The Case of the Racehorse Ringer (3 page)

“Never mind the clothes,” Wiggins interrupted. “What about Gertie’s dad?”

“What about him?”

“Are you gonna let him go?”

Lestrade looked surprised. He glanced quickly at the papers in the file on his desk.

“Why should we do that?” he asked.

“’Cos he didn’t do it,” Gertie said. “He’s got an alibaba-whatsit.”

“Alibi,” Wiggins supplied.

“Really?” The inspector leant forwards with interest. “And what would that be?”

“He was with me,” Gertie told him.

“Where?”

“In our wagon, of course. Our caravan.”

“All night?”

“Is that when it happened?” Wiggins asked. “In the night?”

“Yes,” the inspector replied, then turned back to Gertie. “So you and your father were in your caravan all night. Was anybody else with you?”

“No. Course not.”

“I see. Well, it’s a brave try. But I’m afraid it won’t do.”

“Why not?” Wiggins asked.

“Because someone else saw him in the woods, where the lad was murdered.”

“Who?” Gertie demanded. “Who says they saw him?”

“I can’t tell you that,” said the inspector. “It’s evidence.”

“Well, whoever it is, they’re lying.”

“And you’re not?” he snapped, subjecting her to a fierce glare.

“No!”

Lestrade shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, young lady, but you’re going to have to prove it. Until then, you’re just wasting my time – and my time is precious.” He stood up, indicating that the interview was over.

“How we gonna prove it?” Gertie pleaded.

“That’s up to you. But it’s the only way you can save your father.”

Back at HQ, the Boys were glum. While the others had been waiting anxiously for Wiggins and Gertie to come back from Scotland Yard, they had thought that Inspector Lestrade might offer Gertie some help in saving her father. But he had dashed her hopes when he said that someone had seen Patrick O’Grady in the woods where the lad was murdered.

“He didn’t say they’d seen him do it, though, did he?” Gertie said.

“No, he didn’t,” agreed Wiggins.

“And anyways,” Gertie went on, “he wasn’t there. Whoever it was, they’re tellin’ lies.”

“So why would they do that?” Wiggins asked.

“’Cos they’ve got summat to hide!” Beaver cried.

“Exac’ly! And what could that be?”

“The identity of the guilty party!” Sparrow exclaimed.

“Who’s havin’ a party?” asked Rosie, puzzled.

“Nobody,” said Queenie. “That’s just a way of sayin’ the geezer what done it.”

“Well, why didn’t you say that to start with?” asked Shiner.

“Never mind that,” Wiggins said impatiently. “I gotta think about this. Really think.”

“Right,” said Queenie. “Rosie, I’ll give you a hand with your flowers. The rest of you, hop it.”

“Not afore I’ve got out of this frock,” Gertie said. “I ain’t goin’ out in the street lookin’ like this.”

“All right. See what you can find in the clothes box.”

Gertie rummaged through the clothes that the Boys used as spares or disguises. When she had found a jacket and a pair of trousers that were not too tattered, she exchanged them for the hated dress.

“That’s more like it,” Beaver chuckled as the transformation was completed.

“Now we’ve got our Gertie back.” Sparrow grinned.

When the others had left, Queenie and Rosie settled down quietly to making up the little bunches of flowers – nosegays and posies and buttonholes – for Rosie to sell from her tray.

Wiggins moved over to his special armchair, which he had made from bits and pieces collected from other people’s cast-off furniture. It looked odd, but it was very comfortable – in fact, it was often quite hard not to go to sleep in it. Once he was settled, Wiggins could let his mind get to work for hours without interruption. Sometimes he would even put on one of Mr Holmes’s old deerstalker hats and suck on a curly pipe, just like the famous detective. Except, of course, Wiggins never put any tobacco in his.

When Queenie and Rosie had finished making up the little bunches of flowers, Rosie arranged them on her tray, then set off for the street to start selling them. But still Wiggins sat in his chair, deep in thought. From time to time he would lift the deerstalker and scratch his head, or rub his hand over his chin, stroking an imaginary beard. Then at last he suddenly sat up and banged his hands down on the arms of the chair.

“Eureka!” he shouted.

“What?” Queenie asked, startled.

“Eureka! It’s what Mr Holmes said in the haunted horrors case. When Gertie’s dad dug up the box with the plans in it and I opened it.”

“Oh yeah,” Queenie said. “I sort of remember.”

“It’s ancient Greek and it means ‘I’ve found it!’”

“Right. And have you?”

“Maybe. Get the others back. They won’t have gone far. Get ’em back and I’ll tell you.”

Wiggins waved his pipe at the other Boys.

“Listen careful, now,” he told them. “The coppers ain’t gonna help us, so it’s up to us to save Gertie’s dad. Right?”

The others nodded but still looked puzzled.

“We can’t do nothing from here,” Wiggins went on. “We gotta get to the scene of the crime.”

“You mean Major Lee’s racin’ stables?” asked Gertie.

“Exac’ly.”

“How we gonna do that? It’s a long way away,” said Beaver.

“We get a ride, like Gertie did.”

“From Mr Gorman?” Queenie asked.

“You got it. He goes up near there every morning.”

“But his trap ain’t that big. And if he’s got the milk churns aboard, he’ll never get all of us in.”

“No, but there’d be room for three of us. Me, Gertie … and Sparrow.”

The other Boys looked disappointed. This was going to be an adventure and they did not want to miss it.

“Why you three?” Shiner demanded. “What’s wrong with the rest of us?”

“Well,” Wiggins answered, “I gotta go because I’m in charge of the investigation. Right?”

Shiner nodded.

“And Gertie’s gotta go because she’s the only one what knows where everything is. And anyways, we’re doing this for her dad.”

“But what about Sparrow?”

“Sparrow’s gotta go because he’s the littlest.”

“What’s that gotta do with it?” said Shiner.

“If you’ll just shut up for a minute, I’ll tell you.”

“Yes, shut up, Shiner,” Sparrow said impatiently. “I wanna know.”

Wiggins explained how most stable lads want to become jockeys. They want to ride horses and win races. And to be a jockey, you need to be small – the smaller the better. Big people, he said, weigh more than small ones and the less weight a horse has to carry on its back, the faster it can run.

“Imagine,” Wiggins told Shiner, “if I asked you to run up the road, fast as you can. Then I put a bag of bricks on your back and asked you to do it again. It wouldn’t half slow you down.”

“Sparrow ain’t gonna ride in a race, is he?” Beaver asked.

“No,” Wiggins replied. “But he’s gonna be a stable lad. So he’s gotta look like he
could
be a jockey.”

“Hang on a minute,” Sparrow butted in. “What d’you mean, I’m gonna be a stable lad?”

“Well, if we’re gonna find anything out, we need somebody inside the stables,” Wiggins explained. “The best person would be Gertie, of course. She knows about horses and riding. But Major Lee knows who she is. And she’s a girl, so they wouldn’t give her a job anyway.”

“That’s true,” said Beaver. “’Cept how do you know there’s a job goin’?”

Wiggins sighed heavily. “Because they just lost a lad, didn’t they?”

“You mean Tommie?”

“Exac’ly. The lad what was murdered. They’re gonna need a replacement for him, aren’t they? So if Sparrow turns up telling ’em he’s looking for a job…”

“But I don’t know nothin’ about horses and stables,” protested Sparrow.

“Don’t worry,” said Gertie, “they’ll learn you.”

“Teach you,” Queenie corrected her.

“What will I have to do?” Sparrow asked.

“Just do as you’re told,” said Gertie. “Bit of muckin’ out, feedin’, waterin’, groomin’. Whatever they tell you.”

“No, I meant what will I have to do about Gertie’s dad?”

“Just keep your eyes and ears open,” Wiggins said. “You’re gonna be
my
eyes and ears inside those stables.”

“But where will
you
be?”

“Me and Gertie—”

“Gertie and I,” Queenie corrected him automatically.

“Gertie and me will be staying in her caravan in the woods.”

That evening, as it was getting dark, Wiggins, Gertie and Sparrow walked round to Mr Gorman’s dairy. They had been to see him earlier in the day, and he had agreed to give them a ride out to the farm when he went to collect his milk. Because he set out so early, he said they could sleep in his stable behind the shop, to be ready to leave with him in the morning. Luckily there were two stalls in the stable. Mr Gorman’s horse, Betsy, lived in one of them. The three Boys bedded down in the other, making themselves quite comfortable on bales of straw and hay.

It was still dark when Mr Gorman came to wake them up. Mrs Gorman kindly brought them mugs of milk and hunks of bread and cheese for breakfast. Not knowing when they would eat again, Wiggins stuffed some of it in his pocket, and they wolfed the rest down hungrily while the milkman led Betsy out and harnessed her up. He loaded the empty churns into the trap and the Boys climbed aboard. Then they were off, trotting briskly through the empty London streets.

As dawn began to light up the sky, the pony and trap passed the edge of Hampstead Heath. Soon they were passing through the city’s northern suburbs, where the houses were less crowded. Then they reached fields, with cows grazing peacefully in them, and knew they were really in the country now. Mr Gorman stopped at the entrance to a farm.

“This is as far as I go,” he told the children. “But the racing stables are only two or three miles further on.”

The three Boys climbed out of the trap and thanked him.

“You’re very welcome,” Mr Gorman said. “I only wish I could do more to help. But I’ve got to get my milk back to Baker Street before breakfast. If you need me, though, I’m here at this time every morning.”

Gertie stroked Betsy’s neck and gave her a final pat. Then they waved goodbye and set off along the road. Before long the Boys passed through a village, and then they were in open heathland. Gertie pointed to a cluster of buildings set in a small valley below them.

“There it is,” she said. “That’s the stables.”

Wiggins and Sparrow followed her finger and saw a handsome brick and flint house facing a square yard. It was lined with low wooden buildings with black-painted doors that each divided in two.

“Are those the horses’ stables?” Wiggins asked.

“They call ’em loose boxes,” Gertie told him.

“Loose?” said Wiggins. “How come?”

“Dunno. I s’pose it’s ’cos the horses ain’t tied up inside ’em. They can move about, turn round, lie down, do what they like.”

Three lads had just entered the yard and were opening the top halves of the doors. Horses’ heads appeared in the openings, looking around with interest. They greeted the morning with snorts and whinnies, puffing steaming breath from their nostrils.

“Aren’t they just beautiful?” Gertie said.

Sparrow wasn’t so sure. He was used to horses in the street, pulling cabs or carriages or delivery vans. Like the rest of the Boys, he sometimes earned a few pennies holding horses’ heads outside shops, to stop them wandering off while their owners went inside to make purchases. Those horses were usually pretty docile. But these were different. They tossed their heads impatiently, eager to be out of their stalls.

He swallowed nervously. “They look very lively,” he said.

“Sure and haven’t they just had a good night’s sleep,” Gertie answered. “They can’t wait to get onto the gallops.”

“Will I have to ride ’em?”

“Not to start with, I don’t s’pose.”

“Come on,” Wiggins interrupted. “We should get away from here before anybody spots Gertie.”

“Good thinkin’,” said Gertie. “I don’t want to end up in that orphanage again.”

“Where’s your caravan?” Wiggins asked.

“It’s tucked away in the woods, like a hideout. I’ll show you.”

After climbing over the top of a steep hill, the three Boys entered the leafy woods. The bright morning disappeared immediately. The trees were packed close together, shutting out the daylight and casting a heavy shade. Some of them were twisted into strange shapes, like primeval monsters or evil witches, and it was easy to imagine ogres lurking in the shadows or strange creatures skulking in the ancient hollow trunks. Sparrow shivered. Even Wiggins glanced nervously around him. But Gertie did not seem to be worried at all.

She led them through the woods until they came to a clearing, in the middle of which stood the caravan, looking abandoned.

“Where’s your horse?” Wiggins asked.

“Major Lee must’ve took her,” Gertie said. “I expect they’ll be usin’ her at the stables.”

“That’s stealin’!” Sparrow exclaimed.

“Better than leaving her here on her own with nobody to look after her,” Wiggins pointed out.