Free The Price of Murder by Bruce Alexander

misunderstood.
    “Would you tell me the time, sir, if you please?”
    He continued to look away as he said, “No, boy, I do not please, and I shall not tell you the time.” Then did he add: “Go away.”
    I looked upon that face of his—arrogant, fat, cold, and utterly unsympathetic—and willed myself ever to remember it. And, indeed, I did remember it always. It became for me the face of all that I knew to be wrong with England.
    Then, my face quite burning with embarrassment and unexpressed anger, I turned away from him. I left them all to their preparations for the race meet and walked cross Uxbridge Road to an inn, the Elephant and Castle. They, I was sure, would have a clock ticking away upon the wall; and there I might quench the thirst that had come upon me in the course of my long walk.
    True enough, they had both. I took a place at the long bar where most had gathered, ordered a tankard of bitter, and found a clock just above me that told me that there was just over an hour to the start of the first heat of the first race. It should not be long, I assured myself, till Mr. Baker arrived.
    Thus it was that I sat sipping my ale, listening to the talk swirl round me. And all the talk was of horses and jockeys, of which might last through all four heats to the final race, and who might then be in the saddle. Numbers were quoted back and forth. At first, I was near certain that these would be the numbers worn by the horses, and then I thought that perhaps those would be the jockeys’ numbers. Then I understood at last that these were odds that they were reciting. Who were these men at the bar? The odds-makers? the touts? I’d no idea, really.
    One of them looked familiar to me. Who was he? Where had I seen him before? It was recently, and of that I was sure. I remembered that round face, smiling. The curious thing was that he seemed to know me, too. That more or less confirmed that we had met recently, did it not? He seemed even more certain of it than I, for as I kept an eye upon him—not staring, you understand—he separated himself from the group at the end of the bar and came straight over to me.
    “Beg pardon, young sir,” said he, “but though we an’t personal acquaint, I reco’nized you right off.”
    “Then you have the advantage on me, sir,” said I, “for though you appeared most familiar to me, I have not, for the life of me, been able to settle upon the specific occasion of our meeting.”
    “’Twas but yesterday. I was in Covent Garden on a matter of little importance, and here you come, arm-in-arm, so to speak, with Mr. Deuteronomy. That’s what they call him, you know.”
    “Of course,” said I. “I remember very well now. You removed your hat to him, did you not?”
    “I did and will again when the opportunity arises. Have you seen him ride?”
    “I must confess that I—”
    “That’s as I s’posed,” said he, interrupting, “for I an’t seen you at none of his other races.”
    Speaking thus, he altered his manner ever so slightly, allowing it to become a bit heavier. There was perhaps an element of accusation in his observation of my absence at Deuteronomy Plummer’s earlier meets. I attempted, perhaps a little too hard, to justify myself to this stranger.
    “Ah well,” said I, “’tis no easy matter for a young fellow such as myself to travel so far out of town to attend a race such as this. And what’s more,” I added, “being a humble apprentice, I’ve no money of my own to wager.”
    “Ah, but I meant no offense,” said he, all smiles once again. “Here, let’s have us another ale, shall we? Innkeeper!”
    He called out and waved to him behind the bar. Then, over my protests, he ordered two more ales. By the time they arrived, he had introduced himself to me as Walter Hogg and fetched from me my own name. We talked idly of one thing and another. I recall having told him that Mr. Plummer commented upon his presence, and said that he believed Mr. Hogg