BEATEN
It was Saturday night, and Glen Leigh had sent no word to Bellshaw about
the sweep money.
Bellshaw waited impatiently in his private room at the hotel, fretting
and fuming.
"If he thinks I don't mean what I said he's mistaken," he muttered.
"I'll scratch him right enough. He can't have a very big chance. He
limped a bit this morning. He'll have to run in bandages if he starts;
that doesn't look very well for a Cup horse. I'm not going to give him
all the spoil--not me."
It was ten o'clock and still no word from Glen Leigh. Bellshaw thought
he would come round after the show, but he did not.
"I'll wait until Sunday night," thought Bellshaw. "I can go round on
Monday morning and scratch him."
Ivor Hadwin went to the show on Saturday night and saw Glen Leigh. He
was very anxious about what Bellshaw would do over Barellan, and tried
his utmost to persuade Glen to see him about it.
"He'll not scratch him," said Glen. "He dare not."
"You don't know him. He'd do it just to spite you."
"Then he's a fool to throw away a chance of winning the Melbourne Cup
out of sheer spite."
"Will you call on him to-morrow morning?" asked the trainer.
"What's the good? There'll only be a scene," replied Glen.
"Think of me, Leigh, the anxiety I've had over the horse for weeks, all
the trouble, and now the job of getting him to the post after his
lameness. It's heartbreaking," said Hadwin.
Glen relented. For the trainer's sake he would see Bellshaw and try and
persuade him not to scratch Barellan, but he was firmly resolved not to
yield any sweep money.
"Very well, I'll see him. I think I have a persuasive way, and I'll try
it on him," answered Glen.
The trainer brightened visibly.
"You're a good 'un. I'll not forget it," he said.
About eleven o'clock on Sunday morning Glen Leigh was announced.
Bellshaw smiled when he heard the name of his visitor.
"Show him up," he said, and added to himself, "I thought he'd never be
such an ass as to throw a chance away."
Glen entered the room. The only greeting he gave was a nod. He took a
chair without being asked, and threw his hat on the table, then leaned
back and looked at Bellshaw.
"So you've come to your senses," said Bellshaw. "It's lucky for you the
office was closed on Saturday night, or my orders to scratch Barellan
would have gone in. There's the letter," and he threw it across the
table to him.
Much to Bellshaw's surprise, which quickly changed to anger, Glen Leigh
tore it up and let the pieces flutter on the table.
"Damn your impertinence. What do you mean by that?" roared Bellshaw.
A tap at the door. A waiter put in his head.
"Did you call, sir?"
"No--get out," foamed the angry man.
Glen smiled exasperatingly.
"What do you mean by it?" asked Bellshaw again.
"It's a silly useless letter, because you will not scratch Barellan,"
answered Glen.
Bellshaw simmered down. Leigh had come to make terms; they must be
liberal.
"Useless because you are going to make a proposal," said Bellshaw.
"I have a proposal to make?"
"How much will you give me out of the sweep?"
"Nothing," was the unexpected answer.
Bellshaw flared up again, swore roundly, talked fast and furiously, all
to no purpose. Leigh sat immovable, lit a cigar and waited until he was
exhausted.
"Would you like to hear my proposition?" asked Glen calmly.
"Not if it doesn't refer to sweep money."
"You'd better, for your own sake. It's rather important to you," said
Glen.
"Nothing you have to say, outside the matter at issue, can interest me,"
returned Bellshaw.
Glen smiled at him. It was the most irritating thing he could do.
"I shall sit here until you listen to what I have to say," he said.
His manner was determined. He looked stubborn, and was more than a match
for Craig Bellshaw, as far as strength went. He got up and locked the
door, putting the key in his pocket.
"What I have to say you would not like anyone to hear. Besides I don't
want you to bolt out of the room."
"Get along with it then," growled Bellshaw, "but I assure you beforehand
you are wasting your time."
"Oh no, I am not. You'll say so when I've done. You'll consider it
rather a clever move on my part and that the time was very well
occupied. It's about a woman," blurted out Glen suddenly.
Craig Bellshaw felt as though an electric current had passed through
him. The remark was so unexpected, meant so many things, and he was
utterly in the dark. He stared at Glen, who still smiled as he said, "I
thought you'd be surprised. Do you know what became of the young woman
you took away from Mintaro and left in the open to die?"
"You're raving. There never was a young woman at Mintaro," said Bellshaw
hoarsely.
"Oh yes, there was. You drove her away in your buggy, emptied her out,
and left her insensible while you drove away. You told me about it the
night you walked in your sleep; at least all you knew. You acted well,
very well indeed. You illustrated in a remarkably clear way how you
attempted to throttle her. You also showed me how you were dragging her
to some water hole, but thought better of it, and left her to die of
hunger. I heard you speak to your horses so knew you must have taken
her there in a buggy. It's a bad plan to walk in your sleep when you've
a murder on your conscience," said Glen.
Bellshaw glared at him like a caged tiger.
"Murder," he hissed. "Be careful what you say."
Glen took no notice of his remark.
"Do you know what became of the woman?" he asked.
"There was no woman."
"Don't deny facts. It's a waste of breath. Doesn't Backham know there
was a woman at Mintaro? Don't all your hands know?"
Bellshaw was silent. Glen was rubbing it in strong.
"There's awful evidence against you to prove she was at your place.
We'll take that for granted; we'll also take it for granted you left her
in the wilderness to die--you brute," said Glen, who could hardly
restrain his feelings.
Bellshaw writhed, but did not speak. He waited to hear more.
"Do you know what became of the woman?"
"I tell you there was no woman."
"There's ample proof that you lie," answered Glen, "so I'll pass that. I
found her in my hut when I rode back from the fence."
He gave Bellshaw a graphic account of what happened and how Jim Benny
came to assist him.
Then he looked hard at Bellshaw as he placed his hands on the table and
stood up, leaning over until his face was within a few inches of the
squatter's.
"She died in my hut," said Glen. "You are her murderer; you can't get
away from that."
Bellshaw shivered. He believed what Glen Leigh said. It was not true,
but there was every justification for making the statement to punish
him.
"She confessed how she came there and everything you had done to her
before she died," went on Leigh. "Jim Benny knows it; Bill Bigs knows
it; they were there. The evidence is strong enough, if not to hang you,
to send you to penal servitude for life."
Bellshaw tried to laugh, but was thoroughly frightened. He had often
wondered what had become of the woman. The story sounded probable. She
might have wandered as far as Leigh's hut. During the few minutes'
respite Bellshaw thought of a way to retaliate.
"You shot Joe Calder," he said.
Glen being innocent, laughed. Bellshaw must have been dull if he did not
see his shot had not gone home.
"I did not. I shouldn't wonder if you had a hand in it," retorted Glen.
"He was a friend of mine."
"You'd as soon leave a shot in a friend as an enemy if he was in your
way," said Glen.
"Why have you told me this silly story?"
"In the first place because I want to bring home to you that if Jim
Benny, Bill Bigs and myself bring a charge against you of causing the
death of this woman, you'll be in the hands of the police instead of
witnessing the Melbourne Cup. In the second place if you scratch
Barellan you will have no mercy shown you. We shall act at once,"
replied Glen.
Bellshaw saw the drift of it all. He was cornered. It was a clever move.
He would have to run the horse. The evidence of three men who saw the
woman die, and heard her charge against him, would be serious--too
serious for him to face in public. Even if he escaped punishment he
would be branded with infamy for life.
"You'll not scratch Barellan?" said Glen.
"I shall if I get no sweep money from you."
"I say you will not scratch the horse," Glen repeated.
"Supposing I do."
"Then you will be taken into custody at once on the charge I mentioned."
"And if I run him?"
"You shall be free to do what you will. Your conscience will punish you;
it has done already. I saw that at Mintaro. You were afraid--a coward,"
said Glen.
"You will stand me a thousand out of the sweep?"
"Not a farthing."
Bellshaw would like to have shot him.
"What guarantee have I that you will be silent?" he asked.
"I give you my word," returned Glen.
"That is nothing to me."
"But it is to me, and you will have to accept it."
"I will not."
"You will run Barellan?"
"No."
"I have another witness," said Glen at a venture.
"Go on. I am amused," answered Bellshaw, fighting hard before he gave
in. He must save his face by making some show of resistance.
"Lin Soo," said Glen.
The effect of the mention of this name on Bellshaw was remarkable. He
gasped and seemed on the point of choking, sank back in the chair, his
hands hanging down.
Leigh opened the door and went downstairs for some brandy. This revived
Bellshaw and he looked round in a frightened way.
"You will run Barellan?" asked Glen.
Bellshaw murmured a faint "Yes." He was beaten.