The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes

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