holmes.txt

SILVER BLAZE

                               Arthur Conan Doyle



     "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 up in 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 favour 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 travelling-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
     co-operation 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 maid-servant, 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 to-night, 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 book-making 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 the 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 first-hand 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 wound 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-defence, 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 eye-glass. 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 out-house 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 out-building. In every
     other direction the low curves of the moor, bronze-colored from the
     fading ferns, stretched away to the sky-line, 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 day-dreaming." 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 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 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
     seal-skin 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 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?"

     "Oh, and old horse-faker 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, £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
     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 faker, 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
     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."