Prince of Swindlers — Chapter 4, Part 1: How Simon Carne won the Derby

*HOW SIMON CARNE WON THE DERBY.

* It was seven o'clock on one of the brightest mornings of all that year.

The scene was Waterloo Station, where the Earl of Amberley, Lord Orpington, and the Marquis of Laverstock were pacing up and down the main line departure platform, gazing anxiously about them.

It was evident, from the way they scrutinized every person who approached them, that they were on the lookout for some one.

This some one ultimately proved to be Simon Carne, who, when he appeared, greeted them with considerable cordiality, at the same time apologizing for his lateness in joining them.

"I think this must be our train," he said, pointing to the carriages drawn up beside the platform on which they stood.

"At any rate, here is my man.

By dint of study he has turned himself into a sort of walking Bradshaw, and he will certainly be able to inform us."

The inimitable Belton deferentially insinuated that his master was right in his conjecture, and then led the way towards a Pullman car, which had been attached to the train for the convenience of Carne and his guests.

They took their seats, and a few moments later the train moved slowly out of the station.

Carne was in the best of spirits, and the fact that he was taking his friends down to the stables of his trainer, William Bent, in order that they might witness a trial of his candidate for the Derby, seemed to give him the greatest possible pleasure.

On reaching Merford, the little wayside station nearest the village in which the training stables were situated, they discovered a comfortable four-wheeled conveyance drawn up to receive them.

The driver touched his hat, and stated that his master was awaiting them on the Downs; this proved to be the case, for when they left the high-road and turned on to the soft turf they saw before them a string of thoroughbreds, and the trainer himself mounted upon his well-known white pony, Columbine.

"Good-morning, Bent," said Carne, as the latter rode up and lifted his hat to himself and friends.

"You see we have kept our promise, and are here to witness the trial you said you had arranged for us."

"I am glad to see you, sir," Bent replied.

"And I only hope that what I am about to show you will prove of service to you.

The horse is as fit as mortal hands can make him, and if he don't do his best for you next week there will be one person surprised in England, and that one will be myself.

As you know, sir, the only horse I dread is Vulcanite, and the fact cannot be denied that he's a real clinker."

"Well," said Carne, "when we have seen our animal gallop we shall know better how much trust we are to place in him.

For my own part I'm not afraid.

Vulcanite, as you say, is a good horse, but, if I'm not mistaken, Knight of Malta is a better.

Surely this is he coming toward us."

"That's him," said the trainer, with a fine disregard for grammar.

"There's no mistaking him, is there?

And now, if you'd care to stroll across we'll see them saddle."

The party accordingly descended from the carriage, and walked across the turf to the spot where the four thoroughbreds were being divested of their sheets.

They made a pretty group; but even the most inexperienced critic could scarcely have failed to pick out Knight of Malta as the best among them.

He was a tall, shapely bay, with black points, a trifle light of flesh perhaps, but with clean, flat legs, and low, greyhound-like thighs sure evidence of the enormous propelling power he was known to possess.

His head was perfection itself, though a wee bit too lop-eared if anything.

Taken altogether he looked, what he was, thoroughbred every inch of him.

The others of the party were Gasometer, Hydrogen, and Young Romeo, the last-named being the particular trial horse of the party.

It was a favorite boast of the trainer that the last-named was so reliable in his habits, his condition, and his pace, that you would not be far wrong to set your watch by him.

"By the way, Bent," said Carne, as the boys were lifted into their saddles, "what weights are the horses carrying?"

"Well, sir, Young Romeo carries 8 st. 9 lb.

; Gasometer, 7 st. 8 lb.

;

Hydrogen, 7 st. 1 lb.

; and the Knight, 9 st. 11 lb.

The distance will be the Epsom course, one mile and half, and the best horse to win.

Now, sir, if you're ready we'll get to work."

He turned to the lad who was to ride Hydrogen.

"Once you are off you will make the running, and bring them along at your best pace to the dip, where Gasometer will, if possible, take it up.

After that I leave it to you other boys to make the best race of it you can.

You, Blunt," calling up his head lad, "go down with them to the post, and get them off to as good a start as possible."

The horses departed, and Simon Carne and his friends accompanied the trainer to a spot where they would see the finish to the best advantage.

Five minutes later an ejaculation from Lord Orpington told them that the horses had started.

Each man accordingly clapped his glasses to his eyes, and watched the race before them.

Faithful to his instructions, the lad on Hydrogen came straight to the front, and led them a cracker until they descended into the slight dip which marked the end of the first half-mile.

Then he retired to the rear, hopelessly done for, and Gasometer took up the running, with Knight of Malta close alongside him, and Young Romeo only half a length away.

As they passed the mile post Young Romeo shot to the front, but it soon became evident he had not come to stay.

Good horse as he was, there was a better catching him hand over fist.

The pace was all that could be desired, and when Knight of Malta swept past the group, winner of the trial by more than his own length, the congratulations Simon Carne received were as cordial as he could possibly desire.

"What did I tell you, sir?"

said Bent, with a smile of satisfaction upon his face.

"You see what a good horse he is.

There's no mistake about that."

"Well, let us hope he will do as well a week hence," Carne replied simply, as he replaced his glasses in their case.

"Amen to that," remarked Lord Orpington.

"And now, gentlemen," said the trainer, "if you will allow me, I will drive you over to my place to breakfast."

They took their places in the carriage once more, and Bent having taken the reins, in a few moments they were bowling along the high-road towards a neat modern residence standing on a slight eminence on the edge of the Downs.

This was the trainer's own place of abode, the stables containing his many precious charges lying a hundred yards or so to the rear.

They were received on the threshold by the trainer's wife, who welcomed them most heartily to Merford.

The keen air of the Downs had sharpened their appetites, and when they sat down to table they found they were able to do full justice to the excellent fare provided for them.

The meal at an end, they inspected the stables, once more carefully examining the Derby candidate, who seemed none the worse for his morning's exertion, and then Carne left his guests in the big yard to the enjoyment of their cigars, while he accompanied his trainer into the house for a few moments' chat.

"And now sit down, sir," said Bent, when they reached his own sanctum, a cosy apartment, half sitting-room and half office, bearing upon its walls innumerable mementoes of circumstances connected with the owner's lengthy turf experiences.

"I hope you are satisfied, with what you saw this morning?"

"Perfectly satisfied," said Carne, "but I should like to hear exactly what you think about the race itself."

"Well, sir, as you may imagine I have been thinking a good deal about it lately, and this the conclusion I have come to.

If this were an ordinary year, I should say that we possess out and away the best horse in the race; but we must remember that this is not by any means an ordinary year--there's Vulcanite, who they tell me is in the very pink of condition, and who has beaten our horse each time they have met;

there's the Mandarin, who won the Two Thousand this week, and who will be certain to come into greater favor as the time shortens, and The Filibuster who won the Biennial Stakes at the Craven Meeting, a nice enough horse, though I must say I don't fancy him over-much myself."

"I take it, then, that the only horse you really fear is Vulcanite?"

"That's so, sir.

If he were not in the list, I should feel as certain of seeing you leading your horse back a winner as any man could well be."

On looking at his watch Carne discovered that it was time for him to rejoin his friends and be off to the railway station if they desired to catch the train which they had arranged should convey them back to town.

So bidding the trainer and his wife goodbye, they took their places in the carriage once more, and were driven away.

Arriving at Waterloo, they drove to Lord Orpington's club.

"Do you know you're a very lucky fellow, Carne?"

said the Earl of Amberley as they stood on the steps of that institution afterwards, before separating in pursuit of the pleasures of the afternoon.

"You have health, wealth, fame, good looks, one of the finest houses in London, and now one of the prospective winners of the Derby.

In fact, you only want one thing to make your existence perfect."

"And what is that?"

asked Carne.

"A wife," replied Lord Amberley.

"I wonder the girls have let you escape so long."

"I am not a marrying man," said Carne; "how could a fellow like myself, who is here to-day and gone to-morrow, expect any woman to link her lot with his?

Do you remember our first meeting?"

"Perfectly," replied Lord Amberley.

"When I close my eyes I can see that beautiful marble palace, set in its frame of blue water as plainly as if it were but yesterday I breakfasted with you there."

"That was a very fortunate morning for me," said the other.

"And now here is my cab.

I must be off.

Good-bye."

"Good-bye," cried his friends, as he went down the steps and entered the vehicle.

"Don't forget to let us know if anything further turns up."

"I will be sure to do so," said Simon Carne, and then, as he laid himself back on the soft cushions and was driven by way of Waterloo Place to Piccadilly, he added to himself, "Yes if I can bring off the little scheme I have in my mind, and one or two others which I am preparing, and can manage to get out of England without any one suspecting that I am the burglar who has outwitted all London, I shall have good cause to say that was a very fortunate day for me when I first met his lordship."

That evening he dined alone.

He seemed pre-occupied, and it was evident that he was disappointed about something.

Several times on hearing noises in the street outside he questioned his servants as to the cause.

At last, however, when Ram Gafur entered the room carrying a telegram upon a salver, his feelings found vent in a sigh of satisfaction.

With eager fingers he broke open the envelope, withdrew the contents, and read the message it contained: "Seven Stars Music Hall--Whitechapel Road.

Ten o'clock."

There was no signature, but that fact did not seem to trouble him very much.

He placed it in his pocketbook, and afterwards continued his meal in better spirits.

When the servants had left the room he poured himself out a glass of port, and taking a pencil proceeded to make certain calculations upon the back of an envelope.

For nearly ten minutes he occupied himself in this way, then he tore the paper into tiny pieces, replaced his pencil in his pocket, and sipped his wine with a satisfaction that was the outcome of perfected arrangements.

"The public excitement," he said to himself, not without a small touch of pride, "has as yet scarcely cooled down from the robbery of the famous Wiltshire jewels.

Lord Orpington has not as yet discovered the whereabouts of the gold and silver plate which disappeared from his house so mysteriously a week or two ago, while several other people have done their best to catch a gang of burglars who would seem to have set all London at defiance.

But if I bring off this new coup, they'll forget all their grievances in consideration of the latest and greatest scandal.

There'll be scarcely a man in England who won't have something to say upon the subject.

By the way, let me see how he stands in the betting to-night."

He took a paper from the table in the window, and glanced down the sporting column.

Vulcanite was evidently the public's choice, Knight of Malta being the only second favorite, with The Mandarin a strong third.

"What a hubbub there will be when it becomes known," said Carne, as he placed the paper on the table again.

"I shall have to take especial care, or some of the storm may blow back on me.

I fancy I can hear the newsboys shouting: 'Latest news of the turf scandal.

The Derby favorite stolen.

Vulcanite missing.

An attempt made to get at Knight of Malta.'

Why, it will be twenty years before old England will forget the sensation I am about to give her."

With a grim chuckle at the idea, he went upstairs to his dressing-room and locked the door.

It must have been well after nine o'clock when he emerged again, and clad in a long ulster, left the house in his private hansom.

Passing down Park Lane he drove along Piccadilly, then by way of the Haymarket, Strand, Ludgate Hill, and Fenchurch Street to the Whitechapel Road.

Reaching the corner of Leman Street he signalled to his man to stop, and jumped out.

His appearance was now entirely changed.

Instead of the deformed, scholar-like figure he usually presented, he now resembled a commonplace, farmerish individual, with iron-grey hair, a somewhat crafty face, ornamented with bushy eyebrows and a quantity of fluffy whiskers.

How he had managed it as he drove along goodness only knows, but that he had effected the change was certain.

Having watched his cab drive away, he strolled along the street until he arrived at a building, the flaring lights of which proclaimed it the Seven Stars Music Hall.

He paid his money at the box office, and then walked inside to find a fair-sized building, upon the floor of which were placed possibly a hundred small tables.

On the stage at the further end a young lady, boasting of a minimum of clothing and a maximum of self-assurance was explaining, to the dashing accompaniment of the orchestra, the adventures she had experienced "When Billy and me was courting."

Acting up to his appearance, Carne called for a "two of Scotch cold," and, having lit a meerschaum pipe which he took from his waistcoat pocket, prepared to make himself at home.

As ten o'clock struck he turned his chair a little, in order that he might have a better view of the door, and waited.

Five minutes must have elapsed before his patience was rewarded.

Then two men came in together, and immediately he saw them he turned his face in an opposite direction, and seemed to be taking an absorbing interest in what was happening upon the stage.

One of the men who had entered, and whom he had seemed to recognize--a cadaverous-looking individual in a suit of clothes a size too small for him, a velvet waistcoat at least three sizes too large, a check tie, in which was stuck an enormous horseshoe pin composed of palpably imitation diamonds, boasting no shirt as far as could be seen, and wearing upon his head a top hat of a shape that had been fashionable in the early sixties--stopped, and placed his hand upon his shoulder.

"Mr. Blenkins, or I'm a d'isy," he said.

"Well, who'd ha' thought of seeing you here of all places?

Why, it was only this afternoon as me and my friend, Mr. Brown here, was a-speaking of you.

To think as how you should ha' come up to London just this very time, and be at the Seven Stars Music Hall, of all other places!

It's like what the noospapers call a go-insidence, drat me if it ain't. 'Ow are yer, old pal?"

He extended his hand, which Mr. Blenkins took, and shook with considerable cordiality.

After that, Mr. Brown, who from outward appearances was by far the most respectable of the trio, was introduced in the capacity of a gentleman from America, a citizenship that became more apparent when he opened his mouth to speak.

"And what was 'ee speaking of I about?"

asked Mr. Blenkins, when the trio were comfortably seated at table.

This the diffident Mr. Jones, for by that common-place appellative the seedy gentleman with the magnificent diamonds chose to be called;

declined to state.

It would appear that he was willing to discuss the news of the day, the price of forage, the prospects of war, the programme proceeding upon the stage, in fact, anything rather than declare the subject of his conversation with Mr. Brown that afternoon.

It was not until Mr. Brown happened to ask Mr. Blenkins what horse he fancied for the Derby that Mr. Jones in any degree recovered his self-possession.

Then an animated discussion on the forthcoming race was entered upon.

How long it would have lasted had not Mr. Jones presently declared that the music of the orchestra was too much for him I cannot say.

Thereupon Mr. Brown suggested that they should leave the Hall and proceed to a place of which he knew in a neighboring street.

This they accordingly did, and when they were safely installed in a small room off the bar, Mr. Jones, having made certain that there was no one near enough to overhear, unlocked his powers of conversation with whisky and water, and proceeded to speak his mind.

For upwards of an hour they remained closeted in the room together, conversing in an undertone.

Then the meeting broke up, Mr. Blenkins bidding his friends "good-night" before they left the house.

From the outward appearances of the party, if in these days of seedy millionaires and over-dressed bankrupts one may venture to judge by them, he would have been a speculative individual who would have given a five-pound note for the worldly wealth of the trio.

Yet, had you taken so much trouble you might have followed Mr. Blenkins and have seen him picked up by a smart private hansom at the corner of Leman Street.

You might then have gone back to the Hen and Feathers, and have followed Mr. Brown as far as Osborn Street, and have seen him enter a neat brougham, which was evidently his own private property.

Another hansom, also a private one, met Mr. Jones in the same thoroughfare, and an hour later two of the number were in Park Lane, while the third was discussing a bottle of Heidseck in a gorgeous private sitting-room on the second floor of the Langham Hotel.

As he entered his dressing-room on his return to Porchester House, Simon Carne glanced at his watch.

It was exactly twelve o'clock.

"I hope Belton will not be long," he said to himself.

"Give him a quarter of an hour to rid himself of the other fellow, and say half-an-hour to get home.

In that case he should be here within the next few minutes."

The thought had scarcely passed through his brain before there was a deferential knock at the door, and the next moment Belton, clad in a long great-coat, entered the room.

"You're back sooner than I expected," said Carne.

"You could not have stayed very long with our friend?"

"I left him soon after you did, sir," said Belton.

"He was in a hurry to get home, and as there was nothing more to settle I did not attempt to prevent him.

I trust you are satisfied, sir, with the result of our adventure."

"Perfectly satisfied," said Carne.

"To-morrow I'll make sure that he's good for the money, and then we'll get to work.

In the meantime you had better see about a van and the furniture of which I spoke to you, and also engage a man upon whom you can rely."

"But what about Merford, sir, and the attempt upon Knight of Malta?"

"I'll see about that on Monday.

I have promised Bent to spend the night there."

"You'll excuse my saying so, sir, I hope," said Belton, as he poured out his master's hot water and laid his dressing-gown upon the back of a chair, ready for him to put on, "but it's a terrible risky business.

If we don't bring it off, there'll be such a noise in England as has never been heard before.

You might murder the Prime Minister, I believe, and it wouldn't count for so much with the people generally as an attempt to steal the Derby favorite."

"But we shall not fail," said Carne, confidently.

"By this time you ought to know me better than to suppose that.

No, no, never fear, Belton; I've got all my plans cut and dried, and even if we fail to get possession of Vulcanite, the odds are a thousand to one against our being suspected of any complicity in the matter.

Now you can go to bed.

Good-night."

"Good-night, sir," said Belton respectfully, and left the room.

It was one of Simon Carne's peculiarities always to fulfill his engagements in spite of any inconvenience they might cause himself.

Accordingly the four o'clock train from Waterloo, on the Monday following the meeting at the Music Hall just narrated, carried him to Merford in pursuance of the promise he had given his trainer.

Reaching the little wayside station on the edge of the Downs, he alighted, to find himself welcomed by his trainer, who lifted his hat respectfully, and wished him good-afternoon.

During the drive, Carne spoke of the impending race, and among other things of a letter he had that morning received, warning him of an attempt that would probably be made to obtain possession of his good horse.

The trainer laughed good-humoredly.

"Bless you, sir," he said, "that's nothing.

You should just see some of the letters I've got pasted into my scrap-book.

Most of 'em comes a week or fortnight before a big race.

Some of 'em warns me that if I don't prevent the horse from starting, I'm as good as a dead man; others ask me what price I will take to let him finish outside the first three;

while more still tell me that if I don't put 'im out of the way altogether, I'll find my house and my wife and family flying up to the clouds under a full charge of dynamite within three days of the race being run.

Don't you pay any attention to the letters you receive.

I'll look after the horse, and you may be very sure I'll take good care that nothing happens to him."

"I know that, of course," said Carne, "but I thought I'd tell you.

You see, I'm only a novice at racing, and perhaps I place more importance just now upon a threat of that kind than I shall do a couple of years hence."

"Of course," replied the trainer.

"I understand exactly how you feel, sir.

It's quite natural.

And now here we are, with the missis standing on the steps to help me give you a hearty welcome."

They drove up to the door, and when Carne had alighted he was received by the trainer's wife as her lord and master had predicted.

His bedroom, he discovered, on being conducted to it to prepare for dinner, was at the back of the house, overlooking the stableyard, and possessed a lovely view, extending across the gardens and village towards where the Downs ended and the woods of Herberford began.

"A pretty room," he said to Belton, as the latter laid out his things upon the bed, "and very convenient for our purpose.

Have you discovered where you are located?"

"Next door, sir."

"I am glad of that; and what room is beneath us?"

"The kitchen and pantry, sir.

With the exception of one at the top of the house, there are no other bedrooms on this side."

"That is excellent news.

Now get me ready as soon as you can."

During dinner that evening Simon Carne made himself as pleasant as possible to his host and hostess.

So affable, indeed, was he that when they retired to rest they confessed to each other that they had never entertained a more charming guest.

It was arranged that he should be called at five o'clock on the morning following, in order that he might accompany the trainer to the Downs to see his horse at his exercise.

It was close upon eleven o'clock when he dismissed his valet and threw himself upon his bed with a novel.

For upwards of two hours he amused himself with his book; then he rose and dressed himself in the rough suit which his man had put out for him.

Having done so, he took a strong rope ladder from his bag, blew out his light, and opened his window.

To attach the hooks at the end of the ropes to the inside of the window-sill, and to throw the rest outside was the work of a moment.

Then, having ascertained that his door was securely locked, he crawled out and descended to the ground.

Once there, he waited until he saw Belton's light disappear, and heard his window softly open.

Next moment a small black bag was lowered, and following it by means of another ladder, came the servant himself.

"There is no time to be lost," said Carne, as soon as they were together.

"You must set to work on the big gates while I do the other business.

The men are all asleep; nevertheless, be careful that you make no noise."

Having given his instructions, he left his servant and made his way across the yard towards the box where Knight of Malta was confined.

When he reached it he unfastened the bag he had brought with him, and took from it a brace and a peculiar-shaped bit, resembling a pair of compasses.

Uniting these, he oiled the points and applied them to the door, a little above the lock.

What he desired to do did not occupy him for more than a minute.

Then he went quietly along the yard to the further boundary, where he had that afternoon noticed a short ladder.

By means of this he mounted to the top of the wall, then lifted it up after him and lowered it on the other side, still without making any noise.

Instead of dismounting by it, however, he seated himself for a moment astride of it, while he drew on a pair of clumsy boots he had brought with him, suspended round his neck.

Then, having chosen his place, he jumped.

His weight caused him to leave a good mark on the soft ground on the other side.

He then walked heavily for perhaps fifty yards, until he reached the high-road.

Here he divested himself of his boots, put on his list slippers once more, and returned as speedily as possible to the ladder, which he mounted and drew up after him.

Having descended on the other side, he left it standing against the wall, and hastened across the yard towards the gates, where he found Belton just finishing the work he had set him to do.

With the aid of a brace and bit similar to that used by Carne upon the stable door, the lock had been entirely removed and the gate stood open.

Belton was evidently satisfied with his work; Carne, however, was not so pleased.

He picked up the circle of wood and showed it to his servant.

Then, taking the bit, he inserted the screw on the reverse side and gave it two or three turns.

"You might have ruined everything," he whispered, "by omitting that.

The first carpenter who looked at it would be able to tell that the work was done from the inside.

But thank goodness, I know a trick that will set that right.

Now then, give me the pads and I'll drop them by the door.

Then we can return to our rooms."