The GIRL and the COLT

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 173, 23 July 1931, Page 16

The GIRL and the COLT

By

ELINOR MORDAUNT

Authoress or “Father and Daughter/* etc.

CITAPTER XXVI. “When Thieves Fall Out.” After mounting Williams’ fat old mare Terence O’Sullivan turned her in the direction of Newbury. .He was heartbroken at the thought of what might happen to Flashlight. He rode for what seemed like miles, making inquiries of everyone he met, cutting down the side roads to out-of-the-way hamlets and cottages; across fields to lonelv farms.

Of course there were a hundred and one directions in which Flashlight might have disappeared; a hundred and one accidents which might have happened. As the darkness gathered ho thought to himself that one of the other boys might have found the colt and that lie might already be safe back in his box at Melville Hall.

For all that something prevented him from giving up the search. Jt was quite dark when he came to a space where four roads met. There was a signpost in the middle, and as he approached it—so that he might strike a match and see what was written on it — the mare started; pricked her ears, drew back a little, and neighed. There was a faint neigh in response and quite suddenly, to his wild delight, he saw the dark form of a horse which he knew to be Flashlight, not 20 paces away at the edge of the road to the left.

Afraid of frightening him lie di< mounted and approached him gently talking to him all the while.

But there was no fear of the colt running away, though he might have injured himself by struggling, for lie must have jumped the hedge, and the reins were twisted tighly round a stout stake.

The marc seemed ready enough to stand, and leaving her Terence approached his beloved thoroughbred. “Flashlight! Flashlight old hoy.” He whistled softly as lie untwisted the reins, which were so tight that the colt’s head had been held almost into the hedge. Flashlight moved stiffly and wearily, but to his owner’s great relief lie did not seem to have damaged himself.

Terence mounted the mare, anl leading Flashlight, they moved slowly along the road towards Newburv in the opposite direction to Melville Hall. He did not know what lie was going to do. but he was certain, that he was not going to take the horse back there.

Just inside the town he passed a very respectable-looking, quiet inn with what looked like fine stables.

Terence’s mind was quite made up. He went back to the inn and called loudly for an ostler. He was no longer the stable lad, Mike O’Brien, .but a gentleman with money in his pockets; accustomed to give orders and expecting to he obeyed.

He told i lie ostler to rub Flashlight down and give him a warm bran mash. He himself saw that he was led into a brought for his bedding.

“J was going to entrain the horse for Reading, missed my train, and left it too late,” said Terence to the landlord.

“I’ll leave, him here with you to-night. Be verv careful of him, lie’s a valuable thoroughbred. I shall go for the night to some friends and come back tomorrow morning. Better get one of the men to sleep in the stables, 1 don’t want anything to happen.”

He went into the house, had a glass if beer, and changed a five-pound note

which he had in his waistcoat pocket. Then, after visiting Flashlight once more, he started to ride back to the Melville Hall stable*. « As lie entered the yard, the man who • :l been second to Williams, and was now first —for Williams had been dismissed, and had departed vowing vengeance against his late employer—ran out with a lantern.

"That you, Mike? I thought you were never coming back!” “I. like that, after all I’ve done,” complained the new lad, dismounting in a still*, sulky sort of manner. “Seen anything of the horse?” ‘Does it look like it?” “Well, with the time vou’ve been an’ all—” “J d the devil of a ride,” grunted Terence, “all the way to Newbury, and up every side road I came to.” “Nothing doing?” “Ugh, what do you think?” “There’ll bo the devil of a row!” “Well, I’ve done my best—l should think someone else could see to this old slug for me. Thought I’d never got her hack. ... No tea, no anvthing; a nice beginning for a new place*” Bilton, the second man. called for one of the boys i«* take the mare: “Tlie hose is in a fine taking, I can tell you,” lie said. “He went down and saw Fisher just as the ambulance come to take him to the hospital, cursed him up an’ down, broken leg on’ all.” “Where’s Williams?” “Lone down to stay at the Four Feathers. A pretty to do there’ll be over I hie, unless the boss stops his mouth.” “What for?” “Well they say as how the bart has no more right ter that there colt than I have. The talk of the place, that is.” answered Bilton, and went off to telephone up to the house to tell Sir Oscar that the new boy was back, but without the horse. He also suggested, wishing to ingratiate himself, a notice being put in Hie local paper, leaflets got out, lads sent round early next morning to all tlxe neighbouring villages. Next day, after the riding work, when he had finished with Back Chat, the new lad —without so much as asking for leave, for there was no one in authority, Sir Oscar not having put in an appearance—declared his intention of going over to Newbury to fetch some of his tilings that he had left there upon his arrival. A likely enough story, as he had brought nothing but a bundle with him.

In Newbury he got the innkeeper to lend him the ostler, who had seen to Flashlight, and who, lie found cut, had been in a well-known racing stable, ami told him to ride the horse slowly over to Reading. He then wired to Taunton to see that Flashlight was met and kept apart from the others, secure from observation. There was no need for him to tell his trainer to be careful of him he knew him to well for that, though he followed up the wire with a long letter, in which lie. revealed practically everything; instructing Taunton upon no account, to allow the horse’s name to be made public.

So far as Charleswood was concerned he did not imagine there would be any public outcry over the loss of Flashlight.

But if there was he had the proof of lii* ownership in the colt's pedigree.

Meanwhile there was no word of hisdisappearance in tlie local papers, and no police displayed.

Terence was hack at Melville Hall, stables in good time for all the evening work, but Sir Oscar did not appear. That evening Terence went down to the Four Feathers, though it was against all rules for the lads to enter a public house.

He went in by the private door and found Carey and bis wife, who could talk of nothing apart from the disappearance of Flashlight, almost on the point of tears with anxiety. He longed to tell them of the safety of the colt, but realised that it was wiser for him to hold his tongue for the time be in,. : bo allowed Carey to put the whole thing down to some cross dealing between the baronet and his head man.

Williams, it seemed, had been talking of how much he knew, swearing that ho would expose Sir Oscar.

As for Terence, ho wrote a letter to Mr. Herbert, his solicitor, and told him to send twenty pound notes anonymously to the stable lad who was lying in Oxford Infirmary; and whom, it now* appeared, bad been thrown from Flashlight.

Never, so far as Terence O’Sullivan was concerned, bad any leg been broken to so good an end.

CHAPTER XXVIL The Race in the Night.

.During the day following upon tne loss of Flashlight, Charles wood hung about his own house waiting for news which never came.

By his orders lads were sent out in every directiou fully instructed as to the discreet inquiries to be made; but all with no sort of success.

At ten o’clock that evening, however, a telephone call came through to him from Miss Hunter’s nursing home.

Miss Hunter’s voice came over the wiie clear and deliberate; but for all that shaken out of its usual cold indifference.

“Sir Oscar Charlswood—That you speaking Sir Oscar. Oh, I wanted to get you. I rang up your club. Where are you? Where are you speaking from ?”

“I’m at home—down in the country —what is it?”

“Oh, in the country. I had hoped you were in London.” •‘Why?—Why?” “We’re very anxious about Miss Blakenev.”

“What's that—what the devil’s happened now? Worse is she?” “No, missing—disappeared. We’re—’

But what more Miss Hunter had to say remained unheard, by Charleswood at least. lie had already clapped the receiver back upon its hook, and turning round shouted to his butler to go out to the garage at once and tell his chauffeur to get out the car—bid him to see that there was enough petrol to take them to London; and be round to the door within ten minutes. And precisely eleven minutes later the baronet left the house. That night, when Sir Oscar Charleswood’s car went rushing through the village of Downlands, Terence was in the private parlour of The Four Feathers, talking to Carey, who went to the door at the sound. “It’s Sir Oscar's car,’’ be called back.

In an instant Terence was oil bis feet and, peering over the innkeeper’s shoulder, saw the tail light vanishing in the direction of Newbury and London. “You’ve got a motor, Carey?” “Yes.” The other man stared. “Is it all right?”

“Yes, a racing Alvis, this season’s. A gentleman who came down to see the horses hereabouts wore always wanting something of the sort; an’ like all them gents, with nothing to do, in a devil of a hurry. But it ain’t done much work, is as good as new.” “Who drives it?” “Well, I do, generally speaking. I—” “Are you game, Carev?” “What, sir?” The word of respect sprung to the innkeeper’s lips at the young man’s tone. “To drive to London to-night?” “Yes, sir. But I must tell the missus.” “All right, give me the key of the garage. Plenty of petrol, I suppose?— Three minutes, eh?” Three minutes, no more, and Carey’s car slid out of the gate of The Four Feathers, and turning sharply, started off along the road to London, in pursuit of Sir Oscar Charleswood. It was an amazing race. Sometimes they seemed to gain, sometimes to lose so hopelessly that the very idea of the one car overtaking the other, before it was lost in the labyrinth of outer London, seemed hopeless. A few miles out from Downlands, Terence, who had J>v this time taken the wheel, heard a hissing sound. One of the tyres had gone and the wheel had to be replaced. This seemed to be the end of everything. By the time they started again there was no sight or sound of Sir Oscar Charleswood’s car before them on the empty road. All the same Terence bad no idea of

They were making such speed that they were almost upon the other ear—which had come to grief at the side of the road in front of them —before they had realised it. They were obliged to turn off quickly and run down a small by road to avoid it. From here Terence slipped out, and creeping across a corner of a field, crawled into a. ditch at the edge of the road, and peeping through the hedge bo saw the chauffeur with the bonnet up, heard Charleswood, who was leaning out of the window cursing him.

There was a strong smell of petrol in the air, and Terence imagined that something might have gone wrong with the carburettor. In another ten minutes, however, the chauffeur mounted to his place, and Terence ran back to

The chase began again. It was an equal race now, however; more than equal, for Terence O’Sullivan’s whole heart was in making the pace. (To be continued daily.)