inflexible blade marked Weiss & Co., London.
"This is a very singular knife," said Holmes, lifting it up and
examining it minutely. "I presume, as I see blood-stains upon it,
that it is the one which was found in the dead man's grasp. Watson,
this knife is surely in your line?"
"It is what we call a cataract knife," said I.
"I thought so. A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work.
A strange thing for a man to carry with him upon a rough expedition,
especially as it would not shut in his pocket."
"The tip was guarded by a 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
to-morrow, and I think that I shall put this horseshoe into my pocket
for luck."
Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my
companion's quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his
watch. "I wish you would come back with me, Inspector," said he.
"There are several points on which I should like your advice, and
especially as to whether we do not owe it to the public to remove our
horse's name from the entries for the Cup."
"Certainly not," cried Holmes, with decision. "I should let the name
stand."
The Colonel bowed. "I am very glad to have had your opinion, sir,"
said he. "You will find us at poor Straker's house when you have
finished your walk, and we can drive together into Tavistock."
He turned back with the Inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowly
across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the 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 to-morrow
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.
"Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done," said he.
"There must be no mistake," said Holmes, looking round at him. The
other winced as he read the menace in his eyes.
"Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should I change
it first or not?"
Holmes thought a little and then burst out laughing. "No, don't,"
said he; "I shall write to you about it. No tricks, now, or--"
"Oh, you can trust me, you can trust me!"
"Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me to-morrow." He
turned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the other
held out to him, and we set off for King's Pyland.
"A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than Master
Silas Brown I have seldom met with," remarked Holmes as we trudged
along together.
"He has the horse, then?"
"He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly
what his actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that
I was watching him. Of course you observed the peculiarly square toes
in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to
them. Again, of course no subordinate would have dared to do such a
thing. I described to him how, when according to his custom he was
the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor.
How he went out to it, and his astonishment at recognizing, from the
white forehead which has given the 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?"
