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should have added that it’s unlikely they changed their minds. If they haven’t asked for money, they probably don’t want money, as you said.” He asked Vernon if there was any reason to believe the little girl’s father or grandfather might be responsible for this.
    Vernon was appalled, possibly because he had thought about it. “You mean could they have staged it? Of course not!”
    â€œIt does happen.” Stone shrugged.
    Over the last year and a half, Leon Stone had been thorough, no question of that. He’d earned his hefty fee. He’d visited every stud farm in Cambridgeshire and others elsewhere. Cambridgeshire, though, was the heart and soul of racing and breeding.
    â€œWhy do you think this villain might have a stud farm?”
    â€œProximity, for one reason. Knowledge of Arthur Ryder’s household for another. And for another, it’s possible there might be some bad feeling between Ryder and other owners. Mr. Rice, let’s look at the picture: one or more villains go to Ryder Stud in the night—no, let me change that—they might have been there during the day or sometime in the recent past to take in the situation before acting. Or the person might already have been there in the capacity of an employee—stable lads, exercise boys, trainers. There’s the vet, too. I have a list of those people.
    â€œNext: let’s go back to the incident. Someone comes to the stables, for what reason we don’t actually know—”
    â€œYou mean the object might not have been Nellie?”
    â€œIt’s possible. The thing is, if the target was the girl, the person must have known Nell’s habit of sleeping in stables if a horse was sick. That would certainly limit the suspects to family, friends and employees, wouldn’t it?
    â€œThat’s one possibility,” Stone continued. “The other is that the villains were there for another reason altogether and Nell got in their way. Because she saw something, and they had to take her with them because she presented a threat.”
    â€œYou think they came for the horse?”
    Leon Stone shrugged again. “That’s also possible. And not necessarily to take the horse, but to do something to the horse or horses. There are extremely valuable stallions there.”
    â€œBesides Samarkand there’s Beautiful Dreamer, Criminal Type, Aqueduct and Fool’s Money.” (The last having been named in honor of Vernon, according to Arthur.) “No car or trailer seen, but I guess they had transport.”
    â€œI’m thinking one person, and he didn’t need a car or van.”
    â€œHe had to have something.”
    â€œHe had Aqueduct.” Stone smiled thinly. “Obviously.”

SEVEN
    H e was given to anxiety attacks that overtook him when he was outside, standing on ground no longer firm or familiar. When this happened, Maurice would take out a horse, any horse that seemed eager for a gallop or just a walk up and down the cinder paths that wound around for miles through the farm.
    After Samarkand, Maurice’s choice was Beautiful Dreamer, an elegant stallion who would shake out his mane and raise his head as if divesting himself of Maurice or anyone except Nell. The horses loved Nell.
    Beautiful Dreamer had always felt doomed to race around some mile-and-a-half course as if this were all he was good for, and only tolerated the winner’s circle in which he often found himself. Though he rather liked the flowers, armfuls of roses thrown about his neck, and smiles and gold glinting about him. No more than he deserved. It had happened so often he wondered if there was anything left worth winning.
    Now, it was this boy again, who was better than some who rode him. He actually liked the boy. But he knew what would happen, and it did after they’d walked the paths for fifteen minutes. Yes, he felt a shift in the boy’s position, body stretched out, head on