THE COMPLETE SHERLOCK HOLMES

                          MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES


                                 SILVER BLAZE

"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 favourite 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 of 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 anyone 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 cooperation 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 favourite for the Wessex
Cup, the betting being three to one on him.  He has always, however, been a
prime favourite 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 favourite.  The trainer, John Straker, is a retired jockey who rode in
Colonel Ross's colours 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 maidservant, 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 she 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 favourite'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 neighbouring moors were visible, they not only could see no
signs of the missing favourite, 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 contained 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 favourite.  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 favourite, 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 it 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 favour 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 eyeglass.  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 favourite.  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 outhouse 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 favourite.  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 outbuilding.  In every other direction the low
curves of the moor, bronze-coloured 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 his 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 sealskin 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 disc 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 possibly.  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."
     "Madame 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-coloured 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 stable 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's 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 anyone 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 strangers 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 parlour?"
     "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
favourite 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, an 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 parlour.
     "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 grandstand 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).
          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 favourite?"
     "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 colours have not passed."
     "Only five have passed.  This must be he."
     As I spoke a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing 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
halfway 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 that
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 flavour 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 flavour.  That is unthinkable.  Therefore
Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centres 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 someone 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
someone 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 practise.  What could he practise 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 neighbours.  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."