The Complete Four Just Men (43 page)

Timbolino had a two-length clear lead of Colette, which was a length clear of a bunch of five; Nemesis, when half the journey was done, was lying eighth or ninth.

Horace, on the stand, had his stop-watch in his hand. He clicked it off as the field passed the four-furlong post and hastily examined the dial.

‘It’s a slow race,’ he said, with a little thrill in his voice.

At the distance, Nemesis, with a quick free stride, had shot out of the ruck and was third, three lengths behind Timbolino.

The boy on Sir Isaac’s horse was running a confident race. He had the rails and had not moved on his horse. He looked round to see where the danger lay, and his experienced eye saw it in Nemesis, who was going smoothly and evenly.

A hundred yards from the post the boy on Gresham’s filly shook her up, and in half a dozen strides she had drawn abreast of the leader.

The rider of Timbolino saw the danger – he pushed his mount, working with hands and heels upon the willing animal under him.

They were running now wide of each other, dead level. The advantage, it seemed, lay with the horse on the rails, but Horace, watching with an expert eye from the top of the stand, knew that the real advantage lay with the horse in the middle of the track.

He had walked over the course that morning, and he knew that it was on the crown of the track that the going was best. Timbolino responded nobly to the efforts of his rider; once his head got in front, and the boy on Nemesis took up his whip, but he did not use it. He was watching the other. Then, with twenty yards to go, he drove Nemesis forward with all the power of his splendid hands.

Timbolino made one more effort, and as they flew past the judge’s box there was none save the judge who might separate them.

Horace turned to the girl at his side with a critical smile.

‘Oh, you’ve won,’ she said. ‘You did win, didn’t you?’

Her eyes were blazing with excitement.

He shook his head smilingly.

‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that,’ he said. ‘It was a very close thing.’

He glanced at Sir Isaac. The baronet’s face was livid, the hand that he raised to his lips trembled like an aspen leaf.

‘There’s one man,’ thought Horace, ‘who’s more worried about the result than I am.’

Down below in the ring there was a Babel of excited talk. It rose up to them in a dull roar. They were betting fast and furiously on the result, for the numbers had not yet gone up.

Both horses had their partisans. Then there was a din amounting to a bellow. The judge had hoisted two noughts in the frame. It was a dead-heat!

‘By Jove!’ said Horace.

It was the only comment he made.

He crossed to the other side of the enclosure as quickly as he could, Sir Isaac following closely behind. As the baronet elbowed his way through the crowd somebody caught him by the arm. He looked round. It was Black.

‘Run it off,’ said Black, in a hoarse whisper. ‘It was a fluke that horse got up. Your jockey was caught napping. Run it off.’

Sir Isaac hesitated. ‘I shall get half the bets and half the stakes,’ he said.

‘Have the lot,’ said Black. ‘Go along, there is nothing to be afraid of. I know this game; run it off. There’s nothing to prevent you winning.’

Sir Isaac hesitated, then walked slowly to the unsaddling enclosure. The steaming horses were being divested of their saddles.

Gresham was there, looking cool and cheerful. He caught the baronet’s eye.

‘Well, Sir Isaac,’ he said pleasantly, ‘what are you going to do?’

‘What do you want to do?’ asked Sir Isaac suspiciously.

It was part of his creed that all men were rogues. He thought it would be safest to do the opposite to what his rival desired. Like many another suspicious man, he made frequent errors in his diagnosis.

‘I think it would be advisable to divide,’ said Horace. ‘The horses have had a very hard race, and I think mine was unlucky not to win.’

That decided Sir Isaac.

‘We’ll run it off,’ he said.

‘As you will,’ said Horace coldly, ‘but I think it is only right to warn you that my horse was boxed in half-way up the course and but for that would have won very easily. She had to make up half a dozen – ’

‘I know all about that,’ interrupted the other rudely, ‘but none the less, I’m going to run it off.’

Horace nodded.
He turned to consult with his trainer.
If the baronet decided to run the dead-heat off, there was nothing to prevent it, the laws of racing being that both owners must agree to divide.

Sir Isaac announced his intention to the stewards, and it was arranged that the run-off would take place after the last race of the day.

He was shaking with excitement when he rejoined Black. ‘I’m not so sure that you’re right,’ he said dubiously. ‘This chap Gresham says his horse was boxed in. I didn’t see the beast in the race, so I can’t tell. Ask somebody.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Black, patting him on the back, ‘there is nothing to worry about; you’ll win this race just as easily as I shall walk from this ring to the paddock.’

Sir Isaac was not satisfied. He waited till he saw a journalist whom he knew by sight returning from the telegraph office.

‘I say,’ he said, ‘did you see the race?’

The journalist nodded. ‘Yes, Sir Isaac,’ he said with a smile. ‘I suppose Gresham insisted on running it off?’

‘No, he didn’t,’ said Sir Isaac, ‘but I think I was unlucky to lose.’

The journalist made a little grimace. ‘I’m sorry I can’t agree with you,’ he said. ‘I thought that Mr Gresham’s horse ought to have won easily, but that he was boxed in in the straight.’

Sir Isaac reported this conversation to Black.

‘Take no notice of these racing journalists,’ said Black contemptuously. ‘What do they know? Haven’t I got eyes as well as they?’

But this did not satisfy Sir Isaac. ‘These chaps are jolly good judges,’ he said. ‘I wish to heaven I had divided.’

Black slapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’re losing your nerve, Ikey,’ he said. ‘Why, you’ll be thanking me at dinner tonight for having saved you thousands of pounds. He didn’t want to run it off?’

‘Who?’ asked Sir Isaac. ‘Gresham?’

‘Yes; did he?’ asked Black.

‘No, he wasn’t very keen. He said it wasn’t fair to the horses.’

Black laughed. ‘Rubbish!’ he said scornfully. ‘Do you imagine a man like that cares whether his horse is hard raced or whether it isn’t? No! He saw the race as well as I did. He saw that your fool of a jockey had it won and was caught napping. Of course he didn’t want to risk a run-off. I tell you that Timbolino will win easily.’

Somewhat reassured
by his companion’s optimism,
Sir Isaac awaited the conclusion of the run-off in better spirits. It added to his assurance that the ring took a similar view to that which Black held. They were asking for odds about Timbolino. You might have got two to one against Nemesis.

But only for a little while. Gresham had gone into the tea-room with the girl, and was standing at the narrow entrance of the county stand, when the cry, ‘Two to one Nemesis!’ caught his ear.

‘They’re not laying against my horse!’ he exclaimed in astonishment. He beckoned a man who was passing. ‘Are they laying against Nemesis?’ he asked.

The man nodded. He was a commission agent, who did whatever work the young owner required. ‘Go in and back her for me. Put in as much money as you possibly can get. Back it down to evens,’ said Gresham decidedly.

He was not a gambling man. He was shrewd and business-like in all his transactions, and he could read a race. He knew exactly what had happened. His money created some sensation in a market which was not over-strong. Timbolino went out, and Nemesis was a shade odds on.

Then it was that money came in for Sir Isaac’s horse.

Black did not bet to any extent, but he saw a chance of making easy money. The man honestly believed all he had said to Sir Isaac. He was confident in his mind that the jockey had ridden a ‘jolly race’. He had sufficient credit amongst the best men in the ring to invest fairly heavily.

Again the market experienced an extraordinary change. Timbolino was favourite again. Nemesis went out – first six to four, then two to one, then five to two.

But now the money began to come in from the country. The results of the race and its description had been published in the stop-press editions in hundreds of evening papers up and down England, Ireland and Scotland. Quick to make their decisions, the little punters of Great Britain were re-investing – some to save their stakes, others to increase what they already regarded as their winnings.

And here the money was for Nemesis. The reporters, unprejudiced
, had no other interest but to secure for the public accurate news and to describe things as they saw them. And the race as they saw it was the race which Sir Isaac would not believe and at which Black openly scoffed.

The last event was set for half-past four, and after the field had come past the post, and the winner was being led to the unsaddling enclosure, the two dead-heaters of the memorable Lincolnshire Handicap came prancing from the paddock on to the course.

The question of the draw was immaterial. There was nothing to choose between the jockeys, two experienced horsemen, and there was little delay at the post. It does not follow that a race of two runners means an equable start, though it seemed that nothing was likely to interfere with the tiny field getting off together. When the tapes went up, however, Nemesis half-turned and lost a couple of lengths.

‘I’ll back Timbolino,’ yelled somebody from the ring, and a quick staccato voice cried, ‘I’ll take three to one.’

A chorus of acceptances met the offer.

Sir Isaac was watching the race from the public stand. Black was at his side.

‘What did I tell you?’ asked the latter exultantly. ‘The money is in your pocket, Ikey, my boy. Look, three lengths in front. You’ll win at a walk.’

The boy on Nemesis had her well balanced. He did not drive her out. He seemed content to wait those three lengths in the rear. Gresham, watching them through his glasses, nodded his approval.

‘They’re going no pace,’ he said to the man at his side. ‘She was farther behind at this point in the race itself.’

Both horses were running smoothly. At the five-furlong post the lad on Nemesis let the filly out just a little. Without any apparent effort she improved her position. The jockey knew now exactly what were his resources and he was content to wait behind. The rest of the race needs very little description. It was a procession until they had reached the distance. Then the boy on Timbolino looked round.

‘He’s beaten,’ said Gresham, half to himself. He knew that some jockeys looked round when they felt their mount failing under them.

Two hundred yards from the post Nemesis, with scarcely an effort, drew level with the leader. Out came the other jockey’s whip.

One, two, he landed his mount, and the horse went ahead till he was a neck in front. Then, coming up with one long run, Nemesis first drew up, then passed the fast-stopping Timbolino, and won with consummate ease by a length and a half.

Sir Isaac could not believe his eyes. He gasped, dropped his glasses, and stared at the horses in amazement.

It was obvious that he was beaten long before the winning-post was reached.

‘He’s pulling the horse,’ he cried, beside himself with rage and chagrin. ‘Look at him! I’ll have him before the stewards. He is not riding the horse!’

Black’s hand closed on his arm. ‘Drop it, you fool,’ he muttered. ‘Are you going to give away the fact that you are broke to the world before all these people? You’re beaten fairly enough. I’ve lost as much as you have. Get out of this.’

Sir Isaac Tramber went down the stairs of the grand-stand in the midst of a throng of people, all talking at once in different keys. He was dazed. He was more like a man in a dream. He could not realize what it meant to him. He was stunned, bewildered. All that he knew was that Timbolino had lost. He had a vague idea at the back of his mind that he was a ruined man, and only a faint ray of hope that Black would in some mysterious way get him out of his trouble.

‘The horse was pulled,’ he repeated dully. ‘He couldn’t have lost. Black, wasn’t it pulled?’

‘Shut up,’ snarled the other. ‘You’re going to get yourself into pretty bad trouble unless you control that tongue of yours.’ He got the shaking man away from the course and put a stiff glass of brandy and water in his hand. The baronet awoke to his tragic position.

‘I can’t pay, Black,’ he wailed. ‘I can’t pay – what an awful business for me. What a fool I was to take your advice – what a fool! Curse you, you were standing in with Gresham. Why did you advise me? What did you make out of it?’

‘Dry up,’ said Black shortly. ‘You’re like a babe, Ikey. What are you worrying about? I’ve told you I’ve lost as much money as you. Now we’ve got to sit down and think out a plan for making money. What have you lost?’

Sir Isaac shook his head weakly. ‘I don’t know,’ he said listlessly. ‘Six or seven thousand pounds. I haven’t got six or seven thousand pence,’ he added plaintively. ‘It’s a pretty bad business for me, Black. A man in my position – I shall have to sell off my horses – ’

‘Your position!’ Black laughed harshly. ‘My dear good chap, I shouldn’t let that worry you. Your reputation,’ he went on. ‘You’re living in a fool’s paradise, my man,’ he said with savage banter. ‘Why, you’ve no more reputation than I have. Who cares whether you pay your debts of honour or whether you don’t? It would surprise people more if you paid than if you defaulted. Get all that nonsense out of your head and think sensibly. You will make all you’ve lost and much more. You’ve got to marry – and quick, and then she’s got to inherit my lord’s money, almost as quickly.’

Ikey looked at him in despairing amazement.

‘Even if she married me,’ he said pettishly, ‘I should have to wait years for the money.’

Colonel Black smiled.

They were moving off the course when they were overtaken by a man, who touched the baronet on the arm.

‘Excuse me, Sir Isaac,’ he said, and handed him an envelope.

‘For me?’ asked Ikey wonderingly, and opened the envelope. There was no letter – only a slip of paper and four bank-notes for a thousand pounds each. Sir Isaac gasped and read: ‘Pay your debts and live cleanly; avoid Black like the devil and work for your living.’