, my men will be happy to haul you off to Scotland Yard.”
    Everyone filed out of the stall. Lady Saxton threw Jack a poisonous look. Alfred Doolittle was the last one out, and he seemed a bit sheepish. “Jackie, I don’t think my Rose is in any fit condition to be questioned right now.”
    Higgins peered inside the stall. A snoring Rose sat sprawled against the far wall, the grapes on her hat tilted far over her face. Rose hiccupped but remained asleep.
    â€œA bit too much champagne, y’see.” Doolittle shrugged.
    â€œBlooming idiot,” Eliza muttered before she stalked off.
    Jack turned to Detective Jeremy. “Keep anyone but the police from