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    The Memoirs Of Sherlock Holmes
    The Memoirs Of Sherlock Holmes
    The Memoirs Of Sherlock Holmes
    Ebook309 pages4 hours

    The Memoirs Of Sherlock Holmes

    By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

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    About this ebook

    Consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and his colleague Doctor John Watson return in Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s second collection of Holmes stories—The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. This volume includes the stories “The Adventure of the Cardboard Box,” “The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual,” and “The Final Problem,” in which Holmes first confronts his most deadly adversary: the brilliant criminal mastermind Professor James Moriarty.

    Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories have been adapted numerous times, including the 2009 and 2011 movies starring Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr., and for the popular television shows Elementary, starring Jonny Lee Miller and Lucy Liu, and the BBC’s Sherlock, starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman.

    HarperPerennial Classics brings great works of literature to life in digital format, upholding the highest standards in ebook production and celebrating reading in all its forms. Look for more titles in the HarperPerennial Classics collection to build your digital library.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateMar 25, 2014
    ISBN9781443435574
    Author

    Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

    Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1859. Before starting his writing career, Doyle attended medical school, where he met the professor who would later inspire his most famous creation, Sherlock Holmes. A Study in Scarlet was Doyle's first novel; he would go on to write more than sixty stories featuring Sherlock Holmes. He died in England in 1930.

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    Reviews for The Memoirs Of Sherlock Holmes

    4/5

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    • 4/5
      A very enjoyable collection of Holmes and Watson mysteries, although there is a decided return to the romantic/melodramatic stylings of the early novels.

      After the opening story, which goes to lunatic levels to bring Holmes back (but fair enough), there are some great stories throughout. Watson's narrative voice is pitch-perfect, as is his relationship with Holmes. Beyond this, the various Scotland Yard characters are given more depth, and are able to work WITH Holmes, as opposed to just following him around and always being wrong.

      As I said above, though, many of the stories seem to veer toward that very 19th century melodrama feel in their denouements, although Conan Doyle handles it quite emotionlessly, so at least it isn't protracted. And many of the stories - those featuring missing people or objects - often seem to end with the same kind of conclusion (I won't say which, but you'll notice the pattern). Still, these weren't initially published in book form, and so I don't hold vague similarities against them.

      An enjoyable collection of stories. I'm two-thirds of the way through the canon already!
    • 4/5
      A collection of short stories.
    • 3/5
      This series of short stories is fun escapism. Not as sexist as the earlier stories, which is nice.
    • 4/5
      The Holmes that returns from Reichenbach is a very different one to that before Final Problem. I can't remember the last time I read this but the stories don't have the same mental intensity of the earlier works. Here, Holmes deals with a different class of clientele, there is less of foggy, atmospheric London and greater reference to the colonies of the Empire. Most importantly there is less detection. Either I've gotten smarter or the stories are less painstaking in its detail - and I doubt it's the former. On resurrecting Holmes, Doyle's writing is occasionally half-hearted and dour. His reluctance may also account for the memorable but gruesome violence and the abrupt conclusions to cases. However, Return is still, in my mind, a classic.
    • 2/5
      This collection of short stories did not do it for me. There seemed to be something inherent lacking in it, for I was not able to absorb myself into them as the other works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It wasn't the worst, but it definitely is not the best among his works.2 stars.
    • 4/5
      Took my time getting through this volume since there were so many stories, and I wanted time to appreciate them all. Reading these is fun, but I do agree with Sherlock's assessment that Watson leaves out too many details of how the cases are solved. ;) I would like more of the forensic science involved included.
    • 4/5
      The Return of Sherlock Holmes derives its title from the fact that the famous detective was presumed dead after the fight with his nemesis Professor Moriarty at Reichenbach Falls. And Holmes has returned alright. This volume provides the reader with thirteen short stories centered around Holmes and his partner Watson. In the first of those thirteen stories, the duo hunt down a would-be assassin of Holmes so that the detective can finally return to his lodgings at 221b Baker Street. In the last story of the collection, Watson mentions that Sherlock Holmes himself was not interested in the continuation of the publication of his adventures anymore. There is also talk of Holmes planning to write down some of his stories himself to while away the time of his retirement.What I found most interesting about this volume of short stories is the fact that while the structure of Arthur Conan Doyle's detective stories is basically the same every time, it is quite astonishing how he always manages to engage the reader anew in every story. One would think that the author has to run out of material for his cases at some point so that the stories will become repetitive to a certain extent. But they just do not. To my mind, this is quite a remarkable achievement considering the sheer endless number of Sherlock Holmes stories. From a structuralist perspective each story can be described as beginning with Holmes and Watson idling at their place in Baker Street, followed by the presentation of a new case and eventually investigations of the matter and its, in Holmes' eyes pretty obvious, solution. This, however, does not lessen the literary quality of the stories. In the reading process you actually do not think about the structure as your attention is almost always immediately caught by the case at hand.The looming retirement of Sherlock Holmes is something that might have troubled readers at the time of publication of The Return of Sherlock Holmes. But as we know today, there are quite some stories to follow and Holmes will not retire for quite some time. Personally, I am happy about this since reading the stories is always enjoyable. I do already dread the point when I will have read every Sherlock Holmes story that has ever been written. But then again, there is always the option of re-reads.I know that this review does not focus too much on the content of the single stories, but as I see it this is not really necessary. I would think that readers of Sherlock Holmes would usually start with the more famous works, the novels, that is, and not with this collection of short stories. So, whoever reads this collection is probably already well acquainted with the literary figure of Sherlock Holmes. Nonetheless, it is worth mentioning that the stories in this volume do not lack in quality and are a pleasure to read.On the whole, four stars for The Return of Sherlock Holmes.
    • 3/5
      After growing up on Sherlock Holmes movies, Sherlock Holmes parodies, Sherlock Holmes-inspired characters and plots, and all manner of Sherlock Holmes culture references, I figured I owed it to myself to actually read a real, live Sherlock Holmes book. Otherwise, I felt like a bit of a poser, as if I was taking the name of Sherlock in vain, kind of like people who say "let's get the hell out of Dodge" without even knowing that they're quoting...(Googles furiously)...the classic 1960s-70s television series Gunsmoke.

      I must say it was an interesting experience coming to these stories so late in life, as I simply kept shaking my head at how influential this stuff is. Yet it wasn't stuffy or stilted at all; the thirteen short episodes that make up this book were all brisk, readable, humorous, and fun. They have only the most tenuous continuity - they aren't even in chronological order - and the plots are very much of the cookie-cutter variety. What keeps you reading is just the drive to see who's lying and how Holmes is going to figure it out. Which, aside from an arrogant druggie protagonist, is just one more way House, M.D. robs Sherlock Holmes dry.

      Definitely a worthy read, especially if you snatch it free from Project Gutenberg, as I did.
    • 4/5
      Sherlock Holmes is back from the dead. There are some good mysteries here. I liked The Six Napoleons best as I worked out what was going on. There's also some very fine writing; The Solitary Cyclist in particular. Check out the alliteration and the patterned variations on C, S and their combinations. My friend Ed says they're pure chance, but I don't think so.
    • 3/5
      Another collection of variable quality, although the female characters in these stories are largely wonderful, and a handful are kickass, self-sufficient women.

      Also, the canon support for a Holmes/Watson marriage is all over the place and nothing like subtle, but all in all there's relatively little of Watson in the book. He's narrating every page and he's present in all those scenes, but it seems like earlier books had more of him expressing his own self. The bits and pieces of them sniping at each other make me so fond because it's all too rare that we see that Watson is entirely able to hold his own next to Holmes, but he's self-censoring as narrator. Such interesting characterization. It makes him a great ninja of an unreliable narrator because ACD takes such pains to convince us that Watson is impeccably reliable. And yet... *g*

      I wish he'd written more novels.
    • 5/5
      Classic Sherlock Holmes cases to show the genius of the detective and Conan Doyle's writing. The anthology starts with the case that brings Holmes back from the dead (with lots of fan urging). Then Holmes runs his natural gambit of murder, blackmail, and missing people. With most short story collections, some are good, some are not. With this collection there were no are nots" for me. I enjoyed them all. I had the added benefit of watching the TV series with Jeremy Brett. It was nice to remember how true they had stayed to the original stories. Few changes were made so I was able to picture the events clearly in my head. It made for wonderful bedtime reading.
      "
    • 5/5
      This is the third short story collection, and it felt like the best so far - or maybe I'm just getting more and more into this crime universe. Holmes is returning after his presumed death in the fatal encounter with Moriarty at the Reichenbach Fall (recounted in the last story of "The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes". The collection here is a feast of good stories, most of them shows Sherlock Holmes at the top of his game with his brilliant deductive powers. Oh, how Lestrade glows in the second story but guess who gets the last laughter. My favorites were "The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton" , "Abbey Grange", "The Second Stain", "Six Napoleons", "Priory School" and "The Norwood Builder".I like the variety - some scary, some intriguing, some comic - most of them just trademark Sherlock-spectacular. Again the Gothic setting of Victorian London is a sheer pleasure. Also there are trips to large estates outside London and a visit at a university. The perfect chemistry between Holmes and Watson are one of the reasons for the success of these stories. Holmes always five steps ahead of them all, Watson trying to catch up and being surprised all the time. Brilliant. In one of the stories Holmes gets engaged:“You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?""No, indeed!""You'll be interested to hear that I'm engaged.""My dear fellow! I congrat——""To Milverton's housemaid.""Good heavens, Holmes!""I wanted information, Watson.""Surely you have gone too far?""It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a rising business, Escott, by name.”
    • 5/5
      Three years after Sherlock’s death at the hands of Moriarty, Dr. Watson is shocked to discover he’s actually alive and well! He was so shocked in fact he faints for the first and only time in his life. The story that follows explains Sherlock’s absence over the past couples years and his current predicament. Some of Moriarty’s agents are trying to find and kill him and they’ll stop at nothing to do so. The clever Holmes devises a plan to not only catch his enemies, but also to solve an open case for the police at the same time. **SPOILERS**Colonel Moran is Sherlock’s pursuer in this novella. He is an admired military man with a reputation as an skilled hunter. Sherlock compares Colonel Moran (to his face) to the very tigers he hunted for so many years. It must have been salt in the wound to someone so proud of his ability to hunt. Holmes had no qualms about insulting him and making sure he understood that he was now the captured prey. Clearly the brilliant Sherlock has returned. **SPOILERS OVER**BOTTOM LINE: An excellent story and a must read for anyone who finishes The Final Problem.  
    • 4/5
      This is the third collection of Sherlock Holmes short stories, consisting of a baker's dozen of puzzle pieces with the Great Detective. I wouldn't recommend them as an introduction to Holmes. In the last story of the second collection, The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, "The Final Problem," Doyle famously sent Holmes over Reichenbach Falls. The introduction in the edition I read relates how a boatman told Doyle that even if Holmes survived the fall over the cliff, "he was never quite the same man afterwards." I don't know if I'd go that far, but it's true that if I had to list my favorite Holmes stories ("A Scandal in Bohemia," "The Speckled Band," "The Red-Headed League", "The Blue Carbuncle," "Silver Blaze," "The Musgrave Ritual") they all come from the first two collections. The introduction also points out that many of the stories in this collection have elements recycled from earlier stories: "The Six Napoleans" recapping aspects of "The Blue Carbuncle," "The Norwood Builder" using a trick from "A Scandal in Bohemia," "The Second Stain" is reminiscent of "The Naval Treaty" and "The Solitary Cyclist" of "The Greek Interpreter."Still, reading this was a pleasure--if not so much as brilliant puzzle pieces, than just for the company of the wry Holmes and how he plays off Watson. I had to grin when Holmes whips off his disguise in "The Empty House" and Watson faints--and then at Holmes' account at how he faked his own death--observing how all of them who came with Watson came to "totally erroneous conclusions." I was intrigued by the puzzle of the stick-figure cipher in "The Dancing Men." I'm not about to forget the death by harpoon in "The Black Peter." I had to smile at Holmes ironic humor in his comments to Inspector Lestrade at the end of "Charles Augustus Milverton." And it's a great moment in "The Six Napoleons" when Lestrade says Scotland Yard is proud of Holmes. And it was touching to see the concern of the seemingly cold, logical Holmes for Watson in "The Abbey Grange." So yes, even though I'd recommend the earlier short story collections or the first three novels (especially The Hound of the Baskervilles over The Return of Sherlock Holmes, that's not to say there isn't still a lot to enjoy here.
    • 4/5
      Holmes has returned from Reichenbach Falls, much to the surprise of - well, everyone, considering he was thought to be dead. There are thirteen stories in this collection, short enough to be fast-paced and well-worded enough to be deeply engaging. Some of my favorite stories were the Norwood Builder (with some horror undertones; faked deaths and grotesque murders ahoy!), Charles Agustus Milverton, The Solitary Cyclist and the Second Stain. There were a few dull moments - the Adventure of the Three Students is pretty terrible, in my opinion, with a 'mystery' that is both boring and instantly solveable. But overall it is a solid collection in the Holmes canon.
    • 3/5
      Short stories are easy to read - can pick it up and just read one story before bed - does make me take more time to read.Find I prefer the stories that are mysteries/puzzles, rather than murders - liked 'The Empty House' (& the way Holmes returned), 'The Priory School' and 'The Three Students' best.Really like the picture on the cover (one of my favourites in the series).Arthur Conan Doyle seems to like to give the stories a happy ending - even when someone is caught and has to leave the country, they planned to go anyway. ^_^
    • 5/5
      Another fabulous novel by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Same characters, great new mysteries. My only problem with this book had to do with the formatting as opposed to the writing. In places, where there should have been pictures, my kindle only showed the word "graphic". It would have been nice to see the map/sketch instead of a note that there should be a picture. Other than that, brilliant!
    • 4/5
      While all of the stories are good, the last two in the book are the best in my opinion. They feel very classically Holmes.
    • 5/5
      Sherlock Holmes is timeless! The baker's dozen of Adventures that appear in this book are: The Empty House, The Norwood Builder, The Dancing Men, The Solitary Cyclist, The Priory School, Black Peter, Charles Augustus Milverton, The Six Napoleons, The Three Students, The Golden Pince-nez, The Missing Three-quarter, The Abbey Grange, and The Second Stain.
    • 4/5
      A better collection of short stories (Puffin has published some of these stories in a collection called 'The Great Adventures of SH'. Includes one of my favourite short stories, 'The Dancing Men' and adventure based around a writing code featuring little stick men. All very much worth a read.
    • 4/5
      Delightful stuff, loved the librivox.org free audiobook version. Not quite as engaging as the earlier stories, but still well worth the read.
    • 3/5
      Very good collection. The shorter works are by far superior to his longer ones as character development is not his forte. Short fiction complements these clever (yet not substantial) story lines.

    Book preview

    The Memoirs Of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

    Chapter I

    The Adventure of Silver Blaze

    I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go, said Holmes, as we sat down together to our breakfast one morning.

    Go! Where to?

    To Dartmoor; to King’s Pyland.

    I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he was, I knew perfectly well what it was over which he was brooding. There was but one problem before the public which could challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the singular disappearance of the favorite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced his intention of setting out for the scene of the drama it was only what I had both expected and hoped for.

    I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in the way, said I.

    My dear Watson, you would confer a great favor upon me by coming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for there are points about the 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-glass.

    And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he had procured at Paddington. We had left Reading far behind us before he thrust the last one of them under the seat, and offered me his cigar-case.

    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 anyone 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.

    "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 the rule that the lad on duty should drink nothing else. 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 gray suit of tweeds, with a cloth cap. He wore gaiters, and carried a heavy stick with a knob to 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.

    "‘Can you tell me where I am?’ he asked. ‘I had almost made up my mind to sleep on the moor, when I saw the light of your lantern.’

    "‘You are close to the King’s Pyland training-stables,’ said she.

    "‘Oh, indeed! What a stroke of luck!’ he cried. ‘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?’ He took a piece of white paper folded up out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘See that the boy has this tonight, and you shall have the prettiest frock that money can buy.’

    "She was frightened by the earnestness of his manner, and ran past him to the window through which she was accustomed to hand the meals. It was already opened, and Hunter was seated at the small table inside. She had begun to tell him of what had happened, when the stranger came up again.

    "‘Good evening,’ said he, looking through the window. ‘I wanted to have a word with you.’ 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?’ asked the lad.

    "‘It’s business that may put something into your pocket,’ said the other. ‘You’ve two horses in for the Wessex Cup—Silver Blaze and Bayard. Let me have the straight tip and you won’t be a loser. Is it a fact that at the weights 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 damned touts!’ cried the lad. ‘I’ll show you how we serve them in King’s Pyland.’ He sprang up and rushed across the stable to unloose the dog. The girl 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 him.

    One moment, I asked. Did the stable-boy, when he ran out with the dog, leave the door unlocked behind him?

    Excellent, Watson, excellent! murmured my companion. "The importance of the 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 may 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 Mrs. 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 mackintosh 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, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute stupor, the favorite’s stall was empty, and there were no signs 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 it 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 early exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house, from which all the neighboring moors were visible, they not only could see no signs of the missing favorite, 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 furze-bush. Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shaped depression 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. Hunter, on recovering from his stupor, was also quite positive as to the ownership of the cravat. He was equally certain that the same stranger had, while standing at the window, drugged his curried mutton, and so deprived the stables of their watchman. 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 contain an appreciable quantity of powdered opium, while the people at the house partook of the same dish on the same night without any ill effect.

    "Those are the main facts of the case, stripped of all surmise, and stated as baldly 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, it 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 book-making 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 favorite. 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 Pyland horses, and also about Desborough, the second favorite, 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 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 been out in the storm of the night before, and his stick, which was a Penang-lawyer 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.

    I had listened with the greatest interest to the statement which Holmes, with characteristic clearness, had laid before me. Though most of the facts were familiar to me, I had not sufficiently appreciated their relative importance, nor their connection to each other.

    Is it not possible, I suggested, that the incised wound upon Straker may have been caused by his own knife in the convulsive struggles which follow any brain injury?

    It is more than possible; it is probable, said Holmes. In that case one of the main points in favor of the accused disappears.

    And yet, said I, even now I fail to understand what the theory of the police can be.

    I am afraid that whatever theory we state has very grave objections to it, returned my companion. 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 out 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-defence, 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 on 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 than our present position.

    It was evening before we reached the little town of Tavistock, 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—the one a tall, fair man with lion-like hair and beard and curiously penetrating light blue eyes; the other a small, alert person, very neat and dapper, in a frock-coat and gaiters, with 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, said the Colonel. The Inspector here has done all that could possibly be suggested, but I wish to leave no stone unturned in trying to avenge poor Straker and in recovering my horse.

    Have there been any fresh developments? asked Holmes.

    I am sorry to say that we have made very little progress, said the Inspector. We have an open carriage outside, and as you would no doubt like to see the place before the light fails, 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 Holmes threw in an occasional question or interjection. Colonel Ross leaned back with his arms folded and his hat tilted over his eyes, while I listened with interest to the dialogue of the two detectives. Gregory was formulating his theory, which was almost exactly what Holmes had foretold in the train.

    The net is drawn pretty close round Fitzroy Simpson, he remarked, and I believe myself that he is our man. At the same time I recognize that the evidence is purely circumstantial, and that some new development may upset it.

    How about Straker’s knife?

    We have quite come to the conclusion that he wounded himself in his fall.

    My friend Dr. Watson made that suggestion to me as we came down. If so, it would tell against this man Simpson.

    Undoubtedly. He has neither a knife nor any sign of a wound. The evidence against him is certainly very strong. He had a great interest in the disappearance of the favorite. He lies under suspicion of having poisoned the stable-boy, he was undoubtedly out in the storm, he was armed with a heavy stick, and his cravat was found in the dead man’s hand. I really think we have enough to go before a jury.

    Holmes shook his head. A clever counsel would tear it all to rags, said he. Why should he take the horse out of the stable? If he wished to injure it why could he not do it 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?

    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. He has twice lodged at Tavistock in the summer. The opium was probably brought from London. The key, having served its purpose, would be hurled away. The horse may be at the bottom of one of the pits or old mines upon the moor.

    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.

    Holmes pricked up his ears.

    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 him now?

    It is certainly possible.

    The moor is being scoured for these gypsies. I have also examined every stable and out-house in Tavistock, and for a radius of ten miles.

    There is another training-stable quite close, I understand?

    Yes, and that is a factor which we must certainly not neglect. As Desborough, their horse, was second in the betting, they had an interest in the disappearance of the favorite. Silas Brown, the trainer, is known to have had large bets 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 the Mapleton stables?

    Nothing at all.

    Holmes leaned back in the carriage, and 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 gray-tiled out-building. In every other direction the low curves of the moor, bronze-colored from the fading ferns, stretched away to the sky-line, broken only by the steeples of Tavistock, and by a cluster of houses away to the westward which marked the Mapleton stables. We all sprang out with the exception of Holmes, who continued to lean back with his eyes fixed upon the sky in front of him, entirely absorbed in his own thoughts. It was only when I touched his arm that he roused himself with a violent start and stepped out of the carriage.

    Excuse me, said he, turning to Colonel Ross, who had looked at him in some surprise. I was day-dreaming. There was a gleam in his eyes and a suppressed excitement in his manner which convinced me, used as I was to his ways, that his hand was upon a clue, though I could not imagine where he had found it.

    Perhaps you would prefer at once to go on to the scene of the crime, Mr. Holmes? said Gregory.

    I think that I should prefer to stay here a little and go into one or two questions of detail. Straker was brought back here, I presume?

    Yes; he lies upstairs. The inquest is tomorrow.

    He has been in your service some years, Colonel Ross?

    I have 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, 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, an A D P brier-root pipe, a pouch of seal-skin with half an ounce of long-cut Cavendish, a silver watch with a gold

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