"A Policeman's Plot..."

New Zealand Listener, Volume 1, Issue 23, 1 December 1939, Page 15

"A Policeman's Plot..."

By

W. J.

HAY

HEN Constable James O’Halliwen and his wife, Moira, were X) listening in to a broadcast of the races, a rare domestic ‘tiff’ was inaugurated by Moira’s announcement that she was going to have a bet on the next race-with a bookmaker! "" Mrs. Johnstone told me the number to ring,’’ she said. "‘ All I have to do is to give my name and say I want to have five pounds on the horse straightout." "But hang it all, Moira," protested James, " think of my position. Here we are, just landed into a good job in a new town, and you want to get me a bad name right from the start. Imagine

what people will say if they hear that the new constable’s wife lays bets with a bookmaker!" ""I know, dear," said Moira, soothingly. ‘‘ But it will only be this once. It won't happen again, but I know this horse is going to win." James snorted. ‘‘Win? You're a fine punter, you are. Want to back a prad just because you have had a letter signed in a way you think is unusual, but which isn’t." "But it’s an omen, darling. I haven't ever before had a letter that was ended like that. Besides, I read somewhere that the horse had a good chance." ‘""Aw, you women! Some omens might be all right, but that’s the stupidest one 've ever heard of. Anyhow, Moira, I’ve followed the form for weeks and I could tell you six horses that will lick yours. It hasn’t a dog’s show. You'll only be throwing our money away." ‘""Whose money?’? snapped Moira. ‘""My money, if you please. Haven't I stinted and scraped for weeks to save up that five pounds for a frock? If I want to bet with it, I will, so there. And when the horse wins I'll get two frocks and a new summer coat as well."’ ‘" More likely be joining a nudist club if these mad ideas persist,’’ growled James. Moira grabbed up the telephone, ignoring his last pleading, ‘* Moira!" The number was engaged, she was told. "Good!" said James, with pleasant malice. "Don’t worry," she said firmly. "There's plenty of time. I'll ring again." James O’Halliwen made no reply. His brain was slowly planning a scheme. He said, abruptly, " I’m going out."

Outside, he jumped on his bicycle and pedalled swiftly into the township. He was genuinely worried-not, it is to be feared, so much because of his reputation. He thought, "I can scarcely be held responsible if my wife bets with a bookie. Anyhow, everyone does it!" But he was concerned-deeply-at her wasting five pounds. He knew, with all the assurance of one who has studied the form, that her horse could not win! Five minutes later he strode into a local billiard saloon and went along to the little office. The man seated there, with a radio softly playing and a telephone at his elbow, greeted the constable with uneasy cordiality, and with hasty absent-mindedness stuffed various papers out of sight. Constable O’Halliwen pretended not to notice. He was in plain clothes, and his visit was entirely unofficial. Instead he engaged the man in hearty general converse about the weather, the war, and even about the races. The telephone rang. The man glanced at it, then at the policeman, squirmed uncomfortably and tried to ignore it. It persisted. "Better answer it," said James. "Don’t mind me!" : The man picked up the telephone, "Hello. . . . No, wrong number." He slammed the receiver on again, and grunted, ‘‘Some dame on the wrong number."’ The same performance was repeated several times in the next twenty minutes. James grinned to himself. His little plot to save Moira’s money was succeeding admirably. The bookmaker would not dare to take a bet while he was present! "‘Lot of people ringing wrong numbers to-day,’’ he commented laconically. Then from the wireless came a cheery voite announcing, ‘That is Station 3YA, Christchurch, broadcasting on relay from Riccarton." "Turn it up a_ bit," suggested James, ‘‘and let’s have a listen. The Cup, isn’t it?" He was feeling very happy and chuckled when he thought of how delighted Moira would be when ‘she learned how he had saved her five pounds. The telephone bell was ringing frantically. *‘ Blast if!" said the bookmaker, pulling off the receiver and leaving it off without answering the call. He and James, with thousands of others all over New Zealand, listened intently to the running commentary on the New Zealand Cup. , There is no need to repeat how the race was. run or how, two furlongs from home, Yours Truly took the lead, gallantly held off all challengers and went on to a magnificent victory. "The winner of the 1939 New Zealand Cup is Yours Truly," the pleasant voice was saying. Not pleasant to James’ O’Halliwen, however. The smirk of self-satisfaction had faded from his face and he was morosely deciding that if would be inadvisable to tell his wife about his clever plot. ‘ For, of course, " Yours truly" had been the letter-ending which Moira had known to be prophetic!