As we continued by train toward Dartmoor, Sherlock Holmes told me what the police had done so far.
"Inspector Gregory is a very competent police officer," said Holmes. "If only he had more imagination, he might rise to great heights in his profession. Upon arriving at Dartmoor, he did the obvious thing: he immediately found and arrested Fitzroy Simpson, the stranger who had visited the stable."
"And who is Fitzroy Simpson?" I asked.
"A well-educated gentleman who has squandered a fortune betting on horses. It's possible that he did not want Silver Blaze to win the Wessex Cup race."
Holmes explained that Simpson had come to Dartmoor in hopes of getting more information on Silver Blaze. He was also interested in Desborough, the second-favorite horse in the race, who lived at the Mapleton stable. Simpson did not deny any of his actions on Monday night. But he said that he did not intend to hurt the horses; he only wanted information that would help him place his bets.
"Did Simpson have any idea how the dead man came to be holding his scarf?"
"No," said Holmes. "When confronted with that evidence, he turned very pale."
Simpson's wet clothing showed that he had been out in the rain the night before. And his walking stick was just the sort of weapon that could have killed Straker, the trainer.
"You have laid out all the facts," I said, "but I still don't understand what the police theory is."
"The police think that Fitzroy Simpson drugged the groom. Then he found a duplicate key to the stable, unlocked the door, and stole the horse," explained Holmes. "While Simpson was leading the horse across the moor, he was overtaken by the trainer. Naturally, they fought, and Simpson beat Straker to death with his walking stick. Then Simpson either led the horse to some secret hiding place or the horse bolted during the struggle and is now wandering the moor. It's an improbable theory, but I can't test it until we are on the spot."
It was late afternoon before we reached the town of Tavistock, which lay in the center of the great moor. Two men were waiting for us at the station: Inspector Gregory, a tall man carrying a bag, and Colonel Ross, a small, dapper man.
"Have there been any new developments?" asked Holmes.
"I'm sorry to say that we've made very little progress," said Inspector Gregory.
A minute later we were seated in a carriage, and Gregory began to talk about the case.
"I still believe that Simpson is our man," the inspector said. "The evidence against him is certainly very strong."
Holmes shook his head. "A clever lawyer would tear your case to shreds. There was no need for Simpson to take the horse from the stable if he wished to harm it. Where is the paper he wanted the maid to give to the groom? Where is the duplicate key? Who sold him the powdered opium? Where could he—a stranger to the moor—have found a place to hide the horse?"
But Gregory had an answer for all of Holmes' questions. The paper was a ten-pound note and it was found in Simpson's pocket. Simpson could have tossed away the key. He could have brought the opium from London. He was not a stranger, having lodged twice in the nearby guesthouses. The horse could be at the bottom of one of the pits or old mines upon the moor. Simpson might also have led the horse to some gypsies, who were camped near the murder site.
"I understand that there is another training stable nearby," said Holmes.
"Since the Mapleton horse was the second favorite, that stable certainly had an interest in seeing that Silver Blaze couldn't run the race," said Gregory. "And the trainer, Silas Brown, was no friend of Straker's. But we have examined the stable and there is nothing to connect Brown to the affair."
"And nothing to link Simpson with the Mapleton stable?" asked Holmes.
"Nothing at all," replied Gregory.
By this time we had reached the red-brick house where Straker had lived. We all sprang from the carriage except for Holmes. It was only when I touched his arm that he roused himself with a violent start and stepped from the carriage. Colonel Ross looked at him with surprise.
"Excuse me," said Holmes. "I must have been daydreaming."
But I could tell that he was excited about something. He must have found a clue although I had no idea what it was.
Inside the house Holmes asked Ross about Straker's service.
"I always found him to be an excellent servant," the colonel replied.
Next Holmes inquired about the items that had been in the trainer's pockets at the time of his death. These included matches, a two-inch candle, a pipe and tobacco, and a few papers. Plus, he'd been holding a small knife with a delicate blade.
"This is an unusual knife," said Holmes, examining it. "Isn't this something you'd use in your profession, Watson?"
"Yes," I answered. "It's used for the most delicate eye surgery."
"A strange thing for a horse trainer to carry with him. It's too small to be of much use for self-defense," said Holmes.
"Straker's wife said he picked it up from his dressing table as he left the house," said Gregory. "It was a poor weapon, but maybe the best he could find at that moment."
"Possibly," said Holmes. "What are these papers?"
They turned out to be bills from a hay dealer, some instructions from Colonel Ross, and a dressmaker's bill addressed to William Derbyshire.
"Mrs. Straker told us that Derbyshire was a friend of her husband's and that his mail sometimes came here," explained Gregory.
"Mrs. Derbyshire has expensive taste," said Holmes, glancing at the bill. "She paid quite a lot for just one dress."
As we emerged from the sitting room, Mrs. Straker came.
"Have you found out who killed my husband?" she cried.
"Not yet, but Sherlock Holmes has come to help us."
"Surely we've met before, Mrs. Straker," said Holmes. "It was at a garden party and you were wearing a gray silk dress trimmed with ostrich feathers."
"No, sir." Mrs. Straker looked puzzled. "I've never owned such a dress."
And with an apology Holmes followed the inspector and Colonel Ross outside.
We then moved on to the spot where Straker's body was found.
"In this bag," said Gregory, "I have a boot that Straker was wearing, one of Simpson's shoes, and a horseshoe belonging to Silver Blaze."
Gregory handed the bag over to Holmes, who began a careful examination of the muddy ground. Suddenly he picked up what looked like a little chip of wood.
"A burned match!" he exclaimed. "I thought we might find this."
Gregory studied the match, but Colonel Ross had other things on his mind.
"I'm thinking I should remove Silver Blaze's name from the race," he said.
"Certainly not!" cried Holmes. "It's too soon for that."
Colonel Ross looked at Holmes. "Well," said Silver Blaze's owner with a sneer, "I suppose a London detective knows more about these things than I do."