even have to take it with me to London. That is, assuming there
“I know. Take it with you to London. And don’t worry about whether or not there’ll be winnings. That’s my responsibility, as you’ll see.”
I left him then with a firm clasp of the hands and a whispered “Good luck to you then.”
Though tempted, I avoided those strolling turf accountants with their fast-changing slates and their line of chatter, for Mr. Patley had warned me that all too often they stroll out of sight when it came time to pay off winners. Rather, did I go to the turf-accountant’s stall where first I saw the odds against Pegasus posted. There I placed two separate wagers, both of them in my name: one for a hundred pounds, and another, much smaller one, for five pounds, eleven shillings, both at the posted odds of thirty to one. The accountant looked at me queerly when I made it clear that both bets were to be put upon Pegasus; then did he call me an optimist. Nevertheless, he wrote me out two chits with all the relevant matter upon them. I tucked them away, glad to be relieved of the awful responsibility put upon me by carrying about a great sum of money belonging to another. I remember that I mused on my way to the post house that I had given no thought whatever to hedging my own bet, nor would Clarissa have had me do so. Thanks to her, and thanks, as well, to Mr. Deuteronomy, I had become less cautious and more willing to take chances-in short, a proper betting man.
As it happened, I was stopping by at the post to present my letter of preference for places on the first post coach following the conclusion of tomorrow’s race. In effect, I had, with the letter of preference, reserved three places (one each for me, for Patley, and for Alice Plummer) on the five-o’clock post coach to London. This was, as I discovered, one of the prerogatives of traveling on official business for the Bow Street Court. Three coach passengers could even be thrown off to make room for us. This, however, was unlikely to be necessary, according to him I talked to at the Newmarket post house.
Then, at last, a return to the Green Man, where I had agreed to meet Mr. Patley. I’d no idea of the time, though surely I had made the one-hour time limit I had set for myself. I would have been most uneasy if he had wandered away. But no, there he was, sitting at the bar, flirting with the barmaid, holding forth as one might at an ale house in the Strand. He spied me entering the place and threw open his arms in welcome.
“Jeremy, old friend,” said he, “come sit beside me and have an ale with me. I’ve had three.”
Three, was it? Perhaps I’d been gone considerably longer than an hour.
“I’ll gladly have an ale, Mr. Patley. But tell me, are you not getting a bit hungry?”
“Well, now that you mention it. .”
As if by magic, an ale in a pewter tankard appeared before me. I took a deep draught and understood at once how Patley might have consumed three such in the space of an hour. It was a bit bitter, but properly so, and not the sort to put a pucker upon your face. In short, I liked it.
He turned to the barmaid and asked about dinner.
“Well,” said she, “it’s not yet six, and there ain’t many eat quite so early, but I always thought it best to eat when you’re hungry.” She must have thought that a great joke, for she laughed long and loud at it. Mr. Patley joined in.
In any case, we ordered alike, a beef chop apiece, and we did eat at the bar, because, as Patley explained to the barmaid, “We wouldn’t want to get too far away from that good ale.” This, too, was thought to be quite funny.
I would not wish to present myself as above all this foolery, reader, for it was not long till I was acting near as silly as Mr. Patley. Ah well, I assured myself, this was to be something of a celebration, was it not?
Oh, indeed it was to be just that, yet both Patley and I felt that there were other things at stake. Oddly enough, it was my companion who brought that home to me when, without overture or opening, he peered at me and said, “Well, did you find him?”
“Find who?” said I, though I’m certain, looking back, that I must have known just who he meant.
“Deuteronomy, of course. When you’re not with me, you’re with him.” (This was said without malice.)
“Well, yes I did see him. I felt that he should have a chance to see his sister. I told him where she was.”
“Did he go to see her?”
“I doubt it. He said he would not. He got sick enough before a race as it was without adding more to it-that’s what he said, anyway.”
We had eaten well. Each of us had had another ale to top off what we had already had. The place had become more crowded, and consequently noisier. There was no reason to stay. We settled up with the barmaid and made our way through the crowd to the outside.
“Well,” said Mr. Patley, “we might as well walk up the hill to the Good Queen Bess.”
“Might just as well.”
We hiked the distance to the inn in silence. As for myself, each step I took told me that I should make an early night of it. But, after all, why not? I knew I must rouse early to collect Alice Plummer from the magistrate’s court. Early to bed and early to rise, et cetera.
Patley, on the other hand, seemed to take on new vitality with each step. I quite marveled at the fellow. Had he not eaten the same heavy meal that I had? Had he not drunk four ales to my two? Or was it five to my two?
And so, of course, I was not surprised when, as we entered the inn, he proposed that we go into the tap- room “for a little something to make us sleepy.” He took it in good stead when I told him that I needed nothing to make me sleepy, for I was quite tired already. I would go up to our room, I told him, and read myself to sleep. It shouldn’t take very long.
I shall get through the second episode at the magistrate’s court as quickly as possible. It was a bitter disappointment, and every barrister will tell you that there is no sense in dwelling upon disappointments.
I banged upon the door of the magistrate’s court a bit before seven in the morning. It was answered by another, just as large and just as ugly as he who had answered the door the afternoon before. He looked at me sourly and asked my business. When I told him that I had come to collect Alice Plummer, he said that I’d come too late, that her fine had been paid and that she had been taken forth by a townsman-all this on the day before. Was he sure of this? Certainly he was, he assured me, for he was the constable delegated by the magistrate to fetch her out of her cell.
I insisted on hearing this from Malachi Simmons himself, and the constable shrugged. It was a matter of indifference to him. He said that the magistrate would be down soon, and he pointed to a bench next to the door and said I might sit there, if I chose.
Only minutes later I heard footsteps upon stairs somewhere deep in the house, and a few minutes after that the constable came and told me that the magistrate would see me. Then: down the two long halls once again and into the chambers of Malachi Simmons. This time, of course, I was much disturbed and not in the least given to accommodating his feelings. In short, I fear I was rather rude.
What I heard from the magistrate was this: About an hour after Mr. Patley and I left him, he was visited by one Stephen Applegate, who described himself as “a friend of Alice Plummer.” He wished to know if she were being held here. The magistrate acknowledged this and acquainted the young man with the charges that awaited her in London. These Stephen brushed aside as lies and half-truths. He dealt, for example, with the matter of child-selling by telling him (as he had no doubt been told by her) that in truth she had believed that she had been giving the child out for adoption. She had not solicited any amount of money in payment for her daughter but had been given it as a reward.
“And I have heard, young man,” said the magistrate, “that your methods of questioning her were highly suspect.” I demanded to know what was wrong with our questioning of Alice Plummer, and he explained what I myself should have realized: One does not fill a witness with gin whilst interrogating him or her. At best, you would be drawing from her unconsidered responses, and, at worst, she would tend to agree with all that was said to her.
Where could he have heard that? Why, of course! Stephen would have remembered that Mr. Patley and I had announced ourselves as guests at the Good Queen Bess. He must have headed there as soon as he was free to leave the stable-and then into the tap-room, where he would have heard the serving woman on the matter of the two glasses of gin, and the innkeeper, of course, must have tipped young Applegate on just where he might find his Alice.
