"I am afraid, Watson that I shall have to go," said Holmes as we sat
down together to our breakfast one morning.
"Go! Where to?"
"To Dartmoor; to King's Pyland."
I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not
already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic
of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day
my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and
his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest
black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks.
Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to
be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was, I
knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. There was but
one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of
analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favourite for the
Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he
suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the
drama, it was only what I had both expected and hoped for.
"I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the way," said I.
"My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by coming.
And I think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points
about the case which promise to make it an absolutely unique one. We have,
I think, just time to catch our train at Paddington, and I will go further
into the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with you
your very excellent field-glass."
And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the
corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while
Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped
travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he
had procured at Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before he
thrust the last one of them under the seat and offered me his cigar-case.
"We are going well," said he, looking out of the window and glancing
at his watch. "Our rate at present is fifty-three and a half miles an hour."
"I have not observed the quarter-mile posts," said I.
"Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards
apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that you have looked
into this matter of the murder of John Straker and the disappearance of Silver Blaze?"
"I have seen what the Telegraph and the Chronicle have to say."
"It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be
used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of fresh
evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete, and of such
personal importance to so many people that we are suffering from a
plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to
detach the framework of fact -- of absolute undeniable fact -- from the
embellishments of theorists and reporters. Then, having established
ourselves upon this sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may
be drawn and what are the special points upon which the whole mystery
turns. On Tuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the
owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking after the
case, inviting my cooperation."
"Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is Thursday morning. Why
didn't you go down yesterday?"
"Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson -- which is, I am afraid, a
more common occurrence than anyone would think who only knew me through
your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it possible that the
most remarkable horse in England could long remain concealed, especially
in so sparsely inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. From hour to
hour yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and that his
abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however, another morning
had come and I found that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson
nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to take action. Yet
in some ways I feel that yesterday has not been wasted."
"You have formed a theory, then?"
"At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I
shall enumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as
stating it to another person, and I can hardly expect your cooperation if
I do not show you the position from which we start."
I lay back against the cushions, puffing at my cigar, while Holmes,
leaning forward, with his long, thin forefinger checking off the points
upon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which had
led to our journey.
"Silver Blaze," said he, "is from the Somomy stock and holds as
brilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year and
has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Ross, his
fortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the first
favourite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. He
has always, however, been a prime favourite with the racing public and has
never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormous sums of
money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, that there were
many people who had the strongest interest in preventing Silver Blaze from
being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday.
"The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's Pyland, where the
colonel's training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to guard
the favourite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey who rode in
Colonel Ross's colours before he became too heavy for the weighing-chair.
He has served the colonel for five years as jockey and for seven as
trainer, and has always shown himself to be a zealous and honest servant.
Under him were three lads, for the establishment was a small one,
containing only four horses in all. One of these lads sat up each night in
the stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three bore excellent
characters. John Straker, who is a married man lived in a small villa
about two hundred yards from the stables. He has no children, keeps one
maidservant, and is comfortably off. The country round is very lonely, but
about half a mile to the north there is a small cluster of villas which
have been built by a Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and
others who may wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies
two miles to the west, while across the moor, also about two miles
distant, is the larger training establishment of Mapleton, which belongs
to Lord Backwater and is managed by Silas Brown. In every other direction
the moor is a complete wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaming
gypsies. Such was the general situation last Monday night when the
catastrophe occurred.
"On that evening the horses had been exercised and watered as usual,
and the stables were locked up at nine o'clock. Two of the lads walked up
to the trainer's house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while the
third, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes after nine the
maid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, which
consisted of a dish of curried mutton. She took no liquid, as there was a
water-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty should
drink nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it was very
dark and the path ran across the open moor.
"Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables when a man
appeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As she stepped
into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he was
a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit of tweeds, with a
cloth cap. He wore gaiters and carried a heavy stick with a knob to it.
She was most impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his face and by
the nervousness of his manner. His age, she thought, would be rather over
thirty than under it.
" 'Can you tell me where I am?' he asked. 'I had almost made up my
mind to sleep on the moor when I saw the light of your lantern.'
" 'You are close to the King's Pyland training stables,' said she.
" 'Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!' he cried. 'I understand that a
stable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is his supper
which you are carrying to him. Now I am sure that you would not be too
proud to earn the price of a new dress, would you?' He took a piece of
white paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. 'See that the boy has
this to-night, and you shall have the prettiest frock that money can buy.'
"She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner and ran past him
to the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. It was
already opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. She had
begun to tell him of what had happened when the stranger came up again.
" 'Good-evening,' said he, looking through the window. 'I wanted to
have a word with you.' The girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticed the
corner of the little paper packet protruding from his closed hand.
" 'What business have you here?' asked the lad.
" 'It's business that may put something into your pocket.' said the
other. 'You've two horses in for the Wessex Cup -- Silver Blaze and
Bayard. Let me have the straight tip and you won't be a loser. Is it a
fact that at the weights Bayard could give the other a hundred yards in
five furlongs, and that the stable have put their money on him?'
" 'So, you're one of those damned touts!' cried the lad. 'I'll show
you how we serve them in King's Pyland.' He sprang up and rushed across
the stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the house, but as she
ran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through the
window. A minute later, however, when Hunter rushed out with the hound he
was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he failed to find any
trace of him."
"One moment," I asked. "Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the
dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?"
"Excellent, Watson, excellent!" murmured my companion. "The
importance of the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a special wire
to Dartmoor yesterday to clear the matter up. The boy locked the door
before he left it. The window, I may add, was not large enough for a man
to get through.
"Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he sent a
message to the trainer and told him what had occurred. Straker was excited
at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have quite realized
its true significance. It left him, however, vaguely uneasy, and Mrs.
Straker, waking at one in the morning, found that he was dressing. In
reply to her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account of his
anxiety about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the stables
to see that all was well. She begged him to remain at home, as she could
hear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of her entreaties
he pulled on his large mackintosh and left the house.
"Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning to find that her husband
had not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, called the maid, and
set off for the stables. The door was open; inside, huddled together upon
a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the favourite's
stall was empty, and there were no signs of his trainer.
"The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the
harness-room were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing during the
night, for they are both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under the
influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out of him,
he was left to sleep it off while the two lads and the two women ran out
in search of the absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer had for
some reason taken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the
knoll near the house, from which all the neighbouring moors were visible,
they not only could see no signs of the missing favourite, but they
perceived something which warned them that they were in the presence of a tragedy.
"About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Straker's overcoat
was flapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shaped
depression in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the dead body
of the unfortunate trainer. His head had been shattered by a savage blow
from some heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where there was a
long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some very sharp instrument. It was
clear, however, that Straker had defended himself vigorously against his
assailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife, which was clotted
with blood up to the handle, while in his left he clasped a red and black
silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid as having been worn on the
preceding evening by the stranger who had visited the stables. Hunter, on
recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as to the ownership of
the cravat. He was equally certain that the same stranger had, while
standing at the window, drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the
stables of their watchman. As to the missing horse, there were abundant
proofs in the mud which lay at the bottom of the fatal hollow that he had
been there at the time of the struggle. But from that morning he has
disappeared, and although a large reward has been offered, and all the
gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no news has come of him. Finally, an
analysis has shown that the remains of his supper left by the stable-lad
contained an appreciable quantity of powdered opium, while the people at
the house partook of the same dish on the same night without any ill effect.
"Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and
stated as baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what the police
have done in the matter.
"Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is an
extremely competent officer. Were he but gifted with imagination he might
rise to great heights in his profession. On his arrival he promptly found
and arrested the man upon whom suspicion naturally rested. There was
little difficulty in finding him, for he inhabited one of those villas
which I have mentioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy Simpson. He was
a man of excellent birth and education, who had squandered a fortune upon
the turf. and who lived now by doing a little quiet and genteel
book-making in the sporting clubs of London. An examination of his
betting-book shows that bets to the amount of five thousand pounds had
been registered by him against the favourite. On being arrested he
volunteered the statement that he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of
getting some information about the King's Pyland horses, and also about
Desborough, the second favourite, which was in charge of Silas Brown at
the Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny that he had acted as
described upon the evening before, but declared that he had no sinister
designs and had simply wished to obtain first-hand information. When
confronted with his cravat he turned very pale and was utterly unable to
account for its presence in the hand of the murdered man. His wet clothing
showed that he had been out in the storm of the night before, and his
stick, which was a penanglawyer weighted with lead, was just such a weapon
as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries to which
the trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no wound upon his
person, while the state of Straker's knife would show that one at least of
his assailants must bear his mark upon him. There you have it all in a
nutshell, Watson, and if you can give me any light I shall be infinitely
obliged to you."
I had listened with the greatest interest to the statement which
Holmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me. Though most of
the facts were familiar to me, I had not sufficiently appreciated their
relative importance, nor their connection to each other.
"Is it not possible," I suggested, "that the incised wound upon
Straker may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive struggles
which follow any brain injury?"
"It is more than possible; it is probable," said Holmes. "In that
case one of the main points in favour of the accused disappears."
"And yet," said I, "even now I fail to understand what the theory of
the police can be."
"I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections
to it," returned my companion. "The police imagine, I take it, that this
Fitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, and having in some way obtained a
duplicate key, opened the stable door and took out the horse, with the
intention, apparently, of kidnapping him altogether. His bridle is
missing, so that Simpson must have put this on. Then, having left the door
open behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor when he was
either met or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally ensued. Simpson
beat out the trainer's brains with his heavy stick without receiving any
injury from the small knife which Straker used in self-defence, and then
the thief either led the horse on to some secret hiding-place, or else it
may have bolted during the struggle, and be now wandering out on the
moors. That is the case as it appears to the police, and improbable as it
is, all other explanations are more improbable still. However, I shall
very quickly test the matter when I am once upon the spot, and until then
I cannot really see how we can get much further than our present
position."
It was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock, which
lies, like the boss of a shield, in the middle of the huge circle of
Dartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the station -- the one a tall,
fair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously penetrating light
blue eyes; the other a small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a
frock-coat and gaiters, with trim little side-whiskers and an eyeglass.
The latter was Colonel Ross, the well-known sportsman; the other,
Inspector Gregory; a man who was rapidly making his name in the English
detective service.
"I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes," said the
colonel. "The inspector here has done all that could possibly be
suggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poor
Straker and in recovering my horse."
"Have there been any fresh developments?" asked Holmes.
"I am sorry to say that we have made very little progress," said the
inspector. "We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubt
like to see the place before the light fails, we might talk it over as we
drive."
A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau and were
rattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector Gregory was
full of his case and poured out a stream of remarks, while Holmes threw in
an occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back with his
arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened with
interest to the dialogue of the two detectives. Gregory was formulating
his theory, which was almost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the
train.
"The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson," he remarked,
"and I believe myself that he is our man. At the same time I recognize
that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some new development
may upset it."
"How about Straker's knife?"
"We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his fall."
"My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we came down. If
so, it would tell against this man Simpson."
"Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of a wound. The
evidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great interest in
the disappearance of the favourite. He lies under suspicion of having
poisoned the stable-boy; he was undoubtedly out in the storm; he was armed
with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead man's hand. I
really think we have enough to go before a jury."
Holmes shook his head. "A clever counsel would tear it all to rags,"
said he. "Why should he take the horse out of the stable? If he wished to
injure it, why could he not do it there? Has a duplicate key been found in
his possession? What chemist sold him the powdered opium? Above all, where
could he, a stranger to the district, hide a horse, and such a horse as
this? What is his own explanation as to the paper which he wished the maid
to give to the stable-boy?"
"He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in his purse.
But your other difficulties are not so formidable as they seem. He is not
a stranger to the district. He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the
summer. The opium was probably brought from London. The key, having served
its purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at the bottom of one
of the pits or old mines upon the moor."
"What does he say about the cravat?"
"He acknowledges that it is his and declares that he had lost it. But
a new element has been introduced into the case which may account for his
leading the horse from the stable."
Holmes pricked up his ears.
"We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encamped on
Monday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place. On
Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that there was some understanding
between Simpson and these gypsies, might he not have been leading the
horse to them when he was overtaken, and may they not have him now?"
"It is certainly possible."
"The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examined
every stable and outhouse in Tavistock, and for a radius of ten miles."
"There is another training-stable quite close, I understand?"
"Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect. As
Desborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an interest
in the disappearance of the favourite. Silas Brown, the trainer, is known
to have had large bets upon the event, and he was no friend to poor
Straker. We have, however, examined the stables, and there is nothing to
connect him with the affair."
"And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests of the
Mapleton stables?"
"Nothing at all."
Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased. A
few minutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa
with overhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distance off, across
a paddock, lay a long gray-tiled outbuilding. In every other direction the
low curves of the moor, bronze-coloured from the fading ferns, stretched
away to the sky-line, broken only by the steeples of Tavistock, and by a
cluster of houses away to the westward which marked the Mapleton stables.
We all sprang out with the exception of Holmes, who continued to lean back
with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his
own thoughts. It was only when I touched his arm that he roused himself
with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage.
"Excuse me," said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked at him
in some surprise. "I was day-dreaming." There was a gleam in his eyes and
a suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as I was to
his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though I could not imagine where
he had found it.
"Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the crime,
Mr. Holmes?" said Gregory.
"I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go into one
or two questions of detail. Straker was brought back here, I presume?"
"Yes, he lies upstairs. The inquest is to-morrow."
"He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?"
"I have always found him an excellent servant."
"I presume that you made an inventory of what he had in his pockets
at the time of his death, Inspector?"
"I have the things themselves in the sitting-room if you would care
to see them."
"I should be very glad." We all filed into the front room and sat
round the central table while the inspector unlocked a square tin box and
lald a small heap of things before us. There was a box of vestas, two
inches of tallow candle. an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of sealskin
with half an ounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold
chain, five sovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case, a few papers, and
an ivory-handled knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss
& Co., London.
"This is a very singular knife," said Holmes, lifting it up and
examining it minutely. "I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it, that it
is the one which was found in the dead man's grasp. Watson, this knife is
surely in your line?"
"It is what we call a cataract knife," said I.
"I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work.
A strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a rough expedition,
especially as it would not shut in his pocket."
"The tip was guarded by a disc of cork which we found beside his
body," said the inspector. "His wife tells us that the knife had lain upon
the dressing-table, and that he had picked it up as he left the room. It
was a poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on at
the moment."
"Very possibly. How about these papers?"
"Three of them are receipted hay-dealers' accounts. One of them is a
letter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a milliner's
account for thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier, of
Bond Street, to William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker tells us that Derbyshire
was a friend of her husband's and that occasionally his letters were
addressed here."
"Madame Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes," remarked Holmes,
glancing down the account. "Twenty-two guineas is rather heavy for a
single costume. However, there appears to be nothing more to learn, and we
may now go down to the scene of the crime."
As we emerged from the sitting-room a woman, who had been waiting in
the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon the inspector's
sleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager, stamped with the print of
a recent horror.
"Have you got them? Have you found them?" she panted.
"No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes here has come from London to help
us, and we shall do all that is possible."
"Surely I met you in Plymouth at a garden-party some little time ago,
Mrs. Straker?" said Holmes.
"No, sir; you are mistaken."
"Dear me! Why, I could have sworn to it. You wore a costume of
dove-coloured silk with ostrich-feather trimming."
"I never had such a dress, sir," answered the lady.
"Ah, that quite settles it," said Holmes. And with an apology he
followed the inspector outside. A short walk across the moor took us to
the hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink of it was the
furze-bush upon which the coat had been hung.
"There was no wind that night, I understand," said Holmes.
"None, but very heavy rain."
"In that case the overcoat was not blown against the furzebush, but
placed there."
"Yes, it was laid across the bush."
"You fill me with interest. I perceive that the ground has been
trampled up a good deal. No doubt many feet have been here since Monday
night."
"A piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we have all
stood upon that."
"Excellent."
"In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one of
Fitzroy Simpson's shoes, and a cast horseshoe of Silver Blaze."
"My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself!" Holmes took the bag, and,
descending into the hollow, he pushed the matting into a more central
position. Then stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin upon
his hands, he made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of him.
"Hullo!" said he suddenly. "What's this?" It was a wax vesta, half burned,
which was so coated with mud that it looked at first like a little chip of
wood.
"I cannot think how I came to overlook it," said the inspector with
an expression of annoyance.
"It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was
looking for it."
"What! you expected to find it?"
"I thought it not unlikely."
He took the boots from the bag and compared the impressions of each
of them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up to the rim of the
hollow and crawled about among the ferns and bushes.
"I am afraid that there are no more tracks," said the inspector. "I
have examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each
direction."
"Indeed!" said Holmes, rising. "I should not have the impertinence to
do it again after what you say. But I should like to take a little walk
over the moor before it grows dark that I may know my ground to-morrow,
and I think that I shall put this horseshoe into my pocket for luck."
Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my
companion's quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his watch. "I
wish you would come back with me, Inspector," said he. "There are several
points on which I should like your advice, and especially as to whether we
do not owe it to the public to remove our horse's name from the entries
for the cup."
"Certainly not," cried Holmes with decision. "I should let the name
stand."
The colonel bowed. "I am very glad to have had your opinion, sir,"
said he. "You will find us at poor Straker's house when you have finished
your walk, and we can drive together into Tavistock."
He turned back with the inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowly
across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the stable of
Mapleton, and the long sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold,
deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and brambles
caught the evening light. But the glories of the landscape were all wasted
upon my companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought.
"It's this way, Watson," said he at last. "We may leave the question
of who killed John Straker for the instant and confine ourselves to
finding out what has become of the horse. Now, supposing that he broke
away during or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to? The horse
is a very gregarious creature. If left to himself his instincts would have
been either to return to King's Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why should
he run wild upon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now. And why
should gypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out when they hear of
trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the police. They could not
hope to sell such a horse. They would run a great risk and gain nothing by
taking him. Surely that is clear."
"Where is he, then?"
"I have already said that he must have gone to King's Pyland or to
Mapleton. He is not at King's Pyland. Therefore he is at Mapleton. Let us
take that as a working hypothesis and see what it leads us to. This part
of the moor, as the inspector remarked, is very hard and dry. But it falls
away towards Mapleton, and you can see from here that there is a long
hollow over yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday night. If our
supposition is correct, then the horse must have crossed that, and there
is the point where we should look for his tracks."
We had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a few more
minutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmes's request I walked
down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but I had not taken fifty
paces before I heard him give a shout and saw him waving his hand to me.
The track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of
him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly fitted the
impression.
"See the value of imagination," said Holmes. "It is the one quality
which Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened, acted upon the
supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let us proceed."
We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of
dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we came on the tracks.
Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more
quite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them first, and he stood
pointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A man's track was visible
beside the horse's.
"The horse was alone before," I cried.
"Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is this?"
The double track turned sharp off and took the direction of King's
Pyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His eyes
were on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side and saw to
my surprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction.
"One for you, Watson," said Holmes when I pointed it out. "You have
saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our own traces.
Let us follow the return track."
We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up
to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran out
from them.
"We don't want any loiterers about here," said he.
"I only wished to ask a question," said Holmes, with his finger and
thumb in his waistcoat pocket. "Should I be too early to see your master,
Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o'clock to-morrow morning?"
"Bless you, sir, if anyone is about he will be, for he is always the
first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer your questions for himself.
No, sir, no, it is as much as my place is worth to let him see me touch
your money. Afterwards, if you like."
As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn from
his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with a
hunting-crop swinging in his hand.
"What's this, Dawson!" he cried. "No gossiping! Go about your
business! And you, what the devil do you want here?"
"Ten minutes' talk with you, my good sir," said Holmes in the
sweetest of voices.
"I've no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no strangers here.
Be off, or you may find a dog at your heels."
Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer's ear.
He started violently and flushed to the temples.
"It's a lie!" he shouted. "An infernal lie!"
"Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over in
your parlour?"
"Oh, come in if you wish to."
Holmes smiled. "I shall not keep you more than a few minutes,
Watson." said he. "Now. Mr. Brown. I am quite at your disposal."
It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into grays before
Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change as had
been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face was ashy
pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his hands shook until
the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind. His bullying,
overbearing manner was all gone too, and he cringed along at my compan-
ion's side like a dog with its master.
"Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done," said he.
"There must be no mistake," said Holmes, looking round at him. The
other winced as he read the menace in his eyes.
"Oh, no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I
change it first or not?"
Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. "No, don't,"
said he, "I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now, or --"
"Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!"
"Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow." He
turned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the other held
out to him, and we set off for King's Pyland.
"A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than Master
Silas Brown I have seldom met with," remarked Holmes as we trudged along
together.
"He has the horse, then?"
"He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly
what his actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that I
was watching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes in the
impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them. Again,
of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing. I described
to him how, when according to his custom he was the first down, he
perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor. How he went out to it,
and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead which has
given the favourite its name, that chance had put in his power the only
horse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. Then I
described how his first impulse had been to lead him back to King's
Pyland, and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horse until
the race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed it at
Mapleton. When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought only of
saving his own skin."
"But his stables had been searched?"
"Oh, an old horse-faker like him has many a dodge."
"But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now since he
has every interest in injuring it?"
"My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows
that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe."
"Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show
much mercy in any case."
"The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methods
and tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of being
unofficial. I don't know whether you observed it, Watson, but the
colonel's manner has been just a trifle cavalier to me. I am inclined now
to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about the
horse."
"Certainly not without your permission."
"And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the
question of who killed John Straker."
"And you will devote yourself to that?"
"On the contrary, we both go back to London by the night train."
I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. We had only been a few
hours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which he
had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a word more
could I draw from him until we were back at the trainer's house. The
colonel and the inspector were awaiting us in the parlour.
"My friend and I return to town by the night-express," said Holmes.
"We have had a charming little breath of your beautiful Dartmoor air."
The inspector opened his eyes, and the colonel's lip curled in a
sneer.
"So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker," said he.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "There are certainly grave
difficulties in the way," said he. "I have every hope, however, that your
horse will start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you will have your jockey in
readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John Straker?"
The inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him.
"My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might ask you to
wait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put to
the maid."
"I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London consultant,"
said Colonel Ross bluntly as my friend left the room. "I do not see that
we are any further than when he came."
"At least you have his assurance that your horse will run," said I.
"Yes, I have his assurance," said the colonel with a shrug of his
shoulders. "I should prefer to have the horse."
I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when he
entered the room again.
"Now, gentlemen," said he, "I am quite ready for Tavistock."
As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the door
open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned
forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.
"You have a few sheep in the paddock," he said. "Who attends to
them?"
"I do, sir."
"Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?"
"Well, sir, not of much account, but three of them have gone lame,
sir."
I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and
rubbed his hands together.
"A long shot, Watson, a very long shot," said he, pinching my arm.
"Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic among
the sheep. Drive on, coachman!"
Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion
which he had formed of my companion's ability, but I saw by the
inspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused.
"You consider that to be important?" he asked.
"Exceedingly so."
"Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?"
"To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time."
"The dog did nothing in the night-time."
"That was the curious incident," remarked Sherlock Holmes.
Four days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound for
Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Rloss met us by
appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the course
beyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was cold in the
extreme.
"I have seen nothing of my horse," said he.
"I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?" asked Holmes.
The colonel was very angry. "I have been on the turf for twenty years
and never was asked such a question as that before," said he. "A child
would know Silver Blaze with his white forehead and his mottled
off-foreleg."
"How is the betting?"
"Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got fifteen to
one yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you can
hardly get three to one now."
"Hum!" said Holmes. "Somebody knows something, that is clear."
As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grandstand I glanced at
the card to see the entries.
Wessex Plate [it ran] 50 sovs. each h ft with 1000 sovs.
added, for four and five year olds. Second, 300 pounds. Third, 200 pounds. New course (one mile and five furlongs).
Mr. Heath Newton's The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket.
Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black jacket.
Lord Backwater's Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves.
Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze. Black cap. Red jacket.
Duke of Balmoral's Iris. Yellow and black stripes.
Lord Singleford's Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves.
"We scratched our other one and put all hopes on your word," said the
colonel. "Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favourite?"
"Five to four against Silver Blaze!" roared the ring. "Five to four
against Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to four on
the field!"
"There are the numbers up," I cried. "They are all six there."
"All six there? Then my horse is running," cried the colonel in great
agitation. "But I don't see him. My colours have not passed."
"Only five have passed. This must be he."
As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing enclosure
and cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red of
the colonel.
"That's not my horse," cried the owner. "That beast has not a white
hair upon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, well, let us see how he gets on," said my friend
imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass.
"Capital! An excellent start!" he cried suddenly. "There they are, coming
round the curve!"
From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. The
six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them,
but halfway up the yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front.
Before they reached us, however, Desborough's bolt was shot, and the
colonel's horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good six
lengths before its rival, the Duke of Balmoral's Iris making a bad third.
"It's my race, anyhow," gasped the colonel, passing his hand over his
eyes. "I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don't you
think that you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?"
"Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go round
and have a look at the horse together. Here he is," he continued as we
made our way into the weighing enclosure, where only owners and their
friends find admittance. "You have only to wash his face and his leg in
spirits of wine, and you will find that he is the same old Silver Blaze as
ever."
"You take my breath away!"
"I found him in the hands of a faker and took the liberty of running
him just as he was sent over."
"My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit and
well. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies for
having doubted your ability. You have done me a great service by
recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could lay your
hands on the murderer of John Straker."
"I have done so," said Holmes quietly.
The colonel and I stared at him in amazement. "You have got him! Where is he, then?"
"He is here."
"Here! Where?"
"In my company at the present moment."
The colonel flushed angrily. "I quite recognize that I am under
obligations to you, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but I must regard what you have
just said as either a very bad joke or an insult."
Sherlock Holmes laughed. "I assure you that I have not associated you
with the crime, Colonel," said he. "The real murderer is standing
immediately behind you." He stepped past and laid his hand upon the glossy
neck of the thoroughbred.
"The horse!" cried both the colonel and myself.
"Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was
done in self-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely
unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell, and as I stand to
win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation until
a more fitting time."
We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as we
whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one to
Colonel Ross as well as to myself as we listened to our companion's
narrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor
training-stables upon that Monday night, and the means by which he had
unravelled them.
"I confess," said he, "that any theories which I had formed from the
newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there were indications
there, had they not been overlaid by other details which concealed their
true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson
was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw that the evidence against
him was by no means complete. It was while I was in the carriage, just as
we reached the trainer's house, that the immense significance of the
curried mutton occurred to me. You may remember that I was distrait and
remained sitting after you had all alighted. I was marvelling in my own
mind how I could possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue."
"I confess," said the colonel, "that even now I cannot see how it
helps us."
"It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is by
no means tasteless. The flavour is not disagreeable, but it is
perceptible. Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would
undoubtedly detect it and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly
the medium which would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition
could this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in
the trainer's family that night, and it is surely too monstrous a
coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered opium
upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which would disguise
the flavour. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated
from the case, and our attention centres upon Straker and his wife, the
only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that
night. The opium was added after the dish was set aside for the
stable-boy, for the others had the same for supper with no ill effects.
Which of them, then, had access to that dish without the maid seeing them?
"Before deciding that question I had grasped the significance of the
silence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests others. The
Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables, and yet,
though someone had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked
enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnight visitor
was someone whom the dog knew well.
"I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker went
down to the stables in the dead of the night and took out Silver Blaze.
For what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug
his own stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have been
cases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of money by
laying against their own horses through agents and then preventing them
from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimes it is
some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I hoped that the contents
of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion.
"And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife which
was found in the dead man's hand, a knife which certainly no sane man
would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knife
which is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery. And it
was to be used for a delicate operation that night. You must know, with
your wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible to
make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse's ham, and to do it
subcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treated
would develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a strain in
exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play."
"Villain! Scoundrel!" cried the colonel.
"We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to take the
horse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainly
roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It
was absolutely necessary to do it in the open air."
"I have been blind!" cried the colonel. "Of course that was why he
needed the candle and struck the match."
"Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enough
to discover not only the method of the crime but even its motives. As a
man of the world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry other people's
bills about in their pockets. We have most of us quite enough to do to
settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading a double life
and keeping a second establishment. The nature of the bill showed that
there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive tastes. Liberal as
you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buy
twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questioned Mrs. Straker
as to the dress without her knowing it, and, having satisfied myself that
it had never reached her, I made a note of the milliner's address and felt
that by calling there with Straker's photograph I could easily dispose of
the mythical Derbyshire.
"From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to a
hollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in his flight had
dropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it up -- with some idea,
perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse's leg. Once in the
hollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light; but the
creature, frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of
animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the
steel shoe had struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already, in
spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate
task, and so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh. Do I make it clear?"
"Wonderful!" cried the colonel. "Wonderful! You might have been
there!"
"My final shot was, I confess. a very long one. It struck me that so
astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nicking
without a little practise. What could he practise on? My eyes fell upon
the sheep. and I asked a question which, rather to my surprise, showed
that my surmise was correct.
"When I returned to London I called upon the milliner, who had
recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire. who
had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for expensive dresses. I
have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head and ears in debt,
and so led him into this miserable plot."
"You have explained all but one thing," cried the colonel. "Where was
the horse?"
"Ah, it bolted. and was cared for by one of your neighbours. We must
have an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction. if I
am not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. If
you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel. I shall be happy to give
you any other details which might interest you."
