The path of the patched Dunlop tires led us back in the direction of the school. Although we lost sight of the tire tracks from time to time, we usually regained it after a while. Whenever we sighted the tire tracks, they were almost always seen alongside the hooves of cows. The tracks took us to the Ragged Shaw, a small wooded area that was behind the school.
"Well," said Holmes, "this is an interesting complication. It seems that this cyclist must have emerged from these woods, because the path begins and ends here."
Holmes thoughtfully took his pipe out of his pocket and had a smoke. After his smoke Holmes continued, "It is, of course, possible that a cunning man might change the tires on his bicycle." I nodded in agreement.
"A criminal capable of such a plan," continued Holmes, "is a man I should be proud to do business with. But enough of this speculation, we have still a lot to explore."
Holmes led me to another muddy portion of the moor, and it was here that Holmes became truly excited. In the mud there were the tracks of Palmer tires.
"Here is the German teacher," said Holmes happily. "So far our reasoning has been sound, so let's follow the tracks . . . though I fear they won't lead very far."
Once again we did our best to follow the scattered tracks. At one such interval, Holmes stopped and observed that the cyclist was sprinting, because his weight had been moved to the front wheel as if he was leaning over the handlebars.
"Look, here!" exclaimed Holmes. "He has fallen."
To the side of the path, there was a flattened area of bushes that had been made by the fall of the rider. On closer examination, we found that some of the bushes were covered in blood.
"Stand clear, Watson," said Holmes. "We must read this very carefully. He fell wounded, because the blood is not where his legs or arms would have made contact with the ground."
"Was he attacked by a bull?" I asked. "There are cow hoof marks on the ground."
"Unlikely," said Holmes. "But you are right to note the cow hoofs. There are no other tracks to explain this freakish event. It seems he remounted his bicycle; let us continue."
We had not gone far when the gleam of metal flickered from among the bushes and grass. We hurried to the spot where we found a Palmer-tired bicycle covered in blood. Not far from the bicycle lay a tall, bearded man on his side. I knew in an instant he must be dead. Holmes and I carefully turned him over to examine him, and that's when we discovered the horrible blow to his skull. We had no doubt we had found the German teacher, but I could tell that Holmes was troubled by our discovery.
"It's a bit difficult to decide what to do," said Holmes. "I want to continue, because the young duke may be in danger, but, on the other hand, we must inform the police of our startling discovery."
"I could take a note back," I offered.
"No, Watson, I need . . ." Suddenly Holmes stopped talking and listened very intently.
"Do you hear that, Watson?" asked Holmes. "I believe there is a man working behind that small hill. Ask him over, won’t you?"
I brought the man, and Holmes sent him with a note to the headmaster. Holmes took out his pipe and reviewed the facts: first, the boy had left on his own free will; second, the German teacher had followed the boy; third, the boy had had a companion strong enough to kill the German teacher; and fourth, we had found the German teacher five miles from the school, which meant the boy and his companion had had a fairly swift means of traveling.
"Well," said Holmes, "we aren't any nearer to a solution, but we have followed one set of tracks to their end. Let us now see about those patched Dunlop tires."
We picked up the tracks of the Dunlop bicycle tires, and followed them away from the school. The tracks led to a high bushy hill. On the top of the hill the path forked. One path lead in the direction of Holderness Hall and the other led toward a village, but there were no tire tracks to help us decide which way the rider had gone. Holmes decided to take the path toward the village.
As we approached the village inn, Holmes stumbled, groaned, and grabbed his ankle. "Give me your shoulder, Watson," said Holmes. I supported my friend and led him toward the inn.
An elderly man sat near the front of the inn smoking his pipe, and Holmes greeted him. "How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?"
The man was a bit surprised, and asked suspiciously, "Who are you and how do you know my name?"
"It's printed on the sign above your head," said Holmes. "Do you, perhaps, have a carriage in your stable?"
"No," said the man coldly.
"I've sprained my ankle," explained Holmes. "I can barely walk."
"So hop," said the man ungraciously.
The man was obviously hostile, but Holmes continued to ask him questions. Holmes asked about a bicycle, but he had none. Holmes mentioned that the police had been informed about the duke's son, and the man became agitated. He asked about the news, and Holmes said there had been a telegram from Liverpool.
The man seemed to relax. He then informed us that he had once worked for the duke, but had been fired. Holmes sympathized with him, and said, "I understand your hard feelings, but can you help me get to the Hall?"
"Aye, my two horses can take you to the Hall. I hate the duke, but I bear no ill feeling toward his son. I am glad he's safe in Liverpool."
"Before we go, we'll have some dinner," said Holmes. The man took Holmes' money and left.
Once the man had left, I was amazed at Holmes' quick recovery. His ankle showed no sign of being sprained. "Come, Watson. There is much for us to discover here. This man is certainly more than he seems. We need to take a look at those horses he mentioned."