The Price of Murder sjf-10

by Bruce Alexander

  He then called to the clerk behind the desk, claiming his room, and ran out to tend to his horses. Well then, thought I, dawn it would be then for me-though Mr. Patley will no doubt be disappointed.

  Yet he wasn’t, not in the least: “Oh no, I’m not surprised-and therefore I ain’t disappointed. He’s a real horseman, he is. Most of your lords and your gentry and whatnot, they have no sense of how to treat a horse. First rule we learned in the army was, take care of your horse’s needs, and after he’s been looked after, then-and only then-you take care of yourself.”

  I had entered the tap-room to find him at a table near a window. There were two dark ales upon the table, a small loaf, and a big chunk of Stilton cheese. He looked as pleased and contented as I had ever seen him. He beckoned me over to him and gestured grandly at the bread and cheese, as if to say that that should hold us till dinner time. ’Twas then I told him of my meeting with Mr. Deuteronomy, expecting a howl of frustration in response and getting instead the well-reasoned lecture on the necessity of caring first for the horses.

  That I have quoted to you already, reader, yet what I have not told is that, having said his piece, he became, all of a sudden, most interested in something or someone just beyond the window. He stared. Then did he rub his chin and stare once again.

  “By God,” said he aloud yet to himself, “I believe it’s her. I really do believe it’s her.”

  Then did my own eyes turn most immediate to the crowd outside the window. “Where?” said I. “Which one? You mean Alice Plummer, don’t you?”

  Yet Constable Patley was already on his feet and running out the door. I pursued him, hesitating just long enough to tell the serving woman to leave all upon the table, for we would be back.

  But when?

  SEVEN

  In which our luck goes down and up in the next few days

  I rushed out the inn expecting to find Mr. Patley in hot pursuit of Alice Plummer, yet found him just beyond the door, standing, looking about scratching his head. He’d been flummoxed, confused utterly by the great number of women he saw. They were all, it seemed, heading off in three or four different directions, but in general, most moved toward the race course, whence we had just come. Oh, there were men, as well, as many or more than the women. But just at that moment, since it was a woman we searched for, there seemed to be a superabundance of them about. I approached Mr. Patley warily, for he seemed at that moment to be reasoning out in which direction she might have gone. I stood beside him, hesitating. At last, feeling I could wait no longer, I spoke up.

  “Constable Patley,” said I, “was it Alice Plummer you spied through the window?”

  “What? Oh yes, indeed it was. I seen her a number of times round Seven Dials. I’m just sure it was her. And of course when she reported her little girl missing, too.”

  “How was she dressed? What was she wearing?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that.” And that he proceeded to do, placing a hand over his eyes that he might better concentrate. “Truth of it is, I was looking at her face and not at her clothes, but it seems to me that her dress was a sort of dark red going into blue. Plum-colored, you might call it.”

  “That’s a pretty rare color for a dress. Why don’t you go off in one way, and I’ll take another, and let’s see if we can’t find her.”

  “But you don’t even know what she looks like,” he objected.

  “That may be,” said I, “but I know what color her dress is. I’ll just stop every woman in a plum-colored dress and ask if her name is Alice Plummer. There couldn’t be too many in such a color.”

  “I s’pose not.”

  And so it was agreed. He would follow the crowd moving off toward the right, and I the column moving along to the left. We would mix all through and keep our eyes open for the dress of the right color. We would keep going in such a manner until we met at the place where we had viewed the horses out upon the track. If, after a few minutes’ wait, we failed to meet there, then we would go back the way we had come and meet again at the tap-room of the Good Queen Bess. We started upon our separate ways.

  Like so many things in life, this plan, so simple in the telling, proved much more difficult in its execution. The chief problem lay in the number of individuals to be struggled through, around, and, ultimately, past. The inertia of the crowd resisted and dominated my every push and squeeze, so that I could finally do little more than find a place and move my feet along at the same rate as the rest. In this way, I reached the rail fence at approximately the same point that we had left earlier. There I waited, quite exhausted by my struggles against the multitude.

  Needless to say, I saw no woman in a plum-colored dress.

  Whilst resting against the fence, I became aware that, when I left it, I would have to struggle up the hill against the tide, which would be even more difficult. I decided to wait a bit longer for Constable Patley-at least as long as it took for the sweat to dry upon my brow.

  I gave my attention to the horses out upon the course. They were still out there, learning the ups and downs, the jumps and full-out gallops. And of course the second-rank was there still, following at a respectful trot; and if anything, its number had grown.

  Of the owners there was little more to say. They were yet standing, spy-glasses in hand; their number had also grown-or so it seemed. One of them looked quite familiar, a newcomer, I was sure. He was as well-dressed as any in that line of observers, but fat enough that he had wisely avoided the roof of his coach; if he had managed to climb up upon it, the weight of him might indeed have collapsed it. And so, he stood at the rail not much more than ten feet away. Who was he? I knew that I had seen him before my arrival at Newmarket. As I studied him, I even recalled the sound of his voice-a sort of whining drawl that perfectly matched his rude manner. Then I had it! He was the owner of Pegasus and the employer of Deuteronomy Plummer. I knew him not by name but by title-Lord Lamford he was, and a less likeable man I had never met. I looked round him and saw no sign of Mr. Deuteronomy about, and that was just as well, it seemed to me, for if he were, I’d feel obliged to speak to him, and that seemed wrong here and now.

  Ah well, said I to myself, there’s naught for me to do but return to the Good Queen Bess and the tankard of flat ale which awaited me there. Taking one last look about for Mr. Patley and failing to see him, I plunged ahead into the great crowd and kept an eye open for any color that might be judged plum. Thus did I reach the inn at the top of the hill.

  Entering the tap-room, I found the constable sitting where he had formerly sat, a new tankard of ale before him, and deep in talk with the serving woman. As I took my place at the table, he ended his conversation and asked for a fresh ale “for my young friend.” Then did he push the plate of bread and cheese toward me.

  “I fear I’ve had more than my share,” said he. “We can order some more, if you want it.”

  I could not but notice that Patley seemed far more rested and relaxed than I. How long could he have sat here talking with the serving woman? Could he really have made the same arduous journey that I had just made? Yet, just as I was searching for the right words with which to express my doubts to him, the serving woman returned with my dark ale. After I sweated the way to the race course and back, I confess, my thirst was so great that I quaffed off half the tankard in a few gulps. Then did I dig into the Stilton, slicing off a generous chunk and piling it upon the bread. That took some chewing, and as I chewed, I thought, and by the time I finished it, I had devised my approach.

  “Mr. Patley,” said I, “you must have reached the rail fence round the race course long before I did-been there and gone. Sorry to have missed you, but I was wondering: did you happen to notice Lord Lamford there?”

  “Uh, no, I can’t say as I did,” he replied uneasily.

  “I was going to ask if you’d seen Mr. Deuteronomy with him. But of course, if you didn’t see Lord Lamford, then you couldn’t have seen Deuteronomy with him, now could you?”
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  “Well. . yes, that’s good thinking on your part, Jeremy.”

  I gave him a look of a certain kind. I tucked in my chin and gave him a frown. I’d meant it to seem dubious, suspicious, and it must have, for it wrung from him this confession:

  “I suppose I really ought to tell you, Jeremy, old friend, that I never really made it down as far as the rail fence.”

  “Oh? And how did that come about, Mr. Patley?”

  “Well, you see, it’s like this,” said he, “here I was, pushing and shoving my way through this great bunch of people, and I wasn’t getting nowhere at all. But I kep’ going and looking for that woman in the plum-colored dress. Oh, I looked and looked, but I never did see anyone in a dress of such a color-and then it did come to me. Alice Plummer wasn’t in such a dress when I glimpsed her from this very chair I’m sittin’ in now. Oh no, it wasn’t plum-colored, it was blue-teal blue is what it was. All of a sudden, I was just sure of it. And it wouldn’t have done any good at all to start looking for her, for I must have let pass about a dozen or more just the little ways I’d gone.”

  “Oh,” said I, “I must have let twice that number go by.”

  “Well, there you are,” said he. “It’s an altogether common sort of dress in a common sort of color.”

  “But I went all the way down there for no purpose at all, didn’t I, Mr. Patley?”

  He hesitated for a long moment. “I wouldn’t say it was for no purpose at all,” said he.

  “Oh? And how is that, sir?”

  “At least we know she’s here in Newmarket, don’t we?”

  When the knock came upon the door, I bounded out of bed, ready to greet the day, even though a glance out the window gave proof that it must still be night. I had asked that I be knocked up at five. Had they made it four just to give me an early start? No matter, though, whatever the hour, I was well awake and ready for the day. I gave Patley a shake and received only groaning mumbles for my trouble. Ah well, let him sleep, if sleep he must. Then did I empty my bladder and begin my morning ritual-taking care to wash well and to dress warmly. Yet I’d a feeling that I must leave a reminder of some sort for Mr. Patley. I gave him another shake.

  “Mr. Patley,” said I, “can you hear me?”

  Again the groans and the mumbles; there was, nevertheless, a sort of affirmative sound to them.

  “I’m going down to the track now. If you wish to meet Mr. Deuteronomy, come down there quickly as you can. I can’t say when I’ll return. But I’ll look for you in the tap-room when I come back.”

  Was all that clear to him? I hoped it was. Yet that single grunt I received in response was anything but encouraging. And so, having no better thought, I hurriedly wrote a brief note in which I said much the same thing as I had just spoken in his ear. I propped it against the candle and blew the candle out. I recall my surprise that at that moment the room was not, of a sudden, plunged into complete darkness; the dawning of a new day had begun.

  Downstairs in the lobby the standing clock in the corner said that it was near half past five. Had I taken so long to wash and dress?

  “Can I get a cup of coffee in the tap-room?” I asked the fellow behind the desk.

  At that he barked a laugh. “At this hour? Not the least chance, I fear. The tap-room opens at seven.”

  I nodded and headed for the door. There I paused and turned back to him.

  “Has Mr. Deuteronomy Plummer left yet?”

  “You mean the small fellow? Oh, you may be sure of it. ’Twas near an hour ago, I should say.”

  Again I nodded as I threw open the door and left.

  It was cold out there. I pulled up the collar of my coat and thrust my hands deep into my pockets. Starting off along the same route I had walked the day before, I thanked God for all the threats and pleas that Clarissa had used to force me to bring along the waistcoat that now kept my chest properly warm. Then did she press her entreaties on the matter of the wager, as she repeated to me her formula-“favorable odds and the right attitude”-as a sort of incantation.

  Yesterday evening, as Constable Patley and I ate dinner in the tap-room, I described to him in general terms (not mentioning Clarissa) the nature of my problem. He listened, nodding, rubbing his unshaven chin, as I explained all as best I could, even repeating to him her magic formula.

  “‘Favorable odds and the right attitude,’ is it?” said he. “And what might the right attitude be?”

  “Prayerful,” said I.

  He laughed at that, but then said that it was as good as many he had heard of.

  “Do you mean I should do just as this person has asked?”

  “Well now I didn’t say that, did I?” He paused, taking a moment to consider the matter. Then: “Here’s how an experienced bettor would handle the problem. First of all, if the person you describe entrusted you with money and those instructions, I’d say you had an obligation to do it just that way-with that person’s money.”

  “But Mr. Patley!”

  “No, hear me out, Jeremy. What an experienced bettor would do is use his own money to hedge the bet he’d made for the other person.”

  “Hedge the bet?” said I. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you put the money on the safest bet you can make-a sure win, if there is such a thing. That way you’ve more or less insured the loss of the money bet at favorable odds. Of course, the safe bet you make to hedge the other one won’t pay near as well because everybody else will be betting him, too. But it’ll probably pay off just enough. You’ll be covered against the loss, you see?”

  Indeed I did see. “It sounds to me like the only sensible way to bet.”

  Patley let that stand for a moment or two, though it was clear that he was made a bit uncomfortable by it. But then did he come out with this. “Sensible it may be, but if a body was sensible, he wouldn’t be betting in the first place. Betting is, well, it’s having an inspiration. It’s having a thunderbolt hit you so that you know this is the one! You don’t look at the odds. You don’t worry about how the horse has done in past races. You just know this is the horse that’s going to win today!” It sounded almost like poetry the way he said it then-and perhaps it was a kind of poetry to him. But he did add: “Most of the time it’s just money thrown away when you bet like that. Ah, but once in a while it happens just the way your vision said it would-and what you’ve won is not just a bet, it’s letting you believe your life’s going to get better, that maybe you’ll win all in the end.”

  I knew not quite how to take that, and so I did no more than nod and say rather timidly, “Thank you for telling me about hedging bets. That should solve the problem nicely.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  We parted shortly afterward-I to our room, where I read myself to sleep, and he to join the group at the bar, men who, like us, had come up from London. I marveled at his endurance, yet then reminded myself that he had slept the distance from just outside London all the way to Cambridge-and I, of course, had not.

  It was still quite gray by the time I reached the race course. Indeed, I wondered, from the look of the sky, if it might not rain that day. (It did not.) There was one man alone who stood hunched over the rail. Even from behind-perhaps specially so-I could tell that the on-looker was not Lord Lamford. It was not, however, till he turned round and I saw his face that I recognized him from Shepherd’s Bush on Easter Sunday, one of those who tended Pegasus following the race. I gave him a greeting and received one in return; then did I settle myself relatively near the fellow but made no attempt to question him nor start a conversation with him. We simply watched at some distance, one from the other.

  What we saw surprised me somewhat, for, though at a considerable remove, Mr. Deuteronomy and Pegasus were nevertheless visible in the still-dim light. Yet the surprise was that, though the horse was saddled, the jockey led him by the reins at a slow pace that was comfortable to them both. I watched, fascinated, for he seemed to be communicating as they walked. Were his lips movi
ng? They seemed to be; if so, he was communicating directly with Pegasus, for there was no one about at his end of the track to whom he might be speaking. Here and there he took the trouble to point things out along the way. I cannot say that the horse understood, but he certainly gave Mr. Deuteronomy his full attention. I watched them so for some minutes; then, unable to contain myself further, I put to my companion at the rail a question.

  “Do my eyes deceive me,” said I, “or is Mr. Deuteronomy actually talking to Pegasus?

  “Yes, that’s what he’s doing, pointing things to watch out for along the way, and where they might speed up, and so on.”

  “And does the horse. .”

  “Does he understand? Yes, I’d say he does. Deuteronomy, he’s got a special talent with them animals. I never seen nothin’ like it in my life before.”

  Nor had I. The question that came to me, however, was whether the “special talent” was Mr. Deuteronomy’s or the horse’s. It would be difficult to say.

  “Pegasus won’t let nobody but him on his back,” said my companion. “He’ll let me lead him, saddle him, rub him down to dry him off, all of that, but I dare not sit on his back.”

  “That is indeed interesting,” said I, “Mr. . Mr. . ”

  “Bennett. And you’d be young Mr. Proctor, I s’pose. Deuteronomy said you’d be coming by early.”

  So this was the Bennett who had brought the pistol to the gunsmith Joseph Griffin. I would know what Deuteronomy had asked him. Later.

  He pulled from his pocket a collapsed spy-glass and offered it to me.

  “Here,” said he. “It’s getting lighter. You might want to take a look through this.”

  I accepted it with thanks, opened it up, and peered through it. It only tended to confirm what my unaided eyes had suggested. Mr. Deuteronomy kept up a fairly constant chatter with Pegasus at his side. Indeed, through the spy-glass, the image of the jockey came through so plain that, were I a lip-reader, I am sure that I could have caught every word he spoke, all at a distance of a furlong or more. I wondered what he spoke. Which is to say, did Pegasus understand the King’s English, or did the two have a separate language between them? I entertained that thought, and others no less fanciful, whilst I studied the horse and the man approaching. I returned the spy-glass to Mr. Bennett just as the two arrived at our vantage point. He ducked under the rail and gave Mr. Deuteronomy a leg up that he might mount Pegasus. The jockey spoke his thanks politely to Bennett; to me, he gave only a nod. Then did the two, horse and man, start off on a tour of the course.