The Case of the Racehorse Ringer by Anthony Read

Sparrow thought of those huge teeth and his own teeth chattered with fear.
    “Good boy, Satan,” he repeated. “Friend. Good boy.” He held out his hand, palm down, as Maisie had shown him earlier. The dog sniffed at it, wagged its tail briefly, then sat down, its eyes fixed on him.
    “Sorry, Satan,” Sparrow said. “I haven’t got a biscuit for you this time.”
    At the word “biscuit” the dog wagged its tail again. Ordering it to stay, Sparrow backed carefully away until he felt the gate behind him, then he turned and climbed over it. The dog watched him with a disappointed look on its face.
    “Next time, eh?” said Sparrow, then scooted off.
    Up on the hill, Wiggins and Gertie were about to return to the caravan when they saw Sparrow in the moonlight, climbing the gate.
    “It’s OK,” said Gertie. “Here he comes.”
    “Phew,” Wiggins replied, “just in time! I was starting to think something had happened to him. Wait a minute, though. Who’s that?”
    He pointed to the house. In the lit bedroom window, a figure moved. Wiggins and Gertie couldn’t see who it was, but someone was looking out, watching Sparrow as he hurried towards the woods.
    Wiggins listened very carefully as Sparrow told him everything about his day.
    “Well done,” he said when Sparrow had finished. “You’ve given me plenty to think about.”
    “But what does it all mean?” Gertie asked.
    “Dunno yet. I wish I’d got my special chair and Mr Holmes’s old hat and pipe. I s’pose I’ll have to manage without ’em.”
    “We need to know what Moriarty’s up to,” said Gertie.
    “And why Fred got so upset when you sang those songs,” Wiggins added.
    “And why he won’t let nobody else go near Silver Star and Blackie,” said Sparrow.
    “Yeah, and a whole lot of other things as well,” agreed Wiggins.
    “Most of all,” said Gertie, “we still don’t know who killed Tommie.”
    “Or why. You gotta go back there, Sparrow, and carry on keeping your eyes peeled for anything that might give us a clue.”
    Sparrow nodded and set off down the hill, dragging himself back to the stables. His legs felt so heavy that he could hardly put one foot in front of the other, and all he could think about was his bed. As he arrived back in the yard, he was far too tired to notice someone looking out of a bedroom window. But as he passed the loose boxes, he did notice a light seeping out under the closed door of Silver Star’s box. Someone was in there with the horse. Sparrow could hear low voices inside, but they were speaking so quietly he could not hear what was being said, or who was saying it. He crept closer to peep through the crack in the door, when it began to open. He just had time to hide around the corner before two people came out. One was Fred, carrying a lantern. The other was Hogg, wiping his hands on a piece of rag.
    “It’ll be dry by morning,” Sparrow heard Hogg say. “Just keep everybody away from them. How’s the new lad?”
    “You don’t have to fret about him,” Fred replied with a chuckle. “He don’t know nothin’, and I’m workin’ him so hard he don’t have time to think.”
    “Good. Make sure you keep it that way.”
    “I will. No problem.”
    “Now, you’d better get back to your pit or you’ll be good for nothing in the morning. Go on – off with you.”
    While the head lad made his way back upstairs, Sparrow had to wait where he was, giving Fred chance to fall asleep before he dared to follow. Then he crept back to his own bed and was dreaming even before his head hit the pillow.
    Wiggins and Gertie made their way back to the caravan safely. All seemed quiet and peaceful now, and they were soon fast asleep on their bunks. After only a little while, however, Gertie was woken by a noise from outside. She sat up and peered through the window, then gently shook Wiggins’s shoulder.
    “Wake up,” she whispered, putting a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. “There’s somebody