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.
"You 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-fakir like him has many a dodge."
"But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his
power now, since he has every interest in injuring
it?"
"My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his
eye. He knows that his only hope of mercy is to
produce it safe."
"Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be
likely to show much mercy in any case."
"The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow
my own methods, and tell as much or as little as I
choose. That is the advantage of being unofficial. I
don't know whether you observed it, Watson, but the
Colonel's manner has been just a trifle cavalier to
me. I am inclined now to have a little amusement at
his expense. Say nothing to him about the horse."
"Certainly not without your permission."
"And of course this is all quite a minor point
compared to the question of who killed John Straker."
"And you will devote yourself to that?"
"On the contrary, we both go back to London by the
night train."
I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. We had only
been a few hours in Devonshire, and that he should
give up an investigation which he had begun so
brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a
word more could I draw from him until we were back at
the trainer's house. The Colonel and the Inspector
were awaiting us in the parlor.
"My friend and I return to town by the night-express,"
said Holmes. "We have had a charming little breath of
your beautiful Dartmoor air."
The Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel's lip
curled in a sneer.
"So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor
Straker," said he.
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "There are certainly
grave difficulties in the way," said he. "I have
every hope, however, that your horse will start upon
Tuesday, and I beg that you will have your jockey in
readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John
Straker?"
The Inspector took one from an envelope and handed it
to him.
"My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I
might ask you to wait here for an instant, I have a
question which I should like to put to the maid."
"I must say that I am rather disappointed in our
London consultant," said Colonel Ross, bluntly, as my
friend left the room. "I do not see that we are any
further than when he came."
"At least you have his assurance that your horse will
run," said I.
"Yes, I have his assurance," said the Colonel, with a
shrug of his shoulders. "I should prefer to have the
horse."
I was about to make some reply in defence of my friend
when he entered the room again.
"Now, gentlemen," said he, "I am quite ready for
Tavistock."
As we stepped into the carriage one of the stable-lads
held the door open for us. A sudden idea seemed to
occur to Holmes, for he leaned forward and touched the
lad upon the sleeve.
"You have a few sheep in the paddock," he said. "Who
attends to them?"
"I do, sir."
"Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?"
"Well, sir, not of much account; but three of them
have gone lame, sir."
I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he
chuckled and rubbed his hands together.
"A long sho
t, 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, L300.
Third, L200. New course (one mile and five furlongs).
Mr. Heath Newton's The Negro. Red cap. Cinnamon
jacket.
Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist. Pink cap. Blue and black
jacket.
Lord Backwater's Desborough. Yellow cap and sleeves.
Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze. Black cap. Red jacket.
Duke of Balmoral's Iris. Yellow and black stripes.
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
it back the well-known black and red of the Colonel.
"That's not my horse," cried the owner. "That beast
has not a white hair upon its body. What is this that
you have done, Mr. Holmes?"
"Well, well, let us see how he gets on," said my
friend, imperturbably. For a few minutes he gazed
through my field-glass. "Capital! An excellent
start!" he cried suddenly. "There they are, coming
round the curve!"
From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the
straight. The six horses were so close together that
a carpet could have covered them, but half way up the
yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front.
Before they reached us, however, Desborough's bolt was
shot, and the Colonel's horse, coming away with a
rush, passed the post a good six lengths before its
rival, the Duke of Balmoral's Iris making a bad third.
"It's my race, anyhow," gasped the Colonel, passing
his hand over his eyes. "I confess that I can make
neither head nor tail of it. Don't you think that you
have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?"
"Certainly, Colonel, you shall know everything. Let
us all go round and have a look at the horse together.
Here he is," he continued, as we made our way into the
weighing enclosure, where only owners and their
friends find admittance. "You have only to wash his
face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will find
that he is the same old Silver Blaze as ever."
"You take my breath away!"
"I found him in the hands of a fakir, and took the
liberty of running him just as he was sent over."
"My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks
very fit and well. It never went better in its life.
I owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your
ability. You have done me a great service by
recovering my horse. You would do me a greater still
if you could lay your hands on the murderer of John
Straker."
"I have done so," said Holmes quietly.
The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. "You
have got him! Where is he, then?"
"He is here."
"Here! Where?"
"In my company at the present moment."
The Colonel flushed angrily. "I quite recognize that
I am under obligations to you, Mr. Holmes," said he,
"but I must regard what you have just said as either a
very bad joke or an insult."
Sherlock Holmes laughed. "I assure you that I have
not associated you with the crime, Colonel," said he.
"The real murderer is standing immediately behind
you." He stepped past and laid his hand upon the
glossy neck of the thoroughbred.
"The horse!" cried both the Colonel and myself.
"Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say
that it was done in self-defence, and that John
Straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your
confidence. But there goes the bell, and as I stand
to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a
lengthy explanation until a more fitting time."
We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that
evening as we whirled back to London, and I fancy that
the journey was a short one to Colonel Ross as well as
to myself, as we listened to our companion's narrative
of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor
training-stables upon the Monday night, and the means
by which he had unravelled them.
"I confess," said he, "that any theories which I had
formed from the newspaper reports were entirely
erroneous. And yet there were indications there, had
they not been overlaid by other details which
concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire
with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true
culprit, although, of course, I saw that the evidence
against him was by no means complete. It was
while I
was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer's
house, that the immense significance of the curried
mutton occurred to me. You may remember that I was
distrait, and remained sitting after you had all
alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could
possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue."
"I confess," said the Colonel, "that even now I cannot
see how it helps us."
"It was the first link in my chain of reasoning.
Powdered opium is by no means tasteless. The flavor
is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible. Were it
mixed with any ordinary dish the eater would
undoubtedly detect it, and would probably eat no more.
A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise
this taste. By no possible supposition could this
stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be
served in the trainer's family that night, and it is
surely too monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he
happened to come along with powdered opium upon the
very night when a dish happened to be served which
would disguise the flavor. That is unthinkable.
Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case,
and our attention centers upon Straker and his wife,
the only two people who could have chosen curried
mutton for supper that night. The opium was added
after the dish was set aside for the stable-boy, for
the others had the same for supper with no ill
effects. Which of them, then, had access to that dish
without the maid seeing them?
"Before deciding that question I had grasped the
significance of the silence of the dog, for one true
inference invariably suggests others. The Simpson
incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the
stables, and yet, though some one had been in and had
fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to
arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously the
midnight visitor was some one whom the dog knew well.
"I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that
John Straker went down to the stables in the dead of
the night and took out Silver Blaze. For what
purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why
should he drug his own stable-boy? And yet I was at a
loss to know why. There have been cases before now
where trainers have made sure of great sums of money
by laying against their own horses, through agents,
and then preventing them from winning by fraud.
Sometimes it is a pulling jockey. Sometimes it is
some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I
hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me
to form a conclusion.
"And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the
singular knife which was found in the dead man's hand,
a knife which certainly no sane man would choose for a
weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of
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