The Grave Maurice Read Online Free PDF Page A

Not only was that a personal loss, but a real financial hit. When he was up on this Samarkand, they were virtually unbeatable.”
    â€œWhat’s the chief source of income? The purses?”
    â€œNo. Breeding. Ryder has a stable full of Thoroughbreds retired from racing, but worth a lot in breeding.”
    â€œOwners take their mares to Ryder Stud and pay for the pleasure?”
    â€œPay a lot for the pleasure for a stud such as Samarkand. It’s the practice, I heard, to sell shares. An owner pays, say, anywhere from a hundred thousand to a quarter million for the privilege of bringing one of his mares one time a year.”
    Melrose sat up. “A quarter million? For that price I’d do it myself.”
    â€œWho’d pay that much for you?” asked Jury. “So a return on the stallions set to stud in a given year could be how much?”
    Wiggins again thumbed the pages of his notebook, said, “In ’92, for instance, over five million.”
    Jury sat up. “What? And that’s just the breeding part of it?”
    Wiggins nodded. “Just from breeding, yes.”
    â€œHow much from the purses?”
    â€œFrom Samarkand alone—this would be a decade ago—1.8 million.”
    â€œNo wonder they call it the sport of kings,” said Melrose.
    â€œOf course, looking at the other side of the ledger,” said Wiggins, “it’s an exceptionally pricey operation. The people you need working for you, many of whom are highly trained—jockeys, vets, trainers, grooms—do not come cheap. Arthur Ryder wanted the best of them. His trainer alone got a quarter million a year, and that’s low for a trainer. It’s expensive and it’s very dicey, as much as farming is, and farmers don’t have to carry insurance on each cow and plot of swede. Insurance on Samarkand alone was two million. But Arthur Ryder hasn’t been in tip-top shape since first his son Danny and then his granddaughter Nell went. Financial reverses, accidents with the horses, troubles seemed to heap themselves on Arthur Ryder’s head.”
    Jury lay back, closed his eyes. “ ‘Not single spies but in battalions.’ ”
    â€œSir?”
    â€œTrouble coming. Claudius.”
    As if to bear out Claudius, Nurse Bell entered the room. But only single spies, Jury thought. A blessing.
    â€œI’d say you two”—here she crossed her arms and glared at Melrose and Wiggins—“have visited quite enough for one day. And I warned you he”—she smiled ungraciously at Jury, it was more of a sneer—“shouldn’t be listening to police business. He’s supposed to be resting, not listening to you two. You don’t seem to appreciate he was at death’s door, and though we snatched him back once, we mightn’t be so lucky again.”
    If she once more told him how close he’d come to death, Jury swore he’d hit her. Having been saved by so slight a margin, the unfortunate patient would feel that margin vanish in a moment. “Not out of the woods yet, my lad. So you’d better say an extra prayer tonight.”
    Melrose said, “That’s ridiculous. He’s never looked healthier. It looks as if he’d hardly got shot at all. It’s your brilliant care of him.”
    That put Nurse Bell on the horns of a dilemma. She certainly did not want her role diminished. “Even the best of care can’t guarantee a patient will make it.”
    Jury, Melrose and Wiggins sighed.

SIX
    V ernon Rice “did” money all right. He had his own investment firm in the City and moved a lot of money around, both for himself and his clients. He liked start-ups; however, he would warn his clients away from volatile-looking ones, but they didn’t always take his advice. It astonished him how reckless people were with their money, how eager to part with it at first sniff of something that looked promising (but