Free The Case of the Racehorse Ringer by Anthony Read Page A

“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