attention. He then sat in deep thought for a time, and I could see by
his ruffled brow that this grim discovery had not, in his opinion,
advanced us much in our inquiry.
"It is a little difficult to know what to do, Watson," said he, at
last. "My own inclinations are to push this inquiry on, for we have
already lost so much time that we cannot afford to waste another
hour. On the other hand, we are bound to inform the police of the
discovery, and to see that this poor fellow's body is looked after."
"I could take a note back."
"But I need your company and assistance. Wait a bit! There is a
fellow cutting peat up yonder. Bring him over here, and he will guide
the police."
I brought the peasant across, and Holmes dispatched the frightened
man with a note to Dr. Huxtable.
"Now, Watson," said he, "we have picked up two clues this morning.
One is the bicycle with the Palmer tyre, and we see what that has led
to. The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we start
to investigate that, let us try to realize what we do know so as to
make the most of it, and to separate the essential from the
accidental."
"First of all I wish to impress upon you that the boy certainly left
of his own free will. He got down from his window and he went off,
either alone or with someone. That is sure."
I assented.
"Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. The boy
was fully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw what he would
do. But the German went without his socks. He certainly acted on very
short notice."
"Undoubtedly."
"Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window, he saw the flight
of the boy. Because he wished to overtake him and bring him back. He
seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing him met his
death."
"So it would seem."
"Now I come to the critical part of my argument. The natural action
of a man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him. He would
know that he could overtake him. But the German does not do so. He
turns to his bicycle. I am told that he was an excellent cyclist. He
would not do this if he did not see that the boy had some swift means
of escape."
"The other bicycle."
"Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death five miles
from the school--not by a bullet, mark you, which even a lad might
conceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by a vigorous arm.
The lad, then, had a companion in his flight. And the flight was a
swift one, since it took five miles before an expert cyclist could
overtake them. Yet we survey the ground round the scene of the
tragedy. What do we find? A few cattle tracks, nothing more. I took a
wide sweep round, and there is no path within fifty yards. Another
cyclist could have had nothing to do with the actual murder. Nor were
there any human footmarks."
"Holmes," I cried, "this is impossible."
"Admirable!" he said. "A most illuminating remark. It is impossible
as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect have stated it
wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest any fallacy?"
"He could not have fractured his skull in a fall?"
"In a morass, Watson?"
"I am at my wit's end."
"Tut, tut; we have solved some worse problems. At least we have
plenty of material, if we can only use it. Come, then, and, having
exhausted the Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with the patched
cover has to offer us."
We picked up the track and followed it onwards for some distance; but
soon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, and we left the
watercourse behind us. No further help from tracks could be hoped
for. At the spot where we saw the last of the Dunlop tyre it might
equally have led to Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of which
rose some miles to our left, or to a low, grey village which lay in
front of us, and marked the position of the Chesterfield high road.
As we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the sign of a
game-cock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan and clutched me
by the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had had one of those
violent strains of the ankle which leave a man helpless. With
difficulty he limped up to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly man
was smoking a black clay pipe.
"How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?" said Holmes.
"Who are you, and how do you get my name so pat?" the countryman
answered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes.
"Well, it's printed on the board above your head. It's easy to see a
man who is master of his own house. I suppose you haven't such a
thing as a carriage in your stables?"
"No; I have not."
"I can hardly put my foot to the ground."
"Don't put it to the ground."
"But I can't walk."
"Well, then, hop."
Mr. Reuben Hayes's manner was far from gracious, but Holmes took it
with admirable good-humour.
"Look here, my man," said he. "This is really rather an awkward fix
for me. I don't mind how I get on."
"Neither do I," said the morose landlord.
"The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign for the
use of a bicycle."
The landlord pricked up his ears.
"Where do you want to go?"
"To Holdernesse Hall."
"Pals of the Dook, I suppose?" said the landlord, surveying our
mud-stained garments with ironical eyes.
Holmes laughed good-naturedly.
"He'll be glad to see us, anyhow."
"Why?"
"Because we bring him news of his lost son."
The landlord gave a very visible start.
"What, you're on his track?"
"He has been heard of in Liverpool. They expect to get him every
hour."
Again a swift change passed over the heavy, unshaven face. His manner
was suddenly genial.
"I've less reason to wish the Dook well than most men," said he, "for
I was his head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me. It was him
that sacked me without a character on the word of a lying
corn-chandler. But I'm glad to hear that the young lord was heard of
in Liverpool, and I'll help you to take the news to the Hall."
"Thank you," said Holmes. "We'll have some food first. Then you can
bring round the bicycle."
"I haven't got a bicycle."
Holmes held up a sovereign.
"I tell you, man, that I haven't got one. I'll let you have two
horses as far as the Hall."
"Well, well," said Holmes, "we'll talk about it when we've had
something to eat."
When we were left alone in the stone-flagged kitchen it was
astonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It was nearly
nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning, so that we
spent some time over our meal. Holmes was lost in thought, and once
or twice he walked over to the window and stared earnestly out. It
opened on to a squalid courtyard. In the far corner was a smithy,
where a grimy lad was at work. On the other side were the stables.
Holmes had sat down again after one of these excursions, when he
suddenly sprang out of his chair with a loud exclamation.
"By Heaven, Watson, I believe that I've got it!" he cried. "Yes, yes,
it must be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any cow-tracks to-day?"
"Yes, several."
"Where?"
"Well, everywhere. They were at the morass, and again on the path,
and again near where poor Heidegger met his death."
"Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows did you see on the moor?"
"I don't remember seeing any."
"Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all along our line, but
never a cow on the whole moor; very strange, Watson, eh?"
"Yes, it is strange."
"Now, Watson, make an effort; throw your mind back! Can you see those
tracks upon the path?"
"Yes, I can."
"Can you recall that the tracks were sometimes like that, Watson"--he
arranged a number of bread-crumbs in this fashion--: : : : :--"and
sometimes like this"--: . : . : . : .--"and occasionally like
this"--. ` . ` . ` ." Can you remember that?"
"No, I cannot."
"But I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at our
leisure and verify it. What a blind beetle I have been not to draw my
conclusion!"
"And what is your conclusion?"
"Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, and gallops.
By George, Watson, it was no brain of a country publican that thought
out such a blind as that! The coast seems to be clear, save for that
lad in the smithy. Let us slip out and see what we can see."
There were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-down
stable. Holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed aloud.
"Old shoes, but newly shod--old shoes, but new nails. This case
deserves to be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy."
The lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmes's eye
darting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood which was
scattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard a step behind
us, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn over his
savage eyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held a
short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing
a fashion that I was right glad to feel the revolver in my pocket.
"You infernal spies!" the man cried. "What are you doing there?"
"Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes," said Holmes, coolly, "one might think that
you were afraid of our finding something out."
The man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouth
loosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than his frown.
"You're welcome to all you can find out in my smithy," said he. "But
look here, mister, I don't care for folk poking about my place
without my leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of
this the better I shall be pleased."
"All right, Mr. Hayes--no harm meant," said Holmes. "We have been
having a look at your horses, but I think I'll walk after all. It's
not far, I believe."
"Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. That's the road to the
left." He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left his premises.
We did not go very far along the road, for Holmes stopped the instant
that the curve hid us from the landlord's view.
"We were warm, as the children say, at that inn," said he. "I seem to
grow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no; I can't
possibly leave it."
"I am convinced," said I, "that this Reuben Hayes knows all about it.
A more self-evident villain I never saw."
"Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the horses,
there is the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this Fighting
Cock. I think we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive
way."
A long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey limestone boulders,
stretched behind us. We had turned off the road, and were making our
way up the hill, when, looking in the direction of Holdernesse Hall,
I saw a cyclist coming swiftly along.
"Get down, Watson!" cried Holmes, with a heavy hand upon my shoulder.
We had hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us on the road.
Amid a rolling cloud of dust I caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated
face--a face with horror in every lineament, the mouth open, the eyes
staring wildly in front. It was like some strange caricature of the
dapper James Wilder whom we had seen the night before.
"The Duke's secretary!" cried Holmes. "Come, Watson, let us see what
he does."
We scrambled from rock to rock until in a few moments we had made our
way to a point from which we could see the front door of the inn.
Wilder's bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it. No one was
moving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at
the windows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind
the high towers of Holdernesse Hall. Then in the gloom we saw the two
side-lamps of a trap light up in the stable yard of the inn, and
shortly afterwards heard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into
the road and tore off at a furious pace in the direction of
Chesterfield.
"What do you make of that, Watson?" Holmes whispered.
"It looks like a flight."
"A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it
certainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door."
A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the middle
