The Phar Lap Mystery

by Sophie Masson

  But one good thing that I’m really glad of is that Dad said that from now on I won’t be left out of things, I will be told what’s going on—’So Sal can write it up in her detective’s diary and then we will always have a copy to draw on if we need it!’ he said. Not that I can go with him if he has to talk to dubious people, but I will be kept informed! That makes me feel great, like I’m ten feet tall.

  June 11

  I got a postcard back from Billy today. It’s a really nice one, of Phar Lap winning the Melbourne Cup in 1930. I’m going to stick it down here. Here’s what he wrote on the back:

  Dear Sally, Thank you for the card, I liked it a lot. No worries about your dad, I hope he is well now. I hope you are well too. I am. Sincerely, your friend, Billy Fox.

  June 12

  Dad got a letter from Mr Kane asking him to call in at his office in the city tomorrow morning as he has urgent business to discuss. ‘He must be wondering what I’ve been up to,’ Dad said. ‘Thank goodness—and thanks to Sal—I’ll be able to tell him I’m back on track!’

  We’re at the Walters’ for another day, moving back tomorrow afternoon. But Dad thinks it might be a good idea to look for another place. Miss O’Brien hasn’t been in touch since her outburst and he thinks we might have offended her. The Bellinis are at that hotel now, but they are often here. The ladies have become great friends and Mrs Bellini is teaching Mrs Walters to make pasta. She showed her how to make potato gnocchi today, something Mr Walters will like—he loves his spuds, I don’t think he’d be happy with just noodles.

  Today Dad went out with Mr Bellini (Mr Walters had to work in the shop) to retrace his steps about Jack Hardy’s Sydney connections, and especially Sam Freeman. He says things are coming back to him slowly, though the day he got hit is still a complete blank.

  Here are things he has remembered already from his Melbourne trip and earlier, from when he was searching for things in Sydney. I thought it was easier to list them so I can easily find them if Dad needs them!

  DAD’S REMEMBERED CLUES:

  • Numbers from plates definitely obtained from transport division, though unable to pinpoint who exactly passed them to Freeman or whether money changed hands. No police involvement after this, however, but if Vic. Police nosed this out, it could be reason why the matter was dropped. Actual plates not used as these had been destroyed, and only numbers remained in archives. Freeman not the driver of the car—at the time he was definitely in Sydney at a public function (checked). He must simply have passed on the numbers to whoever drove the car, who was likely hired by Hardy, acting for someone else.

  • A man answering to Hardy’s description seen loitering around Caulfield and tracks, etc, in week before the shooting, when Phar Lap was being exercised. It’s my belief Hardy was also watching the stables and noted the change of routines instituted after the first attempt. The Studebaker, or at least one very like it, was bought in Melbourne two weeks before the shooting by the man answering Hardy’s description (Dad had not managed to track him down in Melbourne). The dealer involved, in outer Melbourne, said Hardy had given the name of Leon Blake and an address Dad discovered was false. Dad thinks its numberplates were removed and destroyed after the first attempt on Phar Lap, and the fake ones installed. Dad could find no trace of the car after, but surmised it had either been repainted and resold through Freeman’s yard or destroyed, perhaps by driving off a cliff.

  • Hardy has acted for various punters wanting to remain anonymous, but the most interesting one from Dad’s point of view was an apparently respectable wealthy Sydney businessman who likes a flutter at the racetrack. Unfortunately this man’s name is one of Dad’s blank spots at the moment, though he says there’s something nagging at the back of his mind about it and he’s sure it’ll come to him. This man, like Hardy, originally came from Melbourne, but moved to Sydney in the 20s.

  • After his interview with Mr Davis, Dad suspected both he and Mr Telford had been told by the police who the main ‘person of interest’ was, but also that he was no longer a threat. Something Mr Davis had said hinted to Dad that this was because the person in question had been warned of the consequences of any further action by the police and had left the country sometime after the shooting. That ruled out both Hardy and Freeman, who were still here. Therefore it followed that they had not been working for themselves, but for a boss.

  • However, even if this person is not around to organise any more attempts, must still be working for this person’s interests, as otherwise he would not have threatened Dad when we were in Melbourne. Dad still does not remember anything about the night he was attacked, but even if he did it wouldn’t help, as he was attacked from behind and would have had no time to identify his assailants. But he says we must assume it was not a random robbery, but one designed to stop him from carrying on with the case (or at least seriously hamper him).

  • Dad’s bookie informers in Melbourne say that no-one will make books on races in which Phar Lap runs any more, because of the guaranteed loss of money: this means, he thinks, there is no present danger to Phar Lap from that side of things, unless that changes. This is also known to Phar Lap’s owners.

  June 13

  It is afternoon, and I don’t usually write before night-time but I had to get this down, it’s been such a day. Everything changed, everything went topsy-turvy and I am still feeling dizzy from it. It is like today I was on one of those whirling things at a fair that spins you faster and faster till you feel as though your head is going to fly off!

  Dad had his appointment with Mr Kane this morning, and because it’s Saturday and there’s no school, he took me with him. He said he wanted Mr Kane to meet me in person because I had saved everyone’s bacon for them. Which was nice! And besides it was not a dangerous place to go, but a very respectable office in the city.

  When we got there Mr Kane was on his own, sitting at his desk, with no secretary or any other staff in sight. He was a little dried-up man with gold-rimmed spectacles and a fussy manner, and he looked a little surprised to see me. But when Dad explained he just nodded and said, ‘Very well,’ and asked us to sit down. Nothing else, no exclaiming over how clever I was (not that I wanted that!) or how good it was that Dad was managing to put the case together again. It was as if he had not taken any of it in.

  Dad said he’d have a report in very soon and he hoped there was no problem with the delay. Mr Kane harrumphed a bit and looked shifty, and said, ‘Mr Fielding, the reason I have asked you to come in today is that my client has instructed me to drop the case and terminate your investigation.’

  Dad looked like he’d been hit for six. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘It’s simple, Mr Fielding. My client no longer wants you to investigate this case.’

  ‘But why? Is it the delay? I can assure you that I—’

  ‘It is not the delay, Mr Fielding.’

  ‘Then why? Was your client dissatisfied with my work? You said that my first report had been much appreciated.’

  ‘Oh it was! I can assure you, it is not the quality of your excellent work that is in question.’

  ‘Well, I am very close to cracking this case, Mr Kane. I think when your client hears what I have—’

  Mr Kane held up a hand. ‘Please stop there, Mr Fielding. I’m afraid it would make no difference. But you must not worry.’ He reached inside a desk drawer and brought out a bundle of notes which he shoved across the desk at Dad. ‘I have been instructed to thank you, pay you the full fee agreed to, refund your expenses, and …’

  Dad stared at him. He didn’t touch the notes. He said, ‘Has your client been threatened, Mr Kane? Is that it?’

  ‘Threatened? N-no. Not at all.’

  ‘Then in God’s name, why?’

  ‘Because enough is enough,’ said a voice we recognised with a shock. Then through a door behind Mr Kane’s desk walked—Miss O’Brien! Dad jumped up. I stared at her, completely lost. Mr Kane jumped up too. He was agitated. He said, ‘Plea
se, Miss O’Brien, I told you to leave it to me! This is not a wise course of …’

  Neither Dad nor Miss O’Brien took any notice. They were staring at each other.

  Dad said, ‘What the blazes … I don’t understand. What are you doing here? You can’t be …’

  ‘Mr Kane’s client? Yes, I am.’ She was pale, but her voice did not shake.

  Dad turned to Mr Kane. ‘But I thought you said your client was a man.’

  Mr Kane tugged at his shirt collar. ‘Mr Fielding, I think you will find I said no such thing. You merely assumed.’

  Dad took a step forward. ‘You devious little—’

  Miss O’Brien cried. ‘Stop that, Charlie. Mr Kane is in no way to blame. He is our family solicitor and I made him swear not to breathe a word. He tried to persuade me not to do it. It was entirely my idea, from start to finish.’

  There was silence. Then Dad said, in a hollow sort of voice, ‘Why? For God’s sake, why?’

  ‘Oh, Charlie, I saw how hard things were for you. For Sally. I thought—you don’t want charity, but work—real work … that would be different. I—I happened to read an article in the paper, about the shooting and how no-one knew who had done it. It seemed the perfect crime to investigate. The police had dropped it for want of evidence, no harm done, nothing else attempted. And yet it had enough loose ends to attract you.’ She sighed. ‘And it worked. You were so much happier. You had a real case to get your teeth into. Sally was looking much brighter, too. And so I was happy. Until I—until it all went wrong and I realised what a dangerous maze I had led you into, quite unknowingly.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It was upsetting. But it was also exciting. I would never, never have suspected Miss O’Brien. She’s not interested in racehorses. She’s hardly even mentioned Phar Lap, though of course like everyone else she’s heard a lot about him. She must really like Dad, I thought. Really, really like him. And that gave me a funny feeling. Half of me was thrilled, half was horrified.

  But the dazed look on Dad’s face was slowly changing to anger. His fists clenched. ‘So you made up a cock-and-bull story to wind me up, just so you could feel like Lady Bountiful? And now it’s gone too far and you think you can just turn off your little clockwork toy. My God, who the hell do you think you are? What gives you the right to think you can play with our lives?’

  ‘Mr Fielding—’ Mr Kane began, but Miss O’Brien stopped him. She was very white now and her eyes shone with something that looked like tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlie. I’m really sorry. I never intended to …’

  ‘Mr Kane,’ said Dad, sharply turning away, ‘please tell your client that I accept the termination of my contract. But I advise that I am now a free agent and will pursue whatever lines of enquiry I wish, whatever your client may like.’

  ‘Charlie, please.’

  Dad took no notice. ‘Mr Kane? Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Fielding. But you still owe us a report and …’

  ‘You will have it. Tomorrow,’ said Dad. He strode over to the desk and counted out half the notes from the pile. ‘This will cover my expenses. I don’t want a fee for a job that wasn’t a real job, just a rich woman’s whim.’

  ‘Charlie, please listen. I’m not—’

  ‘Good day to you, Mr Kane. Please tell your client we will remove our belongings from her property this very day. Come on, Sally.’ And like a gust of wind he was out of the door.

  As I hurried after him I looked back at Miss O’Brien and I saw that the tears in her eyes had spilled out and were rolling down her cheeks. I felt so sorry for her then, so sorry. I whispered, ‘I think you are a really nice lady, Miss O’Brien, and I think what you did was really kind.’ I saw her face crumple completely and Mr Kane pat her on the shoulder, but Dad was calling out to me from the stairs and I had to go.

  Out in the street I did not dare to say anything to him. He was in a really bad mood and I thought he’d bite my head off if I so much as squeaked. Then suddenly he stopped and said, ‘Blow me, that’s why it was nagging at me. Bryant.’

  ‘What?’

  Dad was so flustered he didn’t even tell me off for saying ‘what’ instead of ‘beg your pardon’. ‘That’s the businessman’s name, the one Hardy was linked to. It’s just come back to me. Bryant. Gerald Bryant. Lives in a mansion down on Cremorne Point. Respectable pillar of the community, churchgoer, and connected politically, but there are whispers he has a dark side, and he’s known to be a big gambler.’ He took some coins out of his pocket and gave them to me. ‘Sal, I want you to take the bus and go straight home. To the Walters, I mean. I’m going down to the quay to catch the ferry and speak to this Bryant fellow. I’m sure he’s the key to the whole thing.’

  ‘Dad, please let me come with you. You said you wouldn’t keep things from me.’

  ‘I won’t keep it from you, Sal,’ he said grimly. ‘I promise I’ll tell you what happens, but I don’t want you anywhere near this fellow. Understood?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Straight home, you get it, Sally?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’ I swallowed. ‘Dad—I—I don’t think Miss O’Brien meant to—’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Sally. Not now, not ever. All right?’

  I nodded miserably. And then my bus came and he saw me onto it. When I looked out of the window as it clunked along the road, I saw him heading in the opposite direction, towards Circular Quay, not even looking back.

  When I got back to the Walters’ house the first person I saw was Lizzie, so she was the first person I told. She couldn’t believe it either, she thought it was really romantic and just like in the movies. She said it showed that Miss O’Brien was truly in love with Dad and that true love must win out and Dad would change his mind. But I don’t think so. He looked so angry, and like if she hadn’t been a woman, he might have hit her.

  Of course then we had to tell the Walters and the Bellinis too. Everyone was astonished, except for Mrs Bellini, who shook her head and said she’d wondered once or twice in the last couple of days if Miss O’Brien wasn’t involved somehow.

  Mr Walters said, ‘Stone the crows, how could she possibly think a man’s pride could stand such a thing?’

  Mr Bellini said, ‘Poor lady, she dares much for love, but does not understand what she has done, it is very sad.’

  ‘Poor lady my foot,’ said Mrs Bellini. ‘She knows very well what she’s done, she took a gamble, that’s all. She’s a businesswoman, remember, she knows that if you want something, you have to take risks.’

  ‘And you have to say Charlie’s been enjoying himself till recently,’ said Mrs Walters, ‘so maybe there’s hope for—’ Then she saw Lizzie and I listening with all ears to this fascinating grown-up talk, and told us to go out and play.

  As if we were little kids! We didn’t play, we just sat outside and talked. Later, when Lizzie had to do her chores, I went and got my diary and wrote up everything that had happened. We are still waiting for Dad to come back, but funnily enough I am not worried about him. I think he is so steamed up with anger that if that Bryant or Hardy tried anything today he would just lay them out flat with one blow of his fist.

  Later, after dinner

  Well, Dad came back quite unharmed. He did not say anything about Miss O’Brien but he told us what happened when he got to the Bryant house. Nothing much, actually. It was all shut up when he got there and so he went and knocked on a neighbour’s door and said he was a representative of a legal firm looking for Mr Bryant to tell him about a will.

  The neighbour swallowed that and told him that he was wasting his time, as Mr Bryant and his wife had gone abroad and she did not know when they would be back. They had left, she thought, last December. She could not be sure of the exact date, only that it was before Christmas. She was not sure where they had gone, though she thought Mr Bryant’s wife Dolores was Spanish, so maybe that’s where they’d gone. ‘She is much younger than him and very pretty, if you like
that Spanish look, and they are newly married,’ she said. ‘I think she was homesick and he wanted to please her.’ Dad asked what Mr Bryant was like and she said he was mostly very polite, but she suspected he had a hair-trigger temper. She’d heard shouts coming from there sometimes, though she didn’t think it was against his wife, more business associates, people who came to see him.

  Dad then described Hardy and asked if she’d ever seen anyone like that loitering around, and she said she thought she might have. Then belatedly she began to get suspicious and asked what that had to do with a will.

  Dad had to beat a hasty retreat. But he said he was sure now that Bryant had been behind the threats and the attempts, and that he’d paid Hardy and Freeman to set it up. But after the big hoo-ha he must have thought better of it, or been warned off. That’s why he’d taken himself and his bride abroad till it all blew over.

  Anyway, it means there is no longer any danger to Phar Lap, not from the bookies and not from Bryant, and Dad no longer has a client, so he said the case is closed. But he looked discouraged as he said that and I think we all knew that it didn’t really satisfy him, especially under the circumstances.

  July 1

  I haven’t felt much like writing in this for ages and ages. Things have felt rather flat, like a what-do-you-call-it, an anti-something—yes, that’s right, an anticlimax. Dad won’t talk about Miss O’Brien, and it was Mr Walters and Mr Bellini who moved our stuff from the flat while Dad went looking for another place for us to live. He soon found us a little cottage which is only a short distance away from the Walters’ house. It’s rather shabby and damp and run-down, and nowhere near as nice as Miss O’Brien’s garden flat, but Dad says it’s great because we can be quite independent, no nosy landlords hovering. And Mrs Walters and Mrs Bellini said it could soon be made cosy and liveable, and so they helped us clean up and scrub the walls and air the rooms. The Walters gave us a rag rug for the sitting-room and Mrs Bellini found some nice crocheted blankets for the bedrooms in a second-hand shop. Mr Bellini got the back garden into shape, he says we can grow vegies and herbs and keep some chickens and live like kings. The Bellinis went back to Melbourne a fair while back now, but the other day Mrs Bellini sent us a packet in the mail, full of pasta and also seeds Mr Bellini had collected for us, and we spent an afternoon planting them in the backyard.