Prince of Swindlers — Chapter 4, Part 2: How Simon Carne won the Derby

Four large blanket pads were handed to him, and he went quietly across and dropped them by the stable door.

After that he rejoined Belton, and they made their way, with the assistance of the ladders, back to their own rooms once more.

Half-an-hour later Carne was wrapped in a sweet slumber from which he did not awake until he was aroused by a tapping at his chamber door.

It was the trainer.

"Mr. Carne," cried Bent, in what were plainly agitated tones, "if you could make it convenient I should be glad to speak to you as soon as possible."

In something under twenty minutes he was dressed and downstairs.

He found the trainer awaiting him in the hall, wearing a very serious face.

"If you will stroll with me as far as the yard, I should like to show you something," he said.

Carne accordingly took up his hat and followed him out.

"You look unusually serious," said the latter as they crossed the garden.

"An attempt has been made to get possession of your horse."

Carne stopped short in his walk and faced the other.

"What did I tell you yesterday?"

he remarked.

"I was certain that that letter was more than an idle warning.

But how do you know that an attempt has been made?"

"Come, sir, and see for yourself," said Bent.

"I am sorry to say there is no gainsaying the fact."

A moment later they had reached the entrance to the stable-yard.

"See sir," said Bent pointing to a circular hole which now existed where previously the lock had been.

"The rascals cut out the lock, and thus gained an entry to the yard."

He picked up the round piece of wood with the lock still attached to it, and showed it to his employer.

"One thing is very certain, the man who cut this hole is a master of his trade, and is also the possessor of fine implements."

"So it would appear," said Carne grimly.

"Now what else is there for me to hear?

Is the horse much hurt?"

"Not a bit the worse, sir," answered Bent.

"They didn't get in at him, you see.

Something must have frightened them before they could complete their task.

Step this way, sir, if you please, and examine the door of the box for yourself.

I have given strict orders that nothing shall be touched until you have seen it."

They crossed the yard together, and approached the box in question.

On the woodwork the commencement of a circle similar to that which had been completed on the yard gates could be plainly distinguished, while on the ground below lay four curious-shaped pads, one of which Carne picked up.

"What on earth are these things?"

he asked innocently.

"Their use is easily explained, sir," answered the trainer.

"They are intended for tying over the horse's feet, so that when he is led out of his box his plates may make no noise upon the stones.

I'd like to have been behind 'em with a whip when they got him out, that's all.

The double-dyed rascals, to try such a trick upon a horse in my charge!"

"I can understand your indignation," said Carne.

"It seems to me we have had a very narrow escape."

"Narrow escape or no narrow escape, I'd have 'em safely locked up in Merford Police Station by this time," replied Bent vindictively.

"And now, sir, let me show you how they got out.

As far as I can see they must have imagined they heard somebody coming from the house, otherwise they would have left by the gates instead of by this ladder."

He pointed to the ladder, which was still standing where Carne had placed it, and then led him by a side door round to the other side of the wall.

Here he pointed to some heavy footmarks upon the turf.

Carne examined them closely.

"If the size of his boot is any criterion of his build," he said, "he must have been a precious big fellow.

Let me see how mine compares with it."

He placed his neat shoe in one of the imprints before him, and smiled as he noticed how the other overlapped it.

They then made their way to the box, where they found the animal at his breakfast.

He lifted his head and glanced round at them, bit at the iron of the manger, and then gave a little playful kick with one of his hind legs.

"He doesn't seem any the worse for his adventure," said Carne, as the trainer went up to him and ran his hand over his legs.

"Not a bit," answered the other.

"He's a wonderfully even-tempered horse, and it takes a lot to put him out.

If his nerves had been at all upset he wouldn't have licked up his food as clean as he has done."

Having given another look at him, they left him in charge of his lad, and returned to the house.

The gallop after breakfast confirmed their conclusion that there was nothing the matter, and Simon Carne returned to town ostensibly comforted by Bent's solemn assurance to that effect.

That afternoon Lord Calingforth, the owner of Vulcanite, called upon him.

They had met repeatedly, and consequently were on the most intimate terms.

"Good-afternoon, Carne," he said as he entered the room.

"I have come to condole with you upon your misfortune, and to offer you my warmest sympathy."

"Why, what on earth has happened?"

asked Carne, as he offered his visitor a cigar.

"God bless my soul, my dear fellow!

Haven't you seen the afternoon paper?

Why, it reports the startling news that your stables were broken into last night, and that my rival, Knight of Malta, was missing this morning."

Carne laughed.

"I wonder what they'll say next," he said quietly.

"But don't let me appear to deceive you.

It is perfectly true that the stables were broken into last night, but the thieves were disturbed, and decamped just as they were forcing the lock of the Knight's box."

"In that case I congratulate you.

What rascally inventions some of these sporting papers do get hold of, to be sure.

I'm indeed glad to hear that it is not true.

The race would have lost half its interest if your horse were out of it.

By the way, I suppose you are still as confident as ever?"

"Would you like to test it?"

"Very much, if you feel inclined for a bet."

"Then I'll have a level thousand pounds with you that my horse beats yours.

Both to start or the wager is off.

Do you agree?"

"With pleasure.

I'll make a note of it."

The noble Earl jotted the bet down in his book, and then changed the subject by inquiring whether Carne had ever had any transactions with his next-door neighbor, Klimo.

"Only on one occasion," the other replied.

"I consulted him on behalf of the Duke of Wiltshire at the time his wife's diamonds were stolen.

To tell the truth, I was half thinking of calling him in to see if he could find the fellow who broke into the stables last night, but on second thoughts I determined not to do so.

I did not want to make any more fuss about it than I could help.

But what makes you ask about Klimo?"

"Well, to put the matter in a nutshell, there has been a good deal of small pilfering down at my trainer's place lately, and I want to get it stopped."

"If I were you I should wait till after the race, and then have him down.

If one excites public curiosity just now, one never knows what will happen."

"I think you are right.

Anyhow, I'll act on your advice.

Now what do you say to coming along to the Rooms with me to see how our horses stand in the market?

Your presence there would do more than any number of paper denials towards showing the fallacy of this stupid report.

Will you come?"

"With pleasure," said Carne, and in less than five minutes he was sitting beside the noble Earl in his mail phaeton, driving towards the rooms in question.

When he got there, he found Lord Calingforth had stated the case very correctly.

The report that Knight of Malta had been stolen had been widely circulated, and Carne discovered that the animal was, for the moment, almost a dead letter in the market.

The presence of his owner, however, was sufficient to stay the panic, and when he had snapped up two or three long bets, which a few moments before had been going begging, the horse began steadily to rise towards his old position.

That night, when Belton waited upon his master at bedtime, he found him, if possible more silent than usual.

It was not until his work was well-nigh completed that the other spoke.

"It's a strange thing Belton," he said, "and you may hardly believe it, but if there were not certain reasons to prevent me from being so magnanimous I would give this matter up, and let the race be run on its merits.

I don't know that I ever took a scheme in hand with a worse grace.

However, as it can't be helped, I suppose I must go through with it.

Is the van prepared?"

"It is quite ready, sir."

"All the furniture arranged as I directed?"

"It is exactly as you wished, sir.

I have attended to it myself."

"And what about the man?"

"I have engaged the young fellow, sir, who assisted me before.

I know he's quick, and I can stake my life he's trustworthy."

"I am glad to hear it.

He will have need to be.

Now for my arrangements.

I shall make the attempt on Friday morning next, that is to say, two days from now.

You and the man you have just mentioned will take the van and horses to Market Stopford, travelling by the goods train which, I have discovered, reaches the town between four and five in the morning.

As soon as you are out of the station you will start straight away along the highroad towards Exbridge, reaching the village between five and six.

I shall meet you in the road alongside the third milestone on the other side, made up for the part I am to play.

Do you understand?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"That will do then.

I shall go down to the village to-morrow evening, and you will not hear from me again until you meet me at the place I have named.

Good-night."

"Good-night, sir."

Now, it is a well-known fact that if you wish to excite the anger of the inhabitants of Exbridge village, and more particularly of any member of the Pitman training Establishment, you have but to ask for information concerning a certain blind beggar who put in an appearance there towards sunset on the Thursday preceding the Derby of 18--, and you will do so.

When that mysterious individual first came in sight he was creeping along the dusty high road that winds across the Downs from Market Stopford to Beaton Junction, dolorously quavering a ballad that was intended to be, though few would have recognized it, "The Wearing of the Green."

On reaching the stables he tapped along the wall with his stick, until he came to the gate.

Then, when he was asked his business by the head lad, who had been called up by one of the stable boys he stated that he was starving, and, with peculiar arts of his own induced them to provide him with a meal.

For upwards of an hour he remained talking with the lads, and then wended his way down the hill towards the village, where he further managed to induce the rector to permit him to occupy one of his outhouses for the night.

After tea he went out and sat on the green, but towards eight o'clock he crossed the stream at the ford, and made his way up to a little copse, which ornamented a slight eminence, on the opposite side of the village to that upon which the training stables were situated.

How he found his way, considering his infirmity, it is difficult to say, but that he did find it was proved by his presence there.

It might also have been noticed that when he was once under cover of the bushes he gave up tapping the earth with his stick, and walked straight enough, and without apparent hesitation, to the stump of a tree upon which he seated himself.

For some time he enjoyed the beauty of the evening undisturbed by the presence of any other human being.

Then he heard a step behind him and next moment a smart-looking stable lad parted the bushes and came into view.

"Hullo," said the new-comer.

"So you managed to get here first?"

"So I have," said the old rascal, "and it's wonderful when you come to think of it, considering my age and what a poor old blind chap I be.

But I'm glad to find ye've managed to get away, my lad.

Now what have ye got to say for yourself?"

"I don't know that I've got anything to say," replied the boy.

"But this much is certain, what you want can't be done."

"And a fine young cockerel you are to be sure, to crow so loud that it can't be done," said the old fellow, with an evil chuckle.

"How do you know it can't?"

"Because I don't see my way," replied the other.

"It's too dangerous by a long sight.

Why, if the guv'nor was to get wind of what you want me to do, England itself wouldn't be big enough to hold us both.

You don't know 'im as well as I do."

"I know him well enough for all practical purposes," replied the beggar.

"Now, if you've got any more objections to raise, be quick about it.

If you haven't, then I'll talk to you.

You haven't?

Very good then.

Now, just hold your jaw, open your ears, and listen to what I've got to say.

What time do you go to exercise to-morrow morning?"

"Nine o'clock."

"Very good then.

You go down on to the Downs, and the boss sends you off with Vulcanite for a canter.

What do you do?

Why, you go steadily enough as long as he can see you, but directly you're round on the other side of the hill you stick in your heels, and nip into the wood that runs along on your right hand, just as if your horse was bolting with you.

Once in there, you go through for a half-a-mile until you come to the stream, ford that, and then cut into the next wood, riding as if the devil himself were after you, until you reach the path above Hangman's Hollow.

Do you know the place?"

"I reckon I ought to."

"Well, then, you just make tracks for it.

When you get there you'll find me waiting for you.

After that I'll take over command, and get both you and the horse out of England in such a way that nobody will ever suspect.

Then there'll be five hundred pounds for your trouble, a safe passage with the horse to South America, and another five hundred the day the nag is set ashore.

There's not as much risk as you could take between your finger and thumb, and a lad with a spirit like yours could make a fortune with a thousand pounds on the other side.

What have you to say now?"

"It's all very well," replied the lad, "but how am I to know that you'll play straight with me?"

"What do you take me for?"

said the beggar indignantly, at the same time putting his hand in his coat pocket and producing what looked like a crumpled piece of paper.

"If you doubt me, there's something that may help to convince you.

But don't go showing it around to-night, or you'll be giving yourself away, and that'll mean the Stone Jug for you, and 'Amen' to all your hopes of a fortune.

You'll do as I wish now, I suppose?"

"I'll do it," said the lad sullenly, as he crumpled the banknote up and put it in his pocket.

"But now I must be off.

Since there's been this fuss about Knight of Malta, the guv'nor has us all in before eight o'clock, and keeps the horse under lock and key, with the head lad sleeping in the box with him."

"Well, good-night to you, and don't you forget about to-morrow morning;

niggle the horse about a bit just to make him impatient like, and drop a hint that he's a bit fresh.

That will make his bolting look more feasible.

Don't leave the track while there's any one near you, but, as soon as you do, ride like thunder to the place I told you of.

I'll see that they're put off the scent as to the way you've gone."

"All right," said the lad.

"I don't like it, but I suppose I'm in too deep now to draw back.

Good-night."

"Good-night, and good luck to you."

Once he had got rid of the youth, Carne (for it was he) returned by another route to the rector's outbuilding, where he laid himself down on the straw, and was soon fast asleep.

His slumbers lasted till nearly daybreak, when he rose and made his way across country to the small copse above Hangman's Hollow on the road from Exbridge to Beaton Junction.

Here he discovered a large van drawn up apparently laden with furniture both inside and out.

The horses were feeding beneath a tree, and a couple of men were eating their breakfast beside them.

On seeing Carne, the taller of the pair--a respectable-looking workman, with a big brown beard--rose and touched his hat.

The other looked with astonishment at the disreputable beggar standing before them.

"So you arrived here safely," said Carne.

"If anything you're a little before your time.

Boil a cup of tea, and give me something to eat as quickly as possible, for I am nearly famished.

When you have done that, get out the clothes I told you to bring with you, and let me change into them.

It wouldn't do for any of the people from the village back yonder to be able to say afterwards that they saw me talking with you in this rig-out."

As soon as his hunger was appeased he disappeared into the wood, and dressed himself in his new attire.

Another suit of clothes, and an apron such as might be worn by a furniture remover's foreman, a grey wig, a short grey beard and moustache, and a bowler hat, changed his identity completely; indeed, when his rags had been hidden in the hollow of a tree it would have been a difficult matter to have traced any resemblance between the respectable-looking workman eating his breakfast and the disreputable beggar of half-an-hour before.

It was close upon nine o'clock by this time, and as soon as he realized this Carne gave the order to put the horses to.

This done, they turned their attention to the back of the van, and then a strange thing became apparent.

Though to all appearances, viewed from the open doors at the end, the inside of this giant receptacle was filled to its utmost capacity with chests of drawers, chairs, bedsteads, carpets, and other articles of household furniture, yet by pulling a pair of handles it was possible for two men easily to withdraw what looked like half the contents of the van.

The poorest observer would then have noticed that in almost every particular these articles were dummies, affixed to a screen, capable of being removed at a moment's notice.

The remainder of the van was fitted after the fashion of a stable, with a manger at the end and a pair of slings dependent from the roof.

The nervous tension produced by the waiting soon became almost more than the men could bear.

Minute after minute went slowly by, and still the eagerly expected horse did not put in an appearance.

Then Belton, whom Carne had placed on the lookout, came flying towards them with the report that he could hear a sound of galloping hoofs in the wood.

A few seconds later the noise could be plainly heard at the van, and almost before they had time to comment upon it, a magnificent thoroughbred, ridden by the stable boy who had talked to the blind beggar on the previous evening, dashed into view, and pulled up beside the van.

"Jump off," cried Carne, catching at the horse's head, "and remove the saddle.

Now be quick with those cloths; we must rub him down or he'll catch cold."

When the horse was comparatively dry he was led into the van which was to be his stable for the next few hours, and, in spite of his protests, slung in such a fashion that his feet did not touch the floor.

This business completed, Carne bade the frightened boy get in with him, and take care that he did not, on any account, neigh.

After that the mask of furniture was replaced, and the doors closed and locked.

The men mounted to their places on the box and roof, and the van continued its journey along the highway towards the Junction.

But satisfactory as their attempt had so far proved, the danger was by no means over.

Scarcely had they proceeded three miles on their way before Carne distinguished the sound of hoofs upon the road behind him.

A

moment later a young man, mounted on a well-bred horse, came into view, rode up alongside, and signalled to the driver to stop.

"What's the matter?"

inquired the latter, as he brought his horses to a standstill.

"Have we dropped anything?"

"Have you seen anything of a boy on a horse?"

asked the man, who was so much out of breath that he could scarcely get his words out.

"What sort of a boy, and what sort of a horse?"

asked the man on the van.

"A youngish boy," was the reply, "seven stone weight, with sandy hair, on a thoroughbred."

"No; we ain't seen no boy with sandy 'air, ridin' of a thoroughbred 'orse seven stone weight," said Carne.

"What's 'e been an' done?"

"The horse has bolted with him off the Downs, back yonder," answered the man.

"The guv'nor has sent us out in all directions to look for him."

"Sorry we can't oblige you," said the driver as he prepared to start his team again.

"Good-day to you."

"Much obliged," said the horseman, and, when he had turned off into a side road, the van continued its journey till it reached the railway station.

A quarter of an hour later it caught the eleven o'clock goods train and set off for the small seaside town of Barworth, on the south coast, where it was shipped on board a steamer which had arrived that morning from London.

Once it was safely transferred from the railway truck to the deck, Carne was accosted by a tall, swarthy individual, who, from his importance, seemed to be both the owner and the skipper of the vessel.

They went down into the saloon together, and a few moments later an observer, had one been there, might have seen a cheque for a considerable sum of money change hands.

An hour later the _Jessie Branker_ was steaming out to sea, and a military-looking individual, not at all to be compared with the industrious mechanic who had shipped the furniture van on board the vessel bound for Spain, stood on the platform of the station waiting for the express train to London.

On reaching the metropolis he discovered it surging beneath the weight of a great excitement.

The streets re-echoed with the raucous cries of the newsvenders: "The Derby favorite stolen--Vulcanite missing from his stable!"

Next morning an advertisement appeared in every paper of consequence, offering "A reward of Five Hundred Pounds for any information that might lead to the conviction of the person or persons who on the morning of May 28th had stolen, or caused to be stolen, from the Pitman Training Stables, the Derby favorite, Vulcanite, the property of the Right Honorable the Earl of Calingforth."

The week following, Knight of Malta, owned by Simon Carne, Esq.

, of Dorchester House, Park Lane, won the Derby by a neck in a scene of intense excitement, the Mandarin being second, and The Filibuster third.

It is a strange fact that to this day not a member of the racing world has been able to solve the mystery surrounding the disappearance of one of the greatest horses that ever set foot on an English race-course.

To-day, if Simon Carne thinks of that momentous occasion when, amid the shouting crowd of Epsom, he led his horse back a winner, he smiles softly to himself and murmurs beneath his breath: "Valued at twenty thousand pounds, and beaten in the Derby by a furniture van."