The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes | Page 6

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 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 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 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 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