The Victorian Villains Megapack (6 page)

During this conversation two men stopped in the street, just outside the yard gate, talking. One was a big, heavy, vulgar-looking fellow in a box-cloth coat, and with a shaven face and hoarse voice; the other was a slighter, slimmer, younger and more gentlemanlike man, though there was a certain patchy colour about his face that seemed to hint of anything but teetotalism.

“There,” said the hostler, indicating the younger of these two men, “that’s young Mr. Telfer, him as whose uncle’s owner o’ Janissary. He’s a young plunger, he is, and he’s on Janissary too. He give me the tip, straight, this mornin’. ‘You put your little bit on my uncle’s colt,’ he said. ‘It’s all right. I ain’t such pals with the old man as I was, but I’ve got the tip that his money’s down on it. So don’t neglect your opportunities, Thomas,’ he says; and I haven’t. He’s stoppin’ in our house, is young Mr. Richard.”

“And who is that he is talking to? A bookmaker?”

“Yes, sir, that’s Naylor—Bob Naylor. He’s got Mr. Richard’s bets. P’raps he’s puttin’ on a bit more now.”

The men at the gate separated, and the bookmaker walked off down the street in the fast gathering dusk. Richard Telfer, however, entered the house, and Dorrington followed him. Telfer mounted the stairs and went into his room. Dorrington lingered a moment on the stairs and then went and knocked at Telfer’s door.

“Hullo!” cried Telfer, coming to the door and peering out into the gloomy corridor.

“I beg pardon,” Dorrington replied courteously. “I thought this was Naylor’s room.”

“No—it’s No. 23, by the end. But I believe he’s just gone down the street.”

Dorrington expressed his thanks and went to his own room. He took one or two small instruments from his bag and hurried stealthily to the door of No. 23.

All was quiet, and the door opened at once to Dorrington’s picklock, for there was nothing but the common tumbler rim-lock to secure it. Dorrington, being altogether an unscrupulous scoundrel, would have thought nothing of entering a man’s room thus for purposes of mere robbery. Much less scruple had he in doing so in the present circumstances. He lit the candle in a little pocket lantern, and, having secured the door, looked quickly about the room. There was nothing unusual to attract his attention, and he turned to two bags lying near the dressing-table. One was the usual bookmaker’s satchel, and the other was a leather travelling-bag; both were locked. Dorrington unbuckled the straps of the large bag and produced a slender picklock of steel wire, with a sliding joint, which, with a little skilful “humouring”, turned the lock in the course of a minute or two. One glance inside was enough. There on the top lay a large false beard of strong red, and upon the shirts below was a pair of spectacles. But Dorrington went farther, and felt carefully below the linen till his hand met a small, flat, mahogany box. This he withdrew and opened. Within, on a velvet lining, lay a small silver instrument resembling a syringe. He shut and replaced the box, and, having rearranged the contents of the bag, shut, locked and strapped it, and blew out his light. He had found what he came to look for. In another minute Mr. Bob Naylor’s door was locked behind him, and Dorrington took his picklocks to his own room.

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.

T
HE
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.

T
HE
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.”