Boy's Cinema (1939-40)

Id out what Gregory was doing, and got in first. . , Gregorv began to leel the pmch. He tried to sell some stocks that he thought he had bought secretly. He had plunged heavily on them on a tip from Urquhart that lie would do well out of them. But Urquhart knew. He knew every- thing connected with big money. And he unloaded his own holdings on the market a fraction of an hour quicker, with the result that Gregory found himself in a worse plight than before. He needed money to cover his liabilities, and he needed it quickly—before another week was out. at any rate. And there was only one way to get it. He had to win a race. There was a horse in his stable named Tempest, and he had great hopes of it. But it had never been on any course yet, and the bookmakers knew nothing about it. He decided to enter it in the Nme- Furlong Handicap. As a new and imtried animal, he would probably be able to get odds of at least fifty-to-one on it. If he could—well, he would then be in a position to make things pretty uncomfortable for Urquhart. So he hurried to his stables to give the necessarv instructions. And when he got there he found a thin-faced, som'-looking man hanging around waiting for him. '•Hallo. Jebson. What do you want?" he said. ,. , ^ Jebsons eyes ghnted. "I've got some information for you, Mr. Gregory," he said. "But first of all, I'd better tell vou that this is the last you'll get. I'm ' finished at the Harrington stables. Stella Barrington won't listen to my advice anv more. She's got some new man there, and listens to him instead. What's more, he knows what he's talking about." "Fired, eh?" said Gregory. "No. not fired. I left of my own accord." 'AH right. None of it is any business of mine. I pay you well for what infor- mation vou can give me—how you get it is up to you. What is it you have to tell me this time?" Jebson scowled. "Mi.ss Barrington has a horse that looks like winning things," he answered. "It's called Flying Fifty-Five." Gregorv laughed. "That wreck!" he said scornfully. "He couldn't win in a funeral." "You're wrong, Mr. Gregory," said Jebson. "He's been trained by this new man I was telling you about, and he's good. He's going to win the Nine-Furlong Handicap." ^ . "He's not," Gregory said. "Tempest is going to v,'in. I've already sent off the wire entering him, and I've phoned all the bookies and laid on my money." Jebson shook his head. "I know Tempest," he said, "and I know Flying Fifty-Five. You've already lost that race, Mr. Gregory." Gregorv' began to frown, worried. He knew that Jebson was no fool. And if Jebson was go positive in his statements, tlien he vas probably right. "I can't lose," he said. "I've got a voung fortune on that horse of mine. We've got to get hold of the jockey who'll be on Flying Fifty-Five and fix things with him." Jebson shook his head. "You won't find that easy either. Mr. Gregory," he said. " He's rather .sweet on Miss Barrington, and he won't lose the race deliberately." Gregorv smiled. "Money can do a lot of things." he said. "I don't suppose the fellow is too well off. Let's drive over there and .see what he has to say." They got into Gregory's car and went over to the Barrington stables. Gregory parked the car in a nearby lane and left Jebson concealed in it, while he finished the joiunev on foot. ?Ir,vonil.c-r 4tli, IMfl. BOY'S CINEMA As he walked up the drive. Stella came out to meet hioi. "Hallo, Mr. Gregory." she said. "You haven't been to see us for quite a long time." '■ I've been busy," Gregory replied. "But I couldn't keep away any longer. I've been hearing things about a horse you've got." "Flying Fifty-Five?" Stella asked. "That's the one. I hear he's a wonder. Do you mind if I see him?" "Not a bit," Stella replied, and called out: "Bill Smith, take Flying Fifty-Five out into the paddock, will you?" She took Gregory off into the house and gave him a drink. Gregory said: "I hear you've entered him for the Nine-Furlong Handicap." Stella nodded. "Did you get good odds?" Gregory asked. "Very good indeed," Stella replied. "Enough to put everything right for me." Gregory laughed. "Then things look bad," he said, and grinned humorously. "You see, I've just entered Tempest for the same race. It seems I'd better cover my horse for a place." Stella returned his laugh. "You'd better come out and see him now," she said. "Then you might decide to scratch your horse altogether." They walked across to the paddock. Bill was already there, holding the horse by the bridle. "A splendid animal!" Gregory said. "He certainly looks " Then he broke off. He had just seen Bill. Bill Urquhart! Urquhart's son, who was supposed to be deadl Gregory's eyes glinted. He looked' again at the horse, then turned away. Stella went with him. She invited him into the house again, but he refused and walked away. Ten minutes later he strode into the box where Flying Fifty-Five lived. Bill was just giving the horse a rub down. "Well, young man," Gregory said, "it seems that you're not dead, after all." Bill met his gaze levelly. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. Gregory smiled evilly, and produced his pocket-book. He drew from it a cheque. "Remember this?" he asked. Bill shrugged. He knew it was no good beating about the bush any more. "Well?" he said. "What about it?" "Just this." Deliberately Gregory folded the cheque up again and replaced it in his pocket. "A dead man was found in a wood, and his pockets were filled with things belonging to you. But he wasn't you. because you're very much alive. Now what the police will want to know is. how did that man die? And who did it? You?" "No," said Bill shortly. "I didn't kill him. I wouldn't kill anybody." "Well, I hope the police believe you," Gregory murmured. Personally, I think you're going to have a hard job to con- vince them that you're innocent." Bill looked at him curiously, wondering what was coming. "But if they never find out that I'm still alive, what then?" he asked. "You're the only person who knows so far." "Ah!" Gregory smiled serenely. "I thought you would realise the position sooner or later." He moved a step nearer, and lowered his voice. "I don't want to be hard on you. Bill. There's no reason why I should be. You and I ought to be friends." Bill just went on looking at him grimly. " Never mind all that kind of talk, Gregory," he said. "What is it you want me to do?" "It's quite simple," Gregory replied. "I've just entered my horse. Tempest, for the Nine-Furlong Handicap, and I stand to win a packet of money on him. There's only one other horse in the race that's worth worrying about, and he's Flying Flttv-Flve. Now. if vou want this cheque Every Tuesday back, and don't want any trouble witii the police, all you have to do is to lose." Bill sighed. He would dearly have loved at that moment to hit Gregory clean be- tween the eyes, but he restrained himself. There was no sense in making things worse than they were akeady. "You're wasting your breath." Bill snapped. "Get out of here!" "Now look here, young man " Gregory began blusteringly. " Get out, I said!" Bill repeated. " If you don't I'll trample you into the manure heap." Gregory's eyes went like flint. "Very well," he said. "You're asking for trouble, and you're going to get it." With that he turned and stamped away. Jebson knew the moment Gregory climbed into the car again that the attempt to bribe Bill had failed. "There's nothing else for it,'" he said, "you'll have to see that he doesn't ride the horse." "I'll see to that all right," growled Gregory. "But what good does that do? Somebody else could ride him." "You haven't anything else to worry about in that case," Jebson replied. "Fly- ing Fifty-Five won't win with anyone else on his back. I'll stake my word on that." Gregory thought rapidly for a few minutes, then put the car into gear. ■'We'll go back to Scotland Yard," he said, and drove rapidly away, THE RACE! NO sooner had Gregory left Flying Fifty-Five's box than Bill hurried to see Stella. He knew exactly what Gregory would do, and he knew, too, that he had to ride in that race. Stella's whole future depended upon it. He found her in the living-room, and said quickly: "Miss Stella, something has happened that I can't tell you about just yet, but I've got to go away at once." Stella looked at him in astonishment. "Go away?" she repeated. "You mean for good?" Bill shook his head. "No, not for good. Only until the race is due to begin. You see, I've got to— well, I've got to keep out of sight for a time." Stella looked at him curiously. She liked Bill—liked him more than she knew. But she had to realise that she knew nothing about him. He was just someone who had drifted into her stables and asked for woi'k. "You mean, the police are after vou?" she said. "Not at the moment," Bill answered. "But I rather think they will be before long." "I see." Stella turned away. "What is it you've done, Bill Smith?" she asked. "Nothing." He went up to her. "I haven't done anything. And. given time. I can prove it. But if the police get hold of me now they'll put me into prison, and I shan't be able to ride Pljang Fifty- Five. You know what that means, don't you?" She nodded. "Yes, I know," she said in a low voice. "That's why I've got to hide. But I shan't be far away. In fact, at night- times I'll be somewhere close to the stables, just in case anyone tries fooling around the horses. But if the police come " She turned, smiling. She knew what he was doing was for her. "If the police come, " she said. "I'll tell them that you've gone, and that I don't know anything about you." He caught hold of her hands. "Stella, you"re a brick!" he .said, and neither of them noticed tliat he had used her first name unconsciously. "But. when the race is over," she said, "vou'll give yourself up and clear your- self?" He nodded, his eyes open wide. "You mean you believe what I've just told you?" he said. (