then threw it down in disgust.
“How am I to read that?” said he. “I’ve not got my spectacles. You-yes, you young man. You read it to me, will you?”
I did as he asked, laying special emphasis on our respect for his jurisdiction in all matters and the collegial appeal Sir John made to Malachi Simmons for his assistance in these matters. As I read, I glanced up at the magistrate more than once and found him nodding with what I assumed to be satisfaction. Yet when I finished, I found him to be anything but satisfied.
“That’s a very good sort of letter, very well phrased-and you read it well-but I find it just a bit heavy in the generalities and light in the particularities.”
“How do you mean, sir?” I asked.
“Just what I say. About all I get from what you’ve just read me is that you’ve come here to Newmarket to search for a woman named Alice Plummer, and to apprehend her, and return her to London. Mistress Plummer, I take it, is the young woman between the two of you. Is that correct?”
“Yes sir, she is.”
“Tell me why then she has been so energetically pursued by you two-all the way from London, after all. What is the charge that she faces back in Bow Street?”
“Child-selling, sir.”
“Ah, well, that
“If you could hold her overnight, we would be greatly in your debt.”
“Hold her? You mean in our strongroom? I should need a bit of proof for that, something in the way of evidence. Have you the child here? Where is the child?”
“Dead and buried,” said I.
“Sounds worse and worse,” said he. “But surely your Sir John had a lesser charge that he might employ to hold her. Are you familiar with the term ‘holding charge’?”
“I am, and we have such: Giving false report of a crime.”
“But that can’t be proven, either, I suppose.”
“On the contrary, sir. Constable Patley, to my left, was given the false report by Mistress Plummer.”
The magistrate, Mr. Simmons, turned his attention to Mr. Patley.
“What about it, sir? Are you willing to swear to that?”
“I am, sir,” said Mr. Patley. “And she’s confessed all to us.”
“Well, it may not be necessary. But what’s she got to say for herself?”
“Not much,” said Patley. “I fear she’s passed out on her feet, sir. If I wasn’t holding her up, she’d fall over on the floor.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“Sure as I can be, sir.”
“Unhand her then. Let’s see if she manages to keep her feet.”
Mr. Patley shrugged, removed his hands from her waist and her arm. Alice promptly crumpled to the floor, bumping her head rather nastily. She, however, seemed quite oblivious of the hurt.
“Well!” said the magistrate, “just as you said. I’d say she was drunk, wouldn’t you?” This he directed to me. I nodded, not knowing quite what he hoped to prove by this.
“Indeed I would say she is quite drunk,” said I.
“Well then we three are enough together to comprise a bit of the public, and so I fine her a shilling for public drunkenness.”
“A shilling?” said I. “That’s a pretty light fine. Sir John fixes it at a pound.”
“Those are city prices. We get a lot of drunks out here and not a one of them could afford a pound.” Then did he call out loud and clear: “Mr. Yates, come here. I’ve a need for you.”
And so, without delay, came the big, hulking fellow who had led the way to the magistrate’s chambers. I recall that I decided that he must have waited just outside the door, expecting the call.
“Yes sir,” said he who had answered the call. “What will you?”
“Take her away and lock her up in one of the cells, will you?”
Needing no more detailed instruction than that, Yates bent down and swept her off the floor. He threw her over his shoulder as carelessly as one might toss a rag doll.
“Let her sleep it off.”
Yates gave a kind of mock salute and marched out with his prisoner. I must say that I was impressed.
“All right,” said Malachi Simmons to us. “I’m little pleased to have those from other jurisdictions coming round and waving their warrants and what-not at me. In short, I don’t like it. Me and your Sir John have clashed more than once on just such matters. Come back in the morning no later than seven, pay her fine, and you can have your prisoner. That satisfy you?”
We fair danced out the door, Mr. Patley and I. Though we had been careful not to parade our feelings of triumph before the magistrate (for he was a tetchy old bird), once out of earshot, we surrendered completely to them. We giggled and capered our way downhill. Mr. Patley, who had a talent for mimicry, did a fair imitation of the magistrate’s nasal whining and managed to attract a bit of attention from the crowd.
“Hi, Jeremy,” said he, “what say we wet our whistles at the next tavern we come to? I could sure do with an ale. Now that we got our prisoner taken care of till morning, I’m for a bit of a celebration. What say you to that?”
I was, indeed, eager to join him, but somehow I was certain that this was not the time for me to relax my efforts. As it was, I felt a bit guilty about arranging things so that I might be present for the big race the next day. There were too many loose ends, matters still to be arranged before our departure, and now was the time to attend to them.
“No, Mr. Patley,” said I to him, “I’ve a few things to do yet. But go and have an ale on me, and I’ll join you soon.”
“But not too soon.”
And so, as good as his word, he left me at the next inn we came to, the Green Man (one of a hundred such scattered round rural England). I promised to come by for him there in an hour, or not too much more. Then did I proceed to the track where I began my search for Mr. Deuteronomy.
I found him without too much difficulty, exactly where I supposed he might be: poised over the rail, the spy-glass to his eye, evaluating the horses upon the track. There were not as many of them as before, and all of them seemed to be genuine entries. Mr. Bennett was beside him, making notes as Mr. Deuteronomy called off orders to him.
“The black is good. Find out his name, who’s riding him, and where he stands in the betting. He ain’t Charade, but he looks good. Oh, and the big red, too. Get the same information on him, too.” Bennett then departed.
Then, at last, did Deuteronomy take down the spy-glass. ’Twas then that he saw me there, awaiting his attention.
“Jeremy,” said he, “just the man I’ve been searching for.”
“And I’ve news for you,” said I.
I told him hurriedly of the successful search for his sister, of her near blameless confession, and of her present whereabouts.
“You can visit her there right up to seven in the morning.”
“I think I’ll decline that pleasure,” said he. “I get sick enough as it is before a race. No need to go stirring up more trouble. But now, let me tell you where we are on the matter of the wager.”
He then explained that the odds on Pegasus had gone down rather than up, that it now stood at 30 to 1. “Still favorable,” he said, “still marvelous, but this is as long as I care to wait. So here, Jeremy. I’d like you to put this on Pegasus to win.”
And so saying, he brought forth from his coat an envelope fat with bank notes and handed it to me.
“It’s a hundred, no more nor less. And for my own reasons, I’d still like you to place the bet for me.”
I took the envelope from him and agreed to do as he directed.
“There may be a bit of difficulty getting your winnings to you right after the race, though,” said I. “I may
