The Case of the Racehorse Ringer Read Online Free Page A

were really in the country now. Mr Gorman stopped at the entrance to a farm.
    “This is as far as I go,” he told the children. “But the racing stables are only two or three miles further on.”
    The three Boys climbed out of the trap and thanked him.
    “You’re very welcome,” Mr Gorman said. “I only wish I could do more to help. But I’ve got to get my milk back to Baker Street before breakfast. If you need me, though, I’m here at this time every morning.”
    Gertie stroked Betsy’s neck and gave her a final pat. Then they waved goodbye and set off along the road. Before long the Boys passed through a village, and then they were in open heathland. Gertie pointed to a cluster of buildings set in a small valley below them.
    “There it is,” she said. “That’s the stables.”
    Wiggins and Sparrow followed her finger and saw a handsome brick and flint house facing a square yard. It was lined with low wooden buildings with black-painted doors that each divided in two.
    “Are those the horses’ stables?” Wiggins asked.
    “They call ’em loose boxes,” Gertie told him.
    “Loose?” said Wiggins. “How come?”
    “Dunno. I s’pose it’s ’cos the horses ain’t tied up inside ’em. They can move about, turn round, lie down, do what they like.”
    Three lads had just entered the yard and were opening the top halves of the doors. Horses’ heads appeared in the openings, looking around with interest. They greeted the morning with snorts and whinnies, puffing steaming breath from their nostrils.
    “Aren’t they just beautiful?” Gertie said.
    Sparrow wasn’t so sure. He was used to horses in the street, pulling cabs or carriages or delivery vans. Like the rest of the Boys, he sometimes earned a few pennies holding horses’ heads outside shops, to stop them wandering off while their owners went inside to make purchases. Those horses were usually pretty docile. But these were different. They tossed their heads impatiently, eager to be out of their stalls.
    He swallowed nervously. “They look very lively,” he said.
    “Sure and haven’t they just had a good night’s sleep,” Gertie answered. “They can’t wait to get onto the gallops.”
    “Will I have to ride ’em?”
    “Not to start with, I don’t s’pose.”
    “Come on,” Wiggins interrupted. “We should get away from here before anybody spots Gertie.”
    “Good thinkin’,” said Gertie. “I don’t want to end up in that orphanage again.”
    “Where’s your caravan?” Wiggins asked.
    “It’s tucked away in the woods, like a hideout. I’ll show you.”
    After climbing over the top of a steep hill, the three Boys entered the leafy woods. The bright morning disappeared immediately. The trees were packed close together, shutting out the daylight and casting a heavy shade. Some of them were twisted into strange shapes, like primeval monsters or evil witches, and it was easy to imagine ogres lurking in the shadows or strange creatures skulking in the ancient hollow trunks. Sparrow shivered. Even Wiggins glanced nervously around him. But Gertie did not seem to be worried at all.
    She led them through the woods until they came to a clearing, in the middle of which stood the caravan, looking abandoned.
    “Where’s your horse?” Wiggins asked.
    “Major Lee must’ve took her,” Gertie said. “I expect they’ll be usin’ her at the stables.”
    “That’s stealin’!” Sparrow exclaimed.
    “Better than leaving her here on her own with nobody to look after her,” Wiggins pointed out.
    “It’s still stealin’,” Sparrow insisted. “I’ll look out for her when I’m there.”
    “Good lad,” said Gertie. “Her name’s Patch. You’ll know her ’cos she’s a skewbald.”
    “What, she’s got no hair?”
    “No, not bald. Skewbald. Three colours – white, brown and black. You’ll not see many of them in a racin’ stables. All the others will be thoroughbreds.”
    Gertie climbed the steps to the caravan door. It