A moment later, we were all seated comfortably in a carriage and driving through the charming old city of Devonshire. Inspector Gregory talked animatedly about the case, while Holmes occasionally asked questions or made comments. Colonel Ross sat back with his arms folded and his hat pulled down over his eyes, while I listened intently to the conversation between the two detectives. Gregory was explaining his theory, which closely matched what Holmes had predicted on the train."

"The evidence is pointing strongly towards Fitzroy Simpson," he commented. "I believe he's the one we're looking for. However, I understand that the evidence we have is mostly based on circumstances, and there's a chance that something new could change the situation."

"What about Straker's knife?"

"We've concluded that he likely injured himself when he fell."

"My friend Dr. Watson suggested that possibility to me on our way here. If that's the case, it doesn't support Simpson's innocence."

"Exactly. Simpson doesn't have a knife or any signs of injury. The evidence against him is quite compelling. He had a strong motive for the horse's disappearance. He's suspected of drugging the stable-boy, was seen out during the storm, had a heavy stick as a weapon, and his cravat was found in the dead man's hand. I believe we have enough evidence to present to a jury."

"Holmes didn't seem convinced. 'A clever lawyer could easily challenge all of that,' he said. 'Why would he need to take the horse out of the stable? If he wanted to harm it, why not do it there? Has anyone found a spare key in his possession? Where did he get the powdered opium from? And most importantly, how could he, someone unfamiliar with the area, hide such a distinct horse? What's his explanation for the paper he wanted the maid to give to the stable-boy?'

"He claims it was a ten-pound note, and one was found in his wallet. But the other issues aren't as difficult as they seem. He's not a stranger to the area; he's stayed in Tavistock twice before. The opium likely came from London. The key, once used, could have been discarded. And the horse might be hidden in one of the pits or old mines on the moor.'

'What about the cravat?'

'He admits it's his but says he lost it. However, there's a new aspect to the case that might explain why he led the horse out of the stable.'"

"Holmes became interested.

'We've discovered signs that a group of gypsies camped near where the murder happened on Monday night. By Tuesday, they were gone. If Simpson had an arrangement with these gypsies, he might have been taking the horse to them when he got caught. They could have the horse now.'

'That's possible.'

'We're searching the moor for these gypsies. I've checked every stable and shed in Tavistock and a ten-mile radius.'

'There's another stable nearby, right?'

'Yes, and we can't ignore that. The people there had a stake in the race too, as their horse Desborough was second favorite. Their trainer, Silas Brown, had big bets on the race, and he didn't get along with poor Straker. But we've looked into it, and there's no evidence linking him to the incident.'

'And there's nothing tying Simpson to the Mapleton stables?'

'No, nothing at all.'

Holmes relaxed in the carriage, and we fell silent. A few minutes later, our driver stopped at a tidy little red-brick house with sloping roofs beside the road. Further away, across a field, was a long grey building with tiled roofs. In every direction, the rolling hills of the moor, tinged bronze by the fading ferns, stretched out to the horizon, only interrupted by the spires of Tavistock and a group of houses marking the Mapleton stables to the west. We all got out except Holmes, who remained reclined, staring at the sky ahead, lost in his thoughts. It wasn't until I touched his arm that he snapped out of it with a start and stepped out of the carriage.

‘Sorry,’ he said, turning to Colonel Ross, who looked at him curiously. ‘I was lost in thought.’ There was a spark in his eyes and a hidden excitement in his demeanor that made me, familiar as I was with him, believe he had a lead, though I couldn't guess where he'd found it.

"Maybe you'd like to head straight to where it happened, Mr. Holmes?" said Gregory.

"I'd rather stay here for a bit and discuss some details first. Straker was brought back here, I assume?"

"Yes, he's upstairs. The inquest is tomorrow."

"He's been with you for a while, Colonel Ross?"

"Yes, always been a good servant."

"Did you check what he had in his pockets when he died, Inspector?"

"I have the items in the sitting-room if you want to see them."

"I'd like that." We all went into the front room and gathered around the table while the inspector opened a tin box and laid out a few things. There was a box of matches, a short candle, a pipe, a pouch of tobacco, a watch with a chain, some gold coins, a pencil case, a few papers, and a knife with an ivory handle and a thin, sharp blade with bloodstains on it.

"This knife is quite unique," said Holmes, examining it closely. "I guess, Watson, knives are more your area?"

"It's called a cataract knife," I explained.

"I thought so. A very delicate blade for delicate work. Odd for a man to have on a rough trip, especially since it wouldn't fit in his pocket," said Holmes.

"The tip was covered by a cork disc we found near his body," said the inspector. "His wife said he picked it up from the dressing table as he left. It wasn't a good weapon, but maybe it was all he had at the time."

"Perhaps. What about these papers?"

"Three are receipts from hay dealers. One's a letter from Colonel Ross. This one's a bill from a fancy dressmaker for thirty-seven pounds fifteen, for William Derbyshire. Mrs. Straker said Derbyshire was a friend, and sometimes his letters came here."

"Madame Derbyshire had expensive taste," remarked Holmes, looking at the bill. "Twenty-two guineas is a lot for one outfit. Well, I don't think there's much more to learn. Let's go to the crime scene."

As we left the room, a woman in the passage stepped forward and touched the inspector's arm. Her face looked tired and anxious.

"Have you found them?" she asked breathlessly.

"No, Mrs. Straker. But Mr. Holmes is here to help from London, and we'll do everything we can," the inspector replied.

"Didn't I meet you at a garden party in Plymouth?" Holmes asked.

"No, sir, you're mistaken," she said.

"Oh, my apologies. I could have sworn. You were in a dove-colored silk dress with ostrich feathers," said Holmes.

"I never had such a dress," she replied.

"Well, that settles it," said Holmes, apologizing, and followed the inspector outside. We walked a short distance across the moor to where the body was found. On the edge was the bush where the coat had been hung.

"It wasn't windy that night, right?" Holmes asked.

"No, just heavy rain," the inspector confirmed.

"So, the coat wasn't blown onto the bush, it was placed there," deduced Holmes.

"Yes, it was laid on top," said the inspector.

"You've really caught my interest. The ground here looks quite disturbed. Probably many people have been here since Monday night."

"A piece of matting has been put down here on the side, and we've all stood on that."

"Great."

"I have one of Straker's boots, one of Fitzroy Simpson's shoes, and a horseshoe from Silver Blaze in this bag."

"Fantastic, Inspector! You've outdone yourself." Holmes took the bag, went down into the hollow, and moved the matting to the center. Then, lying face down with his chin in his hands, he carefully studied the muddy ground in front of him. "Ah!" he suddenly exclaimed. "What's this?" It was a partly burnt wax match, covered in mud and looking like a small piece of wood at first.

"I don't know how I missed it," said the inspector, looking annoyed.

"It was hidden, buried in the mud. I only saw it because I was looking for it."

"You were expecting to find it?"

"I thought it was possible."

"He took the boots out of the bag and compared the marks they made on the ground. Then he climbed up to the edge of the hollow and searched among the ferns and bushes."

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't find any more tracks," said the inspector. "I've looked carefully in both directions for about a hundred yards."

"Oh, really?" said Holmes, standing up. "I won't try again after what you've said. But I'd like to take a short walk over the moor before it gets dark, just to familiarize myself with the area for tomorrow. And I think I'll keep this horseshoe in my pocket for luck."

Colonel Ross, who had been getting impatient with Holmes's calm and methodical approach, checked his watch. "I'd like you to come back with me, Inspector," he said. "There are a few things I'd like your opinion on, especially whether we should withdraw our horse's name from the entries for the cup."

"Absolutely not," Holmes said firmly. "I would leave the name as it is."

The colonel nodded. "I appreciate your input, sir," he said. "You'll find us at poor Straker's house when you're done, and we can drive together into Tavistock."

He went back with the inspector, while Holmes and I walked slowly across the moor. The sun was starting to set behind the Mapleton stable, casting a golden glow on the landscape. But my companion seemed lost in thought, not noticing the beauty around us.

"It's like this, Watson," he finally said. "Let's forget about who killed John Straker for now and focus on finding the horse. If the horse ran away during or after the incident, where could it have gone? Horses usually stick together, so it would head back to King's Pyland or over to Mapleton. Why would it roam the moor alone? It would have been spotted by now. And why would gypsies take it? They usually leave when there's trouble, to avoid the police. They wouldn't gain anything by taking the horse. Do you follow?"

"Where do you think the horse is, then?"

"I believe it's either at King's Pyland or Mapleton. Let's assume it's at Mapleton and see where that takes us. This part of the moor is dry, but it slopes down towards Mapleton, where there's a wet hollow. If our theory is correct, the horse would have crossed that, leaving tracks."

As we talked, we walked briskly. Soon, we reached the hollow. Holmes asked me to go right, while he went left. Not long after, I heard him shout and saw him waving. There, in the soft earth, was the clear outline of horse tracks. The shoe he took from his pocket matched perfectly.

"See how important imagination is," said Holmes. "It's the one thing Gregory doesn't have. We imagined what could have happened, acted on that idea, and now we're proven right. Let's keep going."

We crossed the marshy area and walked over a quarter-mile of dry, hard ground. Once again, the ground sloped, and we found the tracks again. We lost them for a while, but then found them once more, close to Mapleton. Holmes spotted them first and pointed with a triumphant look on his face. There were now tracks of a man alongside the horse's.

"The horse was alone before," I exclaimed.

"Yes, it was alone before. Wait, what's this?" The tracks suddenly turned sharply and headed towards King's Pyland. Holmes whistled, and we followed the tracks. He kept his eyes on the trail, but I happened to glance to the side and was surprised to see the same tracks coming back in the opposite direction.

"One point for you, Watson," said Holmes when I pointed it out. "You've saved us from a long walk, which would have led us back to where we started. Let's follow the returning tracks."

We didn't have to walk far. We reached the asphalt path that led to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we got closer, a stable worker came out.

"We don't want anyone hanging around here," he said.

"I just wanted to ask a question," said Holmes, his fingers in his waistcoat pocket. "Would it be too early to see your boss, Mr. Silas Brown, if I came at five o'clock tomorrow morning?"

"Oh, sir, if anyone's up, it'll be him. He's always the first one awake. But here he comes now, sir, he can answer your questions himself. No, sir, no, I can't take your money in front of him. Maybe later, if you'd like."

As Sherlock Holmes put the coin back in his pocket, a stern-looking older man came out of the gate, swinging a hunting crop.

"What's this, Dawson!" he shouted. "No chitchatting! Get back to work! And you, what do you want here?"

"Just ten minutes to talk with you, sir," said Holmes, using his most polite tone.

"I don't have time to chat with every stranger. We don't welcome outsiders here. Go away, or you might find a dog chasing after you."

Holmes leaned in and whispered something to the trainer. The trainer jerked back and turned red with anger.

"That's not true!" he yelled. "It's a terrible lie!"

"Very well. Shall we discuss it here in front of everyone or in your office?"

"Oh, come in if you want."

Holmes smiled. "I won't keep you long, Watson," he said. "Now, Mr. Brown, I'm ready to listen to you."