"No, I cannot."
"But I can. I could swear to it. However, we will go back at ourleisure and verify it. What a blind beetle I have been not to draw myconclusion!"
"And what is your conclusion?"
"Only that it is a remarkable cow which walks, canters, and gallops. ByGeorge, Watson, it was no brain of a country publican that thought outsuch a blind as that! The coast seems to be clear, save for that lad inthe 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 deservesto be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy."
The lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmes's eyedarting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood which wasscattered about the floor. Suddenly, however, we heard a step behindus, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn over his savageeyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held a short,metal-headed stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashionthat 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 youwere afraid of our finding something out."
The man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouthloosened 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. "Butlook here, mister, I don't care for folk poking about my place withoutmy leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of this thebetter I shall be pleased."
"All right, Mr. Hayes--no harm meant," said Holmes. "We have been havinga look at your horses, but I think I'll walk after all. It's not far, Ibelieve."
"Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. Th
at's the road to theleft." 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 instantthat the curve hid us from the landlord's view.
"We were warm, as the children say, at that inn," said he. "I seemto grow colder every step that I take away from it. No, no; I can'tpossibly leave it."
"I am convinced," said I, "that this Reuben Hayes knows all about it. Amore self-evident villain I never saw."
"Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the horses, thereis the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this Fighting Cock. Ithink we shall have another look at it in an unobtrusive way."
A long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey limestone boulders, stretchedbehind us. We had turned off the road, and were making our way upthe hill, when, looking in the direction of Holdernesse Hall, I saw acyclist coming swiftly along.
"Get down, Watson!" cried Holmes, with a heavy hand upon my shoulder. Wehad hardly sunk from view when the man flew past us on the road. Amida rolling cloud of dust I caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated face--aface with horror in every lineament, the mouth open, the eyes staringwildly in front. It was like some strange caricature of the dapper JamesWilder whom we had seen the night before.
"The Duke's secretary!" cried Holmes. "Come, Watson, let us see what hedoes."
We scrambled from rock to rock until in a few moments we had madeour 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 wasmoving about the house, nor could we catch a glimpse of any faces at thewindows. Slowly the twilight crept down as the sun sank behind the hightowers of Holdernesse Hall. Then in the gloom we saw the two side-lampsof a trap light up in the stable yard of the inn, and shortly afterwardsheard the rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the road and tore offat 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 certainlywas 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 ofit was the black figure of the secretary, his head advanced, peering outinto the night. It was evident that he was expecting someone. Then atlast there were steps in the road, a second figure was visible for aninstant 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 FightingCock," said Holmes.
"The bar is on the other side."
"Quite so. These are what one may call the private guests. Now, what inthe 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 moreclosely."
Together we stole down to the road and crept across to the door of theinn. The bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes struck a matchand held it to the back wheel, and I heard him chuckle as the light fellupon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up above us was the lighted window.