“ ’E ain’t been long in London, ’ave yer, mate?” said Drummond. “ ’E comes from up North somewhere. What this gentleman means is that if you’d like to ’ave five bob or ’alf a Bradbury on a ’orse for to-morrer ’e can arrange it for yer.”
“And wot’s more,” said the horsy man, “I can give you the winner of the Derby. As sure as my name is Joe Bloggs I can give you the winner. You may not believe it, but I ’ad it direct from the stewards of the Jockey Club themselves. ‘Bloggs,’ they says to me, they says, ‘it ain’t everyone as we’d tell this to. But you’re different; we knows you’re a gentleman.’ ”
“Did they now?” said Drummond in an awed voice.
“But wot they said to me was this. ‘We don’t object to your a passing of it on, if you can find men wot you trust. But it ain’t fair to give anyone this information for nothing. We don’t want the money, but there are ’orspitals that do. The price to you, Bloggs, is one thick ’un; to be paid to the London ’Orspital.’ So I said to ’em, I said—‘Done with you, your Graces; a thick ’un it is.’ And at ’ome, mates, now—locked up along with my marriage lines and the youngster’s christening certificate is a receipt for one pound from the London ’Orspital. I shall taike it with me to Epsom, and it’ll be a proud day for me if I can taike receipts for two more. It’s yer chance, boys. Hand over a couple of Brads, and the hinformation is yours—hinformation which the King himself don’t know!”
“I’ll bet ’e doesn’t,” agreed Drummond. “It’s a pleasure to ’ave met yer, Mr. Bloggs. ’Ave another gargle? I guess me and my mate ’ere will come in on that little deal. Money for nothing, I calls it.”
It was at that moment that I saw them enter the bar—the man who had been in Hatchett’s, and another one. Of the squealing little specimen who had been dragged into Toby’s room I saw no sign, but doubtless he would come later. However, the great point was that the others had arrived, and I glanced at Drummond to make sure he had noticed the fact.
To my amazement he was leaning over the bar calling for Mother to replenish his glass and that of his new friend. So I dug him in the ribs covertly, at the same time keeping a careful eye on the two newcomers. It was easy to watch them unperceived, as they were talking most earnestly together. And by the most extraordinary piece of good fortune they found a vacant place at the bar itself just beside the horsy man.
Again I dug Drummond in the ribs, and he looked at me knowingly.
“All right, mate, o’ course we’ll take it. But wot I was just wondering was whether, seeing as ’ow there are the two of us like, this gentleman wouldn’t let us ’ave his hinformation for thirty bob. Yer see, guv’nor, it’s this way. You tells me the name of the ’orse, and I pays you a quid. Wot’s to prevent me passing it on to him for nothing, once I knows it?”
“The ’Orspital, mate. Them poor wasted ’uman beings wot looks to us for ’elp in their sufferings. As the Duke of Sussex said to me, ‘Bloggs!’ ’e said—‘old friend of my youth …’ ”
I could stand it no longer: I leant over and whispered in Drummond’s ear—“Do you see who has just come in? Standing next this awful stiff.”
He nodded portentously.
“I quite agree with you, mate. Excuse me one moment, Mr. Bloggs.”
He turned to me, and his expression never varied an iota.
“Laddie,” he murmured wearily, “I saw them ten minutes ago. I felt London shake when you gave your little start of surprise on seeing them yourself. With pain and gloom I have watched you regarding them as a lion regards the keeper at feeding time at the Zoo. All that remains is for you to go up to them and let them know whom we are. Then we’ll all sing ’Auld Lang Syne’ and go home. Well, then, that’s agreed. Seeing as ’ow it’s for an ’orspital, Mr. Bloggs, my mate ’ere says ’e’ll spring a thick ’un.”
“Good for both of yer,” cried the tipster. “And you may take it from me, boys, that it’s dirt cheap at the price.”
“Come in ’ere between us, Mr. Bloggs,” said Drummond confidentially. “It wouldn’t do for no one else to ’ear anything about it. We don’t want no shortening of the odds.”
“I sees you knows the game, mate,” said the other appreciatively as they changed places, thereby bringing Drummond next to our quarry. “You’re right: the Duke would never forgive me if we was to do that. ‘Spread your money amongst all yer bookmakers, Joe, and keep them damned stiffs from bilking ’onest men like you and me,’—them were his very words.”
“Wait a moment, mate,” cried Drummond. “Mother—give me a pencil and a bit o’ paper, will yer? I’ve got a shocking memory, Mr. Bloggs, and I’d like to ’ave this ’ere ’orse’s name down in writing, seeing as ’ow I’m springing a quid for it. There it is, and now let’s ’ear.”
He produced a one-pound note which he laid on the bar, from which it disappeared, with a speed worthy of Maskelyne and Cook, into Mr. Bloggs’ pocket. And then the momentous secret was whispered in his ear.
“You don’t say,” said Drummond. “Well, I never did.”
“And if yer gets on now yer gets on at 66 to 1,” said the tipster triumphantly.
“Lumme! it’s like stealing the cat’s milk.” Drummond seemed suddenly to be struck with an idea. “Why, blow my dickey, if I ’ain’t been and forgotten young Isaac. ’E’s careful with ’is money, Mr. Bloggs, is Isaac—but for a cert like this ’e might spring a quid too. Isaac—’ere.”
“Whath the matter?” said Toby, glancing round.
“Do you want the winner of the
