Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes SILVER BLAZE

"I AM afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go," said Holmes as we satdown 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 notalready been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topicof conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a wholeday my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon hischest and his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with thestrongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions orremarks. Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our newsagent, only to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silentas 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 hispowers of analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of thefavourite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When,therefore, he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the sceneof 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 theway," said I."My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me bycoming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for there arepoints 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 gofurther into the matter upon our journey. You would oblige me bybringing with you your very excellent field-glass."And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the cornerof a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while SherlockHolmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped travellingcap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he had procuredat Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before he thrust the lastone of them under the seat and offered me his cigar-case."We are going well," said he, looking out of the window and glancingat 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 intothis matter of the murder of John Straker and the disappearance of SilverBlaze?""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 personalimportance to so many people that we are suffering from a plethora ofsurmise, conjecture, and hypothesis. The difficulty is to detach theframework of fact-of absolute undeniable fact-from the embellishmentsof theorists and reporters. Then, having established [336] ourselves uponthis sound basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn andwhat are the special points upon which the whole mystery turns. OnTuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel Ross, the ownerof the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking after the case,inviting my cooperation.""Tuesday evening!" I exclaimed. "And this is Thursday morning. Whydidn't you go down yesterday?""Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson-which is, I am afraid, amore common occurrence than anyone would think who only knew methrough your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it possible thatthe most remarkable horse in England could long remain concealed,especially in so sparsely inhabited a place as the north of Dartmoor. Fromhour to hour yesterday I expected to hear that he had been found, and thathis abductor was the murderer of John Straker. When, however, anothermorning had come and I found that beyond the arrest of young FitzroySimpson nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to takeaction. 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 shallenumerate them to you, for nothing clears up a case so much as stating itto another person, and I can hardly expect your cooperation if I do notshow 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 pointsupon the palm of his left hand, gave me a sketch of the events which hadled to our journey."Silver Blaze," said he, "is from the Somomy stock and holds asbrilliant a record as his famous ancestor. He is now in his fifth year andhas brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to Colonel Ross, hisfortunate owner. Up to the time of the catastrophe he was the firstfavourite for the Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. Hehas always, however, been a prime favourite with the racing public andhas never yet disappointed them, so that even at those odds enormoussums of money have been laid upon him. It is obvious, therefore, thatthere were many people who had the strongest interest in preventingSilver Blaze from being there at the fall of the flag next Tuesday."The fact was, of course, appreciated at King's Pyland, where thecolonel's training-stable is situated. Every precaution was taken to guardthe favourite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey who rode inColonel Ross's colours before he became too heavy for the weighingchair. He has served the colonel for five years as jockey and for seven astrainer, 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 inthe stable, while the others slept in the loft. All three bore excellentcharacters. John Straker, who is a married man, lived in a small villaabout two hundred yards from the stables. He has no children, keeps onemaidservant, and is comfortably off. The country round is very lonely, butabout half a mile to the north there is a small cluster of villas which havebeen built by a Tavistock contractor for the use of invalids and others whomay wish to enjoy the pure Dartmoor air. Tavistock itself lies two milesto the west, while across the moor, also about two miles distant, is thelarger training establishment of Mapleton, which belongs to LordBackwater and is managed by Silas Brown. In every other direction themoor [337] is a complete wilderness, inhabited only by a few roaminggypsies. Such was the general situation last Monday night when thecatastrophe 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 upto the trainer's house, where they had supper in the kitchen, while thethird, Ned Hunter, remained on guard. At a few minutes after nine themaid, Edith Baxter, carried down to the stables his supper, whichconsisted of a dish of curried mutton. She took no liquid, as there was awater-tap in the stables, and it was the rule that the lad on duty shoulddrink nothing else. The maid carried a lantern with her, as it was verydark and the path ran across the open moor."Edith Baxter was within thirty yards of the stables when a manappeared out of the darkness and called to her to stop. As she stepped intothe circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern she saw that he was aperson of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a gray suit of tweeds, with acloth cap. He wore gaiters and carried a heavy stick with a knob to it. Shewas most impressed, however, by the extreme pallor of his face and bythe nervousness of his manner. His age, she thought, would be rather overthirty than under it." 'Can you tell me where I am?' he asked. 'I had almost made up mymind 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 astable-boy sleeps there alone every night. Perhaps that is his supper whichyou are carrying to him. Now I am sure that you would not be too proudto earn the price of a new dress, would you?' He took a piece of whitepaper 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 himto the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. Itwas already opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. Shehad begun to tell him of what had happened when the stranger came upagain." 'Good-evening,' said he, looking through the window. 'I wanted tohave a word with you.' The girl has sworn that as he spoke she noticedthe 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 theother. 'You've two horses in for the Wessex Cup-Silver Blaze andBayard. Let me have the straight tip and you won't be a loser. Is it a factthat at the weights Bayard could give the other a hundred yards in fivefurlongs, and that the stable have put their money on him?'" 'So, you're one of those damned touts!' cried the lad. 'I'll show youhow we serve them in King's Pyland.' He sprang up and rushed acrossthe stable to unloose the dog. The girl fled away to the house, but as sheran she looked back and saw that the stranger was leaning through thewindow. A minute later, however, when Hunter rushed out with thehound he was gone, and though he ran all round the buildings he failed tofind any trace of him.""One moment," I asked. "Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with thedog, leave the door unlocked behind him?""Excellent, Watson, excellent!" murmured my companion. "Theimportance of the point struck me so forcibly that I sent a special wire toDartmoor yesterday [338] to clear the matter up. The boy locked the doorbefore he left it. The window, I may add, was not large enough for a manto get through."Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned, when he sent amessage to the trainer and told him what had occurred. Straker wasexcited at hearing the account, although he does not seem to have quiterealized its true significance. It left him, however, vaguely uneasy, andMrs. Straker, waking at one in the morning, found that he was dressing. Inreply to her inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account of hisanxiety about the horses, and that he intended to walk down to the stablesto see that all was well. She begged him to remain at home, as she couldhear the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of her entreaties hepulled on his large mackintosh and left the house."Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning to find that her husbandhad not yet returned. She dressed herself hastily, called the maid, and setoff for the stables. The door was open; inside, huddled together upon achair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the favourite's stallwas empty, and there were no signs of his trainer."The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft above the harnessroom were quickly aroused. They had heard nothing during the night, forthey are both sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under the influence ofsome powerful drug, and as no sense could be got out of him, he was leftto sleep it off while the two lads and the two women ran out in search ofthe absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer had for some reasontaken out the horse for early exercise, but on ascending the knoll near thehouse, from which all the neighbouring moors were visible, they not onlycould see no signs of the missing favourite, but they perceived somethingwhich warned them that they were in the presence of a tragedy."About a quarter of a mile from the stables John Straker's overcoat wasflapping from a furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shapeddepression in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the dead bodyof the unfortunate trainer. His head had been shattered by a savage blowfrom some heavy weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where therewas a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some very sharp instrument.It was clear, however, that Straker had defended himself vigorouslyagainst his assailants, for in his right hand he held a small knife, whichwas clotted with blood up to the handle, while in his left he clasped a redand black silk cravat, which was recognized by the maid as having beenworn on the preceding evening by the stranger who had visited thestables. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive asto the ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain that the samestranger 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 fatalhollow that he had been there at the time of the struggle. But from thatmorning he has disappeared, and although a large reward has beenoffered, and all the gypsies of Dartmoor are on the alert, no news hascome of him. Finally, an analysis has shown that the remains of hissupper left by the stable-lad contained an appreciable quantity ofpowdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the same dishon the same night without any ill effect."Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and statedas baldly as possible. I shall now recapitulate what the police have donein the matter."Inspector Gregory, to whom the case has been committed, is anextremely [339] competent officer. Were he but gifted with imagination hemight rise to great heights in his profession. On his arrival he promptlyfound and arrested the man upon whom suspicion naturally rested. Therewas little difficulty in finding him, for he inhabited one of those villaswhich I have mentioned. His name, it appears, was Fitzroy Simpson. Hewas a man of excellent birth and education, who had squandered a fortuneupon the turf, and who lived now by doing a little quiet and genteel bookmaking in the sporting clubs of London. An examination of his bettingbook shows that bets to the amount of five thousand pounds had beenregistered by him against the favourite. On being arrested he volunteeredthe statement that he had come down to Dartmoor in the hope of gettingsome information about the King's Pyland horses, and also aboutDesborough, the second favourite, which was in charge of Silas Brown atthe Mapleton stables. He did not attempt to deny that he had acted asdescribed upon the evening before, but declared that he had no sinisterdesigns and had simply wished to obtain first-hand information. Whenconfronted with his cravat he turned very pale and was utterly unable toaccount for its presence in the hand of the murdered man. His wetclothing showed that he had been out in the storm of the night before, andhis stick, which was a penang-lawyer weighted with lead, was just such aweapon as might, by repeated blows, have inflicted the terrible injuries towhich the trainer had succumbed. On the other hand, there was no woundupon his person, while the state of Straker's knife would show that one atleast of his assailants must bear his mark upon him. There you have it allin a nutshell, Watson, and if you can give me any light I shall be infinitelyobliged 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 factswere familiar to me, I had not sufficiently appreciated their relativeimportance, nor their connection to each other."Is it not possible," I suggested, "that the incised wound upon Strakermay 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 oneof the main points in favour of the accused disappears.""And yet," said I, "even now I fail to understand what the theory of thepolice can be.""I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections toit," returned my companion. "The police imagine, I take it, that thisFitzroy Simpson, having drugged the lad, and having in some wayobtained a duplicate key, opened the stable door and took out the horse,with the intention, apparently, of kidnapping him altogether. His bridle ismissing, so that Simpson must have put this on. Then, having left the dooropen behind him, he was leading the horse away over the moor when hewas either met or overtaken by the trainer. A row naturally ensued.Simpson beat out the trainer's brains with his heavy stick withoutreceiving any injury from the small knife which Straker used in selfdefence, and then the thief either led the horse on to some secret hidingplace, or else it may have bolted during the struggle, and be nowwandering 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 thespot, and until then I cannot really see how we can get much further thanour present position."[340] 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 ofDartmoor. Two gentlemen were awaiting us in the station-the one a tall,fair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously penetrating light blueeyes; the other a small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coatand gaiters, with trim little side-whiskers and an eyeglass. The latter wasColonel Ross, the well-known sportsman; the other, Inspector Gregory; aman who was rapidly making his name in the English detective service."I am delighted that you have come down, Mr. Holmes," said thecolonel. "The inspector here has done all that could possibly besuggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poorStraker 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 theinspector. "We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubtlike to see the place before the light fails, we might talk it over as wedrive."A minute later we were all seated in a comfortable landau and wererattling through the quaint old Devonshire city. Inspector Gregory wasfull of his case and poured out a stream of remarks, while Holmes threwin an occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back withhis arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened withinterest to the dialogue of the two detectives. Gregory was formulating histheory, 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 recognizethat the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some newdevelopment may upset it.""How about Straker's knife?""We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in hisfall.""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. Theevidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great interest inthe disappearance of the favourite. He lies under suspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy; he was undoubtedly out in the storm; he wasarmed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead man'shand. 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 toinjure it, why could he not do it there? Has a duplicate key been found inhis 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 asthis? What is his own explanation as to the paper which he wished themaid to give to the stable-boy?""He says that it was a ten-pound note. One was found in his purse. Butyour other difficulties are not so formidable as they seem. He is not astranger to the district. He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the summer.The opium was probably brought from London. The key, having servedits purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at the bottom of oneof 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 anew [341] element has been introduced into the case which may accountfor his leading the horse from the stable."Holmes pricked up his ears."We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encampedon Monday night within a mile of the spot where the murder took place.On Tuesday they were gone. Now, presuming that there was someunderstanding between Simpson and these gypsies, might he not havebeen leading the horse to them when he was overtaken, and may they nothave him now?""It is certainly possible.""The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examinedevery 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. AsDesborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an interest inthe disappearance of the favourite. Silas Brown, the trainer, is known tohave 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 connecthim with the affair.""And nothing to connect this man Simpson with the interests of theMapleton stables?""Nothing at all."Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and the conversation ceased. A fewminutes later our driver pulled up at a neat little red-brick villa withoverhanging eaves which stood by the road. Some distance off, across apaddock, lay a long gray-tiled outbuilding. In every other direction thelow curves of the moor, bronze-coloured from the fading ferns, stretchedaway to the sky-line, broken only by the steeples of Tavistock, and by acluster of houses away to the westward which marked the Mapletonstables. We all sprang out with the exception of Holmes, who continuedto 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 heroused himself with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage."Excuse me," said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked at himin some surprise. "I was day-dreaming." There was a gleam in his eyesand a suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as Iwas to his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though I could notimagine 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 twoquestions 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 atthe time of his death, Inspector?""I have the things themselves in the sitting-room if you would care tosee them.""I should be very glad." We all filed into the front room and sat roundthe central table while the inspector unlocked a square tin box and laid asmall heap of things before us. There was a box of vestas, two inches oftallow candle, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of sealskin with half anounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold chain, fivesovereigns in gold, an aluminum pencil-case, a few [342] papers, and anivory-handled knife with a very delicate, inflexible blade marked Weiss &Co., London."This is a very singular knife," said Holmes, lifting it up and examiningit minutely. "I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it, that it is the onewhich was found in the dead man's grasp. Watson, this knife is surely inyour line?""It is what we call a cataract knife," said I."I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work. Astrange 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 hisbody," said the inspector. "His wife tells us that the knife had lain uponthe dressing-table, and that he had picked it up as he left the room. It wasa poor weapon, but perhaps the best that he could lay his hands on at themoment.""Very possibly. How about these papers?""Three of them are receipted hay-dealers' accounts. One of them is aletter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a milliner's accountfor thirty-seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame Lesurier, of BondStreet, to William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker tells us that Derbyshire was afriend of her husband's, and that occasionally his letters were addressedhere.""Madame Derbyshire had somewhat expensive tastes," remarkedHolmes, glancing down the account. "Twenty-two guineas is rather heavyfor 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 waitingin the passage, took a step forward and laid her hand upon the inspector'ssleeve. Her face was haggard and thin and eager, stamped with the printof 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 helpus, 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 dovecoloured 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 hefollowed the inspector outside. A short walk across the moor took us tothe hollow in which the body had been found. At the brink of it was thefurze-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, butplaced there.""Yes, it was laid across the bush.""You fill me with interest. I perceive that the ground has been trampledup 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 allstood upon that." "Excellent."[343] "In this bag I have one of the boots which Straker wore, one ofFitzroy 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 centralposition. Then stretching himself upon his face and leaning his chin uponhis 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 ofwood."I cannot think how I came to overlook it," said the inspector with anexpression of annoyance."It was invisible, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was lookingfor it.""What! you expected to find it?""I thought it not unlikely."He took the boots from the bag and compared the impressions of eachof them with marks upon the ground. Then he clambered up to the rim ofthe hollow and crawled about among the ferns and bushes."I am afraid that there are no more tracks," said the inspector. "I haveexamined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each direction.""Indeed!" said Holmes, rising. "I should not have the impertinence todo it again after what you say. But I should like to take a little walk overthe 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 mycompanion's quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his watch."I wish you would come back with me, Inspector," said he. "There areseveral points on which I should like your advice, and especially as towhether we do not owe it to the public to remove our horse's name fromthe entries for the cup.""Certainly not," cried Holmes with decision. "I should let the namestand."The colonel bowed. "I am very glad to have had your opinion, sir," saidhe. "You will find us at poor Straker's house when you have finishedyour walk, and we can drive together into Tavistock."He turned back with the inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowlyacross the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the stable ofMapleton, and the long, sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold,deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded ferns and bramblescaught the evening light. But the glories of the landscape were all wastedupon my companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought."It's this way, Watson," said he at last. "We may leave the question ofwho killed John Straker for the instant and confine ourselves to findingout what has become of the horse. Now, supposing that he broke awayduring or after the tragedy, where could he have gone to? The horse is avery gregarious creature. If left to himself his instincts would have beeneither to return to King's Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why should herun wild upon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now. And why should gypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out whenthey 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 andgain 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 toMapleton. [344] 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. Thispart of the moor, as the inspector remarked, is very hard and dry. But itfalls away towards Mapleton, and you can see from here that there is along hollow over yonder, which must have been very wet on Mondaynight. 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 moreminutes brought us to the hollow in question. At Holmes's request Iwalked down the bank to the right, and he to the left, but I had not takenfifty paces before I heard him give a shout and saw him waving his handto me. The track of a horse was plainly outlined in the soft earth in frontof him, and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly fitted theimpression."See the value of imagination," said Holmes. "It is the one qualitywhich Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened, actedupon the supposition, and find ourselves justified. Let us proceed."We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile ofdry, 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 morequite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them first, and he stoodpointing with a look of triumph upon his face. A man's track was visiblebeside 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'sPyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His eyeswere on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side and saw to mysurprise the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction."One for you, Watson," said Holmes when I pointed it out. "You havesaved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our owntraces. Let us follow the return track."We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt which led up tothe gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran outfrom them."We don't want any loiterers about here," said he."I only wished to ask a question," said Holmes, with his finger andthumb 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 firststirring. 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 yourmoney. Afterwards, if you like." As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he had drawn fromhis pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode out from the gate with ahunting-crop swinging in his hand."What's this, Dawson!" he cried. "No gossiping! Go about yourbusiness! And you, what the devil do you want here?""Ten minutes' talk with you, my good sir," said Holmes in the sweetestof voices."I've no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no strangers here. Beoff, 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!"[345] "Very good. Shall we argue about it here in public or talk it overin 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 beforeHolmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change ashad been brought about in Silas Brown in that short time. His face wasashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon his brow, and his handsshook until the hunting-crop wagged like a branch in the wind. Hisbullying, overbearing manner was all gone too, and he cringed along atmy companion'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. Theother winced as he read the menace in his eyes."Oh, no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change itfirst or not?"Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. "No, don't," saidhe, "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." Heturned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the otherheld out to him, and we set off for King's Pyland."A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than MasterSilas Brown I have seldom met with," remarked Holmes as we trudgedalong together."He has the horse, then?""He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly what hisactions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that I waswatching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes in theimpressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them. Again,of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing. I describedto him how, when according to his custom he was the first down, heperceived a strange horse wandering over the moor. How he went out toit, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the white forehead whichhas given the favourite its name, that chance had put in his power the onlyhorse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. Then Idescribed how his first impulse had been to lead him back to King'sPyland, and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horseuntil the race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed it atMapleton. When I told him every detail he gave it up and thought only ofsaving 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 hehas every interest in injuring it?""My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows thathis only hope of mercy is to produce it safe.""Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely toshow much mercy in any case.""The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methodsand tell as much or as little as I choose. That is the advantage of beingunofficial. I don't know whether you observed it, Watson, but thecolonel's manner has been just a [346] trifle cavalier to me. I am inclinednow to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him aboutthe horse.""Certainly not without your permission.""And of course this is all quite a minor point compared to the questionof 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 fewhours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which hehad begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a wordmore 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 difficultiesin the way," said he. "I have every hope, however, that your horse willstart 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 towait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put to themaid.""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 weare 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 hisshoulders. "I should prefer to have the horse."I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend when heentered 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 dooropen for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leanedforward and touched the lad upon the sleeve."You have a few sheep in the paddock," he said. "Who attends tothem?""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 andrubbed 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 epidemicamong the sheep. Drive on, coachman!"Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinionwhich he had formed of my companion's ability, but I saw by theinspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused."You consider that to be important?" he asked."Exceedingly so."[347] "Is there any point to which you would wish to draw myattention?""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 forWinchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us byappointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the coursebeyond the town. His face was grave, and his manner was cold in theextreme."I have seen nothing of my horse," said he."I suppose that you would know him when you saw him?" askedHolmes.The colonel was very angry. "I have been on the turf for twenty yearsand never was asked such a question as that before," said he. "A childwould 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 oneyesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter, until you canhardly 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 atthe 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. Third, £200. New course(one mile and five furlongs).1. Mr. Heath Newton's The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon jacket.2. Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black jacket.3. Lord Backwater's Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves.4. Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze. Black cap. Red jacket.5. Duke of Balmoral's Iris. Yellow and black stripes.6. Lord Singleford's Rasper. Purple cap. Black sleeves."We scratched our other one and put all hopes on your word," said thecolonel. "Why, what is that? Silver Blaze favourite?""Five to four against Silver Blaze!" roared the ring. "Five to fouragainst Silver Blaze! Five to fifteen against Desborough! Five to four onthe 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 greatagitation. "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 enclosureand cantered past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red ofthe colonel."That's not my horse," cried the owner. "That beast has not a white hairupon 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! Anexcellent start!" he cried suddenly. "There they are, coming round thecurve!"From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. Thesix 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, [348] however, Desborough's bolt was shot, andthe colonel's horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good sixlengths 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 hiseyes. "I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don't you thinkthat you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?""Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let us all go round andhave a look at the horse together. Here he is," he continued as we madeour 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 ofwine, 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 himjust as he was sent over.""My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit andwell. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies forhaving doubted your ability. You have done me a great service byrecovering my horse. You would do me a greater still if you could layyour 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 underobligations to you, Mr. Holmes," said he, "but I must regard what youhave just said as either a very bad joke or an insult."Sherlock Holmes laughed. "I assure you that I have not associated youwith the crime, Colonel," said he. "The real murderer is standingimmediately behind you." He stepped past and laid his hand upon theglossy 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 inself-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely unworthyof 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 fittingtime."We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as wewhirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one toColonel Ross as well as to myself as we listened to our companion'snarrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor trainingstables upon that Monday night, and the means by which he hadunravelled them."I confess," said he, "that any theories which I had formed from thenewspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there wereindications there, had they not been overlaid by other details whichconcealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction thatFitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw that theevidence against him was by no means complete. It was while I was in thecarriage, just as we reached the trainer's house, that the immensesignificance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You may rememberthat I was [349] distrait and remained sitting after you had all alighted. Iwas marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have overlooked soobvious a clue.""I confess," said the colonel, "that even now I cannot see how it helpsus.""It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is byno means tasteless. The flavour is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible.Were it mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would undoubtedly detectit and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the mediumwhich would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could thisstranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served in the trainer'sfamily that night, and it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to supposethat he happened to come along with powdered opium upon the verynight when a dish happened to be served which would disguise theflavour. That is unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated fromthe case, and our attention centres upon Straker and his wife, the only twopeople who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night. Theopium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for theothers 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 thesilence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests others. TheSimpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables, andyet, though someone had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had notbarked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the midnightvisitor was someone whom the dog knew well."I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker wentdown to the stables in the dead of the night and took out Silver Blaze. Forwhat purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug hisown stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have beencases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of moneyby laying against their own horses through agents and then preventing them from winning by fraud. Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimesit is some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I hoped that thecontents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion."And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife whichwas found in the dead man's hand, a knife which certainly no sane manwould choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knifewhich is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery. And itwas to be used for a delicate operation that night. You must know, withyour wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible tomake a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse's ham, and to do itsubcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treatedwould develop a slight lameness, which would be put down to a strain inexercise 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 thehorse out on to the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainlyroused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It wasabsolutely necessary to do it in the open air.""I have been blind!" cried the colonel. "Of course that was why heneeded the candle and struck the match.""Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enoughto discover not only the method of the crime but even its motives. As aman of the [350] world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry otherpeople's bills about in their pockets. We have most of us quite enough todo to settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading adouble life and keeping a second establishment. The nature of the billshowed that there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensivetastes. Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect thatthey can buy twenty-guinea walking dresses for their ladies. I questionedMrs. Straker as to the dress without her knowing it, and, having satisfiedmyself that it had never reached her, I made a note of the milliner'saddress and felt that by calling there with Straker's photograph I couldeasily dispose of the mythical Derbyshire."From that time on all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to ahollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson in his flight haddropped 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 hadgot behind the horse and had struck a light; but the creature, frightened atthe sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling thatsome mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struckStraker full on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, taken offhis overcoat in order to do his delicate task, and so, as he fell, his knifegashed his thigh. Do I make it clear?""Wonderful!" cried the colonel. "Wonderful! You might have beenthere!""My final shot was, I confess, a very long one. It struck me that soastute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nickingwithout a little practise. What could he practise on? My eyes fell upon thesheep, 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 hadrecognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire,who had a very dashing wife, with a strong partiality for expensivedresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head andears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot.""You have explained all but one thing," cried the colonel. "Where wasthe horse?""Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbours. We musthave an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction, if Iam not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. Ifyou care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to giveyou any other details which might interest you."