The Case of the Racehorse Ringer by Anthony Read

them.
    Wiggins stepped forward. “No!” he said urgently. “Please. Don’t say anything to him till you’ve heard what we’ve got to tell you.”
    “I don’t understand,” said Maisie. “Who are you?”
    “Arnold Wiggins,” Wiggins introduced himself, “captain of the Baker Street Boys.”
    “Baker Street…?”
    “Special assistants to Mr Sherlock Holmes, the world-famous detective. And this is Gertie O’Grady. She’s one of us and all.”
    “And Sparrow?” Maisie asked, looking confused.
    “Yes,” said Wiggins. “He’s one of us as well, working undercover. So you can put the gun down, if you please. We ain’t robbers. We’re detectives.”
    Maisie considered for a moment, looking hard at each of them, then lowered the shotgun and stood it against the wall. “It isn’t loaded, anyway,” she said. “Now, what’s this all about? Where were you going with Blackie?”
    “To show him to our friend Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard. Only this ain’t Blackie, is it?”
    “What are you talking about?” the girl asked in bewilderment.
    “This ain’t Blackie, it’s Silver Star,” Wiggins asserted.
    Maisie gave a little laugh. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “If this is Star, where are his markings?”
    “Painted out,” Sparrow told her. “That’s what that paint was, on the straw. Remember? Black in Star’s box, white in Blackie’s?”
    Maisie put her hands to her face, her eyes as wide and round as saucers.
    “Oh my goodness.” She gasped. “That’s terrible!”
    “Yes,” said Wiggins. “And you’re saying you don’t know nothing about it?”
    “Of course not,” she replied indignantly. “I wouldn’t do such an awful thing. Who would?”
    “Your pa, and Mr Hogg,” said Gertie.
    “And Fred,” Sparrow added. “They’re all in it together.”
    “All in what?”
    “They’re doing a ringer,” explained Wiggins. “Have you ever heard of a ringer?”
    “I … I think so, yes. But it’s cheating. My father wouldn’t do that!”
    Maisie shook her head in bewilderment. Wiggins took hold of the lapels of his jacket, as he had seen Mr Holmes do.
    “It’s my belief,” he said in his most serious voice, “that your pa has got himself in the grip of an evil man called Professor Moriarty.”
    “How do you know all this?”
    “You learn a lot when you work for Sherlock Holmes. Moriarty is a master criminal. We’ve crossed swords with him before. Your father ain’t the first to fall into his clutches.”
    “But what makes you think he has?” asked Maisie.
    “’Cos we’ve seen Moriarty with him,” Wiggins told her.
    “We seen him at the gallops. And he was here tonight,” said Sparrow. “I heard ’em talkin’. They was plottin’ to do away with Silver Star after he’s won the Prince’s Cup tomorrow.”
    “No!” she protested. “My pa would never do anything to harm Star. Never.”
    “The professor told him he’s got to,” Sparrow went on. “He’s gotta kill Star and destroy the evidence. Or he’ll lose the stables and everythin’.”
    “That’s why we gotta get Silver Star outta here,” said Wiggins. “Tonight.”
    “But where can you take him that’s safe?”
    “We’ll take him to London. To Scotland Yard.”
    “It’s a long walk to London,” Maisie said. “I don’t think Sparrow will make it. He’s proper worn out.”
    “I’ll be all right,” Sparrow protested. “I can’t stop here, anyhow.”
    “No,” agreed Wiggins, “not with Star gone. They’ll soon twig what you’ve been up to. And we don’t want another Tommie.”
    “He could stay in the caravan,” Gertie suggested.
    “First place they’d look,” Wiggins said. “They’d find him in no time.”
    “Patch!” Maisie cried, clapping her hands.
    “What?”
    “You can take Patch. She’s Gertie’s anyway. Sparrow could ride her.”
    “We could take it in turns,” Sparrow said.
    “What about Star?” Gertie asked.
    “Much too dangerous. Sparrow