The Case of the Racehorse Ringer (9 page)

“Sparrow!” Gertie cried. “What’s up?”

“Are you all right?” Wiggins asked anxiously. “Is somebody after you? Have they hurt you?”

Sparrow shook his head but couldn’t speak. He sank to the ground. Although he had been tired, he had managed to summon up enough energy to scramble back up the hill. But now he was exhausted.

“Got to…” he panted, “got to tell…”

“Take your time,” said Wiggins. “Catch your breath.”

They waited until Sparrow could breathe enough to speak.

“Now,” said Wiggins, “what are you trying to tell us?”

“They’re gonna kill Silver Star.”

“Who are?”

“Moriarty and the major. I heard ’em talkin’ about it. Soon as he’s won the Prince’s Cup.”

“Disguised as Blackie, you mean?” said Wiggins.

“Yes. Once he’s won, they’re gonna bring him back here and shoot him.”

“Why?” Gertie asked.

“To destroy the evidence, the professor said. He told the major that the horse is the evidence, and he’s got to be got rid of.”

“But won’t everybody know there’s summat fishy goin’ on?” asked Gertie.

“No. They’re gonna say he had an accident and broke his leg.”

Sam nodded slowly. “The crafty beggars. Everybody knows that when a racehorse breaks a leg it has to be put down. It’ll never race again.”

“I see,” said Wiggins. “So they shoot it, bury it and nobody’s any the wiser.”

“But what about Blackie?” Gertie asked. “He’s evidence as well. They wouldn’t dare kill both of them at the same time. That really would look fishy.”

“Right,” said Sparrow. “They’re gonna put him out to grass somewhere miles away. Once he’s been cleaned up he’ll look like any other black horse with no special markin’. Then a bit later, after it’s all gone quiet, they’ll get rid of him, too.”

“That’s a cryin’ shame,” cried Gertie. “Those beautiful animals! I can’t bear the thought of it.”

“We gotta do something, that’s for sure,” Wiggins declared. “But what?”

“Hang on,” said Sparrow. “I ain’t finished tellin’ you yet.”

“What?”

“That wasn’t all Moriarty said. He said he didn’t want no mistakes this time. ‘No more nosy stable lads to be got rid of.’”

The other three stared at Sparrow, open-mouthed.

“That’s it!” yelled Wiggins. “It was
them
! And now we know why!”

Gertie looked thoughtful. “So Tommie found out what they was up to. He must’ve caught ’em practisin’ or somethin’. They’d have needed to try the paint before they did it for real, and he must’ve seen ’em and guessed the rest.”

“And they had to shut him up afore he told anybody,” Wiggins concluded.

“Who was he gonna tell?” asked Sparrow.

Wiggins paced back and forth across the clearing, thinking hard and muttering to himself. The others watched and waited until, at last, his face cleared.

“Gertie’s dad, of course,” he said. “He was gonna tell Gertie’s dad!”

“Yes!” Gertie cried. “
That’s
what he was doin’ up here at that time of night.”

“Well,” said Sam, “now you know all that, you can just tell the coppers. You don’t need me any more. I can go home.”

“Oh no you don’t,” said Wiggins. “We gotta prove Patrick didn’t do the murder. You gotta give him his alibi.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Sam looked downcast. He didn’t like the idea of talking to the police.

“And we gotta provide the evidence,” added Wiggins.

“What’s that?”

“The horse, of course. Silver Star with his marks painted out so he looks like Blackie. We gotta get Inspector Lestrade to take a look at him afore the race. That’s the only way we can stop ’em shooting him.”

“We ain’t got much time, then,” said Sparrow.

“When’s the race?” asked Gertie.

“Prince’s Cup?” said Sam. “Ally Pally, 3.30, Thursday.”

“Thursday?” Wiggins exclaimed. “That’s tomorrow!”

“Oh, lawks,” muttered Sparrow gloomily. “We ain’t got no time at all. We’ll never get the inspector out here by then.”

“Well, that’s that, then,” said Sam, getting to his feet. “We might as well give up and go home.”

“Hang on.” Wiggins held up a hand to stop him. “We’re the Baker Street Boys. We don’t give up.”

“What you gonna do, then?”

“Only one thing we can do. If the inspector can’t come to the horse, we’ll have to take the horse to the inspector.”

The others all stared at Wiggins as they realized what he was saying.

“How d’you think you’re gonna do that, then?” Sam asked at last.

“Simple,” Wiggins replied. “We take him out of the stables tonight, while everybody’s asleep.”

“You mean
steal
him?” Sam looked aghast. “You’re gonna steal a racehorse?”

“Not steal him. Rescue him,” corrected Wiggins.

“D’you really
want
to go to prison?”

“We ain’t the ones what’ll be goin’ to prison,” said Sparrow. “It’s the major and Hogg and Fred what’ll get locked up, when the coppers find out what they’ve been up to.”

The three Boys and Sam had to wait until everyone in the stables was in bed. By the time the last light had gone out it felt like the middle of the night, but they dared not move until they were sure everybody was asleep. Eventually they crept towards the yard. Clouds were floating in front of the moon, so it was not as bright as it had been the night before, but there was still enough light for them to see where they were going. Sam carried his bull’s-eye lantern with the front closed.

“What are you going to do about that dog?” Sam whispered nervously. “If it starts barking…”

“It won’t,” Sparrow told him. “Just leave the dog to me. I’ll go first.”

He moved towards the gate and called very quietly, “Satan! Satan!”

“Satan? What you on about?” hissed Gertie.

“Shh! It’s the dog’s name. Here, boy. It’s me, Sparrow.”

The dog ambled towards him, wagging its tail. Sparrow patted it gently on the head.

“There. It’s OK, boy. These are my friends.” Satan growled. “Friends … friends, Satan. OK?”

He beckoned to the others. Wiggins and Gertie slipped in through the gate after him, but Sam held back.

“You can stay here,” Wiggins told him. “On guard. Keep cave for us in case anybody comes. OK? Just give me your lantern.”

Sam nodded gratefully and handed over his bull’s-eye lantern, then watched as the three Boys tiptoed across the yard. Sparrow opened the door to Blackie’s loose box and stroked the horse’s neck as he had been taught, whispering calmly to reassure it.

“You quite sure you got the right hoss, Sparrow?” Wiggins asked.

“Yes. This is Silver Star all right.”

“Ain’t he just beautiful?” Gertie cooed.

“Come on,” Wiggins urged. “We ain’t got time to stand about admiring him.”

“He’s got his head collar on already,” Sparrow said, “so all we need is the reins to lead him by… Should be hangin’ up over here. Just shine the light.”

Wiggins opened the lantern and shone it on the wall. The reins were hanging by the door. Sparrow took them and clipped them onto the horse.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” a new voice demanded. It was Maisie, standing in the doorway. She was wearing a dressing gown over her nightdress. And she was holding a shotgun.

“Who are you and what d’you think you’re doing?” she asked. “Why are you trying to steal Blackie?”

“We ain’t stealin’ him,” Sparrow answered, his heart thumping. “We’re savin’ him.”

“
Sparrow?
Is that you? Who are these people?”

“They’re my friends,” said Sparrow.

Maisie stared at the Boys. She pointed at Gertie accusingly. “I’ve seen you before,” she said.

“You might have,” Gertie retorted. “Me and my da have been campin’ in the woods up there.”

“Now I know who you are. Your da … er, your father murdered Tommie!”

“No, he never,” declared Gertie with a sniff. “He’s innocent.”

“And we’re gonna prove it,” Sparrow said. “That’s what we’re doin’ here.”

“You can tell that to the police,” Maisie replied sternly. “After you’ve explained yourselves to my father.”

The Boys’ hearts sank. It seemed that their plan was doomed. When an owl hooted somewhere in the darkness, it sounded as though it was laughing at them.

Wiggins stepped forward. “No!” he said urgently. “Please. Don’t say anything to him till you’ve heard what we’ve got to tell you.”

“I don’t understand,” said Maisie. “Who are you?”

“Arnold Wiggins,” Wiggins introduced himself, “captain of the Baker Street Boys.”

“Baker Street…?”

“Special assistants to Mr Sherlock Holmes, the world-famous detective. And this is Gertie O’Grady. She’s one of us and all.”

“And Sparrow?” Maisie asked, looking confused.

“Yes,” said Wiggins. “He’s one of us as well, working undercover. So you can put the gun down, if you please. We ain’t robbers. We’re detectives.”

Maisie considered for a moment, looking hard at each of them, then lowered the shotgun and stood it against the wall. “It isn’t loaded, anyway,” she said. “Now, what’s this all about? Where were you going with Blackie?”

“To show him to our friend Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard. Only this ain’t Blackie, is it?”

“What are you talking about?” the girl asked in bewilderment.

“This ain’t Blackie, it’s Silver Star,” Wiggins asserted.

Maisie gave a little laugh. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “If this is Star, where are his markings?”

“Painted out,” Sparrow told her. “That’s what that paint was, on the straw. Remember? Black in Star’s box, white in Blackie’s?”

Maisie put her hands to her face, her eyes as wide and round as saucers.

“Oh my goodness.” She gasped. “That’s terrible!”

“Yes,” said Wiggins. “And you’re saying you don’t know nothing about it?”

“Of course not,” she replied indignantly. “I wouldn’t do such an awful thing. Who would?”

“Your pa, and Mr Hogg,” said Gertie.

“And Fred,” Sparrow added. “They’re all in it together.”

“All in what?”

“They’re doing a ringer,” explained Wiggins. “Have you ever heard of a ringer?”

“I … I think so, yes. But it’s cheating. My father wouldn’t do that!”

Maisie shook her head in bewilderment. Wiggins took hold of the lapels of his jacket, as he had seen Mr Holmes do.

“It’s my belief,” he said in his most serious voice, “that your pa has got himself in the grip of an evil man called Professor Moriarty.”

“How do you know all this?”

“You learn a lot when you work for Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty is a master criminal. We’ve crossed swords with him before. Your father ain’t the first to fall into his clutches.”

“But what makes you think he has?” asked Maisie.

“’Cos we’ve seen Moriarty with him,” Wiggins told her.

“We seen him at the gallops. And he was here tonight,” said Sparrow. “I heard ’em talkin’. They was plottin’ to do away with Silver Star after he’s won the Prince’s Cup tomorrow.”

“No!” she protested. “My pa would never do anything to harm Star. Never.”

“The professor told him he’s got to,” Sparrow went on. “He’s gotta kill Star and destroy the evidence. Or he’ll lose the stables and everythin’.”

“That’s why we gotta get Silver Star outta here,” said Wiggins. “Tonight.”

“But where can you take him that’s safe?”

“We’ll take him to London. To Scotland Yard.”

“It’s a long walk to London,” Maisie said. “I don’t think Sparrow will make it. He’s proper worn out.”

“I’ll be all right,” Sparrow protested. “I can’t stop here, anyhow.”

“No,” agreed Wiggins, “not with Star gone. They’ll soon twig what you’ve been up to. And we don’t want another Tommie.”

“He could stay in the caravan,” Gertie suggested.

“First place they’d look,” Wiggins said. “They’d find him in no time.”

“Patch!” Maisie cried, clapping her hands.

“What?”

“You can take Patch. She’s Gertie’s anyway. Sparrow could ride her.”

“We could take it in turns,” Sparrow said.

“What about Star?” Gertie asked.

“Much too dangerous. Sparrow couldn’t ride Star.”

“No, but I could. I can ride anythin’.”

Maisie looked doubtful.

“Don’t worry. He’ll be safe with me.”

“Safer than if he stayed here,” added Wiggins.

Maisie thought about it and decided Wiggins was right.

“OK. You’ll need two saddles. Come on. Quiet as mice, now!”

They crept round to the tack room, taking care not to make a sound. Across the yard, Sam was waiting impatiently by the gate. Satan sat near by, never taking his eyes off him. When Sam saw Maisie leading the three Boys out of the stable, he quite forgot about the dog and started towards them. Quick as a flash, Satan was on his feet. His deep growl turned into a snarl as he leapt towards Sam and buried his teeth in Sam’s backside. Sam clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a yelp, then jumped back through the gate to get it between himself and Satan.

“Who’s that?” Maisie said, spinning around.

“It’s all right,” Wiggins said. “That’s Sam. He’s with us.”

“Another detective?” she asked.

“No, he ain’t,” Gertie told her. “He’s a bookie. But he’s helpin’ us.”

“I hope he’s OK. Looked like Satan bit him on the bum.”

“Yeah.” Sparrow grinned. “You said that dog was a good judge of character.”

Maisie soon had a saddle on Silver Star and they led him out of his box and across the yard, making as little noise as they could. Satan’s teeth had not gone through the thick cloth of Sam’s trousers, so he was just bruised. The five of them made their way over to the paddock, where Patch was grazing alone. When she heard Gertie’s voice, the skewbald pony whinnied with delight and cantered across to nuzzle and butt her in greeting. She seemed pleased to see Sparrow, too, and stood happily while he helped Maisie saddle her and climbed onto her back.

“You’d better get going,” Maisie said. “Good luck!”

“What’re you gonna do?” Wiggins asked her.

“I don’t know yet. We don’t want anybody coming after you, so I shan’t say anything till I know Star’s safe. Then – well, we’ll have to see. At any rate, I’ll be going to Ally Pally for the Prince’s Cup tomorrow.”