The Case of the Racehorse Ringer (8 page)

“Steady, now,” Wiggins warned him. “Stay back. The sun’s getting up and we don’t want it reflecting off the glasses. That would give us away and we’d be done for.”

Sam looked at him with interest.

“You’re a clever one, ain’t you? Where d’you learn it all?”

“I’ve got a good teacher.” Wiggins grinned.

“Who’s that, then?”

“Mr Sherlock Holmes.”

“What, the great detective?” asked Sneyd.

“One and the same. We’re his irregulars, the Baker Street Boys. Me and Gertie and another five. There’s seven of us, all told.”

“Well I never. Where are the others, then?”

“Four are back at our HQ in London, waiting for instructions.”

“That only makes six,” Sam pointed out.

“Correct. We got one working inside the stables.”

“Phew!” Sam stared at Wiggins in open-mouthed admiration. “How d’you manage that?” he exclaimed.

Wiggins gave him a mysterious smile and tapped the side of his nose.

“Did Mr Holmes fix it?”

“No,” Wiggins answered. “Mr Holmes is away in Germany. We’re doing this ourselves.”

“What, trying to catch a murderer?” said Sam in disbelief.

“That’s right,” Gertie said firmly. “And we will.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“You’ll see. We’re gonna get my da off – especially now we’ve got you to help us. When you go to the police and tell Inspector Lestrade…”

Suddenly Sam looked shifty and even more nervous than usual.

“Ah, now wait a minute—”

“Hang on,” Wiggins cut him off. “They’re starting, look.” He pointed to the horses. Major Lee was holding up a white handkerchief. When he brought it down, Fred kicked Silver Star into action. The horse leapt forwards. Holding the glasses to his eyes with one hand, Sam clicked his stopwatch with the other as the horse passed the first post. He followed it round until it passed the second post at the end of the course, when he clicked again. As Fred pulled the horse up and turned to canter back to the start, Sam licked the point of his pencil and wrote down the timing in his notebook.

Down below, Major Lee consulted his stopwatch and spoke briefly to Hogg, before signalling to Fred. Fred changed horses, then galloped round on Blackie, and once more the major and Sam both timed him. Sam carefully wrote down the result but looked puzzled. He scratched his head and looked at the stopwatch again. Then he turned back the pages of the notebook.

“That’s funny,” he said.

“What is?” asked Wiggins.

“Black Velvet ran faster than Silver Star.”

“Sure and that’s not possible,” said Gertie. “Everybody knows Star’s faster than Blackie.”

“Not today he ain’t,” said Slippery Sam. “According to this little book, that’s the first time Blackie’s beat him. Ever.”

“I see you’ve made friends with Satan,” Maisie said.

Sparrow was busy mucking out Silver Star’s loose box, and the dog was lying on the ground near by, lazily watching him.

“He’s all right when you get to know him,” Sparrow replied.

“Or when he gets to know you. I told you he’s a good judge of character. Can you manage that on your own?” Maisie added, seeing him struggle to lift the heavy load.

“I need to get it finished before Fred and the others get back.”

“Well, don’t wear yourself out too much. We’ve got your next lesson when you’ve finished here.”

Sparrow grinned and groaned at the same time. He didn’t know whether he was looking forward to his lesson, or dreading it. He liked the idea of learning to ride, and enjoyed being taught by Maisie, but he knew it was going to be painful. He lifted another fork load of soiled straw and put it into the barrow. Suddenly something in it caught his eye and he leant over to inspect it more closely.

“Hello,” he said, picking up a handful of straw. “What’s that?”

Maisie peered over his shoulder.

“Looks like paint,” she said. “Black paint.”

“Yeah,” said Sparrow, fingering it thoughtfully. “It’s dripped onto the straw, see? As if somebody’s spilt it.”

“Funny,” Maisie remarked. “Nobody’s been doing any painting lately. Not as far as I know.”

Sparrow shrugged, trying not to show the excitement he felt inside. This could be an important clue. He could hardly wait for Maisie to leave so that he could look for the next piece of evidence. He was beginning to put things together and if he was right, he would have something very interesting to tell Wiggins that night.

As soon as Maisie moved away, Sparrow hurried into the next box. Kneeling down, he inspected the straw inside the door. Just as he had suspected, he found more drips of paint. But this time, they were white.

“You reeker!” he cried. “Gotcha!”

For the rest of that day, Sparrow worked hard. He finished mucking out Silver Star and Blackie, fetched and carried for Fred, cleaned and polished saddles and harnesses. He endured another riding lesson on Patch and earnt praise from Maisie for his progress. The daily routine of life in the yard carried on around him and nothing seemed unusual or odd. A few tradesmen came and went, delivering food for both people and horses. The postman rode up, bringing the mail. A traveller called at the house, trying to sell mops and dusters. An old knife-grinder on a specially built bicycle set up his equipment in one corner of the yard and sat pedalling hard to sharpen knives, scissors and tools. He spoke kindly to Sparrow and showed him how his grindstone worked, which was interesting, but nothing to report to Wiggins.

By teatime Sparrow was worn out again. His last job of the day was to help bring the horses in for the night, and as he did so he paid careful attention to Silver Star and Blackie to see what they would do. Sure enough, the all-black horse headed for Silver Star’s usual box and the other started to go into Blackie’s. Sparrow said nothing as Fred quickly stepped in and steered them into the correct stalls, but made a note of it all to tell Wiggins. By now he was quite certain what was going on, but he still wasn’t sure why.

After tea – a nourishing stew that was almost as good as Queenie’s – the lads were free to do as they pleased. Most of them had hobbies. Ginger was whittling a piece of wood with a sharp penknife, carving the figure of a horse; Alfie was making a model boat; Charlie was drawing a picture of horses in a race. Jim was trying, unsuccessfully, to juggle three rubber balls. Sparrow tried to give him a few tips, which he had learnt from his Chinese friends in the music hall, but Jim didn’t want his help.

“What you gonna do with yourself, Birdie?” Fred asked.

“Dunno,” Sparrow answered. “Thought I might do a bit of explorin’. Find my way around, y’know.”

“Well, don’t go too far.”

“No,” Ginger warned. “Don’t forget what happened to poor Tommie.”

“You’ll be all right,” Charlie told him. “They got the murderer locked up in jail.”

Sparrow was quite puffed out by the steep climb up the hill to the woods. In fact, it was only the thought of telling the others his exciting discoveries that kept him going, and by the time he reached the caravan he was looking forward to sitting down. As he came through the trees into the clearing, however, he saw that Wiggins and Gertie were not alone. He stopped and quickly ducked back into the trees. Was that strange man a friend or foe, he wondered. Fortunately he did not have to decide. Gertie spotted him and ran to greet him.

“Sparrow!” she cried. “You’re OK!”

“I’m fine,” he answered. “Who’s that?”

“This is Slippery Sam,” Gertie replied. “The one my da was workin’ for.”

“Sneyd,” the man corrected. “My name’s Sam Sneyd.”

“He’s helping us,” Wiggins added. “He’s the one what give Gertie’s dad the stopwatch and spyglasses.”

“Er,
lent
them,” Sam said quickly.

“Are you a bookie?” Sparrow asked him.

Sam looked at him sharply, wondering how much he knew. “Yeah, sort of.”

“He knows my da’s innocent,” Gertie told Sparrow excitedly. “And he’s gonna help us prove it.”

“T’rific!” said Sparrow, lowering himself to the ground with a groan.

“Sparrow?” Wiggins sounded worried. “You OK?”

“Just a bit tired,” he said wearily.

Gertie fetched a mug, filled it with water and handed it to him.

“Here,” she said, “have a drink. It’ll do you good.”

Sparrow thanked her and drained it in one go. Gertie was right. It did make him feel better.

“Now then,” said Wiggins, “what you got for us? You seen anything?”

Sparrow grinned, took a deep breath and started to tell his friends everything that had happened and what he had seen and heard. They listened with great interest. When he had finished, Wiggins stood up and clapped.

“Brilliant!” he proclaimed. “I couldn’t have done better myself. Sparrow, you deserve a medal.”

Gertie joined in Wiggins’s applause. “That explains what happened on the gallops this mornin’,” she exclaimed.

“What happened?” asked Sparrow.

“Blackie ran faster than Silver Star.”

“Yeah. Only it weren’t Blackie – it was Silver Star painted to look like Blackie!” cried Wiggins. “A bit of black paint on Silver Star, and a bit of white paint on Blackie. That’s all it takes. The perfect disguise for both of ’em.”

“But what I don’t get is why,” Sparrow said. “What’s it all for?”

“Money,” Wiggins said. “Lots and lots of money.”

“That’s right,” agreed Sam. “They’re doing a ringer.”

“What’s a ringer?”

“A ringer is a lookalike,” explained their new friend. “A horse that’s swapped for another horse which looks similar. So everybody thinks they’re betting on one horse, but it’s really a different animal. It might be better, or it might be worse. It doesn’t matter as long as you know which it is.”

“’Cept in this case, it’s two ringers. Side by side,” said Wiggins.

“Well I never! The crafty so-and-sos,” said Gertie.

“The thing is, what we gonna do about it?” Sparrow wanted to know.

Sam stood up, rubbing his hands with glee. “I know what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna get back to London, first thing in the morning. Get some bets on.”

“You can’t do that,” Sparrow protested. “That’d be cheatin’.”

“I know. But it’d make me rich.” Sam grinned.

“Not if we told the coppers what was going on,” said Wiggins.

“You wouldn’t.” Sam’s face fell. “Would you?”

“Course we would,” said Gertie. “If you wanna win, you gotta do it fair and square.”

“But I could pay off all my debts! I’d be free from those bad men that are after me.”

Wiggins shook his head. “Sorry, Sam. Mr Holmes would never forgive me.”

“He doesn’t have to find out,” retorted Sam.

“Mr Holmes always finds out,” said Sparrow. “That’s why he’s the world’s greatest detective.”

“Just my luck,” Sam moaned. “What are you gonna do, then?”

“I dunno,” said Wiggins. “I’ll have to think about it. It ain’t what we’re here for, after all. Sparrow, you better get back. Act normal, keep your eyes and ears open and don’t say nothing to nobody about what we’ve found out.”

The light was fading as Sparrow made his way back through the woods. When he came out of the trees, he could see the yard below. The stables and the house looked peaceful, with all the doors to the loose boxes closed for the night. He pictured the horses resting quietly, and wished he was already in his own bed. Fortunately it was all downhill now, so the going was easy and he even broke into a trot on the slope. He was nearly home when he heard the distant grinding of wheels on gravel, and a moment later he saw a carriage approaching. It was getting quite dark and he could not see it very clearly, but he was pretty sure it was Moriarty’s.

As the carriage neared the yard, Satan started barking furiously. The front door of the house opened and Major Lee looked out to see what was going on. Recognizing the carriage, he ordered the dog to be quiet and strode across to the gate. The carriage door opened and the major spoke briefly to the person inside, then climbed in.

Sparrow bent low and crept along the fence until he reached the carriage. Crouching by the back wheels to keep out of sight of the coachman, he could just hear what was being said within. There were two voices. One was the major’s. The other was Moriarty’s familiar rasping hiss. “There must be no mistakes this time. No more nosy stable lads to be got rid of.”

“There won’t be,” the major replied. “We tested both horses this morning. No one suspected a thing.”

“Excellent. If you want to keep your stables, you had better make sure it stays that way. Now, listen carefully. We must take no chances. When the race has been won, you will bring the horse back here and get rid of it.”

“Get rid…? What d’you mean?”

“You know what I mean. The evidence must be destroyed. And that horse is the evidence.”

There was silence for a moment, then Major Lee spoke again. His voice was choking. “Destroy Silver Star? I couldn’t.”

“You must. Or risk losing everything. You must kill him.”

Wiggins, Gertie and Slippery Sam were just about to head towards the caravan for the night when they were disturbed by the sound of someone crashing through the undergrowth in the woods. They were surprised to see Sparrow bursting into the clearing, gasping for breath.