I brought the peasant across, and Holmes dispatched thefrightened man with a note to Dr. Huxtable.
“Now, Watson,” said he, “we have picked up two clues thismorning. One is the bicycle with the Palmer tire, and we see whatthat has led to. The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop.
Before we start to investigate that, let us try to realize what we doknow, so as to make the most of it, and to separate the essentialfrom the accidental.”
“First of all, I wish to impress upon you that the boy certainlyleft of his own free-will. He got down from his window and hewent off, either alone or with someone. That is sure.”
I assented.
“Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate German master. Theboy was fully dressed when he fled. Therefore, he foresaw what hewould do. But the German went without his socks. He certainlyacted on very short notice.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Why did he go? Because, from his bedroom window, he saw theflight of the boy, because he wished to overtake him and bring himback. He seized his bicycle, pursued the lad, and in pursuing himmet his death.”
“So it would seem.”
“Now I come to the critical part of my argument. The naturalaction of a man in pursuing a little boy would be to run after him.
He would know that he could overtake him. But the Germandoes not do so. He turns to his bicycle. I am told that he was anexcellent cyclist. He would not do this, if he did not see that theboy had some swift means of escape.”
“The other bicycle.”
“Let us continue our reconstruction. He meets his death fivemiles from the school—not by a bullet, mark you, which even alad might conceivably discharge, but by a savage blow dealt by avigorous arm. The lad, then, HAD a companion in his flight. Andthe flight was a swift one, since it took five miles before an expertcyclist could overtake them. Yet we survey the ground roundthe scene of the tragedy. What do we find? A few cattle-tracks,938 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
nothing more. I took a wide sweep round, and there is no pathwithin fifty yards. Another cyclist could have had nothing to dowith the actual murder, nor were there any human foot-marks.”
“Holmes,” I cried, “this is impossible.”
“Admirable!” he said. “A most illuminating remark. It ISimpossible as I state it, and therefore I must in some respect havestated it wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. Can you suggest anyfallacy?”
“He could not have fractured his skull in a fall?”
“In a morass, Watson?”
“I am at my wit’s end.”
“Tut, tut, we have solved some worse problems. At least wehave plenty of material, if we can only use it. Come, then, and,having exhausted the Palmer, let us see what the Dunlop with thepatched cover has to offer us.”
We picked up the track and followed it onward for somedistance, but soon the moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve,and we left the watercourse behind us. No further help fromtracks could be hoped for. At the spot where we saw the last ofthe Dunlop tire it might equally have led to Holdernesse Hall, thestately towers of which rose some miles to our left, or to a low,gray village which lay in front of us and marked the position of theChesterfield high road.
As we approached the forbidding and squalid inn, with the signof a game-cock above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan, andclutched me by the shoulder to save himself from falling. He hadhad one of those violent strains of the ankle which leave a manhelpless. 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?” thecountryman answered, with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunningeyes.
“Well, it’s printed on the board above your head. It’s easy to seeman who is master of his own house. I suppose you haven’t suchthing 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 Holmestook it with admirable good-humour.
“Look here, my man,” said he. “This is really rather an awkwardfix for me. I don’t mind how I get on.”
The Return of Sherlock Holmes 939
“Neither do I,” said the morose landlord.
“The matter is very important. I would offer you a sovereign forthe 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 ourmud-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 himevery hour.”
Again a swift change passed over the heavy, unshaven face. Hismanner 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. Itwas him that sacked me without a character on the word of a lyingcorn-chandler. But I’m glad to hear that the young lord was heardof in Liverpool, and I’ll help you to take the news to the Hall.”
“Thank you,” said Holmes. “We’ll have some food first. Thenyou 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 twohorses as far as the Hall.”
“Well, well,” said Holmes, “we’ll talk about it when we’ve hadsomething to eat.”
