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Page 4
"We are going well," said he, looking out 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 any one 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 co-operation 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 favorite for the
Wessex Cup, the betting being three to one on him. He
has always, however, been a prime favorite 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
favorite. The trainer, John Straker, is a retired
jockey who rode in Colonel Ross's colors 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 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
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.
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