"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 upon 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 favorite
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 favor
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 traveling
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 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 any one 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 favorite
for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. He has always, however,
been a prime favorite 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 favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey who
rode in Colonel Ross's colors 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 he 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 tonight, 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 favorite'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 neighboring moors were visible, they not only could see no signs of the missing
favorite, 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 contain 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 bookmaking 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 favorite.
On being arrested he volunteered that 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 favorite, 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 firsthand 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 Penang-lawyer 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 in not possible," I suggested, "that the incised
would 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 favor 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-defense, 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 favorite. 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 favorite. 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-colored from the fading ferns, stretched away to the skyline,
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 daydreaming."
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 tomorrow."
"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 this 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 laid 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 bade
marked Weiss & Co., London.
"This is a very singular knife," said Holmes, lifting
it up and examining it minutely.
"I presume, as I see bloodstains 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 disk 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 possible. 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."
"Madam 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-colored 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 furze-bush, 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 tomorrow,
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
stables 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' 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 tomorrow. morning?"
"Bless you, sir, if any one 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 stranger 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 parlor?"
"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 companion's side like a dog with
its master.
"You 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 tomorrow." 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 favorite 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, and old horse-fakir 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 parlor.
"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 defense 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 nighttime."
"The dog did nothing in the nighttime."
"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 Ross 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 grand
stand 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, L300. Third, L200. 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 favorite?"
"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 colors have not passed."
"Only five have passed. This must be he." As I
spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighting enclosure and cantered
past us, bearing on it 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 half way 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 fakir, 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-defense, 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
the Monday night, and the means by which he had unraveled 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 marveling 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 flavor 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 flavor. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated
from the case, and our attention centers 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 some one 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
some one 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 practice. What could he practice 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
neighbors. 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."