“Well, I should say so. He lives at Shoscombe Old Place, andI know it well, for my summer quarters were down there once.
Norberton nearly came within your province once.”
“How was that?”
“It was when he horsewhipped Sam Brewer, the well-knownCurzon Street money-lender, on Newmarket Heath. He nearlykilled the man.”
“Ah, he sounds interesting! Does he often indulge in that way?”
“Well, he has the name of being a dangerous man. He is aboutthe most daredevil rider in England—second in the Grand Nationala few years back. He is one of those men who have overshot theirtrue generation. He should have been a buck in the days of theRegency—a boxer, an athlete, a plunger on the turf, a lover of fairladies, and, by all account, so far down Queer Street that he maynever find his way back again.”
“Capital, Watson! A thumb-nail sketch. I seem to know theman. Now, can you give me some idea of Shoscombe Old Place?”
“Only that it is in the centre of Shoscombe Park, and that thefamous Shoscombe stud and training quarters are to be found there.”
“And the head trainer,” said Holmes, “is John Mason. You neednot look surprised at my knowledge, Watson, for this is a letterfrom him which I am unfolding. But let us have some more aboutShoscombe. I seem to have struck a rich vein.”
The Complete Sherlock Holmes
“There are the Shoscombe spaniels,” said I. “You hear of themat every dog show. The most exclusive breed in England. They arethe special pride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place.”
“Sir Robert Norberton’s wife, I presume!”
“Sir Robert has never married. Just as well, I think, consideringhis prospects. He lives with his widowed sister, Lady BeatriceFalder.”
“You mean that she lives with him?”
“No, no. The place belonged to her late husband, Sir James.
Norberton has no claim on it at all. It is only a life interest andreverts to her husband’s brother. Meantime, she draws the rentsevery year.”
“And brother Robert, I suppose, spends the said rents?”
“That is about the size of it. He is a devil of a fellow and mustlead her a most uneasy life. Yet I have heard that she is devoted tohim. But what is amiss at Shoscombe?”
“Ah, that is just what I want to know. And here, I expect, is theman who can tell us.”
The door had opened and the page had shown in a tall, cleanshavenman with the firm, austere expression which is only seenupon those who have to control horses or boys. Mr. John Masonhad many of both under his sway, and he looked equal to the task.
He bowed with cold self-possession and seated himself upon thechair to which Holmes had waved him.
“You had my note, Mr. Holmes?”
“Yes, but it explained nothing.”
“It was too delicate a thing for me to put the details on paper.
And too complicated. It was only face to face I could do it.”
“Well, we are at your disposal.”
“First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my employer, Sir Robert,has gone mad.”
Holmes raised his eyebrows. “This is Baker Street, not HarleyStreet,” said he. “But why do you say so?”
“Well, sir, when a man does one queer thing, or two queerthings, there may be a meaning to it, but when everything he doesqueer, then you begin to wonder. I believe Shoscombe Princeand the Derby have turned his brain.”
“That is a colt you are running?”
“The best in England, Mr. Holmes. I should know, if anyonedoes. Now, I’ll be plain with you, for I know you are gentlemenof honour and that it won’t go beyond the room. Sir Robert hasgot to win this Derby. He’s up to the neck, and it’s his last chance.
Everything he could raise or borrow is on the horse—and at fineodds, too! You can get forties now, but it was nearer the hundredwhen he began to back him.”
The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes 1389
“But how is that if the horse is so good?”
“The public don’t know how good he is. Sir Robert has been tooclever for the touts. He has the Prince’s half-brother out for spins.
You can’t tell ’em apart. But there are two lengths in a furlongbetween them when it comes to a gallop. He thinks of nothing butthe horse and the race. His whole life is on it. He’s holding off theJews till then. If the Prince fails him he is done.”
“It seems a rather desperate gamble, but where does themadness come in?”
“Well, first of all, you have only to look at him. I don’t believehe sleeps at night. He is down at the stables at all hours. His eyesare wild. It has all been too much for his nerves. Then there is hisconduct to Lady Beatrice!”
“Ah! What is that?”
“They have always been the best of friends. They had the sametastes, the two of them, and she loved the horses as much as hedid. Every day at the same hour she would drive down to seethem—and, above all, she loved the Prince. He would prick uphis ears when he heard the wheels on the gravel, and he wouldtrot out each morning to the carriage to get his lump of sugar. Butthat’s all over now.”
“Why?”
“Well, she seems to have lost all interest in the horses. For aweek now she has driven past the stables with never so much as‘Good-morning’ ! “
“You think there has been a quarrel?”
“And a bitter, savage, spiteful quarrel at that. Why else wouldhe give away her pet spaniel that she loved as if he were her child?
He gave it a few days ago to old Barnes, what keeps the GreenDragon, three miles off, at Crendall.”
“That certainly did seem strange.”
“Of course, with her weak heart and dropsy one couldn’t expectthat she could get about with him, but he spent two hours everyevening in her room. He might well do what he could, for she hasbeen a rare good friend to him. But that’s all over, too. He nevergoes near her. And she takes it to heart. She is brooding and sulkyand drinking, Mr. Holmes—drinking like a fish.”
“Did she drink before this estrangement?”
“Well, she took her glass, but now it is often a whole bottle ofan evening. So Stephens, the butler, told me. It’s all changed, Mr.
Holmes, and there is something damned rotten about it. But then,again, what is master doing down at the old church crypt at night?
And who is the man that meets him there?”
Holmes rubbed his hands.
“Go on, Mr. Mason. You get more and more interesting.”