It was a noisy evening in the Commercial Room at the “Crown”. Chaff and laughter flew thick, and Richard Telfer threatened Naylor with a terrible settling day. More was drunk than thirst strictly justified, and everybody grew friendly with everybody else. Dorrington, sober and keenly alert, affected the reverse, and exhibited especial and extreme affection for Mr. Bob Naylor. His advances were unsuccessful at first, but Dorrington’s manner and the ‘Crown” whisky overcame the bookmaker’s reserve, and at about eleven o’clock the two left the house arm in arm for a cooling stroll in the High Street. Dorrington blabbed and chattered with great success, and soon began about Janissary.
“So you’ve pretty well done all you want with Janissary, eh? Book full? Ah! Nothing like keeping a book even all round—it’s the safest way—’specially with such a colt as Janissary about. Eh, my boy?” He nudged Naylor genially. “Ah! No doubt it’s a good colt, but old Telfer has rum notions about preparation, hasn’t he?”
“I dunno,” replied Naylor. “How do you mean?”
“Why, what does he have the horse led up and down behind the stable for, half an hour every afternoon?”
“Didn’t know he did.”
“Ah! But he does. I came across it only this afternoon. I was coming over the downs, and just as I got round behind Telfer’s stables there I saw a fine bay colt, with a white stocking on the off hind leg, well covered up in a suit of clothes, being led up and down by a lad, like a sentry—up and down, up and down—about twenty yards each way, and nobody else about. ‘Hullo!’ says I to the lad, ‘hullo! What horse is this?’ ‘Janissary,’ says the boy—pretty free for a stable-lad. ‘Ah!’ says I. ‘And what are you walking him like that for?’ ‘Dunno,’ says the boy, ‘but it’s gov’nor’s orders. Every afternoon, at two to the minute, I have to bring him out here and walk him like this for half an hour exactly, neither more or less, and then he goes in and has a handful of malt. But I dunno why.’ ‘Well,’ says I, ‘I never heard of that being done before. But he’s a fine colt,’ and I put my hand under the cloth and felt him—hard as nails and smooth as silk.”
“And the boy let you touch him?”
“Yes; he struck me as a bit easy for a stable-boy. But it’s an odd trick, isn’t it, that of the half-hour’s walk and the handful of malt? Never hear of anybody else doing it, did you?”
“No, I never did.”
They talked and strolled for another quarter of an hour and then finished up with one more drink.
IV.
THE next was the day before the race, and in the morning Dorrington, making a circuit, came to Mr. Warren Telfer’s from the farther side. As soon as they were assured of privacy: “Have you seen the man with the red beard this morning?” asked Dorrington.
“No; I looked out pretty sharply, too.”
“That’s right. If you like to fall in with my suggestions, however, you shall see him at about two o’clock, and take a handsome rise out of him.”
“Very well,” Mr. Telfer replied. “What’s your suggestion?”
“I’ll tell you. In the first place, what’s the value of that other horse that looks so like Janissary?”
“Hamid is his name. He’s worth—well, what he will fetch. I’ll sell him for fifty and be glad of the chance.”
“Very good. Then you’ll no doubt be glad to risk his health temporarily to make sure of the Redbury Stakes, and to get longer prices for anything you may like to put on between now and tomorrow afternoon. Come to the stables and I’ll tell you. But first, is there a place where we may command a view of the ground behind the stables without being seen?”
“Yes, there’s a ventilation grating at the back of each stall.”
“Good! Then we’ll watch from Hamid’s stall, which will be empty. Select your most wooden-faced and most careful boy, and send him out behind the stable with Hamid at two o’clock to the moment. Put the horse in a full suit of clothes—it is necessary to cover up that white star—and tell the lad he must lead it up and down slowly for twenty yards or so. I rather expect the red-bearded man will be coming along between two o’clock and half-past two. You will understand that Hamid is to be Janissary for the occasion. You must drill your boy to appear a bit of a fool, and to overcome his stable education sufficiently to chatter freely—so long as it is the proper chatter. The man may ask the horse’s name, or he may not. Anyway, the boy mustn’t forget it is Janissary he is leading. You have an odd fad, you must know (and the boy must know it too) in the matter of training. This ridiculous fad is to have your colt walked up and down for half an hour exactly at two o’clock every afternoon, and then given a handful of malt as he comes in. The boy can talk as freely about this as he pleases, and also about the colt’s chances, and anything else he likes; and he is to let the stranger come up, talk to the horse, pat him in short, to do as he pleases. Is that plain?”
“Perfectly. You have found out something about this red-bearded chap then?”
“Oh, yes—it’s Naylor the bookmaker, as a matter of fact, with a false beard.”
“What! Naylor?”
“Yes. You see the idea, of course. Once Naylor thinks he has nobbled the favourite he will lay it to any extent, and the odds will get longer. Then you can make him pay for his little games.”
“Well, yes, of course. Though I wouldn’t put too much with Naylor in any case. He’s not a big man, and he might break and lose me the lot. But I can get it out of the others.”
“Just so. You’d better see about schooling your boy now, I think. I’ll tell you more presently.”
A minute or two before two o’clock Dorrington and Telfer, mounted on a pair of steps, were gazing through the ventilation grating of Hamid’s stall, while the colt, clothed completely, was led around. Then Dorrington described his operations of the previous evening.
“No matter what he may think of my tale,” he said “Naylor will be pretty sure to come. He has tried to bribe your stablemen, and has been baffled. Every attempt to get hold of the boy in charge of Janissary has failed, and he will be glad to clutch at any shadow of a chance to save his money now. Once he is here, and the favourite apparently at his mercy, the thing is done. By the way, I expect your nephew’s little present to the man you sacked was a fairly innocent one. No doubt he merely asked the man whether Janissary was keeping well, and was thought good enough to win, for I find he is backing it pretty heavily. Naylor came afterwards, with much less innocent intentions, but fortunately you were down on him in time. Several considerations induced me to go to Naylor’s room. In the first place, I have heard rather shady tales of his doings on one or two occasions, and he did not seem a sufficiently big man to stand to lose a great deal over your horse. Then, when I saw him, I observed that his figure bore a considerable resemblance to that of the man you had described, except as regards the red beard and the spectacles—articles easily enough assumed, and, indeed, often enough used by the scum of the ring whose trade is welshing. And, apart from these considerations, here, at any rate, was one man who had an interest in keeping your colt from winning, and here was his room waiting for me to explore. So I explored it, and the card turned up trumps.”
As he was speaking, the stable-boy, a stolid-looking youngster, was leading Hamid back and forth on the turf before their eyes.
“There’s somebody,” said Dorrington suddenly, “over in that clump of trees. Yes—our man, sure enough. I felt pretty sure of him after you had told me that he hadn’t thought it worth while to turn up this morning. Here he comes.”
Naylor, with his red beard sticking out over the collar of his big coat, came slouching along with an awkwardly assumed air of carelessness and absence of mind.
“Hullo!” he said suddenly, as he came abreast of the horse, turning as though but now aware of its presence, “that’s a valuable sort of horse, ain’t it, my lad?”
“Yes,” said the boy, “it is. He’s
goin’ to win the Redbury Stakes tomorrow. It’s Janissary.”
“Oh! Janey Sairey, is it?” Naylor answered, with a quaint affectation of gaping ignorance. “Janey Sairey, eh? Well, she do look a fine ’orse, what I can see of ’er. What a suit o’ clo’es! An’ so she’s one o’ the ’orses that runs in races, is she? Well, I never! Pretty much like other ’orses, too, to look at, ain’t she? Only a bit thin in the legs.”
The boy stood carelessly by the colt’s side, and the man approached. His hand came quickly from an inner pocket, and then he passed it under Hamid’s cloths, near the shoulder. “Ah, it do feel a lovely skin, to be sure!” he said. “An’ so there’s goin’ to be races at Redbury tomorrow, is there? I dunno anythin’ about races myself, an’— Oo my!”
Naylor sprang back as the horse, flinging back its ears, started suddenly, swung round, and reared. “Lor,” he said, “what a vicious brute! Jist because I stroked her! I’ll be careful about touching racehorses again.” His hand passed stealthily to the pocket again, and he hurried on his way, while the stable-boy steadied and soothed Hamid.
Telfer and Dorrington sniggered quietly in their concealment. “He’s taken a deal of trouble, hasn’t he?” Dorrington remarked. “It’s a sad case of the biter bit for Mr. Naylor, I’m afraid. That was a prick the colt felt—hypodermic injection with the syringe I saw in the bag, no doubt. The boy won’t be such a fool as to come in again at once, will he? If Naylor’s taking a look back from anywhere, that may make him suspicious.”
“No fear. I’ve told him to keep out for the half-hour, and he’ll do it. Dear, dear, what an innocent person Mr. Bob Naylor is! ‘Well, I never! Pretty much like other horses!’ He didn’t know there were to be races at Redbury! ‘Janey Sairey,’ too—it’s really very funny!”
Ere the half-hour was quite over, Hamid came stumbling and dragging into the stable yard, plainly all amiss, and collapsed on his litter as soon as he gained his stall. There he lay, shivering and drowsy.
“I expect he’ll get over it in a day or two,” Dorrington remarked. “I don’t suppose a vet could do much for him just now, except, perhaps, give him a drench and let him take a rest. Certainly, the effect will last over tomorrow. That’s what it is calculated for.”
V.
THE Redbury Stakes were run at three in the afternoon, after two or three minor events had been disposed of. The betting had undergone considerable fluctuations during the morning, but in general it ruled heavily against Janissary. The story had got about, too, that Mr. Warren Telfer’s colt would not start. So that when the numbers went up, and it was seen that Janissary was starting after all, there was much astonishment, and a good deal of uneasiness in the ring.
“It’s a pity we can’t see our friend Naylor’s face just now, isn’t it?” Dorrington remarked to his client, as they looked on from Mr. Telfer’s drag.
“Yes; it would be interesting,” Telfer replied. “He was quite confident last night, you say.”
“Quite. I tested him by an offer of a small bet on your colt, asking some points over the odds, and he took it at once. Indeed, I believe he has been going about gathering up all the wagers he could about Janissary, and the market has felt it. Your nephew has risked some more with him, I believe, and altogether it looks as though the town would spoil the ‘bookies’ badly.”
As the horses came from the weighing enclosure, Janissary was seen conspicuous among them, bright, clean, and firm, and a good many faces lengthened at the sight. The start was not so good as it might have been, but the favourite (the starting-price had gone to evens) was not left, and got away well in the crowd of ten starters. There he lay till rounding the bend, when the Telfer blue and chocolate was seen among the foremost, and near the rails. Mr. Telfer almost trembled as he watched through his glasses.
“Hang that Willett!” he said, almost to himself. “He’s too clever against those rails before getting clear. All right, though, all right! He’s coming!”
Janissary, indeed, was showing in front, and as the horses came along the straight it was plain that Mr. Telfer’s colt was holding the field comfortably. There were changes in the crowd; some dropped away, some came out and attempted to challenge for the lead, but the favourite, striding easily, was never seriously threatened, and in the end, being a little let out, came in a three-lengths winner, never once having been made to show his best.
“I congratulate you, Mr. Telfer,” said Dorrington, “and you may congratulate me.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Mr. Telfer hastily, hurrying off to lead in the winner.
It was a bad race for the ring, and in the open parts of the course many a humble fielder grabbed his satchel ere the shouting was over, and made his best pace for the horizon; and more than one pair of false whiskers, as red as Naylor’s, came off suddenly while the owner betook himself to a fresh stand. Unless a good many outsiders sailed home before the end of the week there would be a bad Monday for layers. But all sporting Redbury was jubilant. They had all been “on” the local favourite for the local race, and it had won.
VI.
MR. Bob Naylor “got a bit back”, in his own phrase, on other races by the end of the week, but all the same he saw a black settling day ahead. He had been done—done for a certainty. He had realized this as soon as he saw the numbers go up for the Redbury Stakes. Janissary had not been drugged after all. That meant that another horse had been substituted for him, and that the whole thing was an elaborate plant. He thought he knew Janissary pretty well by sight, too, and rather prided himself on having an eye for a horse. But clearly it was a plant—a complete do. Telfer was in it, and so of course was that gentlemanly stranger who had strolled along Redbury High Street with him that night, telling that cock-and-bull story about the afternoon walks and the handful of malt. There was a nice schoolboy tale to take in a man who thought himself broad as Cheapside! He cursed himself high and low. To be done, and to know it, was a galling thing, but this would be worse. The tale would get about. They would boast of a clever stroke like that, and that would injure him with everybody; with honest men, because his reputation, as it was, would bear no worsening, and with knaves like himself, because they would laugh at him, and leave him out when any little co-operative swindle was in contemplation. But though the chagrin of the defeat was bitter bad enough, his losses were worse. He had taken everything offered on Janissary after he had nobbled the wrong horse, and had given almost any odds demanded. Do as he might, he could see nothing but a balance against him on Monday, which, though he might pay out his last cent, he could not cover by several hundred pounds.
But on the day he met his customers at his club, as usual, and paid out freely. Young Richard Telfer, however, with whom he was heavily “in”, he put off till the evening. “I’ve been a bit disappointed this morning over some ready that was to be paid over,” he said, “and I’ve used the last cheque-form in my book. You might come and have a bit of dinner with me tonight, Mr. Telfer, and take it then.”
Telfer assented without difficulty.
“All right, then, that’s settled. You know the place—Gold Street. Seven sharp. The missis’ll be pleased to see you, I’m sure, Mr. Telfer. Let’s see—it’s fifteen hundred and thirty altogether, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s it. I’ll come.”
Young Telfer left the club, and at the corner of the street ran against Dorrington. Telfer, of course, knew him as his late fellow-guest at the “Crown” at Redbury, and this was their first meeting in London after their return from the races.
“Ah!” said Telfer. “Going to draw a bit of Janissary money, eh?”
“Oh, I haven’t much to draw,” Dorrington answered. “But I expect your pockets are pretty heavy, if you’ve just come from Naylor.”
“Yes, I’ve just come from Naylor, but I haven’t touched the merry sovs just yet,” replied Telfer cheerfully. “There’s been a run on Naylor, and I’
m going to dine with him and his respectable missis this evening, and draw the plunder then. I feel rather curious to see what sort of establishment a man like Naylor keeps going. His place is in Gold Street, Chelsea.”
“Yes, I believe so. Anyhow, I congratulate you on your haul, and wish you a merry evening.” And the two men parted.
Dorrington had, indeed, a few pounds to draw as a result of his “fishing” bet with Naylor, but now he resolved to ask for the money at his own time. This invitation to Telfer took his attention, and it reminded him oddly of the circumstances detailed in the report of the inquest on Lawrence, transcribed at the beginning of this paper. He had cut out this report at the time it appeared, because he saw certain singularities about the case, and he had filed it, as he had done hundred of other such cuttings. And now certain things led him to fancy that he might be much interested to observe the proceedings at Naylor’s house on the evening after a bad settling-day. He resolved to gratify himself with a strict professional watch in Gold Street that evening, on chance of something coming of it. For it was an important thing in Dorrington’s rascally trade to get hold of as much of other people’s private business as possible, and to know exactly in what cupboard to find every man’s skeleton. For there was no knowing but it might be turned into money sooner or later. So he found the number of Naylor’s house from the handiest directory, and at six o’clock, a little disguised by a humbler style of dress than usual, he began his watch.
The Victorian Villains Megapack Page 6