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we can drive together into Tavistock."

He turned back with the Inspector, while Holmes and I
walked slowly across the moor. The sun was beginning
to sink behind the stables of Mapleton, and the long,
sloping plain in front of us was tinged with gold,
deepening into rich, ruddy browns where the faded
ferns and brambles caught the evening light. But the
glories of the landscape were all wasted upon my
companion, who was sunk in the deepest thought.

"It's this way, Watson," said he at last. "We may
leave the question of who killed John Straker for the
instant, and confine ourselves to finding out what has
become of the horse. Now, supposing that he broke
away during or after the tragedy, where could he have
gone to? The horse is a very gregarious creature. If
left to himself his instincts would have been either
to return to King's Pyland or go over to Mapleton.
Why should he run wild upon the moor? He would surely
have been seen by now. And why should gypsies kidnap
him? These people always clear out when they hear of
trouble, for they do not wish to be pestered by the
police. They could not hope to sell such a horse.
They would run a great risk and gain nothing by taking
him. Surely that is clear."

"Where is he, then?"

"I have already said that he must have gone to King's
Pyland or to Mapleton. He is not at King's Pyland.
Therefore he is at Mapleton. Let us take that as a
working hypothesis and see what it leads us to. This
part of the moor, as the Inspector remarked, is very
hard and dry. But it falls away towards Mapleton, and
you can see from here that there is a long hollow over
yonder, which must have been very wet on Monday night.
If our supposition is correct, then the horse must
have crossed that, and there is the point where we
should look for his tracks."

We had been walking briskly during this conversation,
and a few more minutes brought us to the hollow in
question. At Holmes' request I walked down the bank
to the right, and he to the left, but I had not taken
fifty paces before I heard him give a shout, and saw
him waving his hand to me. The track of a horse was
plainly outlined in the soft earth in front of him,
and the shoe which he took from his pocket exactly
fitted the impression.

"See the value of imagination," said Holmes. "It is
the one quality which Gregory lacks. We imagined what
might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and
find ourselves justified. Let us proceed."

We crossed the marshy bottom and passed over a quarter
of a mile of dry, hard turf. Again the ground sloped,
and again we came on the tracks. Then we lost them
for half a mile, but only to pick them up once more
quite close to Mapleton. It was Holmes who saw them
first, and he stood pointing with a look of triumph
upon his face. A man's track was visible beside the
horse's.

"The horse was alone before," I cried.

"Quite so. It was alone before. Hullo, what is
this?"

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