THE POST CLUB
There are several smart betting clubs in London, but none smarter or
more up-to-date than the Post Club. Like most institutions of the kind,
it is somewhat mixed and largely devoted to the purposes of gambling.
All sorts and conditions of men can be met there, from the magnates of
the turf down to small bookmakers. At the same time the subscription is
a heavy one and the entrance fee large. It is so large, indeed, that the
police have never been bold enough to raid the club, which is conducted
on the best principles. Betting on the tape goes on to an enormous
extent, and there on most afternoons of the racing season nearly all the
chief commission agents can be found. The club premises consist of a
billiard-room, dining-room, and smoking-room, the last fitted with
several tape machines, which bring the result of the day's racing
directly from the course. Great wagers are constantly being made and
sometimes enormous bets effected even after the horses have been
dispatched by the starter.
Till after lunch the club is very quiet as a rule. On the first day of
the Mirst Park Meeting not more than half a dozen racing men were in the
dining-room. At a little table near the door sat the Major and his
guest, discussing a dainty luncheon to the accompaniment of a choice
brand of champagne. The Major was beaming. This was a pastime after his
own heart, and seeing that the luncheon was costing him nothing he was
doing the thing very lavishly indeed. There was something almost regal
in the way he spoke to the waiters. His manner was bland and florid,
and, beyond all was the consciousness of the five-pound note in his
pocket which Phillips had given him to pay for the repast. They sat for
some little time, when the door was flung violently open and a large man
in an impossible waistcoat came into the dining-room.
Full-bodied and scarlet, he had an air of prosperity and in an
aggressive way suggested money. Most persons in the sporting world were
familiar with that huge personage in the striking waistcoat, for it was
none other than Mr. Rickerby, of a firm of turf accountants, who
advertised that they recognized no limit. In early life Mr. Rickerby, or
Rick, as his friends styled him, had been a butcher. He had failed at
that principally because he spent most of his time backing horses or
arranging prize-fights. After he had passed through the Bankruptcy Court
he began with a small silver book and, having a real genius for
figures, together with a striking presence, an enormous voice and
amazing audacity which amounted almost to simplicity, he soon made
headway in his new profession. In a short time he took a partner who had
been a smart accountant, and now had a suite of palatial offices in the
Strand, where he kept a large staff of clerks, and where telephone
messages were pouring in almost day and night. Rickerby was a leviathan,
and though he by no means despised the small fish that came into his
net, revelled in big bets and dramatic wagers.
He nodded to the Major with a mixture of insolent familiarity and
fawning politeness. Occasionally the Major was of use to him. Besides,
Carden was well connected and Mr. Rickerby had a profound admiration for
the aristocracy. He would have passed on only, at a sign from Phillips,
Carden detained him.
"Come and lunch with us, Rickerby," he said. "Try this new brand of
champagne. Waiter, lay a place for Mr. Rickerby. Bring another bottle.
No, on second thoughts, you had better bring a magnum. Rickerby, let me
introduce my friend Mr. Phillips. He is just home from the Cape."
Rickerby touched an imaginary forelock.
"Proud to make your acquaintance, sir," he said. "Do you do anything in
our line?"
"Well, I have," Phillips said. "I used to follow racing closely enough
before I left England. Out yonder, from my point of view, I found
something better. Still, there is nothing so fascinating as the great
game. I daresay I shall make a wager or two before the season is over. I
suppose one can't make bets here?"
"Not unless you are a member," the Major explained. "The committee are
most particular about that kind of thing. They must think of the police.
But I've no doubt Rickerby will be glad to accommodate you."
"Certainly, sir," Rickerby said. "Up to any amount you like. The Major's
introduction is good enough for me, and a telegram or letter will always
receive attention."
Gradually the conversation became more general. Luncheon was a thing of
the past, and cigars and coffee had been set out in the smoking-room.
Phillips seemed to find Rickerby a mine of interesting information, for
he plied him with diplomatic questions. Under the influence of the
champagne and brandy Rickerby expanded.
"Swindles, my dear sir!" he exclaimed. "There is no end to them. We drop
on a dozen dodges every year of which the public know nothing. Why don't
we prosecute? Because it isn't worth while, and the police are not
sympathetic. Moreover, why should we let the public know of ways and
means by which they might rob us? Ah, I could tell you of one or two
men, and big men, too, in some of the West End clubs who would find
themselves in a pretty tight place if some of us only liked to open our
mouths. But what's the use? Why throw good money after bad?"
"But don't you get done?" Phillips asked.
"Well, very rarely," Rickerby responded, "but there are others in the
club, who seem to me to lay themselves out for that sort of thing.
There's a chap here called Selwyn, a rich young Australian fool, who
thinks he knows everything. He's just the type of mark that the
broken-down racing man prays for. He's in the hands of one or two here
who are robbing him of thousands. He's soft enough to make bets five
minutes after a race has been run. I've tipped him a hint once or twice,
but bless you, it's no use. It is waste of breath to tell Selwyn that
the men in whose hands he is are manipulating the telephone or wire and
always betting on a dead certainty. One or two of the bets have been
offered to me, but I am not taking any. I daresay you may think I ought
to expose these people, but I've got something better to do."
"I should like to ask you one question," Phillips said. "Have you
noticed by any chance if the people you are speaking about are
particularly lucky in their bets on races run at Mirst Park?"
Rickerby looked admiringly at the speaker.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "you know more than I gave you credit for, but
perhaps you are in the habit of studying this kind of thing. Now I come
to think of it, I do recollect hearing it said that Selwyn had dropped a
lot of money to these men last Mirst Park Meeting. If you really know
anything, Mr. Phillips, I think you ought to say so."
"Oh, I won't go quite so far as that," Phillips said modestly; "it's
only an idea that occurred to me which I was reminded of by something I
read when I was in South Africa. But mightn't this be a coincidence?"
"I think not," Rickerby replied, "you could hardly say that of a series
of bets in which Selwyn always loses and which are never made till after
the race is run."
"Extraordinary," Phillips said. "But I can't see how it can be anything
more than a mere coincidence. I suppose you do a tremendous lot of late
betting."
"My dear sir, that is exactly what the club is for. Some of us wouldn't
be able to live without it. But, all the same, we don't bet a second
after the official time of starting."
By this time the smoking-room was filling up rapidly. Two or three score
of men had come mainly to hear the result of the afternoon's racing and
to make their bets up to the very last moment that wagers were accepted.
Phillips, apparently perfectly satisfied with what he had heard, lounged
in one corner smoking a cigar, watching the crowd of sportsmen keenly
out of the corner of his eye. He seemed to have one glance, too, for the
weather outside, which had changed somewhat, for the sky was overcast
and flakes of snow were falling. A little later the room was almost in
darkness and the whole world seemed to be lost in a white drift. The
clock over the mantelpiece pointed to nearly twenty minutes past three.
The result of the three o'clock race had been announced, and, so far as
Phillips could tell, there had not been one sensational incident in the
way of a bet.
"Your friend Selwyn is evidently not present to-day," Phillips observed,
as Rickerby dropped into a seat by his side.
"Oh, yes, he is," the bookmaker retorted.
"That's very interesting," Phillips said. "I wish you would introduce me
to Mr. Selwyn. I think a little later I shall be able to show him a way
of saving money."