SIR PENN CARYLL’S ENGAGEMENT
Sir Penn Caryll’s engagement was the talk of all his friends. He was a man of about forty, of good family, fairly rich, and boasting of two nice country seats. He also kept a racing stable and added thereby considerably to his income. Sir Penn was so good-looking, so cheery and gay of heart, that he was a great favourite, and more than one eager mother thought of him as an excellent husband for her daughter, and more than one pretty girl looked at him with eyes of favour.
Nevertheless Sir Penn had proved himself impervious to the charms of all fair women, until a certain day when a bright-eyed Tasmanian girl, who went by the name of Esther Haldane, brought him to her feet. The girl in question was only nineteen, was to all appearances poor, and seemed to have no relations in London, except a brother, who was considered by those who knew best to be a somewhat questionable possession. Karl Haldane was a man without apparent profession, and with no certain income, and there was little doubt that he and his sister lived, before the engagement, more or less as adventurers.
After Sir Penn declared his attachment to Miss Haldane, however, he placed his country seat in Sussex at her disposal, putting her under the charge of his aunt, a certain Mrs Percival, and going there himself at intervals. The wedding was to take place early in July. Sir Penn received the congratulations of his friends, and Miss Haldane was thought one of the luckiest girls of the day.
The time was the fourth of May. I was dining alone and was somewhat surprised when Sir Penn’s card was brought to me with a request scribbled in writing that I would see him without a moment’s delay. I hurried at once into his presence. His face was as a rule remarkable for its serenity, and I was startled when I observed the change in it.
‘I fear you are not well,’ I said. ‘I hope there is nothing wrong.’
‘I am afraid there is,’ he replied. ‘May I tell you the object of my visit?’
I asked him to seat himself, and prepared to listen with attention.
‘I have decided to ask you to help me,’ he said abruptly. ‘An ordinary detective would be worse than useless. I have been brought into contact lately with the most extraordinary and uncanny phenomenon, and unless matters are put right without delay, I shall find myself in a serious financial difficulty. You may be certain I would not say these things to you without grave reason, and I must ask for the utmost secrecy on your part.’
‘Of course,’ I replied.
He bent forward and looked at me keenly.
‘Have you ever, in all your experience of occult matters, come across a case of thought-reading in which you were satisfied that imposture was absolutely excluded, and that the thoughts of one person were really conveyed to the brain of another? Do such things exist in this world of reality?’
I paused before replying.
‘You ask me a strange question, Sir Penn, and if you want my true opinion I do think such things possible.’
‘You think so? Who, then, can be safe? Now listen to my own personal experience. You know, of course, that I am the owner of a number of racehorses. Horse-racing is an expensive game, and my expenses are principally met by successful speculation on my horses. Now, of course, there are many secrets in a stable, such as which is the best horse for a certain race, or the capacity of any other horse. These things have to be kept from the outside world. The most important of all our secrets are obtained by what we call “trials”.
‘I will briefly explain. We have, say, half a dozen horses, and we wish to know which is the best for a certain distance. The horses are led out and mounted, and the trial gallop takes place. Now the horse that wins the race may not by any means be the best of the half-dozen horses that we wish to prove, for if such were the case anyone watching the trial would at once know our secret. So to keep the matter dark the various saddles are weighted with different weights, giving heavier loads for some horses to carry than others. In this manner we can not only calculate which is the best horse, but can keep the information from outsiders. For a slightly weighted bad horse will beat a heavily weighted good one.
‘No one but the trainer and myself know what weights are applied to the saddles, and the whole thing is done just at the last moment before the horses start. After the trial only my trainer and myself know which is the best horse. We then discuss what we will do and which horse I shall support in the betting market. Is that clear to you?’
‘Perfectly,’ I replied.
‘You doubtless also comprehend that if these matters were known to an outsider, he could profit immensely by backing my best horse, and could prevent me getting my money on at a good price.’
‘I understand.’
‘Then pray listen. For some time I have been certain that secrets with regard to the weights in the saddles have eked out,
