June 9, 2025 • 30 mins
In The Just Men of Cordova (1917), a series of European financiers from London to Cordova are dying under mysterious circumstances, falling victim to an unidentified poison. Edgar Wallace, in his previous novel, introduced us to a group of vigilantes known as the Four Just Men, who are renowned for their ingenuity, persistence, lock breaking skills, and mastery of disguise. They operate in the shadowy realm beyond the law, their lethal justice instilling terror in their targets. But who are these men and who supports their cause? Edgar Wallace, a prolific author from the golden age of detective fiction, penned over 170 novels, including King Kong. With over 160 films based on his work, and a publishers claim that a quarter of all books read in England at the time were his, Wallaces influence is undeniable. - Summary by ASharma
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter twelve of The Just Men of Cordoba by Edgar Wallace.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Atulsharma, Winnipeg, Canada,
Chapter twelve, the race the curious ring on the car
home was crowded. Unusually interested in the Lincoln Handicap was
the sporting world, and this, together with the glorious weather,
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had drawn sportsmen from north and south to meet together
on this great festival of English racing. Train and steamer
had brought the wanderers back to the fold. There were
men with the tan of Egypt on their cheeks, men
who had been to the south to avoid the vigorous
and searching tests of an English winter. There were men
who came from Monte Carlo, and lean brown men who
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had spent the dark days of the year amongst the
snows of the Alps. There were regular followers of the
game who had known no holiday and had followed the
jumping season with religious attention. They were rich men and
comparatively poor men, little tradesmen who found this the most
delightful of their holidays. Members of parliament who had snatched
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the day from the dreariness of the parliamentary debates, sharpers
on the lookout for possible victims. These latter, quiet, unobtrusive
men whose eyes were constantly on the move for a
lightly subject. There was a sprinkling of journalists, cheery and skeptical,
young men and old men, farmers and their gaiters, all
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drawn together in one great brotherhood by the love of
the sport of kings. In the crowded paddock, the horses
engaged in the first race were walking round, led by
diminutive stable lads. The number of each horse strapped to
the boy's arm A rough lot of beggars, said Gresham,
looking them over. Most of them still had their winter coats.
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Most of them were grossly fat and unfitted for racing.
He was ticking the horses off on his card. Some
he immediately dismissed as of no account. He found Lady
Mary wandering around the paddock by herself. She greeted him
as a shipwrecked mariner greets the sail. I'm so glad
you've come, she said, I know nothing whatever about racing.
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She looked round the paddock. Won't you tell me something?
Are all these horses really fit? You evidently know something
about horses. He smiled. No, they're not. But surely they
can't win if they're not fit, she said in astonishment.
They can't all win, replied the young man, laughing, they're
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not all intended to win either. You see, a trainer
may not be satisfied his horse's top hole. He sends
him out to have a feeler, so to speak, at
the opposition. The fittest horse will probably win this race.
The trainer who is running against him with no hope
of success, will discover how near to fitness his own
beast is. I want to find Timbolino, she said, Looking
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at her, curred that's Sir Isaac's, isn't it. He nodded.
I was looking for him myself, he said. Come along
and let's see if we can find him. In a
corner of the paddock, they discovered the horse, A tall,
upstanding animal, well muscled, so far as horse could judge,
for the horse was still in his cloths. A nice
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type of horse for the Lincoln, he said, thoughtfully. I
saw him at Ascott last year. I think this is
the fellow we've got to beat. Does Sir Isaac own
many horses, she asked, A few? He said, he is
a remarkable man. Why do you say that, she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. Well, one knows. Then he realized
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that it wasn't playing cricket to speak disparagingly of a
possible rival, and she rightly interpreted his silence. Where does
Sir Isaac make his money? She asked abruptly. He looked
at her. I don't know, he said. He's got some
property somewhere, hasn't he. She shook her head. No, she said,
I am not asking, she went on quickly, because I
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have any possible interest in his wealth or his prospects.
All my interest is centered elsewhere. She favored him with
a dazzling little smile. Although the paddock was crowded and
the eyes of many people were upon him, the owner
of the favorite had all his work to restrain himself
from taking her hand. She changed the subject abruptly. So
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now let's come and see your great horse, she said gaily.
He led her over to one of the boxes where
Nemesis was receiving the attention of an earnest groom. There
was not much of her. She was of small build,
clean of limb, with a beautiful head and a fine neck,
not usually seen in so small a thoroughbred, she had
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run a good fourth in the Cambridgeshire of the previous year,
and had made steady improvement from her three year old
to her four year old days. Hor As looked her
over critically. His practiced eye could see no fault in
her condition. She looked very cool, ideally fit for the
task of the afternoon. He knew that her task was
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a difficult one. He knew too, that he had in
his heart really very little fear that she could fail
to negotiate the easy mile of the car home. There
were many horses in the race who were also sprinters,
and they would make the pace a terrifically fast one.
If stamina was a weak point, it would betray her.
The previous day, on the opening of the racing season,
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his stable had run a horse in a selling plate,
and it was encouraging that this animal, though carrying top weight,
beat his field easily. It was this fact that had
brought Nemesis to the position of a short priced favorite.
Gresham himself had very little money upon her. He did
not bet very heavily. Though he was credited with making
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and losing fabulous sums each year, He gained nothing by
contradicting these rumors. He was sufficiently indifferent to the opinions
of his fellows not to suffer any inconvenience from their repetition.
But the shortening of price on Nemesis was a serious
matter for the connection of Timbolino. They could not cover
their investments by saving on Nemesis without a considerable outlay.
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Horace was at lunch when the second race was run.
He had found Lord Verland wonderfully gracious. To the young
man's surprise, his lordship had accepted his invitation with such
matter of fact heartiness as to suggest he had expected it.
I suppose, he said, with a little twinkle in his eye,
you have an invited Ikey. Gresham shook his head smilingly. No,
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I do not think Sir Isaac quite approves of me.
I do not think he does. Agreed the other anyway,
He's got a guest of his own, Colonel Black, I
assure you it is through no act of mine. Ike
introduced him to me somewhat unnecessarily, But Ike is always
doing unnecessary things. A very amiable person, continued the Earl
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Busy with his knife and fork. He lordshipped me, and
my lorded me as though he were the newest kind
of barrister, and I was the oldest and wiliest of
a seized judges. He treated me with that respect which
is only accorded to those who were expected to pay
eventually for the privilege. Ikey was most anxious that he
should create a good impression. It may be said with
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truth that Black saw the net closing round him. He
knew not what mysterious influences were at work, but day
by day, in a hundred different ways, he found himself thwarted,
new obstacles put in his way. He was out now
for a final kill. He was recalled to a realization
of the present by the strident voices of the bookmakers
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about him. The ring was in a turmoil. He heard
a voice shout seven to one bar one, seven to
one nemesis, and he knew enough of racing to realize
that something had happened to the favorite. He came to
a bookmaker. He knew slightly. What are you barring? He asked?
Timbolino was the reply. He found Sir Isaac near the enclosure.
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The baronet was looking a muddy white and was biting
his finger nails with an air of perturbation. What has
made your horse so strong A favorite? I backed it again,
said Sir Isaac. Backed it again. I've got to do something,
said the other savagely. If I lose, well, I lose
more than I can pay. I might as well add
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to my liabilities. I tell you I'm down and out
of this thing. Doesn't win, he said. Unless you can
do something for me. You can, can't you? Black? Old Sport,
he asked entreatingly, there's no reason why you and I
should have any secrets from one another. Black looked at
him steadily. If the horse lost, he might be able
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to use this man to greater advantage. Sir Isaac's next
word suggested that in case of necessity, help would be forthcoming.
It's that beastly verlonde, he said bitterly. He put the
girl quite against me. She treats me as though I
were dirt, And I thought I was all right there.
I've been backing on the strength of the money coming
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to me. What has happened recently, asked Black. I got
her by myself just now, said the baronet, and put
it to her plane. But it's no gold. Black. She
gave me. The frozen face turned me down proper. It's
perfectly damnable, he almost wailed. Black nodded. At that moment,
there was a sudden stir in the ring. Over the
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heads of the crowd. From where they stood, they saw
the bright colored caps of the jockeys cantering down to
the post. Unlike Sir Isaac, who had carefully avoided the
paddock after a casual glance at his candidate, Horace was
personally supervising the finishing touches to Nemesis. He saw the
girl strapped, gave his last instructions to the jockey. Then,
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as the filly was led to the course, with one
final backward and approving glance at her, he turned towards
the ring. One moment Gresham, Lord Verland, was behind him.
Do you think your horse, said the old man, with
a nod toward Nemesis, is going to win? Horace nodded,
I do now, he said, In fact, I am rather confident.
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Do you think? The other asked slowly that if your
horse doesn't Timbolina will Horace looked at him curiously. Yes,
Lord Verland, I do, he said quietly. Again. There was
a pause, the old man, fingering his shaven chin absently
Suppose Gresham, he said, without raising his voice. Suppose I
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ask you to pull your horse. The face of the
young man when suddenly read you are joking, Lord Verland,
he answered stiffly. I'm not joking, said the other. I
am speaking to you as a man of honor, and
I am trusting to your respecting my confidence. Suppose I
asked you to pull Nemesis. Would you do it? No, frankly,
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I would not, said the other. But I can't never
mind what you can't understand, said Lord Verlan, with a
return of his usual sharpness. If I asked you and
offered you as a reward what you desired most, would
you do it. I would not do it for anything
in the world, said Horace gravely. A bitter little smile
came to the old man's face. I see, he said.
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I can't understand why you asked me, said Horace, who
was still bewildered. Surely you know I only know that
you think I want you to pull your horse because
I have backed the other, said the old earl, with
just a ghost of a smile on his thin lips.
I would advise you not to be too puffed up
with pride at your own rectitude, he said unpleasantly, though
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the little smile still lingered. Because you may be very
sorry one of these days that you did not do
as I asked, if you would tell me, began Horace
and paused. This sudden request from the Earl, who was,
with all his faults a sportsman, left him almost speechless.
I will tell you nothing, said the Earl, because I
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have nothing to tell you, he added suavely. Horace led
the way up the stairs to the county stand. To
say that he was troubled by the extraordinary request of
the old man would be to put it mildly. He
knew the Earl as an eccentric man. He knew him
by reputation as an evil man, though he had no
evidence as to this. But he never, in his wildest
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and most uncharitable moments, had imagined that this old rascal,
so he called him, would ask him to pull a horse.
It was unthinkable. He remembered that Lord Verlaand was steward
of one or two big meetings, and that he was
a member of one of the most august sporting clubs
in the world. He elbowed his way along the top
of the stand to where the white osprey. Lady Mary's
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hat showed you look troubled, she said, as he reached
her side. Has uncle been bothering you? He shook his head. No,
he replied with unusual curtness. Has your horse developed a headache?
She asked banteringly. I was worried about something I remembered,
he said, incoherently. The field was at the starting post.
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Your horse is drawn in the middle, she said. He
put up his glasses. He could see the chocolate and
green plainly enough. Sir Isaac's gray vertical stripes on white
yellow cap was also easy to see. He had drawn
the inside right. The field was given the starter all
the trouble that twenty four high spirited thoroughbreds could give
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to any man. For ten minutes, they backed and sidled
and jumped and kicked and circled before the two long
tapes with exemplary patience. The starter waited, directing, imploring, almost commanding,
and it must be confessed swearing as a North country
starter who had no respect for the cracks of the
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jockey world. The weight gave Horace an opportunity for collecting
his thoughts. He had been a little upset by the
strange requests of the man who was now speaking so
calmly at his elbow. For Sir Isaac, the period of
waiting had increased the attention. His hands were shaking, his
glasses went up and down jerkily. He was in an
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agony of apprehension when suddenly the white tape swung up.
The field bunched into three sections, then spread again, and
like a cavalry regiment came thundering down the slight declivity
on its homeward journey. Thereof a roar of voices. Every
glass was focused on the oncoming field. There was nothing
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in it for two furlongs. The start had been a
splendid one that came almost in a dead line. Then
something on the rail shot out a little. It was Timboolino,
going with splendid smoothness. That looks like the winner, said
Horace philosophically. Mine shut in in the middle of the course.
The jockey on Nemesis, seeking an opening, had dashed his
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mount to one which was impossible. He found himself boxed
between two horses, the riders of which showed no disposition
to open out for him. The field was half way
on its journey when the boy pulled the filly out
of the trap and came round his horses. Timbolino had
a two length clear lead of Colette, which was a
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length clear of a bunch of five. Nemesis, when half
the journey was done, was lying eighth or ninth. Horace
on the stand had his stop watch in his hand.
He clicked it off as the field passed the four
furlong posts, and hastily examined the dial. It's a slow race,
he said, with a little thrill in his voice at
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the distance. Nemesis, with a quick free stride, had shot
out of the rock and was third, three lents behind Timbolino.
The boy on Sir Isaac's horse was riding a confident race.
He had the rails and had not moved on his horse.
He looked round to see where the danger lay, and
his experienced eye sawhed the Nemesis, who was going smoothly
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and evenly a hundred yards from the post. The boy
on Gresham's philly shook her up, and in half a
dozen strides she had drawn abreast of the leader. The
rider of Timbalina saw the danger. He pushed his mount,
working with hands and heels, upon the willing animal. Under him.
They were running now wide of each other, dead level.
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The advantage, it seemed, lay with the horse on the rails.
But Horace, watching with an expert eye from the top
of the stand, knew that the real advantage lay with
the horse in the middle of the track. He had
walked over the course that morning, and he knew that
it was on the crown of the track that the
going was best. Timbolina responded nobly to the efforts of
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his rider. Whence his head got in front, and the
boy on Nemesis took up his whip, but he did
not use it. He was watching the other. Then, with
twenty yards to go, he drove Nemesis forward with all
the power of his splendid hands. Timbolino made one more effort,
and as they flew past the judge's box, there was
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none save the judge who might separate them. Horace turned
to the girl at his side with a critical smile. Oh,
you've won, she said, you did win, didn't you. Her
eyes were blazing with excitement. He shook his head, smilingly.
I'm afraid I can't answer that, he said. It was
a very close thing. He glanced at Sir Isaac The
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Baronet's face was livid. The hand that he raised to
his lips trembled like an asp and leaf. There's one man,
thought Horace, who's more worried about the result than I am.
Down below in the ring, there was a babble of
excited talk. It rose up to them in a dull roar.
They were betting fast and furiously on the result, for
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the numbers had not yet up. Both horses had their partisans.
Then there was a din amounting to a bellow. The
judge had hoisted two knots in the frame. It was
a dead heat, by jove, said Horace. It was the
only comment he made. He crossed to the other side
of the enclosure as quickly as he could, Sir Isaac
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following closely behind. As the baronet elbowed his way through
the crowd, somebody caught him by the arm. He looked round.
It was Black. Run it off, said Black, in a
hoarse whisper. It was a fluke that horse got up.
Your jockey was caught napping. Run it off, Sir Isaac hesitated.
I shall get half the bats and half the stakes,
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he said, have the lot, said Black, Go along. There's
nothing to be afraid of I know this game. Run
it off. There's nothing to prevent you winning, Sir Isaac hesitated,
then walked slowly to the unsaddling enclosure, the steaming horses
were being divested of their saddles. Gresham was there, looking
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cool and cheerful. He caught the baronet's eye. Well, Sir Isaac,
he said, pleasantly, what are you going to do? What
do you want to do, asked Sir Isaac suspiciously. It
was part of his creed that all men were rogues.
He thought it would be safest to do the opposite
to what his rival desired. Like many another suspicious man,
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he made frequent errors in his diagnosis. I think it
would be advisable to divide, said Horace. The horses have
had a very hard race, and I think mine was
unlucky not to win. That decided Sir Isaac. We'll run
it off, he said, as you will, said Horace coldly.
But I think it is only right to warn you
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that my horse was boxed in half way up the course,
and but for that would have won very easily. He
had to make up half a dozen. I know all
about that, interrupted the other rudely, but none the less,
I'm going to run it off. Horace nodded. He turned
to consult with his trainer. If the Baronet decided to
run the dead heat off, there was nothing to prevent it,
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the laws of racing being that both owners must agree
to divide. Sir Isaac announced his intention to the stewards
and it was arranged that the runoff would take place
after the last race of the day. He was shaking
with excitement when he rejoined Black. I'm not so sure
that you're right, he said, dubiously. This chap Gresham says
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his horse was boxed in. I didn't see the beast
in the race, so I can't tell ask somebody. Don't worry,
said Black, patting him on the back. There's nothing to
worry about. You'll win this race just as easily as
I shall walk from this ring to the paddock. Sir
Isaac was not satisfied. He waited till he saw a
journalist whom he knew by sight, returning from the telegraph office.
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I say, he said, did you see the race? The
journalist nodded yes. Sir Isaac, he said, with a smile,
I suppose Gresham insisted on running it off. No He didn't,
said Sir Isaac, but I think I was unlucky to lose.
The journalist made a little grimace. I'm sorry, I can't
agree with you. He said, I thought that mister Gresham's
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horse ought to have won easily, but that he was
boxed in in the strait. Sir Isaac reported this conversation
to Black. Take no notice of these racing journalists, said
Black contemptuously. What did they know? Heaven? I got eyes
as well as they. But this did not satisfy Sir Isaac.
These chaps are jolly good judges, He said, I wish
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to heaven I had divided. Black slapped him on the shoulder.
You're losing your nerve, ikey, he said, why you'll be
thanking me at dinner to night for having saved you
thousands of pounds. He didn't want to run it off,
Who asked Sir Isaac Gresham? Yes, did, he asked Black? No,
he wasn't very keen. He said it wasn't fair to
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the horses. Black laughed, rubbish, he said, scornfully. You a man.
Imagine a man like that cares whether his horse is
hard raced or whether it isn't. No, he saw the
race as well as I did. He saw that you're
fool of a jockey, had at once and was caught napping.
Of course, he didn't want to risk a runoff. I
tell you that Timbolina will win easily. Somewhat reassured by
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his companion's optimism, Sir Isaac awaited the conclusion of the
runoff in better spirits. It added to his assurance that
the ring took a similar view to that which Black held.
They were asking for odds about Timbolino. You might have
got two to one against Nemesis, but only for a
little while. Gresham had gone into the tea room with
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the girl and was standing at the narrow entrance of
the county stand when the cry two to one Nemesis
caught his ear. They're not laying against my horse, he exclaimed,
in astonishment. He beckoned a man who was passing. Are
they laying against Nemesis, he asked. The man nodded. He
was a commission agent. Did whatever work the young owner required.
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Go in and back her for me. Put in as
much money as you possibly can get back it down
to evens, said Gresham. Decidedly. He was not a gambling man.
He was shrewd and business like in all his transactions,
and he could read a race. He knew exactly what
had happened. His money created some sensation in a market
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which was not over strong. Tim Bolina went out and
Nemesis with a shade odds on. Then it was that
money came in for Sir Isaac's horse. Black did not
bet to any extent, but he saw a chance of
making easy money. The man honestly believed all he had
said to Sir Isaac. He was confident in his mind
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that the jockey had ridden a jolly race. He had
sufficient credit amongst the best men in the ring to
invest fairly heavily. Again, the market experienced an extraordinary change.
Tim Bolina was favored again. Nemesis went out first six
to four, than two to one, than five to two.
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But now the money began to come in from the country.
The results of the race and its description had been
published in the stop press editions in hundreds of evening
papers up and down England, Ireland and Scotland. Quick to
make their decisions. The little punters of Great Britain were reinvesting,
some to save their stakes, others to increase what they
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already regarded as their winnings, and here the money was
for Nemesis. The reporters, unprejudiced, had no other interest but
to secure for the public accurate news and to describe
things as they saw them, And the race as they
saw it was the race which Sir Isaac would not believe,
and in which Black openly scoffed. The last event was
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set for half past four, and after the field had
come past the post and the winner was being led
to the unsaddling enclosure, the two dead heaters of the
memorable Lincolnshire Handicap came prancing from the paddock on to
the course. The question of the draw was immaterial. There
was nothing to choose between the jockeys two experienced horsemen,
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and there was little delay at the post. It does
not follow that a race of two runners means an
equable start, though it seemed that nothing was likely to
interfere with the tiny field getting off together. When the
tapes went up, however, Nemesis half turned and lost a
couple of lents. All back. Timbolina yelled somebody from the ring,
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and a quick staccato voice cried, I'll take three to one.
A chorus of acceptances met the offer. Sir Isaac was
watching the race from the public stand. Black was at
his side. What did I tell you, asked the latter exultantly.
The money is in your pocket. Ikey, my boy, look
three lents in front, you'll win at a walk. The
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boy on Nemesis had her well balanced. He did not
drive her out. He seemed content to wait those three
lents in the rear. Gresham, watching them through his glasses,
nodded his approval. They're going no pace, he said to
the man at his side. She was further behind at
this point in the race itself. Both horses were running smoothly.
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At the five furlong posts, the lad on Nemesis let
the filly out just a little without any apparent effort.
She improved her position. The jockey knew now exactly what
were his resources, and he was content to wait behind.
The rest of the race needs very little description. It
was a procession until they had reached the distance. Then
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the boy on Timbalina looked round. He's beaten, said Gresham,
half to himself. He knew that some jockeys looked round
when they felt their mount failing under them. Two hundred
yards from the post, Nemesis, with scarcely an effort, drew
level with the leader. Out came the other jockey's whip.
One two, He landed his mount, and the horse went
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ahead till he was a neck in front, then coming
up with one long run. Nemesis first drew up and
passed the fast stopping Timbolino and one with consummate ease
by a length and a half. Sir Isaac could not
believe his eyes. He gasped, dropped his glasses, and stared
at the horses in amazement. It was obvious that he
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was beaten long before the winning post was reached. He's
pulling the horse, he cried, beside himself with rage and chagrin.
Look at him, I'll have him before the stewards. He
is not riding the horse. Black's hand closed on his arm.
Drop it, you fool, he muttered. Are you going to
give away the fact that you are broke to the
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world before all these people. You're beaten fairly enough. I've
lost as much as you have. Get out of this,
Sir Isaac. Trember went down the stairs of the grand
stand in the midst of a throng of people, all
talking at once in different keys. He was dazed. He
was more like a man in a dream. He could
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not realize what it meant to him. He was stunned, bewildered.
All he knew was that Timbalina had lost. He had
a vague idea at the back of his mind that
he was a ruined man, and only a faint ray
of hope that Black would, in some mysterious way get
him out of his trouble. Porse was pulled, he repeated, dully,
he couldn't have lost, Black, wasn't it pulled? Shut up,
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snarled the other. You're going to get yourself into pretty
bad trouble unless you control that tongue of yours. He
got the shaking man away from the course and put
a stiff glass of brandy and water in his hand.
The baronet awoke to his tragic position. I can't pay, Black,
he wailed, I can't pay. What an awful business for me?
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What a fool I was to take your advice? What
a fool curse you you were standing in with Gresham.
Why did you advise me? What did you make out
of it? Dry up, said Black shortly. You're like a
baye bikey. What are you worrying about. I told you
I've lost as much money as you. Now we've got
to sit down and think out a plan for making money.
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What have you lost, Sir Isaac shook his head weakly.
I don't know, he said, listlessly, six or seven thousand pounds.
I haven't got six or seven thousand pence. He added plaintively.
It's a pretty bad business for me, Black, a man
in my position, I shall have to sell off my
horses your position, Black laughed harshly, My dear good chap,
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I shouldn't let that worry you. Your reputation, he went on,
you're living in a fool's paradise, my man, he said,
with savage banter. Why you've no more reputation than I have.
Who cares whether you pay your debts of honor or
whether you don't. It would surprise people more if you
paid than if you defaulted. Get all that nonsense out
(29:52):
of your head and think sensibly you will make all
you've lost and much more. You've got to marry, and quick,
and then she he's got to inherit my lord's money
almost as quickly. Ike looked at him in despairing amazement.
Even if she married me, he said, pettishly, I should
have to wait years for the money. Colonel Black smiled.
(30:14):
They were moving off the course when they were overtaken
by a man who touched the baronet on the arm.
Excuse me, Sir Isaac, he said, and handed him an
envelope for me, asked Ike wonderingly, and opened the envelope.
There was no letter, only a slip of paper and
four bank notes for a thousand pounds each. Sir Isaac gasped,
(30:35):
and read, pay your debts and live cleanly. Avoid Black
like the devil, and work for your living. The writing
was disguised, but the language was obviously Lord Verloon's and
of Chapter twelve.
Chapter twelve of The Just Men of Cordoba by Edgar Wallace.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Read by Atulsharma, Winnipeg, Canada,
Chapter twelve, the race the curious ring on the car
home was crowded. Unusually interested in the Lincoln Handicap was
the sporting world, and this, together with the glorious weather,
(00:24):
had drawn sportsmen from north and south to meet together
on this great festival of English racing. Train and steamer
had brought the wanderers back to the fold. There were
men with the tan of Egypt on their cheeks, men
who had been to the south to avoid the vigorous
and searching tests of an English winter. There were men
who came from Monte Carlo, and lean brown men who
(00:47):
had spent the dark days of the year amongst the
snows of the Alps. There were regular followers of the
game who had known no holiday and had followed the
jumping season with religious attention. They were rich men and
comparatively poor men, little tradesmen who found this the most
delightful of their holidays. Members of parliament who had snatched
(01:08):
the day from the dreariness of the parliamentary debates, sharpers
on the lookout for possible victims. These latter, quiet, unobtrusive
men whose eyes were constantly on the move for a
lightly subject. There was a sprinkling of journalists, cheery and skeptical,
young men and old men, farmers and their gaiters, all
(01:30):
drawn together in one great brotherhood by the love of
the sport of kings. In the crowded paddock, the horses
engaged in the first race were walking round, led by
diminutive stable lads. The number of each horse strapped to
the boy's arm A rough lot of beggars, said Gresham,
looking them over. Most of them still had their winter coats.
(01:53):
Most of them were grossly fat and unfitted for racing.
He was ticking the horses off on his card. Some
he immediately dismissed as of no account. He found Lady
Mary wandering around the paddock by herself. She greeted him
as a shipwrecked mariner greets the sail. I'm so glad
you've come, she said, I know nothing whatever about racing.
(02:15):
She looked round the paddock. Won't you tell me something?
Are all these horses really fit? You evidently know something
about horses. He smiled. No, they're not. But surely they
can't win if they're not fit, she said in astonishment.
They can't all win, replied the young man, laughing, they're
(02:36):
not all intended to win either. You see, a trainer
may not be satisfied his horse's top hole. He sends
him out to have a feeler, so to speak, at
the opposition. The fittest horse will probably win this race.
The trainer who is running against him with no hope
of success, will discover how near to fitness his own
beast is. I want to find Timbolino, she said, Looking
(03:00):
at her, curred that's Sir Isaac's, isn't it. He nodded.
I was looking for him myself, he said. Come along
and let's see if we can find him. In a
corner of the paddock, they discovered the horse, A tall,
upstanding animal, well muscled, so far as horse could judge,
for the horse was still in his cloths. A nice
(03:22):
type of horse for the Lincoln, he said, thoughtfully. I
saw him at Ascott last year. I think this is
the fellow we've got to beat. Does Sir Isaac own
many horses, she asked, A few? He said, he is
a remarkable man. Why do you say that, she asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. Well, one knows. Then he realized
(03:45):
that it wasn't playing cricket to speak disparagingly of a
possible rival, and she rightly interpreted his silence. Where does
Sir Isaac make his money? She asked abruptly. He looked
at her. I don't know, he said. He's got some
property somewhere, hasn't he. She shook her head. No, she said,
I am not asking, she went on quickly, because I
(04:07):
have any possible interest in his wealth or his prospects.
All my interest is centered elsewhere. She favored him with
a dazzling little smile. Although the paddock was crowded and
the eyes of many people were upon him, the owner
of the favorite had all his work to restrain himself
from taking her hand. She changed the subject abruptly. So
(04:31):
now let's come and see your great horse, she said gaily.
He led her over to one of the boxes where
Nemesis was receiving the attention of an earnest groom. There
was not much of her. She was of small build,
clean of limb, with a beautiful head and a fine neck,
not usually seen in so small a thoroughbred, she had
(04:51):
run a good fourth in the Cambridgeshire of the previous year,
and had made steady improvement from her three year old
to her four year old days. Hor As looked her
over critically. His practiced eye could see no fault in
her condition. She looked very cool, ideally fit for the
task of the afternoon. He knew that her task was
(05:12):
a difficult one. He knew too, that he had in
his heart really very little fear that she could fail
to negotiate the easy mile of the car home. There
were many horses in the race who were also sprinters,
and they would make the pace a terrifically fast one.
If stamina was a weak point, it would betray her.
The previous day, on the opening of the racing season,
(05:35):
his stable had run a horse in a selling plate,
and it was encouraging that this animal, though carrying top weight,
beat his field easily. It was this fact that had
brought Nemesis to the position of a short priced favorite.
Gresham himself had very little money upon her. He did
not bet very heavily. Though he was credited with making
(05:57):
and losing fabulous sums each year, He gained nothing by
contradicting these rumors. He was sufficiently indifferent to the opinions
of his fellows not to suffer any inconvenience from their repetition.
But the shortening of price on Nemesis was a serious
matter for the connection of Timbolino. They could not cover
their investments by saving on Nemesis without a considerable outlay.
(06:21):
Horace was at lunch when the second race was run.
He had found Lord Verland wonderfully gracious. To the young
man's surprise, his lordship had accepted his invitation with such
matter of fact heartiness as to suggest he had expected it.
I suppose, he said, with a little twinkle in his eye,
you have an invited Ikey. Gresham shook his head smilingly. No,
(06:44):
I do not think Sir Isaac quite approves of me.
I do not think he does. Agreed the other anyway,
He's got a guest of his own, Colonel Black, I
assure you it is through no act of mine. Ike
introduced him to me somewhat unnecessarily, But Ike is always
doing unnecessary things. A very amiable person, continued the Earl
(07:08):
Busy with his knife and fork. He lordshipped me, and
my lorded me as though he were the newest kind
of barrister, and I was the oldest and wiliest of
a seized judges. He treated me with that respect which
is only accorded to those who were expected to pay
eventually for the privilege. Ikey was most anxious that he
should create a good impression. It may be said with
(07:31):
truth that Black saw the net closing round him. He
knew not what mysterious influences were at work, but day
by day, in a hundred different ways, he found himself thwarted,
new obstacles put in his way. He was out now
for a final kill. He was recalled to a realization
of the present by the strident voices of the bookmakers
(07:53):
about him. The ring was in a turmoil. He heard
a voice shout seven to one bar one, seven to
one nemesis, and he knew enough of racing to realize
that something had happened to the favorite. He came to
a bookmaker. He knew slightly. What are you barring? He asked?
Timbolino was the reply. He found Sir Isaac near the enclosure.
(08:16):
The baronet was looking a muddy white and was biting
his finger nails with an air of perturbation. What has
made your horse so strong A favorite? I backed it again,
said Sir Isaac. Backed it again. I've got to do something,
said the other savagely. If I lose, well, I lose
more than I can pay. I might as well add
(08:36):
to my liabilities. I tell you I'm down and out
of this thing. Doesn't win, he said. Unless you can
do something for me. You can, can't you? Black? Old Sport,
he asked entreatingly, there's no reason why you and I
should have any secrets from one another. Black looked at
him steadily. If the horse lost, he might be able
(08:57):
to use this man to greater advantage. Sir Isaac's next
word suggested that in case of necessity, help would be forthcoming.
It's that beastly verlonde, he said bitterly. He put the
girl quite against me. She treats me as though I
were dirt, And I thought I was all right there.
I've been backing on the strength of the money coming
(09:18):
to me. What has happened recently, asked Black. I got
her by myself just now, said the baronet, and put
it to her plane. But it's no gold. Black. She
gave me. The frozen face turned me down proper. It's
perfectly damnable, he almost wailed. Black nodded. At that moment,
there was a sudden stir in the ring. Over the
(09:40):
heads of the crowd. From where they stood, they saw
the bright colored caps of the jockeys cantering down to
the post. Unlike Sir Isaac, who had carefully avoided the
paddock after a casual glance at his candidate, Horace was
personally supervising the finishing touches to Nemesis. He saw the
girl strapped, gave his last instructions to the jockey. Then,
(10:03):
as the filly was led to the course, with one
final backward and approving glance at her, he turned towards
the ring. One moment Gresham, Lord Verland, was behind him.
Do you think your horse, said the old man, with
a nod toward Nemesis, is going to win? Horace nodded,
I do now, he said, In fact, I am rather confident.
(10:27):
Do you think? The other asked slowly that if your
horse doesn't Timbolina will Horace looked at him curiously. Yes,
Lord Verland, I do, he said quietly. Again. There was
a pause, the old man, fingering his shaven chin absently
Suppose Gresham, he said, without raising his voice. Suppose I
(10:50):
ask you to pull your horse. The face of the
young man when suddenly read you are joking, Lord Verland,
he answered stiffly. I'm not joking, said the other. I
am speaking to you as a man of honor, and
I am trusting to your respecting my confidence. Suppose I
asked you to pull Nemesis. Would you do it? No, frankly,
(11:12):
I would not, said the other. But I can't never
mind what you can't understand, said Lord Verlan, with a
return of his usual sharpness. If I asked you and
offered you as a reward what you desired most, would
you do it. I would not do it for anything
in the world, said Horace gravely. A bitter little smile
came to the old man's face. I see, he said.
(11:36):
I can't understand why you asked me, said Horace, who
was still bewildered. Surely you know I only know that
you think I want you to pull your horse because
I have backed the other, said the old earl, with
just a ghost of a smile on his thin lips.
I would advise you not to be too puffed up
with pride at your own rectitude, he said unpleasantly, though
(11:57):
the little smile still lingered. Because you may be very
sorry one of these days that you did not do
as I asked, if you would tell me, began Horace
and paused. This sudden request from the Earl, who was,
with all his faults a sportsman, left him almost speechless.
I will tell you nothing, said the Earl, because I
(12:17):
have nothing to tell you, he added suavely. Horace led
the way up the stairs to the county stand. To
say that he was troubled by the extraordinary request of
the old man would be to put it mildly. He
knew the Earl as an eccentric man. He knew him
by reputation as an evil man, though he had no
evidence as to this. But he never, in his wildest
(12:40):
and most uncharitable moments, had imagined that this old rascal,
so he called him, would ask him to pull a horse.
It was unthinkable. He remembered that Lord Verlaand was steward
of one or two big meetings, and that he was
a member of one of the most august sporting clubs
in the world. He elbowed his way along the top
of the stand to where the white osprey. Lady Mary's
(13:00):
hat showed you look troubled, she said, as he reached
her side. Has uncle been bothering you? He shook his head. No,
he replied with unusual curtness. Has your horse developed a headache?
She asked banteringly. I was worried about something I remembered,
he said, incoherently. The field was at the starting post.
(13:22):
Your horse is drawn in the middle, she said. He
put up his glasses. He could see the chocolate and
green plainly enough. Sir Isaac's gray vertical stripes on white
yellow cap was also easy to see. He had drawn
the inside right. The field was given the starter all
the trouble that twenty four high spirited thoroughbreds could give
(13:43):
to any man. For ten minutes, they backed and sidled
and jumped and kicked and circled before the two long
tapes with exemplary patience. The starter waited, directing, imploring, almost commanding,
and it must be confessed swearing as a North country
starter who had no respect for the cracks of the
(14:03):
jockey world. The weight gave Horace an opportunity for collecting
his thoughts. He had been a little upset by the
strange requests of the man who was now speaking so
calmly at his elbow. For Sir Isaac, the period of
waiting had increased the attention. His hands were shaking, his
glasses went up and down jerkily. He was in an
(14:24):
agony of apprehension when suddenly the white tape swung up.
The field bunched into three sections, then spread again, and
like a cavalry regiment came thundering down the slight declivity
on its homeward journey. Thereof a roar of voices. Every
glass was focused on the oncoming field. There was nothing
(14:46):
in it for two furlongs. The start had been a
splendid one that came almost in a dead line. Then
something on the rail shot out a little. It was Timboolino,
going with splendid smoothness. That looks like the winner, said
Horace philosophically. Mine shut in in the middle of the course.
The jockey on Nemesis, seeking an opening, had dashed his
(15:09):
mount to one which was impossible. He found himself boxed
between two horses, the riders of which showed no disposition
to open out for him. The field was half way
on its journey when the boy pulled the filly out
of the trap and came round his horses. Timbolino had
a two length clear lead of Colette, which was a
(15:29):
length clear of a bunch of five. Nemesis, when half
the journey was done, was lying eighth or ninth. Horace
on the stand had his stop watch in his hand.
He clicked it off as the field passed the four
furlong posts, and hastily examined the dial. It's a slow race,
he said, with a little thrill in his voice at
(15:51):
the distance. Nemesis, with a quick free stride, had shot
out of the rock and was third, three lents behind Timbolino.
The boy on Sir Isaac's horse was riding a confident race.
He had the rails and had not moved on his horse.
He looked round to see where the danger lay, and
his experienced eye sawhed the Nemesis, who was going smoothly
(16:13):
and evenly a hundred yards from the post. The boy
on Gresham's philly shook her up, and in half a
dozen strides she had drawn abreast of the leader. The
rider of Timbalina saw the danger. He pushed his mount,
working with hands and heels, upon the willing animal. Under him.
They were running now wide of each other, dead level.
(16:34):
The advantage, it seemed, lay with the horse on the rails.
But Horace, watching with an expert eye from the top
of the stand, knew that the real advantage lay with
the horse in the middle of the track. He had
walked over the course that morning, and he knew that
it was on the crown of the track that the
going was best. Timbolina responded nobly to the efforts of
(16:56):
his rider. Whence his head got in front, and the
boy on Nemesis took up his whip, but he did
not use it. He was watching the other. Then, with
twenty yards to go, he drove Nemesis forward with all
the power of his splendid hands. Timbolino made one more effort,
and as they flew past the judge's box, there was
(17:16):
none save the judge who might separate them. Horace turned
to the girl at his side with a critical smile. Oh,
you've won, she said, you did win, didn't you. Her
eyes were blazing with excitement. He shook his head, smilingly.
I'm afraid I can't answer that, he said. It was
a very close thing. He glanced at Sir Isaac The
(17:38):
Baronet's face was livid. The hand that he raised to
his lips trembled like an asp and leaf. There's one man,
thought Horace, who's more worried about the result than I am.
Down below in the ring, there was a babble of
excited talk. It rose up to them in a dull roar.
They were betting fast and furiously on the result, for
(17:58):
the numbers had not yet up. Both horses had their partisans.
Then there was a din amounting to a bellow. The
judge had hoisted two knots in the frame. It was
a dead heat, by jove, said Horace. It was the
only comment he made. He crossed to the other side
of the enclosure as quickly as he could, Sir Isaac
(18:20):
following closely behind. As the baronet elbowed his way through
the crowd, somebody caught him by the arm. He looked round.
It was Black. Run it off, said Black, in a
hoarse whisper. It was a fluke that horse got up.
Your jockey was caught napping. Run it off, Sir Isaac hesitated.
I shall get half the bats and half the stakes,
(18:41):
he said, have the lot, said Black, Go along. There's
nothing to be afraid of I know this game. Run
it off. There's nothing to prevent you winning, Sir Isaac hesitated,
then walked slowly to the unsaddling enclosure, the steaming horses
were being divested of their saddles. Gresham was there, looking
(19:02):
cool and cheerful. He caught the baronet's eye. Well, Sir Isaac,
he said, pleasantly, what are you going to do? What
do you want to do, asked Sir Isaac suspiciously. It
was part of his creed that all men were rogues.
He thought it would be safest to do the opposite
to what his rival desired. Like many another suspicious man,
(19:24):
he made frequent errors in his diagnosis. I think it
would be advisable to divide, said Horace. The horses have
had a very hard race, and I think mine was
unlucky not to win. That decided Sir Isaac. We'll run
it off, he said, as you will, said Horace coldly.
But I think it is only right to warn you
(19:44):
that my horse was boxed in half way up the course,
and but for that would have won very easily. He
had to make up half a dozen. I know all
about that, interrupted the other rudely, but none the less,
I'm going to run it off. Horace nodded. He turned
to consult with his trainer. If the Baronet decided to
run the dead heat off, there was nothing to prevent it,
(20:06):
the laws of racing being that both owners must agree
to divide. Sir Isaac announced his intention to the stewards
and it was arranged that the runoff would take place
after the last race of the day. He was shaking
with excitement when he rejoined Black. I'm not so sure
that you're right, he said, dubiously. This chap Gresham says
(20:27):
his horse was boxed in. I didn't see the beast
in the race, so I can't tell ask somebody. Don't worry,
said Black, patting him on the back. There's nothing to
worry about. You'll win this race just as easily as
I shall walk from this ring to the paddock. Sir
Isaac was not satisfied. He waited till he saw a
journalist whom he knew by sight, returning from the telegraph office.
(20:51):
I say, he said, did you see the race? The
journalist nodded yes. Sir Isaac, he said, with a smile,
I suppose Gresham insisted on running it off. No He didn't,
said Sir Isaac, but I think I was unlucky to lose.
The journalist made a little grimace. I'm sorry, I can't
agree with you. He said, I thought that mister Gresham's
(21:12):
horse ought to have won easily, but that he was
boxed in in the strait. Sir Isaac reported this conversation
to Black. Take no notice of these racing journalists, said
Black contemptuously. What did they know? Heaven? I got eyes
as well as they. But this did not satisfy Sir Isaac.
These chaps are jolly good judges, He said, I wish
(21:34):
to heaven I had divided. Black slapped him on the shoulder.
You're losing your nerve, ikey, he said, why you'll be
thanking me at dinner to night for having saved you
thousands of pounds. He didn't want to run it off,
Who asked Sir Isaac Gresham? Yes, did, he asked Black? No,
he wasn't very keen. He said it wasn't fair to
(21:55):
the horses. Black laughed, rubbish, he said, scornfully. You a man.
Imagine a man like that cares whether his horse is
hard raced or whether it isn't. No, he saw the
race as well as I did. He saw that you're
fool of a jockey, had at once and was caught napping.
Of course, he didn't want to risk a runoff. I
tell you that Timbolina will win easily. Somewhat reassured by
(22:18):
his companion's optimism, Sir Isaac awaited the conclusion of the
runoff in better spirits. It added to his assurance that
the ring took a similar view to that which Black held.
They were asking for odds about Timbolino. You might have
got two to one against Nemesis, but only for a
little while. Gresham had gone into the tea room with
(22:40):
the girl and was standing at the narrow entrance of
the county stand when the cry two to one Nemesis
caught his ear. They're not laying against my horse, he exclaimed,
in astonishment. He beckoned a man who was passing. Are
they laying against Nemesis, he asked. The man nodded. He
was a commission agent. Did whatever work the young owner required.
(23:02):
Go in and back her for me. Put in as
much money as you possibly can get back it down
to evens, said Gresham. Decidedly. He was not a gambling man.
He was shrewd and business like in all his transactions,
and he could read a race. He knew exactly what
had happened. His money created some sensation in a market
(23:23):
which was not over strong. Tim Bolina went out and
Nemesis with a shade odds on. Then it was that
money came in for Sir Isaac's horse. Black did not
bet to any extent, but he saw a chance of
making easy money. The man honestly believed all he had
said to Sir Isaac. He was confident in his mind
(23:44):
that the jockey had ridden a jolly race. He had
sufficient credit amongst the best men in the ring to
invest fairly heavily. Again, the market experienced an extraordinary change.
Tim Bolina was favored again. Nemesis went out first six
to four, than two to one, than five to two.
(24:04):
But now the money began to come in from the country.
The results of the race and its description had been
published in the stop press editions in hundreds of evening
papers up and down England, Ireland and Scotland. Quick to
make their decisions. The little punters of Great Britain were reinvesting,
some to save their stakes, others to increase what they
(24:25):
already regarded as their winnings, and here the money was
for Nemesis. The reporters, unprejudiced, had no other interest but
to secure for the public accurate news and to describe
things as they saw them, And the race as they
saw it was the race which Sir Isaac would not believe,
and in which Black openly scoffed. The last event was
(24:47):
set for half past four, and after the field had
come past the post and the winner was being led
to the unsaddling enclosure, the two dead heaters of the
memorable Lincolnshire Handicap came prancing from the paddock on to
the course. The question of the draw was immaterial. There
was nothing to choose between the jockeys two experienced horsemen,
(25:09):
and there was little delay at the post. It does
not follow that a race of two runners means an
equable start, though it seemed that nothing was likely to
interfere with the tiny field getting off together. When the
tapes went up, however, Nemesis half turned and lost a
couple of lents. All back. Timbolina yelled somebody from the ring,
(25:30):
and a quick staccato voice cried, I'll take three to one.
A chorus of acceptances met the offer. Sir Isaac was
watching the race from the public stand. Black was at
his side. What did I tell you, asked the latter exultantly.
The money is in your pocket. Ikey, my boy, look
three lents in front, you'll win at a walk. The
(25:53):
boy on Nemesis had her well balanced. He did not
drive her out. He seemed content to wait those three
lents in the rear. Gresham, watching them through his glasses,
nodded his approval. They're going no pace, he said to
the man at his side. She was further behind at
this point in the race itself. Both horses were running smoothly.
(26:15):
At the five furlong posts, the lad on Nemesis let
the filly out just a little without any apparent effort.
She improved her position. The jockey knew now exactly what
were his resources, and he was content to wait behind.
The rest of the race needs very little description. It
was a procession until they had reached the distance. Then
(26:36):
the boy on Timbalina looked round. He's beaten, said Gresham,
half to himself. He knew that some jockeys looked round
when they felt their mount failing under them. Two hundred
yards from the post, Nemesis, with scarcely an effort, drew
level with the leader. Out came the other jockey's whip.
One two, He landed his mount, and the horse went
(26:58):
ahead till he was a neck in front, then coming
up with one long run. Nemesis first drew up and
passed the fast stopping Timbolino and one with consummate ease
by a length and a half. Sir Isaac could not
believe his eyes. He gasped, dropped his glasses, and stared
at the horses in amazement. It was obvious that he
(27:20):
was beaten long before the winning post was reached. He's
pulling the horse, he cried, beside himself with rage and chagrin.
Look at him, I'll have him before the stewards. He
is not riding the horse. Black's hand closed on his arm.
Drop it, you fool, he muttered. Are you going to
give away the fact that you are broke to the
(27:40):
world before all these people. You're beaten fairly enough. I've
lost as much as you have. Get out of this,
Sir Isaac. Trember went down the stairs of the grand
stand in the midst of a throng of people, all
talking at once in different keys. He was dazed. He
was more like a man in a dream. He could
(28:00):
not realize what it meant to him. He was stunned, bewildered.
All he knew was that Timbalina had lost. He had
a vague idea at the back of his mind that
he was a ruined man, and only a faint ray
of hope that Black would, in some mysterious way get
him out of his trouble. Porse was pulled, he repeated, dully,
he couldn't have lost, Black, wasn't it pulled? Shut up,
(28:24):
snarled the other. You're going to get yourself into pretty
bad trouble unless you control that tongue of yours. He
got the shaking man away from the course and put
a stiff glass of brandy and water in his hand.
The baronet awoke to his tragic position. I can't pay, Black,
he wailed, I can't pay. What an awful business for me?
(28:44):
What a fool I was to take your advice? What
a fool curse you you were standing in with Gresham.
Why did you advise me? What did you make out
of it? Dry up, said Black shortly. You're like a
baye bikey. What are you worrying about. I told you
I've lost as much money as you. Now we've got
to sit down and think out a plan for making money.
(29:07):
What have you lost, Sir Isaac shook his head weakly.
I don't know, he said, listlessly, six or seven thousand pounds.
I haven't got six or seven thousand pence. He added plaintively.
It's a pretty bad business for me, Black, a man
in my position, I shall have to sell off my
horses your position, Black laughed harshly, My dear good chap,
(29:32):
I shouldn't let that worry you. Your reputation, he went on,
you're living in a fool's paradise, my man, he said,
with savage banter. Why you've no more reputation than I have.
Who cares whether you pay your debts of honor or
whether you don't. It would surprise people more if you
paid than if you defaulted. Get all that nonsense out
(29:52):
of your head and think sensibly you will make all
you've lost and much more. You've got to marry, and quick,
and then she he's got to inherit my lord's money
almost as quickly. Ike looked at him in despairing amazement.
Even if she married me, he said, pettishly, I should
have to wait years for the money. Colonel Black smiled.
(30:14):
They were moving off the course when they were overtaken
by a man who touched the baronet on the arm.
Excuse me, Sir Isaac, he said, and handed him an
envelope for me, asked Ike wonderingly, and opened the envelope.
There was no letter, only a slip of paper and
four bank notes for a thousand pounds each. Sir Isaac gasped,
(30:35):
and read, pay your debts and live cleanly. Avoid Black
like the devil, and work for your living. The writing
was disguised, but the language was obviously Lord Verloon's and
of Chapter twelve.
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