“Go on,” said Toby suspiciously. “I’ve heard that stuffh before.”
“It’s the goods this time, my boy,” said Mr. Bloggs impressively. “Strite from my old pal the Duke of Essex—I mean—er—Sussex—’imself.”
His back was turned to Drummond, and the movement of Drummond’s face was almost imperceptible. But its meaning was clear: Toby was to accept the offer. And for the life of me, as I stood there feeling bored and puzzled, I couldn’t make out the object of all this tomfoolery. This palpable fraud had served his purpose; what on earth was the use of losing another pound for no rhyme or reason? The two men behind Drummond were engrossed in conversation, and there was still no sign of the third.
For a moment or two I listened half mechanically to Toby bargaining for better terms, and then something drew my attention to a man seated by himself in a corner. He had a tankard of beer at his side, and his appearance was quite inconspicuous. He was a thickset burly man, who might have been an engine-driver off duty or something of that sort. And yet he seemed to me to be studying the occupants of the bar in a curiously intent manner. At any ordinary time I probably shouldn’t have noticed him; but then at any ordinary time I shouldn’t have been in the Three Cows. And after a while I began to watch him covertly, until I grew convinced that my suspicions were correct. He was watching us. Once or twice I caught his eye fixed on me with an expression which left no doubt whatever in my mind that his presence there was not accidental. And though I immediately looked away, lest he should think I had noticed anything, I began to feel certain that he was another of the gang—possibly the very one we had come to find. Moreover, my certainty was increased by the fact that never once, as far as I could see, did the two men standing next to Drummond glance in his direction.
Drummond noticed nothing: he and Toby were still occupied in haggling with the Duke of Sussex’s pal. And I couldn’t help smiling slightly to myself as I realised the futility of all this ridiculous masquerade. However, I duly paid my pound, as I didn’t want to let them down in their little game, and thought out one or two sarcastic phrases to put across at Drummond later. Though I had said nothing at the time I had not been amused by his remark about “Auld Lang Syne.”
And then another idea dawned on me—why should I say anything about it? Though I would never have thought it, there was a certain amount of fun in this dressing-up game. And one thing seemed pretty obvious without any suggestion of self-conceit. If Drummond could succeed at it, I certainly could. An excellent fellow doubtless, and one possessed of great strength—but there it ended. And I even began to wonder if he really had spotted the arrival of the two men until I told him. It’s easy to be wise after the event, and there is such a thing as jealousy. So I decided that I would have a shot at it myself the following evening. At the moment I was not very busy, and doubtless I’d be able to borrow my present disguise from Drummond. After all he’d offered to lend it to me whenever I wanted it, and even to give me the run of his wardrobe.
“Well, I’m off.” It was Toby speaking, and with a nod that included all of us he slouched out of the bar, to be followed shortly afterwards by Mr. Bloggs.
“Don’t forget, mate,” said that worthy to me earnestly as he put down his empty glass, “that it’s the goods: 66 to 1 is the price today, so that if yer backs it each way you lands a matter of eighty quid, which is better than being ’it in the eye with a rotten hegg.”
I agreed suitably with this profound philosophical fact, and omitted to tell him that I hadn’t even heard the name of this fortune-maker, owing to slight deafness in the ear which I had presented to him.
“One of the lads,” remarked Drummond, as the swing-doors closed behind Mr. Bloggs and our three quid. “Another of the same, Mother, and a drop of port for yourself.”
“Closing time,” bellowed a raucous voice, and a general move towards the door took place. The two men next to Drummond finished their drinks, and then, still engrossed in conversation, went out into the street along with the rest, but he made no movement to follow them, which rather surprised me. In fact, he seemed to have completely lost all interest in them, and he stayed on chaffing the two women behind the bar until a general turning down of lights showed that it was closing time in earnest.
And since my principal interest lay in the thickset burly man, who was one of the last to leave, it suited me very well. In him I felt convinced lay the first clue to what we wanted, and when I saw a second man, whom I had not previously noticed, and who had been sitting in another corner of the bar, whisper something in his ear as he went out, it seemed proof positive. However, true to my decision, I said nothing about what I had discovered, and, smiling inwardly, I waited to hear what Drummond proposed to do.
“Not bad,” he remarked in his normal voice, as we strolled towards the nearest Tube station. “Almost too good. In fact—I wonder.”
“Whether the London Hospital will benefit to the extent of three pounds,” I remarked sarcastically, and he laughed.
“He was one of mother’s bright boys, wasn’t he? It was a bit too blatant, Stockton. That’s the trouble.”
“As I’m afraid I didn’t even catch the name of the horse I can’t argue the point.”
“The name of the horse was 10 Ashworth
