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CHAPTER XL
CAUGHT!
RAYMOND COPLEY went away from Haredale Park with every ounce of fight knocked out of him. Never for a moment had he anticipated a development like this. He had gone there in his most truculent mood. Everything seemed to be prospering with him. He had only to hold out his hand and all would drop into it. He had no fear Sir George would defy him. Rather had he taken a journey across the fields in order to manifest his power.
There had been no actual necessity for Sir George to put his colt out of the betting yet; indeed, it would have been diplomatic to wait for another fortnight. But Sir George must be shown that he could not do as he liked. He must understand the force he had to deal with in Copley.
Now it had all vanished like a dream. The thing appeared incredible to Copley as he walked homewards. He could not realize it. He was not disposed to regard Sir George's story as a deliberate lie, for it bore the impress of truth. The only way to settle the thing once and for all was to ask for absolute proof. But, if this were done, Harry Fielden would protest and, if he did so, the public would learn what was going on. Taking it altogether, the risk was too great.
He would have to find some other way out of his difficulties. He had laid against the Blenheim colt thick and thin. He had literally piled the money against it with the comfortable assurance that it would never run at all, and that he was about to net a huge fortune without a pennyworth of risk. That prospect had vanished at a blow. If he stayed in England he would have to pay these debts, or the turf would know him no more. And if posted at Tattersall's, his career was at an end. There would be no more chance of making money in that way. He would have to start an entirely new plan if he meant to keep up his rôle of millionaire. But millionaires do not repudiate their racing debts, and Copley could see nothing but ruin wherever he looked.
There was worse behind, too. It was disturbing to know that in some mysterious manner Aaron Phillips was mixed up in this business. But he had made no sign. He had not come near Copley, nor had he attempted to extort money from him. Yet he was actually a sort of partner with Harry Fielden, who had taken service with Copley under the name of Field. The more Copley thought over the matter the less he liked it. He had known Fielden by name, although they had never met. He realized for the first time that he had a deadly enemy under his own roof, so to speak. How much did these two know?
Well, it wouldn't be difficult to discover. He would send for Fielden directly he got back to Seton Manor and pump him judiciously. Foster awaited him with the air of a man who finds the world a good place to live in. He looked uneasy, however, as he noted the expression of his employer's face.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Matter enough," Copley growled. "It's all over, my friend. You can say good-bye to your dreams of fortune. If we can get away with a whole skin we shall be lucky. As far as I can make out, we have made ourselves liable for thirty or forty thousand pounds, and have nothing to pay it with."
"Well, that's all right," Foster said.
"Oh, is it? I suppose you will admit that if the Blenheim colt turns out fit and well for the Derby there is nothing to beat him."
"If he does turn out. But he won't."
"Oh, yes, he will. But I'll tell you the story and if you can show me some way out you are a cleverer man than I take you for."
Foster listened with deepest interest. He looked just as anxious and haggard as Copley by the time the story was finished. For a long time he sat gnawing his fingers.
"It's a facer," he said presently. "That horse will run, and he'll win, too, unless we can find some means of preventing him from starting. We must find some means."
Copley threw up his hand impatiently.
"What's the good of talking that rot?" he said. "The age for getting at horses is past. That was done with years ago. Even the sporting writer wouldn't dare to use a situation like this. You must think of something better than that. If the worst comes to the worst we've got a few weeks to turn round between now and Derby day. Sir George owes me forty thousand pounds, which I must get without delay. It is no use thinking anything more about May Haredale. With that money we may be able to cover our loss or hedge and bring it down to a trifle. We shall have to be contented with what we make over the Mirst Park meeting. So long as Rickerby and that set are not suspicious – "
"I begin to fear they are," Foster interrupted. "As you know, we ought to have had a big cheque last week, but it hasn't come, though I wrote a sharp letter about it again the day before yesterday. I don't know whether Rickerby suspects, or whether he will refuse to pay, but in the face of what you have learnt the non-receipt of that cheque is alarming. Nor do I like what you say about Phillips and this chap Fielden. Phillips is a dangerous man and owes us a grudge. Let's have Fielden in. We may be able to bully something out of him."
Copley jumped at the idea. He rang the bell and sent for Fielden, who appeared presently cool and collected, and ready to answer any questions.
"Look here," Copley said in his most overbearing manner, "I've been hearing things about you. I am told your name is not Field at all, but Fielden. Is that so?"
"That is quite correct," Harry said calmly.
"Then, what the devil do you mean by coming into my service under false pretences? No honest man – "
"I'll thank you not to take that tone with me," Fielden said. "We don't want to discuss the question of honesty. It is a subject on which you are not an authority. But I see you have found out everything and I may as well be candid. I entered your service because I had nothing to do. I assumed the name of Field, because I found nobody recognized me and I didn't want any of my old friends to know what I was doing. I suppose I am correct in assuming that Sir George Haredale has told you everything. Probably he has informed you that my partner in South Africa was Aaron Phillips. I need not ask if you know Aaron Phillips, because that would be superfluous. I never met either of you till I returned to England, but I know about you. Phillips knows more. I am also aware of the conspiracy for preventing the Blenheim colt from running in the Derby, but that scheme is frustrated. Have you any more to say?"
"This is a nice way to speak to an employer," Copley protested.
"It would be if I were still in your employ," Fielden retorted. "But I no longer consider myself your servant. There is no occasion for me to remain with you. Perhaps the next time we meet – but never mind about that."
Fielden turned curtly on his heel and left the room. The other two exchanged significant glances.
"Pretty cool," Foster muttered.
"Yes, and pretty sure of his ground, too," Copley replied. "I don't like it, Foster, I don't like it a bit. I have a feeling that those fellows know everything. It frightens me to think that Phillips has been lying low for so long. You may depend upon it he is up to some mischief. And now that you tell me you have not received Rickerby's cheque I feel all the more certain of it. Don't you think it would be as well to go over to The Nook and remove that telephone? It always struck me as a dangerous thing to leave it on the roof. You never know what inquisitive people there may be about. If anybody acquainted with racing only saw it they would be sure to make inquiries. We had better take the car and run over before it is dark. What do you say?"
Foster had no objection; in fact, he rather liked the idea. Half an hour later the car was crossing the country and before dusk the two reached their destination. They were later than they had expected in consequence of a breakdown on the road, but they seemed to be in time, for the house was quiet and deserted and, so far as they could see, nobody had been meddling with the telephone. Foster drew down the blinds and lit the gas. It had not occurred to him to lock the front door. There was no occasion for hurry and, after procuring a chest of tools, he started on his work, which presented few difficulties.
Then the door opened and two men walked deliberately into the hall. Copley turned upon them with a snarl.
CHAPTER XLI
HOME AGAIN
"WHAT do you mean by this?" Copley demanded.
The intruders were not in the least abashed. On the contrary, they had every evidence of being very sure of their ground. The foremost touched Copley on the shoulder.
"Mr. Raymond Copley, I believe?" he said politely.
"It would be foolish to deny it," Copley sneered.
"Very good, sir," the stranger went on. "And this other gentleman is Mr. Foster?"
Foster nodded uneasily. He held the screwdriver he was using and waited for developments with white face and quivering lips.
"That being so, gentlemen," the stranger said, "I may as well introduce myself. I am Inspector Andrews of Scotland Yard and this is my assistant. We have a warrant for the arrest of both of you on the charge of obtaining a large sum of money by means of a trick from Mr. Selwyn and others in connection with race meetings at Mirst Park. The warrant was obtained on the information of Mr. Selwyn, and you will please consider yourselves my prisoners. Anything you say, of course, will be given in evidence against you."
Copley cursed himself under his breath. What a fool he had been to come here! The matter would have been bad enough if he had been arrested at Seton Manor, but to be taken here, to be identified in this fashion at The Nook was fatal. There was nothing for it in the circumstances but to try to bluster.
"This is an outrage," he exclaimed. "It is a mere tale to extort money from a man in my position. You haven't a scrap of evidence to justify a proceeding like this."
"That remains to be proved, sir," the Inspector said quietly. "I may say that your accomplice, Captain Eversleigh, is already in custody and is volunteering all the information we require. We have also arrested the man Chaffey in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden. More than that, we have interviewed the National Telephone authorities, and they have not been reticent, either. Besides that, we can produce the agent who let this house and who has already identified you. Also, we have taken possession of the office of Jolly & Co., and your accomplice there is in our hands also. I don't think we have left anything undone. We motored to Seton Manor, but you had left just before we arrived. We kept you under observation till now. Come, Mr. Copley, nothing will be gained by taking this attitude. I am telling you this in fairness to yourself so that you may know what you have to answer."
Copley was done and submitted quietly to have the handcuffs put upon his wrists. Foster seemed equally subdued. He advanced towards the Inspector's assistant, then suddenly lunged forward, brushed him aside, and darted through the door into the open air. Instantly he was lost in the thick bushes. Inspector Andrews shrugged his shoulders.
"You are to blame for that," he said. "No, it is no use following him just now. We must pick him up later. Mr. Copley, if you are quite ready we'll get back to London."
An hour later Copley was safely housed. By seven o'clock his name was ringing from one end of London to the other. At first the published details were meagre, but the extra specials contained fuller tidings. They had managed to ferret out some racing particulars and to interview Rickerby, who was not in the least reticent. By ten o'clock Copley's arrest formed the one topic of conversation in the clubs. His name appeared largely on every poster and the South African millionaire found himself notorious.
The news even reached the ears of May Haredale and her friend Alice. They had been treating themselves to the theatre in honour of recent events and paused on their way home to buy a paper. There was plenty to discuss as they partook of their frugal supper and they sat till late with the paper between them.
"You have had a lucky escape," Alice said.
"My father has," May replied. "I would never have married that man. I would have starved first. I never liked him and always felt there was something wrong about him. He won't trouble us any more and I only hope this terrible business won't upset my father."
"Don't let us talk any more about it," Alice said. "Let us think about nothing else but your going home again. I don't know how I shall manage to stay in London after this. My fortnight at Haredale Park spoilt me."
It is not necessary to say much about May's homecoming. Sir George met his daughter in the hall. He waited to say a few words to Alice Carden and then led May into the library.
"I hope you won't blame me, my child," he said. "I can say no more than that I am exceedingly sorry for what happened. It was only after you had gone that I realized what a brute I had been. I must have been mad. But I thought I was going to be turned out of the old home, and to marry Copley – pardon me for alluding to it – seemed such an easy way out of my difficulty. I know now that women don't regard these things from the same standpoint as men do and, of course, I believed Copley was in a strong position. I regarded him as honest and straightforward, otherwise – "
"You could not have done that," May protested. "How could you? When you were ready to fall in with his – but I won't say anything about that. All that is past and done with for ever. As Harry Fielden said, no man knows how weak he is till he is face to face with a great temptation. It is enough that you sincerely regret what has happened. As for me, I am only too glad to return home on any terms."
"You overwhelm me," Sir George murmured.
"Oh, don't feel like that, I implore you. But, tell me, what difference will this make to you? I have heard about the strange story of the colt and how Harry Fielden stepped in to prevent disgrace to our house. But that does not alter the fact that you owe Mr. Copley a large sum of money. I suppose it will have to be paid whether he is convicted or not."
"Undoubtedly," Sir George answered. "But my lawyer says it will be some time before I am called upon to pay the money. I had a long interview with him this morning. Everybody knows now that Raymond Copley is no millionaire and that he is an unscrupulous adventurer who passed himself off as a wealthy man in order to carry out his swindles. From a telegram I have just received a good many fresh details came out this morning when Copley was brought up at Bow Street. The magistrate has refused to allow bail, but it will be two or three months before Copley is convicted, and during the interval some of his creditors are sure to make him bankrupt. They will be anxious to rescue some of the plunder and there are probably several thousand pounds in the bank besides all the stuff at Seton Manor and other places. It will take time to investigate these things, and possibly the summer will be over before the Bankruptcy officials ask me to pay this money to Copley's estate. Long before that the Blenheim colt will have won the Derby."
May could not repress a smile.
"You are always sanguine," she said. "In fact, if you hadn't been so sanguine, you would not be in your present position. I suppose nobody knows of our trouble."
"Only Harry Fielden," Sir George said thankfully. "I suppose, we shall have to regard him as one of the family, though what he is going to live on and how he is going to keep you, goodness knows. I've got nothing."
A smile crossed May's face.
"We are all going to make fortunes out of the colt," she said. "If you are so sanguine, you must not grudge a little bit of a similar spirit to us. I know that Harry has backed the colt for all he is worth. It is very dreadful and wrong and extravagant, but Harry tells me that this will be the last time. How singular that the fortunes of two families should depend upon a horse! Only think, too, that, but for the merest accident, the Blenheim colt would not be in the Derby at all. That makes me think our good fortune is to continue. I don't think Fate would play us a low-down trick. It is impossible that the colt has been saved only to speed us to ruin at the last. But I don't like to think about it. I shall be in a fever of anxiety from now till May. But I'll try to be calm. I must realize that this is my last bet."
Sir George was content to let it go at that. He was glad to have his daughter back, glad to think that things were no worse. Fate, too, had been kind to him, for he had preserved his name and reputation. He had lost nothing; indeed, he stood to be in a better position than he had ever yet occupied. For the first time for months he was looking forward to his dinner with gusto.
CHAPTER XLII
FIRST PAST THE POST
THINGS turned out much as Sir George's lawyer had predicted. After several adjourned hearings Copley was committed for trial, together with his associates, and Aaron Phillips had the satisfaction of giving the most damning evidence against the accused. Of Foster nothing whatever had been heard and it was assumed he had got safely out of the country. Copley's trial was set down to take place in June and in the meantime some of his creditors had made him a bankrupt. The bubble was pricked. Copley had nothing to gain by keeping up the pretence of being a man of integrity and substance. He stood out now unabashed and unashamed, and refused to give any information about his business affairs. Perhaps he was looking forward to the time, some years hence, when on his release from gaol he could blackmail Sir George Haredale.
But Sir George had already taken steps to obviate that. He had learnt his lesson and was not likely to put himself in Copley's power again. A proper statement of the relationship between Copley and himself had been rendered by Sir George's lawyer and ample time had been given by the Bankruptcy officials to pay the debt. Therefore Sir George could look forward with easy mind to the momentous event at Epsom.
Everything went smoothly and Raffle pronounced the colt as fit to run for a kingdom. The horse was established in the betting once more and at that moment there were few more popular men in England than Sir George Haredale. He was anxious, of course, for so much depended upon what was to take place between now and next Wednesday, and Harry Fielden was not very far from the spot; indeed, his feelings were like those of Sir George. His whole fortune, too, depended upon the running of the colt. About the only member of the party who was not unduly anxious was Raffle himself. He went about his business with a knowing smile and refused to discuss even the possibility of defeat.
"Bless you, sir," he said to Fielden two days before the race, "I can't see what you've got to fret about. The race is in our pockets. It wouldn't do to disappoint the people now, for Epsom is Epsom. But that colt will just win from the start. There ain't going to be any risks, because so much depends upon it. What a story it would make, Mr. Harry, wouldn't it?"
Fielden nodded. They were standing in the Blenheim colt's stall admiring the noble animal, which looked fit to race for his own life. There was no sign of staleness about him. He was apparently trained to the last ounce and, as Raffle said, his temper was perfect.
"He won't mind the crowd and the horses," he said, laying his hand upon the colt's glossy neck. "I never saw such a tractable animal. It is a proud day for me to live to see the Blenheim blood doing a big thing like this. I always believed in it, sir, though we had a good many failures. I wonder what the public would say if they knew everything."
"They are not in the least likely to do that," Fielden laughed. "I think we were wise to keep the whole thing to ourselves. It is just as well, too, to let the colt run as Sir George's property. At any rate, there's no harm done and we haven't broken any rules. Besides, it is all in the family. What are your plans for to-morrow, Raffle? If you don't mind, I will go to Epsom with you. Sir George and Miss Haredale can follow on Wednesday morning. I don't want to lose sight of the colt if I can help it. I wish Wednesday was over."
Raffle highly approved the suggestion, so, on the morrow, they went off to Epsom with the colt. They literally slept with it all Tuesday night. The fateful Wednesday dawned without a cloud in the sky and by noon the Downs were crowded with people. For the most part they meant to have a holiday, seeing that they were on the favourite to a man and that the chance of the favourite losing was as remote as a racing possibility could be. Shortly after two o'clock Fielden left the paddock and went to join Sir George and May and Miss Carden.
"I hope all is well," May whispered.
"It couldn't be better," Fielden said. "Another hour and you will be out of your misery. The colt looks as fine as a star. We are having him saddled at the top end of the course so that he won't be actually seen till he is ready for the start. It will be a popular victory, May."
"Oh, yes," May said nervously. "I suppose it will. I don't know when I felt so anxious. I was looking forward to enjoying this race, but I don't think I shall. I envy you, Harry. How can you keep so cool?"
Fielden smiled. In fact, he was anything but cool. He looked confident but, at the same time, he was conscious of a dryness in his throat and of the quicker beating of his heart as he weighed the possibilities which the next hour held for him and the party from Haredale Park. At that moment he possessed practically nothing. If by any untoward fate the horse lost he would be as poor as he was before, and his marriage with May would be indefinitely postponed. In case of this disaster Sir George would have to sell everything to pay his mortgages and the money he owed to Copley's estate. He would have to spend the rest of his days in humble lodgings. There would be an end to the glories of Haredale.
But if the horse won! So much depended upon those four feet, upon those wonderful staying powers of which Raffle had so frequently boasted. Hitherto there had always been a weak spot in the Blenheim blood and it might crop up at the very moment when so much depended upon bone and muscle and sinew.
And if everything did go well, why, then, Sir George Haredale would be a rich man again. Fielden would have more than he ever possessed before and the tarnished glory of the family would be restored. As he stood, quiet and reserved, he did not look like a man to whom the next half-hour meant so much. But he thought that half-hour would never be over.
The minutes wore on nevertheless. The roar and fret and murmur of the crowd at last died down and the long winding ribbon of turf between the masses of people began to manifest itself. The gay kaleidoscope of colour gradually drifted into a ragged line at the post. Then a hoarse roar broke out again.
"They're off!" May whispered, clutching Fielden frantically by the arm. "You must tell me how the race is going. Positively, I haven't the courage to look."
Fielden did not hear a word she said. He had no consciousness of those tense nervous fingers on his arm. He stood like a statue with his racing glasses glued to his eyes. He watched the streaming glow of colours rigidly, until, presently, it seemed to him that one horse came floating easily and gracefully apart from the rest and then his heart began to sing within him. They came in much the same order round Tattenham Corner. Then the roar intensified till everything seemed to shake and rock, and Fielden trembled and could not see through his glasses. When he finally adjusted them to his satisfaction, he was conscious of a still deeper shout of gratification from the multitude. Then, as if in response to the ringing cheers, the Blenheim colt drew almost imperceptibly away from the ruck of horses and passed the winning-post a good half length ahead. The Derby was ancient history now. The Blenheim colt had won this classic race and a score or two of old friends were gathering round Sir George to shake him by the hand. The victory was all the more popular because ninety-nine out of every hundred spectators had backed the winner.
Fielden closed his glasses with a snap. He was conscious now that May was clinging to his arm and that she was swaying backwards and forwards ominously. It was only for a few moments, however, and then a slight smile trembled on her lips.
"Take me away from here for a while," she whispered. "Let us take a walk on the course. Do you know, I feel as if I could enjoy a turn on a roundabout. I could even shy for cocoanuts. And only two or three minutes ago I felt as if I were going to faint. I never saw a yard of the race. If I had looked up I should have collapsed. I guessed how things were going only by the cheers of the crowd. I knew by that exultant roar that the colt was winning. But I don't want to go through it again, Harry, I have had enough. Now that we have all made fortunes, it will be so good to be at home again and feel that everything there actually belongs to us. Some of my father's old friends want us to dine in London. But I would far rather go home. You must back me up."
But Sir George wanted no particular backing. Tried sportsman as he was, the strain had told upon him and he was glad, so he said, to find himself once more in a comfortable corner of a railway carriage on his way to Haredale. It was a lovely evening, too, and the face of the old house was bathed in sunshine.
"It is smiling a welcome to us," May said. "To think that it is absolutely our own! I hope we have done with gambling for ever."
"I have finished with it for good," replied Harry. "I have won a fortune and a wife on the same day, and that is more luck than most men gain on the course. If you are happy, darling, what more do I need?"
