The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes | Page 8

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. 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 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 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.
"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