Reaching the little wayside station on the edge of the Downs, he alighted, to find himself welcomed by his trainer, who lifted his hat respectfully, and wished him good afternoon.
During the drive, Carne spoke of the impending race, and among other things of a letter he had that morning received, warning him of an attempt that would probably be made to obtain possession of his horse. The trainer laughed good humouredly.
“Bless you, sir,” he said, “that’s nothing. You should just see some of the letters I’ve got pasted into my scrap book. Most of ’em comes a week or fortnight before a big race. Some of ’em warns me that if I don’t prevent the horse from starting, I’m as good as a dead man; others ask me what price I will take to let him finish outside the first three; while more still tell me that if I don’t put ’im out of the way altogether, I’ll find my house and my wife and family flying up to the clouds under a full charge of dynamite within three days of the race being run. Don’t you pay any attention to the letters you receive. I’ll look after the horse, and you may be very sure I’ll take good care that nothing happens to him.”
“I know that, of course,” said Carne, “but I thought I’d tell you. You see, I’m only a novice at racing, and perhaps I place more importance just now upon a threat of that kind than I shall do a couple of years hence.”
“Of course,” replied the trainer. “I understand exactly how you feel, sir. It’s quite natural. And now here we are, with the missis standing on the steps to help me give you a hearty welcome.”
They drove up to the door, and when Carne had alighted he was received by the trainer’s wife as her lord and master had predicted. His bedroom he discovered, on being conducted to it to prepare for dinner, was at the back of the house, overlooking the stableyard, and possessed a lovely view, extending across the gardens and village towards where the Downs ended and the woods of Herberford began.
“A pretty room,” he said to Belton, as the latter laid out his things upon the bed, “and very convenient for our purpose. Have you discovered where you are located?”
“Next door, sir.”
“I am glad of that; and what room is beneath us?”
“The kitchen and pantry, sir. With the exception of one at the top of the house, there are no other bedrooms on this side.”
“That is excellent news. Now get me ready as soon as you can.”
During dinner that evening Simon Carne made himself as pleasant as possible to his host and hostess. So affable, indeed, was he that when they retired to rest they confessed to each other that they had never entertained a more charming guest. It was arranged that he should be called at five o’clock on the morning following, in order that he might accompany the trainer to the Downs to see his horse at his exercise.
It was close upon eleven o’clock when he dismissed his valet and threw himself upon his bed with a novel. For upwards of two hours he amused himself with his book; then he rose and dressed himself in the rough suit which his man had put out for him. Having done so, he took a strong rope ladder from his bag, blew out his light, and opened his window. To attach the hooks at the end of the ropes to the inside of the window sill, and to throw the rest outside was the work of a moment. Then, having ascertained that his door was securely locked, he crawled out and descended to the ground. Once there, he waited until he saw Belton’s light disappear, and heard his window softly open. Next moment a small black bag was lowered, and following it, by means of another ladder, came the servant himself.
“There is no time to be lost,” said Carne, as soon as they were together. “You must set to work on the big gates, while I do the other business. The men are all asleep; nevertheless, be careful that you make no noise.”
Having given his instructions, he left his servant and made his way across the yard towards the box where Knight of Malta was confined. When he reached it he unfastened the bag he had brought with him, and took from it a brace and a peculiar shaped bit, resembling a pair of compasses. Uniting these, he oiled the points and applied them to the door, a little above the lock. What he desired to do did not occupy him for more than a minute.
Then he went quietly along the yard to the further boundary, where he had that afternoon noticed a short ladder. By means of this he mounted to the top of the wall, then lifted it up after him and lowered it on the other side, still without making any noise. Instead of dismounting by it, however, he seated himself for a moment astride of it, while he drew on a pair of clumsy boots he had brought with him, suspended round his neck. Then, having chosen his place, he jumped. His weight caused him to leave a good mark on the soft ground on the other side.
He then walked heavily for perhaps fifty yards, until he reached the high road. Here he divested himself of the boots, put on his list slippers once more, and returned as speedily as possible to the ladder, which he mounted and drew up after him. Having descended on the other side, he left it standing against the wall, and hastened across the yard towards the gates, where he found Belton just finishing the work he had set him to do.
With the aid of a brace and bit similar to that used by Carne upon the stable door, the lock had been entirely removed and the gate stood open. Belton was evidently satisfied with his work; Carne, however, was not so pleased. He picked up the circle of wood and showed it to his servant. Then, taking the bit, he inserted the screw on the reverse side and gave it two or three turns.
“You might have ruined everything,” he whispered, “by omitting that. The first carpenter who looked at it would be able to tell that the work was done from the inside. But, thank goodness, I know a trick that will set that right. Now then, give me the pads, and I’ll drop them by the door. Then we can return to our rooms.”
Four large blanket pads were handed to him, and he went quietly across and dropped them by the stable door. After that he rejoined Belton, and they made their way, with the assistance of the ladders, back to their own rooms once more.
Half an hour later Carne was wrapped in a sweet slumber from which he did not wake until he was aroused by a tapping at his chamber door. It was the trainer.
“Mr. Carne,” cried Bent, in what were plainly agitated tones, “if you could make it convenient I should be glad to speak to you as soon as possible.”
In something under twenty minutes he was dressed and downstairs. He found the trainer awaiting him in the hall, wearing a very serious face.
“If you will stroll with me as far as the yard, I should like to show you something,” he said.
Carne accordingly took up his hat and followed him out of the house.
“You look unusually serious,” said the latter, as they crossed the garden.
“An attempt has been made to get possession of your horse.”
Carne stopped short in his walk and faced the other.
“What did I tell you yesterday?” he remarked. “I was certain that that letter was more than an idle warning. But how do you know that an attempt has been made?”
“Come, sir, and see for yourself,” said Bent. “I am sorry to say there is no gainsaying the fact.”
A moment later they had reached the entrance to the stableyard.
“See, sir,” said Bent, pointing to a circular hole which now existed where previously the lock had been. “The rascals cut out the lock, and thus gained an entry to the yard.”
He picked up the round piece of wood with the lock still attached to it, and showed it to his employer.
“One thing is very certain, the man who cut this hole is a master of his trade, and is also the possessor of fine implements.”
“So it would appear,” said Carne grimly. “Now what else is there for me to hear? Is the horse much hurt?”
“Not a bit the worse, sir,” answered Bent. “They didn’t get in at him, you see. Something must have frightened them before they could complete their ta
sk. Step this way, sir, if you please, and examine the door of the box for yourself. I have given strict orders that nothing shall be touched until you have seen it.”
They crossed the yard together, and approached the box in question. On the woodwork the commencement of a circle similar to that which had been completed on the yard gates could be plainly distinguished, while on the ground below lay four curious shaped pads, one of which Carne picked up.
“What on earth are these things,” he asked innocently enough.
“Their use is easily explained, sir,” answered the trainer. “They are intended for tying over the horse’s feet, so that when he is led out of his box his plates may make no noise upon the stones. I’d like to have been behind ’em with a whip when they got him out, that’s all. The double-dyed rascals to try such a trick upon a horse in my charge!”
“I can understand your indignation,” said Carne. “It seems to me we have had a narrow escape.”
“Narrow escape, or no narrow escape, I’d have had ’em safely locked up in Merford Police Station by this time,” replied Bent vindictively. “And now, sir, let me show you how they got out. As far as I can see they must have imagined they heard somebody coming from the house, otherwise they would have left by the gates instead of by this ladder.”
He pointed to the ladder, which was still standing where Carne had placed it, and then led him by a side door round to the other side of the wall. Here he pointed to some heavy footmarks upon the turf. Carne examined them closely.
“If the size of his foot is any criterion of his build,” he said, “he must have been a precious big fellow. Let me see how mine compares with it.”
He placed his neat shoe in one of the imprints before him, and smiled as he noticed how the other overlapped it.
They then made their way to the box, where they found the animal at his breakfast. He lifted his head and glanced round at them, bit at the iron of the manger, and then gave a little playful kick with one of his hind legs.
“He doesn’t seem any the worse for his adventure,” said Carne, as the trainer went up to him and ran his hand over his legs.
“Not a bit,” answered the other. “He’s a wonderfully even-tempered horse, and it takes a lot to put him out. If his nerves had been at all upset he wouldn’t have licked up his food as clean as he has done.”
Having given another look at him, they left him in charge of his lad, and returned to the house.
The gallop after breakfast confirmed their conclusion that there was nothing the matter, and Simon Carne returned to town ostensibly comforted by Bent’s solemn assurance to that effect. That afternoon Lord Calingforth, the owner of Vulcanite, called upon him. They had met repeatedly, and consequently were on the most intimate terms.
“Good afternoon, Carne,” he said as he entered the room. “I have come to condole with you upon your misfortune, and to offer you my warmest sympathy.”
“Why, what on earth has happened?” asked Carne, as he offered his visitor a cigar.
“God bless my soul, my dear fellow! Haven’t you seen the afternoon’s paper? Why, it reports the startling news that your stables were broken into last night, and that my rival, Knight of Malta, was missing this morning.”
Carne laughed.
“I wonder what they’ll say next,” he said quietly. “But don’t let me appear to deceive you. It is perfectly true that the stables were broken into last night, but the thieves were disturbed, and decamped just as they were forcing the lock of The Knight’s box.”
“In that case I congratulate you. What rascally inventions some of these sporting papers do get hold of to be sure. I’m indeed glad to hear that it is not true. The race would have lost half its interest if your horse were out of it. By the way, I suppose you are still as confident as ever?”
“Would you like to test it?”
“Very much, if you feel inclined for a bet.”
“Then I’ll have a level thousand pounds with you that my horse beats yours. Both to start or the wager is off. Do you agree?”
“With pleasure. I’ll make a note of it.”
The noble Earl jotted the bet down in his book, and then changed the subject by inquiring whether Carne had ever had any transactions with his next door neighbour, Klimo.
“Only on one occasion,” the other replied. “I consulted him on behalf of the Duke of Wiltshire at the time his wife’s diamonds were stolen. To tell the truth, I was half thinking of calling him in to see if he could find the fellow who broke into the stables last night, but on second thoughts I determined not to do so. I did not want to make any more fuss about it than I could help. But what makes you ask about Klimo?”
“Well, to put the matter in a nutshell, there has been a good deal of small pilfering down at my trainer’s place lately, and I want to get it stopped.”
“If I were you I should wait till after the race, and then have him down. If one excites public curiosity just now, one never knows what will happen.”
“I think you are right. Anyhow, I’ll act on your advice. Now what do you say to coming along to the Rooms with me to see how our horses stand in the market? Your presence there would do more than any number of paper denials towards showing the fallacy of this stupid report. Will you come?”
“With pleasure,” said Carne, and in less than five minutes he was sitting beside the noble Earl in his mail phaeton, driving towards the rooms in question.
When he got there, he found Lord Calingforth had stated the case very correctly. The report that Knight of Malta had been stolen had been widely circulated, and Carne discovered that the animal was, for the moment, almost a dead letter in the market. The presence of his owner, however, was sufficient to stay the panic, and when he had snapped up two or three long bets, which a few moments before had been going begging, the horse began steadily to rise towards his old position.
That night, when Belton waited upon his master at bedtime, he found him, if possible, more silent than usual. It was not until his work was well-nigh completed that the other spoke.
“It’s a strange thing, Belton,” he said, “and you may hardly believe it, but if there were not certain reasons to prevent me from being so magnanimous, I would give this matter up, and let the race be run on its merits. I don’t know that I ever took a scheme in hand with a worse grace. However, as it can’t be helped, I suppose I must go through with it. Is the van prepared?”
“It is quite ready, sir.”
“All the furniture arranged as I directed?”
“It is exactly as you wished, sir. I have attended to it myself.”
“And what about the man?”
“I have engaged the young fellow, sir, who assisted me before. I know he’s quick, and I can stake my life that he’s trustworthy.”
“I am glad to hear it. He will have need to be. Now for my arrangements. I shall make the attempt on Friday morning next, that is to say, two days from now. You and the man you have just mentioned will take the van and horses to Market Stopford, travelling by the goods train which, I have discovered, reaches the town between four and five in the morning. As soon as you are out of the station, you will start straight away along the high road towards Exbridge, reaching the village between five and six. I shall meet you in the road alongside the third milestone on the other side, made up for the part I am to play. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“That will do then. I shall go down to the village to-morrow evening, and you will not hear from me again until you meet me at the place I have named. Good-night.”
“Good-night, sir.”
Now, it is a well-known fact that if you wish to excite the anger of the inhabitants of Exbridge village, and more particularly of any member of the Pitman Training Establishment, you have but to ask for information concerning a certa
in blind beggar who put in an appearance there towards sunset on the Thursday preceding the Derby of 18—, and you will do so. When that mysterious individual first came in sight he was creeping along the dusty high road that winds across the Downs from Market Stop ford to Beaton Junction, dolorously quavering a ballad that was intended to be, though few would have recognised it, “The Wearing of the Green.”
On reaching the stables he tapped along the wall with his stick, until he came to the gate. Then, when he was asked his business by the head lad, who had been called up by one of the stable boys, he stated that he was starving, and, with peculiar arts of his own, induced them to provide him with a meal. For upwards of an hour he remained talking with the lads, and then wended his way down the hill towards the village, where he further managed to induce the rector to permit him to occupy one of his outhouses for the night.
After tea he went out and sat on the green, but towards eight o’clock he crossed the stream at the ford, and made his way up to a little copse, which ornamented a slight eminence, on the opposite side of the village to that upon which the training stables were situated.
How he found his way, considering his infirmity, it is difficult to say, but that he did find it was proved by his presence there. It might also have been noticed that when he was once under cover of the bushes, he gave up tapping the earth with his stick, and walked straight enough, and without apparent hesitation, to the stump of a tree, upon which he seated himself.
For some time he enjoyed the beauty of the evening undisturbed by the presence of any other human being. Then he heard a step behind him, and next moment a smart-looking stable lad parted the bushes and came into view.
“Hullo,” said the new-comer. “So you managed to get here first?”
“So I have,” said the old rascal, “and it’s wonderful when you come to think of it, considering my age, and what a poor old blind chap I be. But I’m glad to find ye’ve managed to get away, my lad. Now what have ye got to say for yourself?”
The Victorian Rogues MEGAPACK ™: 28 Classic Tales Page 174
