The Phar Lap Mystery

by Sophie Masson

  I wrote letters to Lizzie and Billy this afternoon all about it. I bet their eyes will pop out of their heads when they read them!

  March 18

  This afternoon, I was in a smart millinery shop in Tijuana looking at hats with Miss O’Brien and Mrs Riley (she is buying a new hat for the races) when a big car drew up outside. A lady dressed all in black and wearing a hat with a veil stepped out of it. Moments later she and another woman, a maid by the look of her, came into the shop. Now, Mexican ladies in black, veiled or not, aren’t an uncommon sight, but what really made me stare was when the lady lifted her veil to examine a hat brought out for her, and I saw her face.

  I knew I’d seen that face before. But I couldn’t for the life of me think where. It was a lovely face, heart-shaped, with ivory skin, red lips and big dark eyes, all framed by black wavy hair. I must have been staring, for she turned her head slightly and caught my eye. She gave a little smile, and said softly, ‘Buenos dias, Senorita.’

  I know enough Spanish now to know that means ‘Good day, miss,’ so I said, ‘Good day, ma’am,’ and then she smiled again and turned back to the milliner, who was shooting me a bit of a glare for distracting her customer.

  Miss O’Brien and Mrs Riley, who’d been trying on hats in front of the mirror, called me over and asked who I’d been speaking to. I said I didn’t know, but I thought I had seen her somewhere. Mrs Riley said maybe she was a film star and I’d seen her in the paper. ‘Maybe,’ I said, though Miss O’Brien said she thought the lady looked more like a Mexican aristocrat. By that time the lady had chosen her new hat and lowered her veil with her fine kid gloves, and was walking out of the shop with her maid at her heels carrying the hat-box. I was still racking my brain, trying to think where I might have seen her before. Still puzzled, I watched her through the shop window. As she was about to get into her car, the man I saw yesterday (the one I thought looked like Jimmy Cagney but who Dad said was likely ‘The Brazilian’) suddenly came into view, hurrying down the street. He almost ran into her, and I saw him raise his hat in apology. She gave a little nod of the head, and got into the car without a word. He stood there for an instant, watching the big car draw away from the kerb, then walked off. And it was then that it suddenly hit me. I gave a little frightened squeak. ‘Oh my God …’

  ‘What is it?’ said Miss O’Brien sharply.

  I pointed out of the window. They peered out. Mrs Riley said, ‘It’s that man, that Brazilian or whoever he is that Charlie said was—’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Not him. I mean, he just made me think of … of someone else. Of Jack Hardy.’ My heart thumped. ‘The lady—the one who was in here before—oh, Miss O’Brien, I think that was—that was Mrs Bryant!’

  ‘Who?’ said Mrs Riley, in a baffled voice.

  But Miss O’Brien had read Dad’s report. She knew what he had concluded. She went pale. ‘The wife of the man Charlie thinks set up the attempts on Phar Lap? Are you sure, Sally?’

  ‘I—I think so. Dad showed me her picture in the paper, you see. Dad said they’d gone abroad—that she was Spanish. We thought they’d gone to Spain because that neighbour said so.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, staring at me. ‘But you’re thinking what if that was a mistake—an assumption. What if she was Mexican, and it was here they came, not Spain at all. They speak Spanish here, after all—easy mistake to make.’

  ‘What on earth is—’ began Mrs Riley, but I interrupted her.

  ‘Oh, Miss O’Brien, what are we going to do? What if … what if he should try again? There are so many gangsters here, he could easily pay one of them to do it! We’ve got to stop him!’

  ‘Yes. We’ll have to tell your father at once. He has to tell Mr Davis and—Oh.’ She broke off suddenly, her expression changing. ‘Wait a second.’ She walked over to the counter and spoke to the milliner. ‘Excuse me, can you tell me … the lady who was here just before—who was she?’

  ‘You mean Senora Bryant?’ said the milliner, in an American drawl. We all looked at each other. ‘Her father, Senor Santiago, owns a ranch some distance from Tijuana,’ she went on. ‘She married a foreigner—an Australian, was it, or an Austrian?—and lived abroad for many years. But last year she came back with her husband.’

  Miss O’Brien nodded. I held my breath. ‘She—she is in mourning, is she not? Is it her father who …’

  ‘No, no. Poor lady, it’s her husband. He dropped dead of a heart attack two months ago in their apartment in San Francisco,’ said the milliner, shaking her head. She leaned forward, enjoying the gossip. ‘He was a lot older than her, of course, and not an easy man, I believe. He suffered from a weak heart—but still, such a shock for the poor Senora, who was most grief-stricken. I am glad to see she is beginning to emerge into society again. In fact, she’ll be attending the races this week.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course,’ agreed Miss O’Brien, but in her eyes I read the same feeling as I’m afraid must have shown in mine. Relief. Pure relief. It was strange and ironic, as Miss O’Brien put it, that Mrs Bryant should be Mexican, of all things—but now that Mr Bryant and Hardy were both dead, there was no danger from that quarter any more. No way that horrible man Bryant could harm Phar Lap ever, ever again. It was over, thank God.

  Which was exactly what Dad said when we told him. He was astonished by the strange coincidence, but mighty relieved that there wasn’t one more thing to worry about. For though the Bryant case is finished now, there are still plenty of other quarters danger could come from. Tonight he and Mr Riley are staying at the stable, with the guards and Tommy Woodcock and the others. No-one’s going to get a wink of sleep, making sure no-one comes anywhere near Bobby.

  March 19

  Another tense day. But nothing happened of any note, except that we saw Mr Wolfe, who told us about the opening of the Sydney Harbour Bridge (he’d heard about it by cable from Australia). There were big crowds there apparently, and there was a bit of drama when some silly man on a horse rushed up and cut the ribbon before the Premier could do it! Anyway, it’s open now. It’s funny to think that now you could look out from Miss O’Brien’s window on to the finished thing. They’d been working on it for so long it was like it would always be like that.

  I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep tonight, I’m so jumpy and excited!

  March 20

  YES! HE DID IT! HE REALLY DID IT! HE IS THE CHAMPION OF THE WORLD! THE WORLD’S BEST HORSE, EVER!

  My throat is hoarse from shouting, my hands are raw from clapping, and my heart is still racing from the thrill of it. It was amazing. Amazing!

  It seemed like ages before the race started, because the one he was in, the Agua Caliente Handicap, was only the twelfth of fifteen races run today, but he was brought on the field to parade first and everyone flocked to see him, ignoring the race being run at that moment. Phar Lap looked so calm and perky, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, but it wasn’t the same thing at all for everyone else. Mr Woodcock was drawn and tense, and Mr Elliott was muttering that he was worried about how Phar Lap would react to the barrier (it was his first time starting from one). Mr Nielsen and Mr Martin were jumpy as anything. Mr Davis wandered aimlessly, while Mrs Davis, smart in beret and fur-collared coat, was so nervous I think she didn’t even recognise us when we said good day to her!

  Meanwhile Dad and Mr Riley were circulating, keeping an eye on the crowd. It was quite a job, because not only were there lots of toughs and suspicious-looking types, but thousands and thousands of respectable racegoers. I even caught a glimpse of Mrs Bryant, still in black but with her jaunty new hat, leaning on the arm of a silver-haired man who must be her father. The grandstand was full to bursting, and everywhere around it crowds of men in straw boaters and ladies in pretty frocks were pressed up against the fences and making so much noise it sounded like the sea breaking against rocks.

  It was a beautiful afternoon, but a bit chilly, with a breeze blowing in from the desert and the flags and banners of horse-owners fluttering ch
eerfully from the poles. There were thousands of cars parked outside and light planes disgorging passengers who had come just for the day! We heard accents from everywhere—Americans, English, Mexicans, Europeans, even a few Aussies! Reporters were everywhere—we spotted Mr Wolfe at one stage, scurrying madly around, talking to people, notebook at the ready—and so were photographers, and scores of movie cameras were filming the scene. And all of this frantic activity was for Phar Lap! America had gone plumb mad for Big Red, just as we had!

  Miss O’Brien and Mrs Riley and I tried to calm ourselves by playing the people-spotting game, but there were so many famous people around today that we gave up! We had a lovely picnic lunch of cold chicken and cakes, but the time seemed to hang heavily. It seemed like a very long time before at last the horses lined up at the barrier.

  The horses’ hooves thundered past us as we stood at the fences, shouting and yelling! At first you could hear people around saying, ‘What’s going on, why is he hanging back?’ because of course the Americans weren’t used to Phar Lap starting a race well back. As the field passed the judge the first time, a mile from home, Phar Lap was in seventh place, well behind. Then he moved away and up and you could see his big stride beginning to eat up the distance, but still Billy Elliott held him back, on and on—and then suddenly as the last stretch was reached, Billy Elliott let him go and Phar Lap streaked for home, passing the others effortlessly, to the sound of a huge roaring cheer!

  ‘Hurrah for Phar Lap! Hurrah!’ people shouted, throwing their hats in the air. Everyone was smiling, grinning, thrilled beyond telling to have seen such an amazing thing, a horse ‘out of this world’, as I heard one man describe him. He had streaked not only into history and into the record-books (he broke the record for speed!), but into the heart of America as well as Australia and New Zealand!

  Afterwards they tried to garland him with roses (that’s the tradition here), but he wasn’t having it, not for a minute! He shied and snorted and they had to garland Tommy Woodcock and the Davises and Billy Elliott instead. You should have seen the looks on their faces, all the worry and anxiety replaced by beaming, beaming joy, and no wonder! Mrs Davis looked just like a girl, she was jumping up and down, and Mr Davis’s grin nearly split his face. Tommy Woodcock looked both relieved and proud as punch, and Billy Elliott was smiling quietly to himself. Like Dad says, they’ve pulled off the racing coup of the century!

  Dad was sent off by Mr Davis to cable Mr Telford at once, which he did very gladly. He said that at the post office there were queues of reporters sending cables, including Mr Wolfe, who after cabling news of the win was flying straight to San Diego where he’d file his full article so it would reach Australia immediately. Imagine, Australians will read about it tomorrow morning when they wake up! I can just see Lizzie and her family in Sydney jumping up and down as they hear the news, and Mr Bellini in Melbourne rushing out to buy the paper and everyone in Sorrento crowding around it to read it. Suddenly, even in the middle of being excited, I can’t help but feel a pang of homesickness. I wonder if Phar Lap does too. Or perhaps he doesn’t he care where he is, as long as his beloved Tommy Woodcock is with him.

  Long live Phar Lap, undefeated hero of our nation and now of all the world! Hurrah and hurrah again for Big Red, the champion of the universe!

  I’m closing now so I can dash off letters to Lizzie and Billy and send them before the last post goes. I know they’ll hear about Phar Lap’s great win before they get my letters, but I thought they might like to have my ‘blow by blow’ account! They’ll just be so, so excited!

  March 21

  Phar Lap’s win is the biggest news everywhere. It’s the headline in all of the newspapers, and congratulations have been pouring in, from Australia, America and Britain. King George himself sent a cable! Imagine how proud everyone was! And Dad says Mr Davis has been flooded with offers from every racetrack in the United States and Canada, offering lots of money if only Phar Lap will race there or even just be shown to the crowd! He’s also been approached by Hollywood directors who want to make films in which Phar Lap will star. Imagine that—our Bobby a film star!

  Dad was talking to Mr Wolfe, who said that Tommy Woodcock likes the idea of films, he thinks it would be far better than dragging the horse around to every single racetrack and exhausting him in the process. As well as keeping him safe from gangsters. But Mr Davis wants to try everything: the films, the races, anything that spells super-stardom for his famous horse—and himself as his owner, of course. ‘There are million-dollar signs in his eyes,’ according to Mr Wolfe.

  Last night at the casino theatre apparently the famous singer and film star Mr Al Jolson sang a new song about Phar Lap. It’s set to the tune of ‘It’s a long way to Tipperary’ and here’s how it goes. (Mr Riley wrote down the words for me. I wasn’t allowed to go, Dad said it’s not suitable for children to go to such places and I had to go to bed early instead. It’s not fair!)

  It’s a long way to Caliente,

  it’s a long way to go.

  It’s a long way to cross the ocean,

  for the richest prize I know.

  Goodbye Dr Freeland,

  so long Spanish Play.

  It’s a long way to Caliente,

  but Phar Lap knows the way!

  Dr Freeland and Spanish Play are two of the horses that were heavily backed but got nowhere. Mr Riley said that though most people laughed and clapped at the song, some people wore very black looks indeed. But Phar Lap has won fair and square, and there’s not a blind thing they can do about it now.

  March 22

  Said goodbye to Phar Lap today. He’s being driven back to Mr Edward Perry’s horse-ranch near San Francisco, where he spent time before coming down to Mexico. He’s supposed to be racing again in San Francisco sometime next month and Mr Woodcock wants to make sure he’s properly rested and has a few weeks without any excitement at all.

  Though everyone’s making such a fuss of him, Bobby doesn’t look any different from before. He’s so used to winning, it’s nothing to him now. Mr Woodcock let me pat Bobby’s nose and also allowed me to give him a lump of sugar. He snuffled it up really quickly, it’s his favourite treat. It was funny (haha) when he took it out of my hand, it really tickled, and he was so quick about it, too! Mrs Davis took a picture and said she’d send it to me when she had it developed.

  We’re going back to San Francisco too. Dad has written a report which he’s given to the Davises, and he’s been paid for the job—and very well indeed! He said Mr Davis must be feeling very flush after his great win. Dad thought that Mr Davis might want him to carry on for a bit longer and help out before the San Francisco race, but Mr Davis thinks it’s unnecessary. He thinks Phar Lap is safe as can be now, because what gangster would dare to try anything on the wonder horse who’s stolen America’s heart? ‘They’d be lynched if they even thought of trying,’ he said cheerfully. And besides, there’ll be lots of security everywhere, he’s been promised that. Mrs Davis thanked Dad very much for his help, but she too seems convinced everything will be all right now. Even Mr Woodcock looked much better than he did even just a few days ago, more relaxed and cheerful.

  So that’s that. Dad says he isn’t sure himself that everything will be all right—after all, Phar Lap was Australia’s favourite horse too, but crooks still tried to have a go at him—but that it’s the Davises’ call. If they’re happy and Tommy Woodcock’s happy, then who is he to argue? But of course it means I’m not sure what’s going to happen next, or how long we’ll stay in America. I know Dad wants to stay a little longer, but how much longer? I suppose it all depends on a lot of things, and especially Miss O’Brien. How does she really feel about him?

  March 24

  Well now we know for sure! Tonight, Dad proposed to Miss O’Brien—and she accepted! We were on the road and had stopped overnight in this little town between Los Angeles and Frisco, and Dad and she went for a walk before dinner. When they came back you could tell at once that something
had happened, they were both smiling so much. And Miss O’Brien had a ring on her finger! Turned out that Dad—without telling anyone—had bought it in Tijuana just before we left, with some of Mr Davis’s money.

  It’s odd to read back at the beginning of my diary how much I minded the thought of Miss O’Brien and Dad. Now I’m much older, nearly twelve (hooray, my birthday is in just a few days!), and I see it quite differently. I suppose I’m just much more grown-up. I was acting like a selfish little kid back then. Now I am so happy for them. And I know it won’t make Dad ignore me, he’ll never do that. But things will be much so much nicer at home, because he’ll be happy, and Miss O’Brien, oops I mean Lily (she says I should call her Lily from now on—I’m glad she doesn’t want me to call her Mum, it would be too odd) will be around all the time with us, which will be very, very good.

  They’re going to get married quietly in San Francisco, as soon as it can be arranged. We’re going to stay there a few more weeks and then we’ll go home. We’ll live in Miss O’Brien’s house (well, she’ll be Mrs Fielding by then!). Dad says times are getting better in Sydney and he thinks it’s time to start up his own detective agency. He’ll have an office in our old garden flat. Lily will be a partner in the agency—she says she’s tired of fashion and has acquired a taste for solving mysteries instead! And they’re going to have a big wedding party back home, and all our friends in Sydney and Melbourne will be invited, and Auntie May too! The Rileys even said they’d come over specially. It’s going to be great! I can’t wait. I’m writing to Lizzie and Billy about it straight away. Imagine how excited they’ll be!