"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 defence of my friend when he
entered the room again.
"Now, gentlemen," said he, "I am quite ready for Tavistock."
As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads held the door
open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned
forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve.
"You have a few sheep in the paddock," he said. "Who attends to
them?"
"I do, sir."
"Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?"
"Well, sir, not of much account; but three of them have gone lame,
sir."
I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and
rubbed his hands together.
"A long shot, Watson; a very long shot," said he, pinching my arm.
"Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic
among the sheep. Drive on, coachman!"
Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion
which he had formed of my companion's ability, but I saw by the
Inspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused.
"You consider that to be important?" he asked.
"Exceedingly so."
"Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?"
"To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time."
"The dog did nothing in the night-time."
"That was the curious incident," remarked Sherlock Holmes.
Four days later Holmes and I were again in the train, bound for
Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel 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, ?00. Third, ?00. 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
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 its back the well-known
black and red of the Colonel.
"That's not my horse," cried the owner. "That beast has not a white
hair upon its body. What is this that you have done, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, well, let us see how he gets on," said my friend,
imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed through my field-glass.
"Capital! An excellent start!" he cried suddenly. "There they are,
coming round the curve!"
From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the straight. The
six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered
them, but 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-defence, and that John Straker was a man who was
entirely unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell, and as
I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy
explanation until a more fitting time."
We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as we
whirled back to London, and I fancy that the journey was a short one
to Colonel Ross as well as to myself, as we listened to our
companion's narrative of the events which had occurred at the
Dartmoor training-stables upon the Monday night, and the means by
which he had unravelled them.
"I confess," said he, "that any theories which I had formed from the
newspaper reports were entirely erroneous. And yet there were
indications there, had they not been overlaid by other details which
concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction
that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although, of course, I saw
that the evidence against him was by no means complete. It was while
I was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer's house, that
the immense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You
may remember that I was distrait, and remained sitting after you had
all alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly
have overlooked so obvious a clue."
"I confess," said the Colonel, "that even now I cannot see how it
helps us."
"It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is by
no means tasteless. The 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
