“It’s this way, Watson,” said he at last. “We may leave thequestion of who killed John Straker for the instant, and confineourselves to finding out what has become of the horse. Now,supposing that he broke away during or after the tragedy, wherecould he have gone to? The horse is a very gregarious creature. Ifleft to himself his instincts would have been either to return toKing’s Pyland or go over to Mapleton. Why should he run wildupon the moor? He would surely have been seen by now. And whyshould gypsies kidnap him? These people always clear out whenthey hear of trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by thepolice. They could not hope to sell such a horse. They would run agreat 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 Pylandor to Mapleton. He is not at King’s Pyland. Therefore he is atMapleton. Let us take that as a working hypothesis and see whatit leads us to. This part of the moor, as the Inspector remarked, isvery hard and dry. But it falls away towards Mapleton, and you cansee from here that there is a long hollow over yonder, which musthave been very wet on Monday night. If our supposition is correct,then the horse must have crossed that, and there is the pointwhere we should look for his tracks.”
We had been walking briskly during this conversation, and a fewmore 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 wasplainly outlined in the soft earth in front of him, and the shoewhich he took from his pocket exactly fitted the impression.
“See the value of imagination,” said Holmes. “It is the onequality which Gregory lacks. We imagined what might havehappened, acted upon the supposition, and find ourselves justified.
Let us proceed.”
We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of amile of dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped, and again we cameon the tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pickthem up once more quite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes whosaw them first, and he stood pointing with a look of triumph uponhis 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 ofKing’s Pyland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along afterit. His eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a little to oneside, and saw to my surprise the same tracks coming back again inthe opposite direction.
“One for you, Watson,” said Holmes, when I pointed it out. “Youhave saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back onour own traces. Let us follow the return track.”
We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of asphalt whichled up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, agroom 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 fingerand thumb in his waistcoat pocket. “Should I be too early to seeyour master, Mr. Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o’clock tomorrowmorning?”
“Bless you, sir, if any one is about he will be, for he is alwaysthe first stirring. But here he is, sir, to answer your questions forhimself. No, sir, no; it is as much as my place is worth to let himsee me touch your money. Afterwards, if you like.”
As Sherlock Holmes replaced the half-crown which he haddrawn from his pocket, a fierce-looking elderly man strode outfrom the gate with a hunting-crop swinging in his hand.
“What’s this, Dawson!” he cried. “No gossiping! Go about yourbusiness! And you, what the devil do you want here?”
“Ten minutes’ talk with you, my good sir,” said Holmes in thesweetest of voices.
“I’ve no time to talk to every gadabout. We want no strangerhere. Be off, or you may find a dog at your heels.”
Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in thetrainer’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 overin 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 graysbefore Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen sucha change as had been brought about in Silas Brown in that shorttime. His face was ashy pale, beads of perspiration shone upon hisbrow, and his hands shook until the hunting-crop wagged like abranch in the wind. His bullying, overbearing manner was all gonetoo, and he cringed along at my companion’s side like a dog withits master.
“Your instructions will be done. It shall all be done,” said he.
“There must be no mistake,” said Holmes, looking round athim. The other winced as he read the menace in his eyes.
“Oh no, there shall be no mistake. It shall be there. Should Ichange 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.” Heturned upon his heel, disregarding the trembling hand which theother held out to him, and we set off for King’s Pyland.
“A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak thanMaster Silas Brown I have seldom met with,” remarked Holmes aswe trudged along together.
“He has the horse, then?”