THE MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
by
Arthur Conan Doyle

Silver Blaze

Chapter 14

The Mapleton Stables.

As we approached,
a groom ran out
from them.

“We don’t want
any loiterers
about here,”
said he.

“I only wished
to ask a question,”
said Holmes,
with his finger
and thumb
in his waistcoat pocket.

“Should I be too early
to see
your master,
Mr. Silas Brown,
if I were to call
at five o’clock
tomorrow morning?”

“Bless you, sir,
if any one is about
he will be,
for he is always
the first stirring.

But here he is, sir,
to answer
your questions
for himself.

No, sir, no;
it is as much as
my place is worth
to let him see me
touch your money.
Afterwards, if you like.”

As Sherlock Holmes
replaced the half-crown
which he had drawn
from his pocket,
a fierce-looking
elderly man
strode out from
the gate
with a hunting-crop
swinging in his hand.

“What’s this, Dawson!”
he cried.
“No gossiping!
Go about your
business!
And you,
what the devil
do you want here?”

“Ten minutes’ talk
with you,
my good sir,”
said Holmes
in the sweetest
of voices.

“I’ve no time
to talk to every gadabout.

We want
no strangers here.

Be off,
or you may find
a dog
at your heels.”

Holmes leaned forward
and whispered something
in the trainer’s ear.

He started violently
and flushed to the temples.

“It’s a lie!”
he shouted,
“an infernal lie!”

“Very good.
Shall we argue
about it here
in public
or talk it over
in your parlor?”

“Oh,
come in
if you wish to.”

Holmes smiled.
“I shall not
keep you more
than a few minutes,
Watson,”
said he.

“Now, Mr. Brown,
I am quite
at your disposal.”

It was twenty minutes,
and the reds
had all faded into grays
before Holmes
and the trainer reappeared.

Never have I seen
such a change
as had been
brought about
in Silas Brown
in that short time.

His face was ashy pale,
beads of perspiration
shone upon his brow,
and his hands shook
until the hunting-crop
wagged like a branch
in the wind.

His bullying,
overbearing manner
was all gone too,
and he cringed along
at my companion’s side
like a dog
with its master.

“Your instructions
will be done.
It shall all be done,”
said he.

“There must be no mistake,”
said Holmes,
looking round at him.

The other winced
as he read
the menace in his eyes.

“Oh no,
there shall be no mistake.
It shall be there.
Should I change it first
or not?”

Holmes thought a little
and then
burst out laughing.
No, don’t,”
said he;
“I shall write to you
about it.
No tricks, now, or—”

“Oh, you can trust me,
you can trust me!”

“Yes, I think I can.
Well, you shall hear
from me tomorrow.”

He turned upon his heel,
disregarding the trembling hand
which the other held out to him,
and we set off for King’s Pyland.

“A more perfect compound
of the bully,
coward, and sneak
than Master Silas Brown
I have seldom met with,”
remarked Holmes
as we trudged along together.

End of Chapter 14