The Victorian Villains Megapack

by Arthur Morrison

  THE CASE OF JANISSARY, by Arthur Morrison

  Originally published in The Windsor Magazine, Feb. 1897.

  In the year 1897 a short report of an ordinary sort of inquest appeared in the London newspapers, and I here transcribe it.

  “Dr. McCulloch held an inquest yesterday on the body of Mr. Henry Lawrence, whose body was found on Tuesday morning last in the river near Vauxhall Bridge. The deceased was well known in certain sporting circles. Sophia Lawrence, the widow, said that deceased had left home on Monday afternoon at about five, in his usual health, saying that he was to dine at a friend’s and she saw nothing more of him till called upon to identify the body. He had no reason for suicide, and so far as witness knew, was free from pecuniary embarrassments. He had, indeed, been very successful in betting recently. He habitually carried a large pocket-book, with papers in it. Mr. Robert Naylor, commission agent, said that deceased dined with him that evening at his house in Gold Street, Chelsea, and left for home at about half-past eleven. He had at the time a sum of nearly four hundred pounds upon him, chiefly in notes, which had been paid him by witness in settlement of a bet. It was a fine night, and deceased walked in the direction of Chelsea Embankment. That was the last witness saw of him. He might not have been perfectly sober, but he was not drunk, and was capable of taking care of himself. The evidence of the Thames police went to show that no money was on the body when found, except a few coppers, and no pocket-book. Dr. William Hodgetts said that death was due to drowning. There were some bruises on the arms and head which might have been caused before death. The body was a very healthy one. The coroner said that there seemed to be a strong suspicion of foul play, unless the pocket-book of the deceased had got out of his pocket in the water; but the evidence was very meagre, although the police appeared to have made every possible inquiry. The jury returned a verdict of ‘Found Drowned, though how the deceased came into the water there was no evidence to show’.”

  I know no more of the unfortunate man Lawrence than this, and I have only printed the cutting here because it probably induced Dorrington to take certain steps in the case I am dealing with. With that case the fate of the man Lawrence has nothing whatever to do. He passes out of the story entirely.

  II.

  Mr. Warren Telfer was a gentleman of means, and the owner of a few—very few—racehorses. But he had a great knack of buying hidden prizes in yearlings, and what his stable lacked in quantity it often more than made up for in quality. Thus he had once bought a St. Leger winner for as little as a hundred and fifty pounds. Many will remember his bitter disappointment of ten or a dozen years back, when his horse, Matfelon, starting an odds-on favourite for the Two Thousand, never even got among the crowd, and ambled in streets behind everything. It was freely rumoured (and no doubt with cause) that Matfelon had been “got at” and in some way “nobbled”. There were hints of a certain bucket of water administered just before the race—a bucket of water observed in the hands, some said of one, some said of another person connected with Ritter’s training establishment. There was no suspicion of pulling for plainly the jockey was doing his best with the animal all the way along, and never had a tight rein. So a nobbling it must have been, said the knowing ones, and Mr. Warren Telfer said so too, with much bitterness. More, he immediately removed his horses from Ritter’s stables, and started a small training place of his own for his own horses merely; putting an old steeplechase jockey in charge, who had come out of a bad accident permanently lame, and had fallen on evil days.

  The owner was an impulsive and violent-tempered man, who, once a notion was in his head, held to it through everything, and in spite of everything. His misfortune with Matfelon made him the most insanely distrustful man alive. In everything he fancied he saw a trick, and to him every man seemed a scoundrel. He could scarce bear to let the very stable-boys touch his horses, and although for years all went as well as could be expected in his stables, his suspicious distrust lost nothing of its virulence. He was perpetually fussing about the stables, making surprise visits, and laying futile traps that convicted nobody. The sole tangible result of this behaviour was a violent quarrel between Mr. Warren Telfer and his nephew Richard, who had been making a lengthened stay with his uncle. Young Telfer, to tell the truth, was neither so discreet nor so exemplary in behaviour as he might have been, but his temper was that characteristic of the family, and when he conceived that his uncle had an idea that he was communicating stable secrets to friends outside, there was an animated row, and the nephew betook himself and his luggage somewhere else. Young Telfer always insisted, however, that his uncle was not a bad fellow on the whole, though he had habits of thought and conduct that made him altogether intolerable at times. But the uncle had no good word for his graceless nephew; and indeed Richard Telfer betted more than he could afford, and was not so particular in his choice of sporting acquaintances as a gentleman should have been.

  Mr. Warren Telfer’s house, Blackhall, and his stables were little more than two miles from Redbury, in Hampshire; and after the quarrel Mr Richard Telfer was not seen near the place for many months—not, indeed, till excitement was high over the forthcoming race for the Redbury Stakes, for which there was an entry from the stable—Janissary, for long ranked second favourite; and then the owner’s nephew did not enter the premises, and, in fact, made his visit as secret as possible.

  I have said that Janissary was long ranked second favourite for the Redbury Stakes, but a little more than a week before the race he became first favourite, owing to a training mishap to the horse fancied first, which made its chances so poor that it might have been scratched at any moment. And so far was Janissary above the class of the field (though it was a two-year-old race, and there might be a surprise) that it at once went to far shorter odds than the previous favourite, which, indeed, had it run fit and well, would have found Janissary no easy colt to beat.

  Mr. Telfer’s nephew was seen near the stables but two or three days before the race, and that day the owner despatched a telegram to the firm of Dorrington & Hicks. In response to the telegram, Dorrington caught the first available train for Redbury, and was with Mr Warren Telfer in his library by five in the afternoon.

  “It is about my horse Janissary that I want to consult you, Mr. Dorrington,” said Mr. Telfer. “It’s right enough now—or at least was right at exercise this morning—but I feel certain that there’s some diabolical plot on hand somewhere to interfere with the horse before the Redbury Stakes day, and I’m sorry to have to say that I suspect my own nephew to be mixed up in it in some way. In the first place I may tell you that there is no doubt whatever that the colt, if let alone, and bar accident, can win in a canter. He could have won even if Herald, the late favourite, had kept well, for I can tell you that Janissary is a far greater horse than anybody is aware of outside my establishment—or at any rate; than anybody ought to be aware of, if the stable secrets are properly kept. His pedigree is nothing very great, and he never showed his quality till quite lately, in private trials. Of course it has leaked out somehow that the colt is exceptionally good—I don’t believe I can trust a soul in the place. How should the price have gone up to five to four unless somebody had been telling what he’s paid not to tell? But that isn’t all, as I have said. I’ve a conviction that something’s on foot—somebody wants to interfere with the horse. Of course we get a tout about now and again, but the downs are pretty big, and we generally manage to dodge them if we want to. On the last three or four mornings, however, whenever Janissary might be taking his gallop, there was a big, hulking fellow, with a red beard and spectacles—not so much watching the horse as trying to get hold of the lad. I am always up at five, for I’ve found to my cost—you remember about Matfelon—that if a man doesn’t want to be ramped he must never take his eye off things. Well, I have scarcely seen the lad ease the colt once on the last three or four mornings without that red-bearded fellow bobbing up from a knoll, or a clump of bushes, or somethi
ng, close by—especially if Janissary was a bit away from the other horses, and not under my nose, or the head lad’s, for a moment. I rode at the fellow, of course, when I saw what he was after, but he was artful as a cartload of monkeys, and vanished somehow before I could get near him. The head lad believes he has seen him about just after dark, too; but I am keeping the stable lads in when they’re not riding, and I suppose he finds he has no chance of getting at them except when they’re out with the horses. This morning, not only did I see this fellow about, as usual, but, I am ashamed to say, I observed my own nephew acting the part of a common tout. He certainly had the decency to avoid me and clear out, but that was not all, as you shall see. This morning, happening to approach the stables from the back, I suddenly came upon the red-bearded man—giving money to a groom of mine! He ran off at once, as you may guess, and I discharged the groom where he stood, and would not allow him into the stables again. He offered no explanation or excuse, but took himself off, and half an hour afterwards I almost sent away my head boy too. For when I told him of the dismissal, he admitted that he had seen that same groom taking money off my nephew at the back of the of stables, an hour before, and had not informed me! He said that he thought that as it was ‘only Mr. Richard’ it didn’t matter. Fool! Anyway, the groom has gone, and, so far as I can tell as yet, the colt is all right. I examined him at once, of course; and I also turned over a box that Weeks, the groom, used to keep brushes and odd things in. There I found this paper full of powder. I don’t yet know what it is, but it’s certainly nothing he had any business with in the stable. Will you take it?

  “And now,” Mr Telfer went on, “I’m in such an uneasy state that I want your advice and assistance. Quite apart from the suspicious—more than suspicious—circumstances I have informed you of, I am certain—I know it without being able to give precise reasons—I am certain that some attempt is being made at disabling Janissary before Thursday’s race. I feel it in my bones, so to speak. I had the same suspicion just before that Two Thousand, when Matfelon was got at. The thing was in the air, as it is now. Perhaps it’s a sort of instinct; but I rather think it is the result of an unconscious absorption of a number of little indications about me. Be it as it may, I am resolved to leave no opening to the enemy if I can help it, and I want to see if you can suggest any further precautions beyond those I am taking. Come and look at the stables.”

  Dorrington could see no opening for any piece of rascality by which he might make more of the case than by serving his client loyally, so he resolved to do the latter. He followed Mr. Telfer through the training stables, where eight or nine thoroughbreds stood, and could suggest no improvement upon the exceptional precautions that already existed.

  “No,” said Dorrington, “I don’t think you can do any better than this—at least on this, the inner line of defence. But it is best to make the outer lines secure first. By the way, this isn’t Janissary, is it? We saw him farther up the row, didn’t we?”

  “Oh no, that’s a very different sort of colt, though he does look like, doesn’t he? People who’ve been up and down the stables once or twice often confuse them. They’re both bays, much of a build, and about the same height, and both have a bit of stocking on the same leg, though Janissary’s is bigger, and this animal has a white star. But you never saw two creatures look so like and run so differently. This is a dead loss—not worth his feed. If I can manage to wind him up to something like a gallop I shall try to work him off in a selling plate somewhere; but as far as I can see he isn’t good enough even for that. He’s a disappointment. And his stock’s far better than Janissary’s too, and he cost half as much again! Yearlings are a lottery. Still, I’ve drawn a prize or two among them, at one time or another.”

  “Ah yes, so I’ve heard. But now as to the outer defences I was speaking of. Let us find out who is trying to interfere with your horse. Do you mind letting me into the secrets of the stable commissions?”

  “Oh no. We’re talking in confidence, of course. I’ve backed the colt pretty heavily all round, but not too much anywhere. There’s a good slice with Barker—you know Barker, of course; Mullins has a thousand down for him, and that was at five to one, before Herald went amiss. Then there’s Ford and Lascelles—both good men, and Naylor—he’s the smallest man of them all, and there’s only a hundred or two with him, though he’s been laying the horse pretty freely everywhere, at least until Herald went wrong. And there’s Pedder. But there must have been a deal of money laid to outside backers, and there’s no telling who may contemplate a ramp.”

  “Just so. Now as to your nephew. What of your suspicions in that direction?”

  “Perhaps I’m a little hasty as to that,” Mr. Telfer answered, a little ashamed of what he had previously said. “But I’m worried and mystified, as you see, and hardly know what to think. My nephew Richard is a little erratic, and he has a foolish habit of betting more than he can afford. He and I quarrelled some time back, while he was staying here, because I had an idea that he had been talking too freely outside. He had, in fact; and I regarded it as a breach of confidence. So there was a quarrel and he went away.”

  “Very well. I wonder if I can get a bed at the ‘Crown’ at Redbury: I’m afraid it’ll be crowded, but I’ll try.”

  “But why trouble? Why not stay with me, and be near the stables?”

  “Because then I should be of no more use to you than one of your lads. People who come out here every morning are probably staying at Redbury, and I must go there after them.”

  III.

  THE “Crown” at Redbury was full in anticipation of the races, but Dorrington managed to get a room ordinarily occupied by one of the landlord’s family, who undertook to sleep at a friend’s for a night or two. This settled, he strolled into the yard, and soon fell into animated talk with the hostler on the subject of the forthcoming races. All the town was backing Janissary for the Stakes, the hostler said, and he advised Dorrington to do the same.

  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 altogeth
er 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.