Hard Pressed Part 17

Despite his cheery optimism, Joe Raffle did not appear so gay as usual.

He seemed to have something on his mind, and those under him noticed that now and then he spoke with a sharpness that was not customary. In fact, the groom was troubled. He had been glad to see his old master again and to know that his small conspiracy looked like setting Harry Fielden on his feet once more. But when he came to review the position of affairs he did not feel absolutely satisfied, though he had done n.o.body a wrong, nor had calculated on putting a single penny in his pocket. On the contrary, he had been convinced that he was doing a most disinterested action.

But in the light of the past few days everything looked different.

Raffle was by no means blind to what was going on around him. There was plenty of gossip in the stables, for some degree of friendship between the lads at Haredale Park and those at Seton Manor was inevitable, and it was an open secret that there might possibly be an alliance between the two houses. It was plain to Raffle's keen eyes that May Haredale disliked Raymond Copley intensely and that Sir George was doing all he could to remove this objection. Raffle guessed, too, pretty accurately what was the state of Harry Fielden's feelings, and saw that if this marriage took place his little scheme would be worse than useless. If Fielden had not turned up again it would not have mattered. But as it was the large fortune which Sir George was about to annex seemed likely to go into the pockets of Raymond Copley.

Joe hated Raymond Copley with all the contempt that an old sportsman has for an ignorant dabbler in the great game. He knew that Copley cared nothing for racing for its own sake, that he kept his stable only to give himself importance in the eyes of his neighbours. Raffle was not aware that the Seton Manor stud was a blind to cover the conspiracies hatched between Copley and Foster, but he knew enough to set his teeth on edge and to make him determined to stop this hateful marriage if he could. It was gall and wormwood to feel that after all he had been working and planning for the advantage of Copley. He knew that Harry Fielden would have some delicacy in interfering and believed it likely that, if May consented to become Copley's wife, he would forbid Raffle to say a word about the real ownership of the Blenheim colt.

This was bad, but worse was to follow. For the last two or three days the colt had been off his feed, and Raffle thought he was developing symptoms of staleness. To settle this point, he arranged for another early morning trial. He had confided his intention to a couple of his trusty helpers, who fondly imagined that no one knew of it but themselves. But these things leak out in stables, and in some mysterious way the projected trial reached the ears of Chaffey, who, when he chose to tear himself away from his beloved bars, was one of the cleverest touts that ever worried a stable. After parting from Copley and Foster, he staggered along cheerfully till he came to a roadside public-house, where he obtained a shakedown for the night. The thirst for drink was upon him--indeed, it was seldom or never absent--but he managed to put a check upon himself, and retired to bed with strict injunctions to be called at daybreak. In the morning he rose a trembling wreck, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth, his nerves were a-quiver, but, by a supreme effort, he kept himself from the drink which called to him so strongly. The smell of it in the dingy public-house appealed to him mockingly, but he thrust the fierce desire aside and stole off to the Downs with splitting head and aching brows. He resolved to make up for his sufferings later. With luck he would be in London soon after nine o'clock. An hour later he would have sold his valuable information, and then--well, then, he would enjoy himself after the manner of his kind.

Having concealed himself in a patch of gorse, he waited with what patience he could for the trial. It was a long and weary vigil, but presently he heard the m.u.f.fled tramp of horses and the sound of voices.

Cautiously Chaffey raised himself and peeped out. He knew he was hiding just behind the winning-post. The solitary figure standing there was familiar to him. With a grin he recognized Fielden.

In the distance he could see two horses flashing along, and as they drew nearer he made out the fine dashing outline of the Blenheim colt. He had never seen that n.o.ble animal before, but his keen instinct told him he was not mistaken. He forgot his aches, pains, and everything else in the excitement of the moment. He saw the Blenheim colt holding his own, sailing along with a free and easy stride, and then suddenly, within a hundred yards or so of the gorse bushes, the other horse came away and finished many lengths ahead. The colt had a peculiar action that Chaffey did not fail to notice.

"They are right," he said, "the colt's queer. My word! it was well I came here this morning. This will be five and twenty pounds in my pocket. And if I have any luck that bloomin' Copley can get somebody else to look after his fruit baskets. I've had enough of it."

Chaffey dropped down as he saw Raffle coming up to the winning-post.

The horses had been led away, and n.o.body could hear what Fielden and his companion and Mallow had to say.

"This is a bad business," Harry observed.

"Looks like it, sir," Raffle said gloomily. "I can't make out what's wrong with the colt. I thought I knew all about horses, but this puzzles me. He seemed quite right a day or two ago, and I can't see now what's wrong."

"Oh, there's plenty of time," Fielden said cheerfully. "I daresay you'll manage to make him fit for the Guineas. It is a good thing I didn't take your advice and back him. I am glad the money I got for the library is still in the bank."

The stud-groom shook his head obstinately.

"I don't think you are right, sir," he said. "I still believe in the colt and, as you say, there is heaps of time between now and the Guineas. Of course, I must tell Sir George, and a fine state he'll be in, I expect. Just think what a difference that colt will make if he wins. And yet you refuse, sir, to benefit by so much as a penny."

"Why should I?" Fielden asked. "Practically the horse doesn't belong to me. Legally, I suppose, he does, and I have no doubt I could put in a successful claim. But the colt was only a yearling when I went away. He has been trained in Mallow's stable and by Sir George's man."

"I never call myself that, sir," Raffle muttered.

"Ah, but you are, Joe, morally speaking. You have accepted service under him, and you take his money. I know you have behaved exceedingly well to me. I know you have meant everything for the best, and I thank you for it. But I cannot interfere. Can't you see that I am in honour bound----"

"In honour bound to stand by and see Mr. Copley marry Miss Haredale?"

Raffle asked indignantly. "I am sure I beg your pardon. I forgot myself.

I had no business to speak like that to you. But that is what it is coming to. Here have I been working and scheming and keeping my mouth shut to put a matter of a hundred thousand pounds into Mr. Copley's pockets."

"If the colt wins," Fielden suggested.

"Oh, he'll be all right, sir. It is only a matter of a few days, but if this thing gets talked about, why, the colt will go bang down in the betting and we shall all make fortunes with the outlay of a few pounds.

There is another thing I must tell you. You see, it is like this----"

Raffle turned away as he spoke, and Fielden followed him, so that the figure eagerly listening behind the gorse bush could hear no more.

Though, on the whole, he had had an exceedingly fortunate morning, he bitterly regretted that the deeply-interesting conversation had been cut short just at the point when he might have picked up information that might have made his fortune.

"I wonder what they're talking about?" he muttered, as he limped painfully and slowly across the Downs towards Seton Manor. "I suppose I had better give Mr. Copley a tip. I can send it to him from one of these pubs. He doesn't deserve any consideration from me, but it will be worth a fiver later. Now for breakfast and just one drink--only one before I get back to London and draw my money. There will be plenty of time for fun this evening. What a fool I've been! If I could only have kept off that accursed liquor I should have had a stud of my own by this time."

With this philosophy on his lips Chaffey turned into the bar of the nearest public-house.

CHAPTER XXVII

DRIVING IT HOME

Copley sat at the breakfast-table waiting for Foster to come down. He had glanced impatiently through his letters, none of which appeared to be particularly interesting. Then he picked up a repulsive-looking envelope that lay by the side of his plate. The envelope was greasy and forbidding, though the handwriting upon it was fairly neat and clear, if a trifle unsteady. Copley was on the point of pitching it into the fire, feeling pretty sure it was something in the nature of a begging epistle, when he changed his mind and opened it.

"Dear sir," it ran, "I was on the Downs this morning and saw the trial I was speaking to you about last night. Sir George's head man thought it a dead secret, but I had had it from a sure quarter, and I saw the race between the Blenheim colt and another at half-past seven. The colt was quite stale, and, if I am any judge of such matters, I think it will take all their time to wind him up for the Guineas. I thought you would like to know this, because, properly handled, there is money in it.

Perhaps it may be worth a five-pound note to me the next time we meet."

There was no signature to this doc.u.ment, but Copley guessed where it came from. He rose from the table and stood for a while thinking this over. There was money in the tidings, but not in the way hinted at by Chaffey.

"Anything fresh?" Foster asked, as he attacked his breakfast with zest.

"You look rather pleased about something."

"Well, I am," Copley said, with a sinister smile he found it hard to conceal. "I've got something here that looks like good business if we can only hold on a bit longer. As you know, we don't quite agree as to how Sir George Haredale is to be handled. If I went to him boldly and told him that he must scratch the Blenheim colt, do you think he would consent if he saw I was in earnest? My opinion is he would kick me out of the house. But there is another way of working it, and for the hint I have to thank Chaffey, of all people in the world. Here is a note from him."

"Wants more money," Foster said with his mouth full.

"Not for the moment, at any rate. He thinks his information is worth a prospective fiver. As a matter of fact, it is invaluable. You know he told us last night that he wasn't going away till he witnessed a trial this morning. He has seen it, and this letter gives me the result. The trial was that of the Blenheim colt. Chaffey says it will take them all their time to get him fit for the Guineas, even if they can manage it.

Chaffey is probably in town by now, and has no doubt sold his information to some smart bookmaker. By this time to-morrow the Blenheim colt will be knocked out of the betting, and one will be able to get any price one likes. When this becomes public property Sir George will be justified in scratching the colt. He could say he had no hopes now of winning the Derby, and has taken this step solely on behalf of the public. Everybody will believe him. No questions will be asked, and his conduct will be regarded as most sportsmanlike. Do you see what I am driving at?"

"By Jove!" Foster exclaimed. "That is really smart of you. As Sir George backed his colt at long prices the money loss will be small. You can arrange as to the money Sir George owes you, and directly the pen is put through the colt's name we shall be masters of a hundred thousand pounds. It isn't so much as we expected, but we shall be able to draw the money during the next few days, and then be in a position to carry on a war against the bookmakers till we have made as much as we like.

Things are entirely in your hands. You have only to put it plainly to Sir George and offer to cancel his mortgages, and the thing is done.

He'll fall in with your suggestion readily. He only wants the excuse to get out. You'll want to handle him carefully, of course. But every man has his price, and I don't believe Haredale is any exception to the rule."

"I'll do it to-day," Copley muttered.

"That's right," Foster said approvingly, "there's nothing like striking while the iron is hot. But if I were you I'd run up to town first and give Absalom & Co. a hint to put the screw on without delay. What you have to do is thoroughly to frighten Sir George, who will probably send for you, and see if he can't arrange terms. We had better motor to London at once. It might be as well to get Absalom's people to send a man down this afternoon to let Sir George know that business is meant.

By the time we get back this evening there will be a note from Sir George asking you to go over and see him. If not, I am no prophet."

On the best of terms with themselves the conspirators started for town half an hour later, and before eleven o'clock Copley was closeted with the princ.i.p.al of the well-known financial house of Absalom & Co.

Apparently the interview was to his satisfaction, for he soon made his way to the Post Club. Foster joined him at lunch, and up to four o'clock they amused themselves by making small wagers on the day's racing. Soon after five one of the waiters came into the smoking-room and informed Copley that a gentleman was waiting to see him.

He went downstairs to find Mr. Absalom in the ante-room. The latter smiled as he heard the clicking of the machines.

"Do you do anything in that way?" Copley asked.

"Not I," the visitor laughed. "I leave that to the fools who have more money than sense. If there were no such thing as a horse or a bet I should be deprived of nine-tenths of my clients, and instead of being a rich man, I should be hard put to it to obtain a living. So the sport has all my sympathy. But I didn't come here to discuss racing. I want to speak to you about Sir George Haredale. I sent my manager down to see him."

"Yes, yes," Copley said impatiently.

"Oh, I won't detain you longer than I can help. My manager saw Sir George and had a long conversation with him. He was inclined to be high and mighty at first, but we soon changed all that. He was very anxious to know why you had transferred your debt to us, and we told him, of course, that you were engaged in very big speculations which called for all the ready capital you could lay your hands upon. We also hinted that we were finding money tight, and gave him to know that unless the cash was paid within a week, we should have to avail ourselves of our rights and place a man in possession at Haredale Park. That rather knocked the old gentleman off his balance. My manager said he was quite civil after that, and intimated his intention to do everything he could. But, at the same time, he appears to be very much annoyed with you. He thinks you have not treated him fairly, and seems to hope that when he has seen you he can arrange matters. Of course, he hasn't the least idea that we are merely dummies, so if you change your mind you can telephone to us and we will sit tight. He said he expected to see you this evening."

Copley nodded approvingly. There was no need for hurry, for he knew that the longer Sir George Haredale thought over the matter, the more likely he was to yield in the end. After thanking Absalom, who went his way, he sent for Foster.