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 bade 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!" Homes 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 if 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. Homes 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