Season II - Episode III - Silver Blaze

A champion vanishes, a trainer lies dead on the moor, and everyone points at the obvious suspect. We take you to Dartmoor, where small, stubborn facts outlast the noise: a plate of curried mutton that can hide bitterness, a watchdog that refuses to bark, and a set of hoofprints that trace a horse’s instincts better than any witness ever could. From the first telegram to the last stride at the Wessex Cup, we walk through each decisive turn and show how the case hinges on details most would overlook.

Along the way, you’ll meet Fitzroy Simpson, a bookmaker with every reason to root against the favourite, and Silas Brown, a rival trainer whose bluster melts when the ground gives up its story. We unpack why a delicate cataract knife appears in a field at midnight, why three sheep going lame can matter more than a hundred headlines, and how a racehorse can stand right before you while you swear you’ve never seen him. The silent dog becomes a witness. The milliner’s bill becomes a map to motive. And a painted coat turns a grandstand into a stage for the neatest twist in turf history.

By the time the numbers go up and the crowd roars, the mystery is already solved; the course merely confirms it. We share the reasoning that clears the wrong man, recovers Silver Blaze, and exposes a quiet fraud built on debt and desperation. If you love classic detective logic, forensic observation without the lab, and the thrill of a finish line that rewrites the start, this story will hit every mark. Press play, ride the clues with us, and if the reveal delights you, follow, share with a friend who loves a good mystery, and leave a quick review so others can find the show.

Transcript

The Case That Grips England

SPEAKER_02 0:08

Sherlock Holmes Alone. Season two, Episode Three, Silver Blades.

Train To Dartmoor And The Facts

The Night Visitor And The Drugged Supper

Straker’s Death And Simpson’s Arrest

At King’s Pyland: Clues And A Curious Knife

On The Moor: Tracks And A Theory

Confronting Silas Brown

Keeping Secrets And The Silent Dog

Race Day: The “Stranger” In Colonel’s Colours

SPEAKER_00 0:26

I'm afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go. Go? Go where, Holmes? To Dartmoor, to King's Pyland, of course. I'm not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder is that you have not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which is the topic of conversation throughout the length and breadth of England. For a whole day you have rambled about the room with your chin upon your chest and your brows knitted, charging and recharging your pipe with the strongest possible black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions of every paper have been sent up by our news agent, only to be glanced over and tossed out into the corner. Yet, silent as you have been, I knew perfectly well what it was over which you were brooding. There is but one problem before the public which could challenge your powers of analysis, and that is the singular disappearance of the favourite for the Wessex Cup and the tragic murder of its trainer. When therefore you just now suddenly announce your intention of setting out for the scene of the drama, it was only what I had expected and hoped for. I am so very proud of you, my dear Watson. Your powers of reason and deduction are improving with every passing day. I should be most happy to go down to Kingspiland with you if I should not be in the way. Oh, my dear Watson, you will confer on me a great favour uh by coming, and I think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about this 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 glasses. And so it happened that an hour or so later we found ourselves in the corner of a first class carriage, flying along en route for Exeter. I dipped rapidly into my bundle of fresh papers which I had procured at Paddington. We had left reading far behind us before I thrust the last one of them under the seat and offered Watson my cigar case. Ah, Watson, we are going well. I was looking out the window and glancing at my watch. Our rate at present is fifty three and a half miles per hour. No, uh I have not observed the quarter mile post, Holmes. Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty yards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume, Watson, that you yourself have looked into the matter of the murder of John Stryker and the disappearance of Silver Blaze. Oh, I've seen what the telegraph and the chronicle have to say about it. It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be used rather for the shifting of details than for the acquisition 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 hypotheses. 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 a telegram from both Colonel Ross, the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is looking after the case, inviting my cooperation. Tuesday evening, Holmes. And this is Thursday morning. Why on earth did you not go down yesterday? Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson, which is, I'm afraid, a more common occurrence than I would care to admit. 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 no doubt the murderer of John Straker. When, however, after 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 entirely wasted. You have formed a theory, then, Holmes. At least I've got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I shall emmunerate them to you now, 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. Watson lay back against the cushions, puffing at his cigar, while I, leaning forward, with my forefinger, checked off the points upon the palm of my left hand, giving Watson a sketch of the events which had led to our journey. Silver Blaze is from Somony's stock, and holds a brilliant a record as his famous ancestor, but he is now in his fifth year, and has brought in turn each of the prizes of the turf to the Colonel 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 some 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 Kings Piland, 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 there 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 maid servant, 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 Travistock contractor for the use of invalids and others who may wish to enjoy the pure Dartmouth air. Travistock 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 a rule that the lad on duty should drink nothing but water. 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 he stepped into the circle of yellow light thrown by the lantern, she saw that he was a person of gentlemanly bearing, dressed in a grey suit of tweeds with a cloth cap. He wore gaiters and carried a heavy stick with a knob on 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. Ah, Miss, can you tell me where I am? I had almost made up my mind to sleep upon the moor when I saw the light of your lantern. You are close to King's Piland training stable, sir. Oh indeed. What a stroke of luck. 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? At this point the stranger took a piece of white paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. Now, Miss, see that the boy has this tonight and you shall have the prettiest frock that money can buy. She was very frightened by the stranger's earnestness, and ran past him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. It was already open, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. She had begun to tell him of what happened when the stranger came up again. Good evening. I I wanted to have a word with you. Now 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? It's business that may put something into your pocket, young man. You've got two horses for the Wessex Cup, Silver Blazed and Bayard. Let me have the straight tip, and you won't be a loser. Now, is it a fact that the ways 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 damn touts. I'll show you how we serve damn touts in King's Pilant. Now young Ned sprang up and rushed across the stable to unloose the dog. Miss Baxter 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 the stranger. And no no one moment, Holmes. Did the stable boy when he ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind him? Excellent, Watson, excellent. The importance of that 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 might 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 misses 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 Macintosh 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, Ned Hunter, the stable boy, was sunk in a state of absolute stupor. The favourite stall was empty, and there was no sign 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 at 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 an 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 horse, 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 firze bush. Immediately beyond there was a bowl shaped oppression 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. Stable boy Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as to the ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain that the stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the stables of their watchmen. 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 effects. These are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and stated as boldly 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 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 bookmaking 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 horse Silver Blaze. 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 Piland 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 he 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 indeed been out in the storm of the night before, and his stick, which was a penang layer, 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. Is it not possible, Holmes, that the incised wound upon Straker may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsions and struggles which follow any brain injury? It is more than possible, Watson, it is probable. In that case, one of the main points in favour of the accused disappears. And yet, Holmes, even now, I fail to understand what the theory of the police can be. I'm afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections to it. 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 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 defense. 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 upon 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. It was early evening before we reached the little town of Travistock, 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, one a tall, fair man, with lion like hair and a beard, and curiously penetrating light blue eyes, the other a small, alert person very neat and dapper, in a frock coat and gaiters, with a trim little side whiskers and an eye glass. 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. The inspector here has shown all that could possibly be suggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poor Stryker and in recovering my horse. Have there been any fresh developments? I'm sorry to say that we have made very little progress. We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubt like to see the place before the light falls, 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 I threw in the occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back with his arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while Watson listened with interest to the dialogue of we two detectives. Gregory was formulating his theory, which was almost exactly what I had foretold in the train. Oh the net is drawn pretty close around Fitzroy Simpson, and I believe myself that he is our man. And at the same time I recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some new development may upset it. Indeed, Inspector, how about Straker's knife? We've had to come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his fall. My friend Dr. Watson here made that suggestion to me as we came down. If so, it would tell against this man Simpson. Undoubtedly, Mr Holmes. He has neither a knife nor any sign of wound. The evidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great interest in the disappearance of Silverblaze, the favourite. He lies under suspicion of having poisoned the stable boy. He was undoubtedly out in the storm. And he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead man's hand. I really think that we do have enough to go before a jury. No, no, no, Inspector, a clever counsel would tear it all to rags. Why should he take the horse out of the stable? If he wished to injure it, why could he not do so 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? Well, Mr Holmes, 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, but has twice lodged at Travistock in the summer. The opium was probably brought down from London. The key, having served its purpose, would be hurled away. The horse May be at the bottom of one of those pits, or one of the old mines upon the moor. Well, Inspector, 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. 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 the horse now. It is certainly possible, Inspector. The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examined every stable and outhouse in Travistock, and for a radius of ten miles. Well, there is another training stable quite close, I understand. Yes, yes, indeed, Mr Holmes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect. As Desborough, their horse was second in the betting. So they had an interest in the disappearance of the favourite. Silas Brown, the trainer, is known to have had a large bet 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 Mapleton stables? Oh no. Nothing at all, Holmes. I leaned back in the carriage as 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 grey tiled outbuilding. In every other direction the low curves of the moor, bronze colored from the fading ferns, stretched away to the skyline, broken only by the steeples of Travistock, and by a cluster of houses away to the westward, which marked the Mapleton stables. Everyone sprang out of the carriage, with the exception of myself. I continued to lean back with my eyes fixed upon the sky in front of me, entirely absorbed in my own thoughts. It was only when Watson touched my arm that I roused myself with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage. Colonel Ross was looking at me in some surprise. Excuse me, gentlemen, I was daydreaming. Watson gave me a look. He must have noticed a gleam in my eye, and a suppressed excitement in my manner which convinced him, used as he was to my ways, that my hand was upon a clue. Uh well, perhaps you would prefer, Mr Holmes, at once to go on to the scene of the crime. I think that I should prefer to stay here a little longer, Inspector, and go into one or two questions of detail. Stryker was brought back here, I presume. Yes. He lies upstairs. The inquest is tomorrow. He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross. Yes, yes, Mr Holmes, I've 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, Mr Holmes, 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, a briar root pipe, a pouch of sealskin with half an ounce of long cut Cavendish tobacco, a silver watch with a gold chain, five sovereigns in gold, an aluminium pencil case, a few papers, and an ivory handled knife, with a very delicate, inflexible blade, marked Vice and Company, London. This is a very singular knife. I lifted it up and examined it minutely. I presume, as I see bloodstains upon it, that this is the one which was found in the dead man's grasp. Watson, I believe that this knife is probably more in your line, is it not? Yes, Holmes, it's it is what we call a cataract knife. 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. Ah, doctor Watson, the tip was guarded by a disc of cork, which we found beside his body. 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 upon at the moment. Ah yes, very possible, Inspector. Now how about these papers? Three of them are receipts from Haydealer's accounts. One of them is a letter of instructions from Colonel Ross. This other is a Milner's account for thirty seven pounds fifteen made out by Madame Lozier of Bond Street. To a William Derbysher. Mrs. Stryker tells us that Derbysher was a friend of her husband's, and that occasionally his letters were addressed here. Madame Derbyshire has somewhat expensive taste. twenty two guineas is rather a 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.

SPEAKER_01 27:44

Have you got them? Have you found them, Inspector? No, no, Mrs.

Holmes Explains The Plot And The Horse

SPEAKER_00 27:49

Stryker, but Mr Holmes has come down from London to help us, and we shall do all that is possible. Surely, madam, I have met you in Plymouth at a garden party some little time ago? No, sir, you are mistaken. Dear me, why I could have sworn it was you. You wore a costume of dove colored silk with ostrich feather trimming. I I never had such a dress, sir. Ah Well that quite settles it. My apologies, Mrs. Stryker. I am indeed mistaken. We 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 a furs bush upon which the coat had been hung. There was no wind that night, I understand. None, Holmes. But uh very heavy rain. In that case, the overcoat was not blown against the furs bush. But placed there? Yes, that's correct, Mr Holmes. 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. Ah, a piece of matting has been laid here at the side, and we have all stood upon that. Excellent, Inspector Gregory. Excellent. In this bag I have one of the boots which strike a war, one of Fitzroy Simpson's shoes, and a cast of horseshoe from Silverblaze. My dear Inspector, you surpass yourself. I took the bag and descending into the hollow, I pushed the matting onto a more central position. Then, stretching myself out upon my face and leaning my chin upon my hands, I made a careful study of the trampled mud in front of me. Hello? What's this? It was a wax vestor half burned, which was so coated with mud that it looked at first like a little chip of wood. Oh Mr Holmes, I cannot think how I came to overlook that. It was invisible. Buried in the mud, I only saw it because I was looking for it. What? You expected to find that vest in the mud? I thought it not unlikely. I took the boots from the bag and compared the impressions of each of them with the marks upon the ground. Then I climbed up to the rim of the hollow and crawled about among the ferns and bushes. I'm afraid, Mr Holmes, that there's no more tracks. I've examined the ground very carefully for a hundred yards in each direction. Indeed, Inspector Gregory, 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 the ground tomorrow. And I think that I shall put this horseshoe into my pocket for good luck. Colonel Ross, who had shown some signs of impatience at my quiet and systematic method of work, glanced at his watch. Eh I wish um I wish you would come back with me, Inspector. 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. No, no, no. Colonel Ross, certainly not. I shall let the name stand. I'm glad to have your opinion, Mr Holmes. You will find the inspector and myself at Poor Stryker's house, when you have finished your walk, Mr Holmes, and we can drive together into Tradestock. Colonel Ross turned back with the inspector, while Watson and I walked slowly across the moor. The sun was beginning to sink behind the stables 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. It's this way, Watson. 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? Now the horse is a very gregarious creature. If left to himself, his instincts would have been either to return to King's Piland 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 great risk, and gain nothing by taking him. Surely that is clear. Well then, Holmes, where on earth is he then? I have already said that he must have gone either to King's Pyland or to Mapleton. He is not at Kingspiland, 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 already remarked, is very hard and dry, but it falls away toward 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 my request, Watson walked down the bank to the right and I to the left, but I had not taken fifty paces before I gave a shout, and waved my hand in Watson's direction. The track of the horse was plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of me, and the shoe which I took from my pocket exactly fitted the impression. My dear Holmes, I suddenly see the value of imagination. Indeed, Watson, it is the one quality which Inspector Gregory lacks. We imagined what might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and find ourselves justified. Haha. Let us proceed. We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter of a mile of dry hard turf. Again the ground was sloped, and again we came upon the tracks. Then we lost them for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more quite close to Mapleton. It was I who saw them first, and I stood pointing and feeling rather triumphant. A man's track was visible beside the horses. Ah the horse was alone before, was he not, Holmes? Quite so. It was alone before. Hello, now what is this? The double track turned sharp off and took in the direction of King's Piland. Hmm. And we both followed along after it. My eyes were on the trail, but Watson's happened to look a little to one side and saw to his surprise, the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction. My Holmes, these tracks are identical. Ah, now I'll mark that one up for you, Watson. You have saved us a long walk which of which would have brought us back upon our own traces. Let us follow the return track. We had not to go far. It ended at the paving of the asphalt which led up to the gates of Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran out from them.

SPEAKER_01 35:10

We don't want no loiterers around here.

SPEAKER_00 35:13

I only wish to ask a question. I had removed a half crown from my whisket pocket. The lad eyed the money covetously. Um tell me, young man, should I be too early to see your master, Mr Silas Brown, if I were to call at five o'clock tomorrow morning? I made a motion to hand him the shillings. Bless you, sir, but if anyone is about he will be, for he's always the first stirring. But here he is now, sir. To answer your question for himself. No, sir, please, no, no, don't hand that to me now. It's as much as my place is worth to let him see me touch your money. Afterwards, if you like. As I replaced the half crown in which I had drawn from my pocket, a fierce looking elderly man strode out from a gate, with a hunting crop swinging in his hand.

SPEAKER_01 36:02

What's this, Dawson? No gossiping. Get about your business, and you what the devil are you around here?

SPEAKER_00 36:10

Ten minutes talk with you, my good sir. I've no time to talk to every gun about. We don't want the strangers here. Be off with you, or you may find a dog at your heels. I leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer's ear. He started violently and flushed to the temples.

SPEAKER_01 36:28

It's a lie. That's an infernal lie.

SPEAKER_00 36:32

Very good. Well, shall we argue about it here in public or talk it over quietly in your parlour?

SPEAKER_01 36:40

Well come in if you wish to.

SPEAKER_00 36:43

Now Watson, I think it'd be best if you stood guard here. I won't keep you more than a few minutes. Now, Mr Brown, I am quite at your disposal. It was twenty minutes, and the reds had all faded into greys before I and the trainer reappeared. Mr Silas Brown had undergone a rather noteworthy shift in his attitude. 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 but gone, and he cringed along at my side like a dog with its master. Your instructions will be done, Mr Mr Holmes. It shall all be done. There must be no mistake, Mr. Brown. No, no, no, there shall be no mistake.

SPEAKER_01 37:35

It shall all be there. No, don't.

SPEAKER_00 37:43

I shall write you about it. No tricks.

SPEAKER_01 37:47

No, no, no, of course not. You can trust me. You can trust me.

SPEAKER_00 37:51

Yes, I think I can. Well, you shall hear from me tomorrow. I turned upon my heel, disregarding the trembling hand which the trainer held out to me. And we set off for Kingspiland. A more perfect compound of the bully coward and sneak than Master Silas Brown I have seldom met with, Watson. Indeed, Holmes. It is rather obvious from his shifted manner that he has the horse. Yes, 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 observe the peculiarity of the 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 describe 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 to his astonishment, at recognizing from the white forehead which has given the favourite silver blaze its name, that chance had put in his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which he had put all his money. Then I described how he first had the impulse to lead him back to King's Piland, 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 but his stables have been searched, Holmes. Ah, Watson, 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 safely. Well, Holmes, 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 I 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 Colonel Ross's manner has been just a trifle cavalier toward me, and I am inclined now to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about the horse. Yes, certainly not, not without your permission, Holmes. And of course, this is all quite a minor point compared to the question of who killed John Straker. And now you will devote yourself to that, Hans? On the contrary, Watson, we both go back to London by the night train. I am thunderstruck by your words, Holmes. We've only been a few hours in Devonshire, and that we should give up an investigation which you have begun so brilliantly is quite incomprehensible to me. Not a word more will you draw for me until we are back at the trainer's house. When we arrived the colonel and the inspector were awaiting us in the parlour. Dr. Watson and I returned to town by the Night Express. We have had a charming little breath of your beautiful Dartmoor ear. The inspector opened his eyes wide, and the colonel's lip curled into a sneer. Sis so you despair of arresting the murder of poor Straker? Ah, there are certainly grave difficulties in that way, Colonel. 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 me. My dear Inspector 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 could overhear the Colonel speaking rather bluntly as I left the room. Well I must say that I'm rather disappointed in our London consultant. I do not see that we are any further ahead than when he arrived. Well, with all due respect, Colonel, you at least have mister Holmes' assurance that your horse will run. Yes, yes, I have his assurance.

SPEAKER_01 42:10

I should prefer to have the horse. I entered the room.

SPEAKER_00 42:14

Now, gentlemen, I am quite ready for Travistock. As we stepped into the carriage, one of the stable lads held the door open for us. A sudden idea occurred to me. I leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve. Excuse me, young fellow. You have a few sheep in the paddock. Who attends them? Hey well. Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late?

SPEAKER_01 42:38

Well, sir, not much of a count, but three of them have gone lane, sir. Very good lad. I was extremely pleased.

SPEAKER_00 42:48

That was a long shot, Watson. A very long shot. Inspector 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 he had formed of my ability. But I saw by the inspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused. You consider that the sheep are important to you, Mr. Holmes? Exceedingly so, Inspector. Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention? To the curious incident of the dog in the night.

SPEAKER_01 43:29

But Holmes, the dog did nothing in the night.

SPEAKER_00 43:33

That was the curious incident, Colonel. Four days later, Watts 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 to the extreme. I have seen nothing of my horse, Hans. I suppose that you would know. him if you saw him? I've been on the turf for twenty years, and never, never was I asked such a question as that before. A child would know silver blaze with his his white forehead and his mottled foreleg.

SPEAKER_01 44:13

Now is the betting.

SPEAKER_00 44:15

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. Hmm somebody knows something, that is clear. As the drag drew up to the enclosure near the grandstand, I glanced at a card to see the entries. One Mr Heath Newton's Luna red cap, cinnamon jacket. Two, Colonel Wardell's Pugilist with pink cap, blue and black jacket. Three Lord Backwater's Desbro with yellow cap and sleeves. Four Colonel Ross's silver blaze with black cap and red jacket. Five Duke of Balmoral's iris with yellow and black stripes. Six Lord Singleford's rasper with purple cap with black sleeves. We we scratched out our other one and put all our hopes in your word Mr.

SPEAKER_01 45:15

Holmes five to four against Silverblaze what's that? Silverblaze favorite five to four against Silverblaze five to fifteen against Despera five to four on the field now look at that gentleman.

SPEAKER_00 45:35

The numbers are up there all six there all six there then my horse is running but I don't see him my colours have not passed well Colonel Ross, only five have passed. This must be he No sooner were the words out of Watson's mouth when a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing enclosure and cantered past us, bearing on its back a well known black and red of the colonel That's not my horse Holmes.

SPEAKER_01 46:05

That beast has not a white hair upon its body What is this that you have done, Mr Holmes?

SPEAKER_00 46:11

Well well, well let us see how he gets on anyway for a few minutes I gazed through Watson's field glasses. Capital an excellent start there they are coming round the curve. From our drag we had a superb view as they came up upon the strait. The six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them. But halfway up the yellow of the Mapleton stables 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. I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don't you think that you've kept up your mystery long enough, Mr Holmes Certainly, Colonel You shall now know everything. Let us go around and have a look at the horse together. Here he is We made our way into the weighing enclosure where only owners and their friends find admittance. Now Colonel, 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 Mr Holmes you 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've done wonders the horse looks very fit and well I never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your ability, Mr Holmes. You have done me a great service by recovering my horse you would do me a greater one still if you could lay your hands upon the murderer of John Stryker I have indeed done so, Colonel you've got him?

SPEAKER_01 48:01

You've got him well where is he? Where is he then? He is here here? Well where? In my company at the present moment.

SPEAKER_00 48:10

Now I quite recognise that I'm under obligation to you, Mr Holmes, but I must regard what you have just said as either a very bad joke or as an insult I assure you, Colonel, that I have not associated you with the crime. The real murderer is standing immediately behind me. I step past and laid my hand upon the glossy neck of the thoroughbred. The horse, Holmes Silver place, Mr Holmes? Yes, gentlemen, the horse and it may lessen his guilt if I were to say that it was done in self defence, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your confidence, Colonel. But there goes the bell, and as I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer 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 Watson, as I laid out the narrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor training stables upon the Monday night, and the means by which I had unraveled them. I confess 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 indeed 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 distraight, and remained sitting after you all had alighted from the carriage. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue. Maybe I confess that even now, Mr Holmes, I cannot see how it helped us Well Colonel, 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 regular dish, the eater would undoubtedly detect it and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise the 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 the dish happened to be served which would disguise the flavour. That is absolutely unthinkable. Therefore Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centers upon Stryker 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 and had no ill effects. Which of them then had access to that dish without the maid seeing them Now 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 the 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 Silverblaze. 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 more subtle means. What was it here? I hope that the contents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion. And they did just that Now you cannot have forgotten the 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 so subcutaneously, so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treated would develop a slight lameness which would be put down to strain or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play villain scoundrel this striker was Indeed, Colonel, we have here the explanation of why John Stryker wished to take the horse out on 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. But but I I have been blind of course that was why he needed the candle and why he struck the match undoubtedly Colonel 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 accounts. 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 indeed a lady in the case, and one who had very 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 never reached her, I made a note of the Milner'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 striker 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? Oh wonderful, wonderful, Mr Holmes You might have been there Well 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 practice. What could he practice on? My eyes fell upon the sheep, and I asked the question which, rather to my surprise, showed that my surmise was correct. When I returned to London I called upon the Milner, who had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire, who had a very dashing young wife, with a strong partiality for expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plugged him over the head and ears in debt. So led him into this miserable plot. Where was the horse? Ah I'm afraid Colonel it bolted and was cared for by one of your neighbors We must have a little amnesty in that direction, I think, Colonel Ah, this is Chapman Junction, if I'm 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 Sherlock Holmes Alone adapted and performed by J.

SPEAKER_02 57:07

P. Winslow based on the original writings of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I think, I think