The Case of the Racehorse Ringer by Anthony Read Page B

all night, and dawn was breaking as they reached the top of Highgate Hill. A fat policeman, patrolling his lonely beat, stepped out into the road and held up his hand to stop them.
    “Whoa!” he ordered, producing a lantern from under his cape and shining it on their faces in the dim early morning light. “Where d’you think you’re going? And where did you get those horses?”
    “That one’s mine,” Gertie told him. “She belongs to me and my da.”
    “Oh yes? And what about the other one? That’s a fine-looking animal for a scruffy bunch of ragamuffins to have in their possession. It looks like a proper classy racehorse to me.”
    “It is,” said Wiggins. “We’re taking him to Scotland Yard.”
    “Don’t try to get clever with me, my lad,” said the policeman.
    “It’s true,” Sparrow piped up. “We’re goin’ to see Inspector Lestrade. D’you know him?”
    “No, I don’t. Inspector Lestrade’s a very high-up detective.”
    “
We
know him,” said Wiggins. “And he knows us. We’re the famous Baker Street Boys.”
    “Famous who? Never heard of ’em.”
    “We work for Mr Sherlock Holmes,” Wiggins added.
    “A likely tale! You’d best come along with me to the station. See if we can find out who this valuable beast belongs to and where you’ve stolen him from.”
    “We didn’t steal him,” insisted Sparrow. “We rescued him.”
    “Well, I’m sure the owner will be pleased to get him back.”
    “No! You can’t give him back to the major,” Sparrow blurted out. “He’s gonna put him down!”
    “The major, eh?” the policeman said. “Now which major would that be, I wonder?”
    “Sparrow!” Wiggins shouted. “Shut up!”
    “Oh, Lor’!” Sparrow groaned. “Sorry.”
    Wiggins looked at the policeman. He was fat and had big flat feet in his heavy boots. It only took Wiggins two seconds to decide what to do.
    “Run for it!” he cried. “He’ll never catch us!”
    Sparrow and Gertie kicked their heels hard into their horses’ sides. Wiggins slapped Patch on the rump. She jumped forwards and lumbered into action, with Sparrow clinging on for dear life. Gertie crouched forward over Star’s neck as he took off in an electric burst of speed, as if it was the start of a race. Wiggins ran as fast as he could behind Patch. The fat policeman ran after them for a little way but quickly gave up. He pulled out his whistle and tried to blow it, but he was too out of breath. In any case, there was no one near by to hear. He stood puffing and panting as the Boys and their horses soon disappeared out of sight.
    Further down the road, Gertie slowed Silver Star to a walk and pulled into a little park, where she let the horse graze on the grass while she waited for the others. They arrived a few minutes later, with Wiggins sitting on Patch’s back behind Sparrow.
    “We can rest here for a few minutes,” Wiggins said after they had all dismounted. “But then we’ll have to be on our way again. It won’t take the coppers long to work out who the major is. And they know who we are, too, so they might come looking for us around Baker Street. We’ll have to hide Star somewhere till we can get to Lestrade.”
    “We can’t hide him in HQ,” said Gertie. “He’d never get down all them steps.”
    “We need a stable,” said Sparrow.
    “Yes,” Wiggins agreed. “But where are we gonna find…? Wait a minute… Shh!”
    “What?”
    “Listen!” They heard the sound of hooves echoing through the quiet street. “There ain’t many people out at this time of the morning, is there?”
    “Only market folk,” Gertie said.
    Wiggins slapped himself on the forehead. “And milkmen!” he cried. “Of course!”
    They hurried out of the park just in time to see a pony and trap approaching at a steady trot. In the driving seat was a familiar figure wearing a peaked cap and striped apron.
    “Mr Gorman!” Gertie called out. “Mr Gorman! Stop!”
    The milkman pulled up and stared at them