would be quite startled if one of my acquaintances were to suffer a similar fate. Had you seen him recently?”
Ignoring the question, Lillie glanced down at her stained bodice and pushed back her chair. “My, haven’t I made a right royal mess of myself,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I’ll go and change. And when I come back, you can ask me all the questions you like and write down every answer in that notebook of yours.”
Kate watched her make her exit-an impressive one, under the circumstances. But Kate, and Beryl Bardwell, were left to wonder what secret connection had existed between Lillie Langtry and the murdered bookmaker. Her reaction had been so dramatic, yet so
But Kate also knew that while Lillie Langtry might pretend to complete candor, the answers to these questions were not likely to come from her.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Welshers, bookies who took your money but were nowhere to be found if your horse won, were without question the most hated of all racecourse crooks. If caught, they were usually subjected to a terrible vengeance by an enraged racing crowd. The treatment differed from course to course: at Catterick they were tarred and feathered, while at any course close to a river they were stripped naked and thrown into the water. More than one welsher was done to death.
The Fast Set: The World of Edwardian Racing George Plumptre
St. James proved to be a cobbled street only one block long not far from the Jockey Club and the Subscription Rooms, where bookmakers and racehorse owners assembled and called over the racing card on the night before a big race. Number Twenty-nine was a narrow, two-story redbrick building with a small plate-glass window set in the front, hung with heavy green draperies to prevent curious passersby from seeing within. On the outside of the window was painted Alfred Day, Racing Commissions in ornate black lettering trimmed and bordered in gold. A folded copy of the Sporting Times lay on the stoop where it had been tossed and a CLOSED sign hung crookedly across the front door. Charles pressed his face to the glass and peered into the dark interior, but he could see nothing.
“They ain’t in th’ office, sir,” piped a shrill voice. “They don’t gen’rally open up ’fore noon.”
Charles turned to see a ragged boy of ten or eleven. The rain that had succeeded the earlier drizzle had ceased, but there was still a fine mist in the air, and the boy’s hair and clothing were thoroughly wet. He was pushing a muddy wooden barrow into which a twig cage, bound with leather thongs, had been haphazardly set. The cage contained three twittering ferrets pushing frantically against the bars.
Charles went back down the steps to the street, followed by Jack Murray. “You know Mr. Day, then?” Charles asked.
The boy nodded vigorously, set down his barrow with a thud, and pushed his wet hair off his forehead. “If y’er ’ere to place a bet, sir, yer might go round th’ back an’ ring. Sobersides ’as a room upstairs. If ’e’s in, ’e’ll take care o’ yer.”
Charles reached into his pocket for a coin. “Thank you,” he said. “Do you live nearby?”
“Back there, in a room, sir, wiv me mother an’ brothers, sir.” Pocketing the coin, the boy pointed down a dark passageway between two brick buildings across the street. At the end of the passageway was a dingy courtyard, and yet another building.
“I see,” Charles said. He looked down at the ferrets, which were scrambling over one another in their frantic efforts to escape. “I suppose you went out early this morning to tend your ferret traps, did you?” He paused. “I wonder if you saw anyone attempting to enter Mr. Day’s office.”
The boy gave this question some thought, seemed on the brink of speaking, then hesitated. Charles found another coin and proffered it. The boy took it eagerly.
“I wuz out at three, sir, ’fore the rain. Ferrets is ’ard t’ catch in the day. They sleeps then, down in their dens. So they ’as to be got before dawn.” He gestured toward the bookmaker’s establishment. “When I went out, there wuz two men comin’ round from th’ back, ’urryin’ like. Seemed odd t’me, sir, it bein’ the middle of the night, which is why I recollects it.”
Jack Murray, standing behind Charles, stepped forward. “What kind of men?” he asked. “Gentlemen?”
“Oh no, sir, not gentl’men, sir,” the boy said, “not from the way they talked. But ’twas too dark t’see ’oo they wuz.” He picked up the handles of his barrow. “If that’s all, sirs, I’ll be on me way. Mr. Thatcher ’as promised t’pay well fer th’ ferrets, fer th’ match tonight.”
Charles had never been to a ferret match, but he knew that the little creatures were set against rats, and wagers were laid as to how many they would kill. The caged animals were sleek and beautiful, and the thought that they would be used in bloody sport was utterly repugnant to him.
“How well does Mr. Thatcher pay you to fetch ferrets?” he asked.
“A crown apiece, sir!” the boy said proudly. “It’s a great deal more than ’e pays fer rats, which is wot I usu’lly sells ’im. When I kin, I sells ferrets, though they’re terr’ble ’ard to catch. Only thing that’ll get ’em into the traps is kippers.”
Charles squatted down beside the barrow, remembering that he had seen ferrets sold on the London streets for a pound each. Mr. Thatcher was not overgenerous with his ragged young ferret-finder.
“These are very fine ferrets,” he said. “Quite fat and amazingly strong-looking. I believe I fancy them myself. Would you take a guinea for the three of them?”
“A guinea!” The boy’s eyes grew large. “Oh, yes, sir! ’Deed I would, sir!”
Charles drew out his purse and fished through an assortment of copper, silver, and gold coins. He extracted a gold sovereign and a silver shilling and pressed them into the child’s hand. Then he picked up the wooden cage, set it on the street, and released the catch. The trio of ferrets pushed eagerly out, and were gone in an instant.
The boy’s face puckered and Charles thought he might cry. “But I thought yer wanted ’em, sir!” he cried, holding onto his fortune as if he feared it might be taken away from him. “An’ now they’re gone!”
“I wanted to see them run,” Charles said mildly, restoring the cage to the barrow. “They’re very fast, aren’t they?”
The boy looked down at the coins and quickly recovered himself. “Oh, ’deed they are, sir,” he said, “an’ fierce as kin be wiv rats.” Shaking his head at the inexplicable whims and whimsies of gentlemen, he pocketed the coins, picked up his barrow, and turned with alacrity into the passageway on the other side of the street.
“Well, then, Murray,” Charles said, dusting his hands, “suppose we go around to the back and see if this man Sobersides will answer our ring.”
Jack Murray said not a word about the vanished ferrets. Instead, he went ahead of Charles around the building, past a derelict row of dustbins, to a narrow wooden stoop at the back. A calico cat was sitting on the top step but as the men approached, it jumped down with an annoyed meow and disappeared into the straggly bushes that filled the narrow yard.
Murray climbed the steps. A bell hung beside the door, and he pulled a dirty string, ringing it loudly. After a moment, he rang it again, and then again. From the bushes, the calico cat renewed its complaint.
“It doesn’t seem, sir,” the investigator said, looking down at Charles, “that there’s anybody here.”
“Well, then,” Charles said reasonably, “I suggest that we try the door. If it’s locked-”
