4 A Visit to Mapleton Stables

Chapter 4 A Visit to Mapleton Stables The Sun was starting to sink toward the horizon and the long, sloping plain before us was tinged with gold, deepening into rich, reddish browns where the faded ferns caught the evening light. But the beauties of the landscape were lost on Holmes, who was sunk in thought. "I'm thinking about where Silver Blaze went," he said at last. "Suppose he broke away while the two men were fighting, he might have run wild on the moor, but I think that unlikely for two reasons. First, he would surely have been seen by

now. Second, he's accustomed to shelter, so he would most likely have headed for a nearby stable, either King's Pyland or Mapleton. He isn't at King's Pyland, so he must be at Mapleton. "This part of the moor is hard and dry, leaving no hoofprints, but the land dips toward the west in a long hollow that would have been very wet on Tuesday night. If I'm right and Silver Blaze went to Mapleton, he would have crossed that hollow. That's where we should look for his tracks." A few minutes of brisk walking brought us there.

We hadn't walked more than fifty paces along the floor of the hollow when my companion gave a cry of triumph. I looked down to see a trail of hoofprints pressed into the soft earth. Holmes took the horseshoe from his pocket and placed it on one of these impressions. It fit perfectly. We crossed over the marshy bottom of the hollow and returned to the hard, dry, moorland turf. The tracks disappeared, but we could guess their direction by now. A quarter of a mile farther on, the ground dipped again, and the tracks reappeared. Then we lost them for half a mile before finding them again quite close to Mapleton. This time, a set of human footprints were visible beside the horse's.

"The horse was found by someone!" I cried. "So it appears," said Holmes. "Hold up, what's this?" The pair of tracks had veered sharply off in the direction of King's Pyland. We began to follow them. Holmes kept his eyes on the trail, but I happened to look up and saw, to my surprise, the same pair of tracks coming back again in the opposite direction. "Well spotted, Watson!" said Holmes. "You've saved us a long walk, which would have brought us in a circle. Let's follow the return track." We didn't need to go far. The pair of tracks ended at the gates of Mapleton Stables. We were about to enter when a stableboy came running up. "We don't want any loiterers around here," he said. "I only wish to have a quick word with your master, Mr. Silas Brown," said Holmes. "You'll have to come back in the morn—"

"It's all right, Dawson, you leave these people to me," said a big, fierce-looking man striding toward us, a hunting crop swinging menacingly in his hand. As Dawson scurried away, the man said: "I'm Silas Brown. Now what the devil do you want?" "Ten minutes talk with you, my good sir," said Holmes in his most charming voice. "I've no time to talk to every stranger who happens by. Now be off before I set the dog on you." Holmes leaned forward and whispered something in the trainer's ear. Brown gave a

violent start and his face flushed deep red. "It's a lie!" he bellowed. "A rotten lie!" "Really? And would you like to argue about it here in public or shall we talk it over in your office?" Brown shrugged. "Come in if you must," he growled. "We shan't be more than a few minutes, Watson," said Holmes as he followed Brown inside. It was twenty minutes, and the shadows had darkened across the stable yard before Holmes and the trainer reappeared. Never have I seen such a change in a person over such a short time as I witnessed that evening in Silas Brown. His face was ashen and beads of perspiration shone on his brow. His bullying manner was gone, and he clasped his hands and bent his head meekly before Holmes. "Your instructions will be done, sir, have no fear." "There must be no mistake," said Holmes. "There won't be. It'll be there, I promise. Should I change it first or not?"