undoubtedly forcing the pace? There can be no doubt of it.
Look at this impression, where you get both tyres clear.
The one is as deep as the other. That can only mean that
the rider is throwing his weight on to the handle-bar,
as a man does when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had
a fall."
There was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of
the track. Then there were a few footmarks, and the tyre
reappeared once more.
"A side-slip," I suggested.
Holmes held up a crumpled branch of flowering gorse.
To my horror I perceived that the yellow blossoms were all
dabbled with crimson. On the path, too, and among the
heather were dark stains of clotted blood.
"Bad!" said Holmes. "Bad! Stand clear, Watson!
Not an unnecessary footstep! What do I read here?
He fell wounded, he stood up, he remounted, he proceeded.
But there is no other track. Cattle on this side path.
He was surely not gored by a bull? Impossible! But I see
no traces of anyone else. We must push on, Watson.
Surely with stains as well as the track to guide us he
cannot escape us now."
Our search was not a very long one. The tracks of the tyre
began to curve fantastically upon the wet and shining path.
Suddenly, as I looked ahead, the gleam of metal caught my
eye from amid the thick gorse bushes. Out of them we
dragged a bicycle, Palmer-tyred, one pedal bent, and the
whole front of it horribly smeared and slobbered with
blood. On the other side of the bushes a shoe was
projecting. We ran round, and there lay the unfortunate
rider. He was a tall man, full bearded, with spectacles,
one glass of which had been knocked out. The cause of his
death was a frightful blow upon the head, which had crushed
in part of his skull. That he could have gone on after
receiving such an injury said much for the vitality and
courage of the man. He wore shoes, but no socks, and his
open coat disclosed a night-shirt beneath it. It was
undoubtedly the German master.
Holmes turned the body over reverently, and examined it
with great 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?" {2}
"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 w
hen 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 of it was the black figure of the secretary,
his head advanced, peering out into the night. It was evident
that he was expecting someone. Then at last there were
steps in the road, a second figure was visible for an
instant against the light, the door shut, and all was black
once more. Five minutes later a lamp was lit in a room
upon the first floor.
"It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by
the Fighting Cock," said Holmes.
"The bar is on the other side."
"Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests.
Now, what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that
den at this hour of night, and who is the companion who
comes to meet him there? Come, Watson, we must really take
a risk and try to investigate this a little more closely."
Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the
door of the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the
wall. Holmes struck a match and held it to the back wheel,
and I heard him chuckle as the light fell upon a patched
Dunlop tyre. Up above us was the lighted window.
"I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your back
and support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage."
An instant later his feet were on my shoulders. But he was
hardly up before he was down again.
"Come, my friend," said he, "our day's work has been quite
long enough. I think that we have gathered all that we
can. It's a long walk to the school, and the sooner we get
started the better."
He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across
the moor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it,
but went on to Mackleton Station, whence he could send some
telegrams. Late at night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable,
prostrated by the tragedy of his master's death,
and later still he entered my room as alert and vigorous as
he had been when he started in the morning. "All goes
well, my friend," said he. "I promise that before to-morrow
evening we shall have reached the solution of the mystery."
At eleven o'clock next morning my friend and I were walking
up the famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were
ushered through the magnificent Elizabethan doorway and
into his Grace's study. There we found Mr. James Wilder,
demure and courtly, but with some trace of that wild terror
of the night before still lurking in his furtive eyes and
in his twitching features.
"You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry; but the fact
is that the Duke is far from well. He has been very much