“Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. The
boy was fully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw what he
would do. But the German went without his socks. He certainly
acted on very short notice.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window, he saw the
flight of the boy, because he wished to overtake him and bring
him back. He seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing
him met his death.”
“So it would seem.”
“Now I come to the critical part of my argument. The natural
action of a man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after
him. He would know that he could overtake him. But the German
does not do so. He turns to his bicycle. I am told that he was an
excellent cyclist. He would not do this, if he did not see that
the boy had some swift means of escape.”
“The other bicycle.”
“Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death five
miles from the school—not by a bullet, mark you, which even a lad
might conceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by a
vigorous arm. The lad, then, _had_ a companion in his flight. And
the flight was a swift one, since it took five miles before an
expert cyclist could overtake them. Yet we survey the ground
round the scene of the tragedy. What do we find? A few
cattle-tracks, nothing more. I took a wide sweep round, and there
is no path within fifty yards. Another cyclist could have had
nothing to do with the actual murder, nor were there any human
foot-marks.”
“Holmes,” I cried, “this is impossible.”
“Admirable!” he said. “A most illuminating remark. It _is_
impossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect
have stated it wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest
any fallacy?”
“He could not have fractured his skull in a fall?”
“In a morass, Watson?”
“I am at my wits’ end.”
“Tut, tut, we have solved some worse problems. At least we have
plenty of material, if we can only use it. Come, then, and,
having exhausted the Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with the
patched cover has to offer us.”
We picked up the track and followed it onward for some distance,
but soon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, and we
left the watercourse behind us. No further help from tracks could
be hoped for. At the spot where we saw the last of the Dunlop
tire it might equally have led to Holdernesse Hall, the stately
towers of which rose some miles to our left, or to a low, grey
village which lay in front of us and marked the position of the
Chesterfield high road.
As we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the sign of
a game-cock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan, and
clutched me by the shoulder to save himself from falling. He had
had one of those violent strains of the ankle which leave a man
helpless. With difficulty he limped up to the door, where a
squat, dark, elderly man was smoking a black clay pipe.
“How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes?” said Holmes.
“Who are you, and how do you get my name so pat?” the countryman
answered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning eyes.
“Well, it’s printed on the board above your head. It’s easy to
see a man who is master of his own house. I suppose you haven’t
such a thing as a carriage in your stables?”
“No, I have not.”
“I can hardly put my foot to the ground.”
“Don’t put it to the ground.”
“But I can’t walk.”
“Well, then hop.”
Mr. Reuben Hayes’s manner was far from gracious, but Holmes took
it with admirable good-humour.
“Look here, my man,” said he. “This is really rather an awkward
fix for me. I don’t mind how I get on.”
“Neither do I,” said the morose landlord.
“The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign for
the use of a bicycle.”
The landlord pricked up his ears.
“Where do you want to go?”
“To Holdernesse Hall.”
“Pals of the Dook, I suppose?” said the landlord, surveying our
mud-stained garments with ironical eyes.
Holmes laughed good-naturedly.
“He’ll be glad to see us, anyhow.”
“Why?”
“Because we bring him news of his lost son.”
The landlord gave a very visible start.
“What, you’re on his track?”
“He has been heard of in Liverpool. They expect to get him every
hour.”
Again a swift change passed over the heavy, unshaven face. His
manner was suddenly genial.
“I’ve less reason to wish the Dook well than most men,” said he,
“for I was head coachman once, and cruel bad he treated me. It
was him that sacked me without a character on the word of a lying
corn-chandler. But I’m glad to hear that the young lord was heard
of in Liverpool, and I’ll help you to take the news to the Hall.”
“Thank you,” said Holmes. “We’ll have some food first. Then you
can bring round the bicycle.”
“I haven’t got a bicycle.”
Holmes held up a sovereign.
“I tell you, man, that I haven’t got one. I’ll let you have two
horses as far as the Hall.”
“Well, well,” said Holmes, “we’ll talk about it when we’ve had
something to eat.”
When we were left alone in the stone-flagged kitchen, it was
astonishing how rapidly that sprained ankle recovered. It was
nearly nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since early morning,
so that we spent some time over our meal. Holmes was lost in
thought, and once or twice he walked over to the window and
stared earnestly out. It opened on to a squalid courtyard. In the
far corner was a smithy, where a grimy lad was at work. On the
other side were the stables. Holmes had sat down again after one
of these excursions, when he suddenly sprang out of his chair
with a loud exclamation.
“By heaven, Watson, I believe that I’ve got it!” he cried. “Yes,
yes, it must be so. Watson, do you remember seeing any cow-tracks
to-day?”
“Yes, several.”
“Where?”
“Well, everywhere. They were at the morass, and again on the
path, and again near where poor Heidegger met his death.”
“Exactly. Well, now, Watson, how many cows did you see on the
moor?”
“I don’t remember seeing any.”
“Strange, Watson, that we should see tracks all along our line,
but never a cow on the whole moor. Very strange, Watson, eh?”
“Yes, it is strange.”
“Now, Watson, make an effort, throw your mind back. Can you see
those tracks upon the path?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Can you recall that the tracks were sometimes like that,
Watson,”—he arranged a number of breadcrumbs in this fashion—: :
: : :—“and sometimes like this”—: . : . : . : .—“and occasionally
like this”—.・.・.・. “Can you remember that?”
“No, I cannot.”
“But I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at our
leisure and verify it. What a blind beetle I have been, not to
draw my conclusion.”
“And what is your conclusion?”
“Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, and
gallops. By George! Watson, it was no brain of a country publican
that thought out such a blind as that. The coast seems to be
clear, save for that lad in the smithy. Let us slip out and see
what we can see.”
There were two rough-haired, unkempt horses in the tumble-down
stable. Holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed
aloud.
“Old shoes, but newly shod—old shoes, but new nails. This case
deserves to be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy.”
The lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmes’s
eye darting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood
which was scattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard
a step behind us, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows
drawn over his savage eyes, his swarthy features convulsed with
passion. He held a short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and he
advanced in so menacing a fashion that I was right glad to feel
the revolver in my pocket.
“You infernal spies!” the man cried. “What are you doing there?”
“Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes,” said Holmes, coolly, “one might think
that you were afraid of our finding something out.”
The man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim
mouth loosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than
his frown.
“You’re welcome to all you can find out in my smithy,” said he.
“But look here, mister, I don’t care for folk poking about my
place without my leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get
out of this the better I shall be pleased.”
“All right, Mr. Hayes, no harm meant,” said Holmes. “We have been
having a look at your horses, but I think I’ll walk, after all.
It’s not far, I believe.”
“Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. That’s the road to
the left.” He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left his
premises.
We did not go very far along the road, for Holmes stopped the
instant that the curve hid us from the landlord’s view.
“We were warm, as the children say, at that inn,” said he. “I
seem to grow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no,
I can’t possibly leave it.”
“I am convinced,” said I, “that this Reuben Hayes knows all about
it. A more self-evident villain I never saw.”
“Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the horses,
there is the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this
Fighting Cock. I think we shall have another look at it in an
unobtrusive way.”
A long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey limestone boulders,
stretched behind us. We had turned off the road, and were making
our way up the hill, when, looking in the direction of
Holdernesse Hall, I saw a cyclist coming swiftly along.
“Get down, Watson!” cried Holmes, with a heavy hand upon my
shoulder. We had hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us
on the road. Amid a rolling cloud of dust, I caught a glimpse of
a pale, agitated face—a face with horror in every lineament, the
mouth open, the eyes staring wildly in front. It was like some
strange caricature of the dapper James Wilder whom we had seen
the night before.
“The Duke’s secretary!” cried Holmes. “Come, Watson, let us see
what he does.”
We scrambled from rock to rock, until in a few moments we had
made our way to a point from which we could see the front door of
the inn. Wilder’s bicycle was leaning against the wall beside it.
No one was moving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse
of any faces at the windows. Slowly the twilight crept down as
the sun sank behind the high towers of Holdernesse Hall. Then, in
the gloom, we saw the two side-lamps of a trap light up in the
stable-yard of the inn, and shortly afterwards heard the rattle
of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road and tore off at a
furious pace in the direction of Chesterfield.
“What do you make of that, Watson?” Holmes whispered.
“It looks like a flight.”
“A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I could see. Well, it
certainly was not Mr. James Wilder, for there he is at the door.”
A red square of light had sprung out of the darkness. In the
middle of it was the black figure of the secretary, his head
advanced, peering out into the night. It was evident that he was
expecting someone. Then at last there were steps in the road, a
second figure was visible for an instant against the light, the
door shut, and all was black once more. Five minutes later a lamp
was lit in a room upon the first floor.
“It seems to be a curious class of custom that is done by the
Fighting Cock,” said Holmes.
“The bar is on the other side.”
“Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now,
what in the world is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at this
hour of night, and who is the companion who comes to meet him
there? Come, Watson, we must really take a risk and try to
investigate this a little more closely.”
Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the door
of the inn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes
struck a match and held it to the back wheel, and I heard him
chuckle as the light fell upon a patched Dunlop tire. Up above us
was the lighted window.
“I must have a peep through that, Watson. If you bend your back
and support yourself upon the wall, I think that I can manage.”
An instant later, his feet were on my shoulders, but he was
hardly up before he was down again.
“Come, my friend,” said he, “our day’s work has been quite long
enough. I think that we have gathered all that we can. It’s a
long walk to the school, and the sooner we get started the
better.”
He hardly opened his lips during that weary trudge across the
moor, nor would he enter the school when he reached it, but went
on to Mackleton Station, whence he could send some telegrams.
Late at night I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtable, prostrated by
the tragedy of his master’s death, and later still he entered my
room as alert and vigorous as he had been when he started in the
morning. “All goes well, my friend,” said he. “I promise that
before to-morrow evening we shall have reached the solution of
the mystery.”
At eleven o’clock next morning my friend and I were walking up
the famous yew avenue of Holdernesse Hall. We were ushered
through the magnificent Elizabethan doorway and into his Grace’s
study. There we found Mr. James Wilder, demure and courtly, but
with some trace of that wild terror of the night before still
lurking in his furtive eyes and in his twitching features.
“You have come to see his Grace? I am sorry, but the fact is that
the Duke is far from well. He has been very much upset by the
tragic news. We received a telegram from Dr. Huxtable yesterday
afternoon, which told us of your discovery.”
“I must see the Duke, Mr. Wilder.”
“But he is in his room.”
“Then I must go to his room.”
“I believe he is in his bed.”
“I will see him there.”
Holmes’s cold and inexorable manner showed the secretary that it
was useless to argue with him.
“Very good, Mr. Holmes, I will tell him that you are here.”
After an hour’s delay, the great nobleman appeared. His face was
more cadaverous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, and he
seemed to me to be an altogether older man than he had been the
morning before. He greeted us with a stately courtesy and seated
himself at his desk, his red beard streaming down on the table.
“Well, Mr. Holmes?” said he.
But my friend’s eyes were fixed upon the secretary, who stood by
his master’s chair.
“I think, your Grace, that I could speak more freely in Mr.
Wilder’s absence.”
The man turned a shade paler and cast a malignant glance at
Holmes.
“If your Grace wishes——”
“Yes, yes, you had better go. Now, Mr. Holmes, what have you to
say?”
My friend waited until the door had closed behind the retreating
secretary.
“The fact is, your Grace,” said he, “that my colleague, Dr.
Watson, and myself had an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a
reward had been offered in this case. I should like to have this
confirmed from your own lips.”
“Certainly, Mr. Holmes.”
“It amounted, if I am correctly informed, to five thousand pounds
to anyone who will tell you where your son is?”
“Exactly.”
“And another thousand to the man who will name the person or
persons who keep him in custody?”
“Exactly.”
“Under the latter heading is included, no doubt, not only those
who may have taken him away, but also those who conspire to keep
him in his present position?”
“Yes, yes,” cried the Duke, impatiently. “If you do your work
well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, you will have no reason to complain of
niggardly treatment.”
My friend rubbed his thin hands together with an appearance of
avidity which was a surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes.
“I fancy that I see your Grace’s check-book upon the table,” said
he. “I should be glad if you would make me out a check for six
thousand pounds. It would be as well, perhaps, for you to cross
it. The Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street branch are my
agents.”
His Grace sat very stern and upright in his chair and looked
stonily at my friend.
“Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes? It is hardly a subject for
pleasantry.”
“Not at all, your Grace. I was never more earnest in my life.”
“What do you mean, then?”
“I mean that I have earned the reward. I know where your son is,
and I know some, at least, of those who are holding him.”
The Duke’s beard had turned more aggressively red than ever
against his ghastly white face.
“Where is he?” he gasped.
“He is, or was last night, at the Fighting Cock Inn, about two
miles from your park gate.”
The Duke fell back in his chair.
“And whom do you accuse?”
Sherlock Holmes’s answer was an astounding one. He stepped
swiftly forward and touched the Duke upon the shoulder.
“I accuse _you_,” said he. “And now, your Grace, I’ll trouble you
for that check.”
Never shall I forget the Duke’s appearance as he sprang up and
clawed with his hands, like one who is sinking into an abyss.
Then, with an extraordinary effort of aristocratic self-command,
he sat down and sank his face in his hands. It was some minutes
before he spoke.
“How much do you know?” he asked at last, without raising his
head.
“I saw you together last night.”
“Does anyone else beside your friend know?”
“I have spoken to no one.”
The Duke took a pen in his quivering fingers and opened his
check-book.
“I shall be as good as my word, Mr. Holmes. I am about to write
your check, however unwelcome the information which you have
gained may be to me. When the offer was first made, I little
thought the turn which events might take. But you and your friend
are men of discretion, Mr. Holmes?”
“I hardly understand your Grace.”
“I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If only you two know of this
incident, there is no reason why it should go any farther. I
think twelve thousand pounds is the sum that I owe you, is it
not?”
But Holmes smiled and shook his head.
“I fear, your Grace, that matters can hardly be arranged so
easily. There is the death of this schoolmaster to be accounted
for.”
“But James knew nothing of that. You cannot hold him responsible
for that. It was the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had the
misfortune to employ.”
“I must take the view, your Grace, that when a man embarks upon a
crime, he is morally guilty of any other crime which may spring
from it.”
“Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you are right. But surely not in
the eyes of the law. A man cannot be condemned for a murder at
which he was not present, and which he loathes and abhors as much
as you do. The instant that he heard of it he made a complete
confession to me, so filled was he with horror and remorse. He
lost not an hour in breaking entirely with the murderer. Oh, Mr.
Holmes, you must save him—you must save him! I tell you that you
must save him!” The Duke had dropped the last attempt at
self-command, and was pacing the room with a convulsed face and
with his clenched hands raving in the air. At last he mastered
himself and sat down once more at his desk. “I appreciate your
conduct in coming here before you spoke to anyone else,” said he.
“At least, we may take counsel how far we can minimize this
hideous scandal.”
“Exactly,” said Holmes. “I think, your Grace, that this can only
be done by absolute frankness between us. I am disposed to help
your Grace to the best of my ability, but, in order to do so, I
must understand to the last detail how the matter stands. I
realize that your words applied to Mr. James Wilder, and that he
is not the murderer.”
“No, the murderer has escaped.”
Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely.
“Your Grace can hardly have heard of any small reputation which I
possess, or you would not imagine that it is so easy to escape
me. Mr. Reuben Hayes was arrested at Chesterfield, on my
information, at eleven o’clock last night. I had a telegram from
the head of the local police before I left the school this
morning.”
The Duke leaned back in his chair and stared with amazement at my
friend.
“You seem to have powers that are hardly human,” said he. “So
Reuben Hayes is taken? I am right glad to hear it, if it will not
react upon the fate of James.”
“Your secretary?”
“No, sir, my son.”
It was Holmes’s turn to look astonished.
“I confess that this is entirely new to me, your Grace. I must
beg you to be more explicit.”
“I will conceal nothing from you. I agree with you that complete
frankness, however painful it may be to me, is the best policy in
this desperate situation to which James’s folly and jealousy have
reduced us. When I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I loved with
such a love as comes only once in a lifetime. I offered the lady
marriage, but she refused it on the grounds that such a match
might mar my career. Had she lived, I would certainly never have
married anyone else. She died, and left this one child, whom for
her sake I have cherished and cared for. I could not acknowledge
the paternity to the world, but I gave him the best of
educations, and since he came to manhood I have kept him near my
person. He surmised my secret, and has presumed ever since upon
the claim which he has upon me, and upon his power of provoking a
scandal which would be abhorrent to me. His presence had
something to do with the unhappy issue of my marriage. Above all,
he hated my young legitimate heir from the first with a
persistent hatred. You may well ask me why, under these
circumstances, I still kept James under my roof. I answer that it
was because I could see his mother’s face in his, and that for
her dear sake there was no end to my long-suffering. All her
pretty ways too—there was not one of them which he could not
suggest and bring back to my memory. I _could_ not send him away.
But I feared so much lest he should do Arthur—that is, Lord
Saltire—a mischief, that I dispatched him for safety to Dr.
Huxtable’s school.
“James came into contact with this fellow Hayes, because the man
was a tenant of mine, and James acted as agent. The fellow was a
rascal from the beginning, but, in some extraordinary way, James
became intimate with him. He had always a taste for low company.
When James determined to kidnap Lord Saltire, it was of this
man’s service that he availed himself. You remember that I wrote
to Arthur upon that last day. Well, James opened the letter and
inserted a note asking Arthur to meet him in a little wood called
the Ragged Shaw, which is near to the school. He used the
Duchess’s name, and in that way got the boy to come. That evening
James bicycled over—I am telling you what he has himself
confessed to me—and he told Arthur, whom he met in the wood, that
his mother longed to see him, that she was awaiting him on the
moor, and that if he would come back into the wood at midnight he
would find a man with a horse, who would take him to her. Poor
Arthur fell into the trap. He came to the appointment, and found
this fellow Hayes with a led pony. Arthur mounted, and they set
off together. It appears—though this James only heard
yesterday—that they were pursued, that Hayes struck the pursuer
with his stick, and that the man died of his injuries. Hayes
brought Arthur to his public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he
was confined in an upper room, under the care of Mrs. Hayes, who
is a kindly woman, but entirely under the control of her brutal
husband.
“Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of affairs when I first saw
you two days ago. I had no more idea of the truth than you. You
will ask me what was James’s motive in doing such a deed. I
answer that there was a great deal which was unreasoning and
fanatical in the hatred which he bore my heir. In his view he
should himself have been heir of all my estates, and he deeply
resented those social laws which made it impossible. At the same
time, he had a definite motive also. He was eager that I should
break the entail, and he was of opinion that it lay in my power
to do so. He intended to make a bargain with me—to restore Arthur
if I would break the entail, and so make it possible for the
estate to be left to him by will. He knew well that I should
never willingly invoke the aid of the police against him. I say
that he would have proposed such a bargain to me, but he did not
actually do so, for events moved too quickly for him, and he had
not time to put his plans into practice.
“What brought all his wicked scheme to wreck was your discovery
of this man Heidegger’s dead body. James was seized with horror
at the news. It came to us yesterday, as we sat together in this
study. Dr. Huxtable had sent a telegram. James was so overwhelmed
with grief and agitation that my suspicions, which had never been
entirely absent, rose instantly to a certainty, and I taxed him
with the deed. He made a complete voluntary confession. Then he
implored me to keep his secret for three days longer, so as to
give his wretched accomplice a chance of saving his guilty life.
I yielded—as I have always yielded—to his prayers, and instantly
James hurried off to the Fighting Cock to warn Hayes and give him
the means of flight. I could not go there by daylight without
provoking comment, but as soon as night fell I hurried off to see
my dear Arthur. I found him safe and well, but horrified beyond
expression by the dreadful deed he had witnessed. In deference to
my promise, and much against my will, I consented to leave him
there for three days, under the charge of Mrs. Hayes, since it
was evident that it was impossible to inform the police where he
was without telling them also who was the murderer, and I could
not see how that murderer could be punished without ruin to my
unfortunate James. You asked for frankness, Mr. Holmes, and I
have taken you at your word, for I have now told you everything
without an attempt at circumlocution or concealment. Do you in
turn be as frank with me.”
“I will,” said Holmes. “In the first place, your Grace, I am
bound to tell you that you have placed yourself in a most serious
position in the eyes of the law. You have condoned a felony, and
you have aided the escape of a murderer, for I cannot doubt that
any money which was taken by James Wilder to aid his accomplice
in his flight came from your Grace’s purse.”
The Duke bowed his assent.
“This is, indeed, a most serious matter. Even more culpable in my
opinion, your Grace, is your attitude towards your younger son.
You leave him in this den for three days.”
“Under solemn promises——”
“What are promises to such people as these? You have no guarantee
that he will not be spirited away again. To humour your guilty
elder son, you have exposed your innocent younger son to imminent
and unnecessary danger. It was a most unjustifiable action.”
The proud lord of Holdernesse was not accustomed to be so rated
in his own ducal hall. The blood flushed into his high forehead,
but his conscience held him dumb.
“I will help you, but on one condition only. It is that you ring
for the footman and let me give such orders as I like.”
Without a word, the Duke pressed the electric bell. A servant
entered.
“You will be glad to hear,” said Holmes, “that your young master
is found. It is the Duke’s desire that the carriage shall go at
once to the Fighting Cock Inn to bring Lord Saltire home.
“Now,” said Holmes, when the rejoicing lackey had disappeared,
“having secured the future, we can afford to be more lenient with
the past. I am not in an official position, and there is no
reason, so long as the ends of justice are served, why I should
disclose all that I know. As to Hayes, I say nothing. The gallows
awaits him, and I would do nothing to save him from it. What he
will divulge I cannot tell, but I have no doubt that your Grace
could make him understand that it is to his interest to be
silent. From the police point of view he will have kidnapped the
boy for the purpose of ransom. If they do not themselves find it
out, I see no reason why I should prompt them to take a broader
point of view. I would warn your Grace, however, that the
continued presence of Mr. James Wilder in your household can only
lead to misfortune.”
“I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is already settled that he
shall leave me forever, and go to seek his fortune in Australia.”
“In that case, your Grace, since you have yourself stated that
any unhappiness in your married life was caused by his presence, I
would suggest that you make such amends as you can to the
Duchess, and that you try to resume those relations which have
been so unhappily interrupted.”
“That also I have arranged, Mr. Holmes. I wrote to the Duchess
this morning.”
“In that case,” said Holmes, rising, “I think that my friend and
I can congratulate ourselves upon several most happy results from
our little visit to the North. There is one other small point
upon which I desire some light. This fellow Hayes had shod his
horses with shoes which counterfeited the tracks of cows. Was it
from Mr. Wilder that he learned so extraordinary a device?”
The Duke stood in thought for a moment, with a look of intense
surprise on his face. Then he opened a door and showed us into a
large room furnished as a museum. He led the way to a glass case
in a corner, and pointed to the inscription.
“These shoes,” it ran, “were dug up in the moat of Holdernesse
Hall. They are for the use of horses, but they are shaped below
with a cloven foot of iron, so as to throw pursuers off the
track. They are supposed to have belonged to some of the
marauding Barons of Holdernesse in the Middle Ages.”
Holmes opened the case, and moistening his finger he passed it
along the shoe. A thin film of recent mud was left upon his skin.
“Thank you,” said he, as he replaced the glass. “It is the second
most interesting object that I have seen in the North.”
“And the first?”
Holmes folded up his check and placed it carefully in his
notebook. “I am a poor man,” said he, as he patted it
affectionately, and thrust it into the depths of his inner
pocket.