Who could it have been but Lord Lamford?
He hopped down from the coach quick as his considerable bulk would allow and was followed by a sharp-featured man of uncertain age.
“Hi, you there, Deuteronomy! Give us another lap on Pegasus, will you?”
“Can’t do it, Lord Lamford. It’s a bit too dark for it now.”
“Do as I say, fellow. I want the Duke of Queensberry to see what he can do.”
“Well, all right. Will a trot round the course do for you?”
“Certainly not. Do it at full gallop.”
“He could break a leg, my lord.”
“Then I’ll buy another like him. Do as I say!”
With a sigh and a shrug, Mr. Deuteronomy took the leg up offered him by Mr. Bennett.
“Your jockey’s right, you know. It is a bit too dark for this track,” said the Duke of Queensberry. (Whatever his reputation otherwise, he knew his horses.)
“I just want you to see what he can do,” said Lord Lamford.
“Well, let’s see, by all means.”
Mr. Deuteronomy leaned forward and whispered something in the horse’s ear. Mr. Bennett backed away, and, seconds later, the horse was off at a gallop.
Ah, but was it a full gallop? Of that I was unsure. I thought I had seen Pegasus run faster but a few minutes before, and I was sure I had done so last Sunday in Shepherd’s Bush. A horse like Pegasus (I was later told by Mr. Patley) can often appear to run at his utmost and still hold back a bit to be called from him by the right jockey. There could be no doubt that Mr. Deuteronomy was the right jockey, but he chose not to call from him that something extra.
Mr. Patley looked my way and gave me a wink.
Once Pegasus had cleared the brook that ran cross the race course, it was evident that he would not break his leg-at least not that evening. He drew up just opposite us. Deuteronomy halted him so sudden that the horse reared, and just as soon as four hooves were firm upon the turf, the rider slid off and handed him over to Mr. Bennett.
“Ah, well, Lord Lamford,” said the Duke of Queensberry, “you’ve got a good little horse there. He’ll win a few races for you. I’ve heard of your jockey, though. What’s his name?”
“Er. . Deuteronomy something. I’m not sure.”
“I’d like to meet him.”
“Certainly, certainly.”
And having said that, he called out for Mr. Deuteronomy. As the jockey marched past us, he muttered out the corner of his mouth that he would meet us for dinner in the tap-room.
“I’ve something to tell,” said he.
Once he was past and presented to the Duke of Queensberry, I turned to Mr. Patley and suggested that we be on our way. He was more than willing-eager, in fact, to be quit of Lord Lamford. We wasted no time.
When we had started up the hill, Patley turned to me and said, “Now, Jeremy, I understand why you have so little use for that fellow Lamford-or whatever his family name might be.”
But I hardly heard him at all, for I was just at that moment looking at something so astonishing that it did fair amaze me. ’Twas the slate that hung high above the stall of the turf accountant, giving the odds on each horse. I had looked at it the day before and complained that Pegasus was not even listed, and the constable had explained that it was because he had not yet been officially entered. Well, now he was entered and was listed at the very bottom.
“Mr. Patley,” said I, “just look at the odds on Pegasus!”
“Well, it don’t matter what they be,” said he. “The place is closed for now, and. . and-oh, dear God in heaven, I never did see such odds as that!”
Yet there it was, posted plain upon the slate: “Pegasus, 33 to 1.” We stopped, stared, repeated it each to himself, over and over again.
“Well,” said I, recalling Clarissa’s instructions, “those are certainly favorable odds.”
“They are indeed.”
By the time we found our way to the tap-room, we could only hope that Mr. Deuteronomy would still be present, for we two together had caught bettor’s fever. Mr. Patley spun great fantasies of just what he might do if he were to put all his money on Pegasus or perhaps kept a modest hedge bet or two upon the favorites, Charade and Red Devil. In any case, any bet at 33 to 1 would bring him wealth he had never hoped for in a lump sun. The difficulty was, said he, that deep down, he was a practical man, and even to dream of such wealth made him a bit uneasy. Still, said he, what might he do with a large sum? buy land? build a house? perhaps get married? It was all too much for a man of modest ambitions such as himself even to consider. (All of which was nonsense, of course. He was a betting man and a dreamer.)
All this went on as I washed myself, brushed the dust from my clothes, and generally prepared myself for dinner below. For myself, my case of bettor’s fever, though not so virulent as Patley’s, came upon me quietly and in the form of a question: To talk of hedging bets was one thing, but to do that was to bet against Mr. Deuteronomy, and, knowing him as well as I did, how could I then do such a thing? When I was a mere boy in the service of Sir John, I used to be certain that, as I grew a bit older, matters would become more certain and less complicated. Yet I have found that the truth of it is just the opposite.
In any case, as I have said, what with Mr. Patley’s fantasies of great wealth and the problems it would bring, and my own moral difficulties considering friendship along with the thrill of wagering all or none, we two were late enough that I feared we might have missed Deuteronomy altogether. But no, he was there at a table within sight of the door, waving us over, bidding us to our places.
“We’re late,” said I as I sat down.
“Think nothin’ of it,” said he. “Until a short time past there was a great long line awaiting tables. I’ve sat just long enough for a glass of wine.”
“We was stunned to see the odds posted on Pegasus,” said Mr. Patley.
“What does that mean-thirty-three to one?” I asked.
“What that means,” said Mr. Deuteronomy, “is that the gamblers don’t think we got a chance in hell to win. And that suits me just fine.”
“But aren’t you insulted?”
“Not a bit. How could they think anything else? Pegasus has got no racing history, and I’ve taken care to exercise him too early or too late for them to get much of a look at him. I’m still confident.”
“You are. . truly?” I asked in a manner most naive.
“Oh yes. I spend a good part of the day at the rail looking over the rest of the field. I ain’t impressed. But I’ll tell you how confident I am,” said he, lowering his voice. “I’ve got a hundred pounds with me that I intend to bet on Pegasus on race day if I can just drive the odds up a little higher.”
“Maybe the Duke of Queensberry will have something to say about that,” said Mr. Patley. “He knows his horses-or so they say. He might risk a few thousand on Pegasus. God knows he could afford it.”
“He owns Charade. He wouldn’t bet against his own. But enough of this, eh? I, for one, am quite starvin’. The beef here is good, and the mutton ain’t bad, neither.”
We ordered, we ate, we drank, and, at last, I did remember why it was we had gathered at Mr. Deuteronomy’s invitation. The tap-room had by then emptied out considerably. There were but three or four other tables at which diners and drinkers sat, though the bar was yet well-filled and noisy. But as our purpose there came to me, I thought it important enough to interrupt the discussion of horses and horse-racing between the jockey and the constable, which never seemed to end, and to ask of him a question.
“Mr. Deuteronomy, sir, you said that you had something to tell. What might that be?”
“Ah yes, so I did,” said he. “It may not be specially significant, but I hear tell that it’s the details that people sometimes pass over that turn out to be most important.”