Sherlock Holmes Short Stories - The Adventure of Silver Blaze: Part Two

Episode Date: March 13, 2025

Following a trail of mysterious hoofprints across the moors, Holmes uncovers a hidden conspiracy involving rival trainers and a desperate act of sabotage. As the truth emerges, Holmes reveals how a midnight encounter in the stables led to John Straker’s death — and how the real killer has been hiding in plain sight the entire time…   A Noiser production, written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.     Narrated by Hugh Bonneville  Produced by Katrina Hughes and Addison Nugent  Sound Design and Audio Editing by Anisha Deva and George Tapp   Compositions: Dorry Macaulay and Oliver Baines  Mix & Mastering: Thomas Pink   Series Consultant: Dan Smith    For ad-free listening and early access to new episodes, join Noiser+. Click the Noiser+ banner to get started. Or, if you’re on Spotify or Android, go to noiser.com/subscriptions  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hey, it's DJ First Dibs. I notice you've been listening to a lot of summer vibes lately. I get it. You're dreaming about vacations. Ooh, baby, that's my jam. With Sunwing's first dibs on summer savings, let us curate something stronger than what you've been listening to. Because while your playlist screams, I need a vacation, my algorithm suggests book before

March 30th. Remember, Sunwing, save more, do more. Book with your local travel advisor or at sunwing.ca. Welcome to Sherlock Holmes Short Stories. I'm Hugh Bonneville. In the last episode, Sherlock Holmes was summoned to investigate the disappearance of Silver Blaze, England's most celebrated racehorse

and favourite for the upcoming Wessex Cup. The horse had vanished in the night, and its trainer, John Straker, was found dead on Dartmoor with his skull crushed. As Holmes and Watson journeyed to King's Pylon stables, they learned of a suspicious stranger, who had apparently tried to bribe a stable boy on the night of the crime. The boy had also been drugged with opium-laced curry, and opium was later discovered in the stranger's possession. Though quickly arrested, this man, Fitzroy Simpson, denied any wrongdoing, despite his cravat being found in the dead trainer's hand.

Now, examining the windswept moor near Mapleton stables, Holmes has made a discovery in the mud. Fresh hoof prints that match Silver Blaze's horseshoe exactly. 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 horses. The horse was alone before,' I cried. Quite so, it was alone before.

"'Hello, what's this?' The double track turned sharp off and took the direction of King's piland. Holmes whistled, and we both followed along after it. His eyes were on the trail, but I happened to look a little to one side and saw, to my surprise, the same tracks coming back again in the opposite direction. "'One for you, Watson,' said Holmes when I pointed it out. "'You have saved us a long walk, which would have brought us back on our own traces. Let us follow the return track." We had not to go far. It ended at the

paving of asphalt, which led up to the gates of the Mapleton stables. As we approached, a groom ran out from them. We don't want any loiterers about here, said he. I only wish 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 anyone is about, he will be, for he's always the first stirring. Oh, boy, but here he is, sir, to answer your questions for himself.

No, no, bah, 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, Dorsan? 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 have no time to talk to every gad about. 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 parlour?" 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 greys 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 Pylon. 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. He has the horse, then? He tried to bluster out of it, but I described to him so exactly what his actions had been upon that morning that he is convinced that I was watching him. Of course you observe the peculiarly square toes in the impressions, and that his own boots exactly corresponded to them. Again, of course, no subordinate would have dared to do such a thing.

I described to him how, when according to his custom he was the first down, he perceived a strange horse wandering over the moor, how he went out to it, and his astonishment at recognizing from the white forhead which has given the favor at its name, that chance had put in his power the only horse which could beat the one upon which he had put his money. Then I described how his first impulse had been to lead him back to King's Pylon, and how the devil had shown him how he could hide the horse until the race was over, and how he had led it back and concealed it at Mapleton.

When I told him every detail, he gave it up, and thought only of saving his own skin. But his stables had been searched. Oh, an old horse-faker like him has many a dodge. But are you not afraid to leave the horse in his power now, since he has every interest in injuring it? My dear fellow, he will guard it as the apple of his eye. He knows that his only hope of mercy is to produce it safe. Colonel Ross did not impress me as a man who would be likely to show much mercy in any case. The matter does not rest with Colonel Ross. I follow my own methods and tell as much or as little as I choose.

That is the advantage of being unofficial. I don't know whether you observed it, Watson, but the Colonel's manner has been just a trifle cavalier to me. I'm inclined now to have a little amusement at his expense. Say nothing to him about the horse? Well, certainly not without your permission. And of course, this is all quite a minor point compared to the question of who killed John Straker. And you will devote yourself to that. On the contrary, we both go back to London by the night train. I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. London by the night train.

I was thunderstruck by my friend's words. We had only been a few hours in Devonshire, and that he should give up an investigation which he had begun so brilliantly was quite incomprehensible to me. Not a word more could I draw from him until we were back at the trainer's house. The Colonel and the Inspector were awaiting us in the parlour. "'My friend and I return to town by the night express,' said Holmes. "'We've had a charming little breath of your beautiful Dartmoor air.' The Inspector opened his eyes, and the Colonel's lip curled in a sneer.

"'So you despair of arresting the murderer of poor Straker?' said he. Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "'There are certainly grave difficulties in the way,' said he. "'I have every hope, however, that your horse will start upon Tuesday, and I beg that you will have your jockey in readiness. Might I ask for a photograph of Mr. John Straker?" The inspector took one from an envelope and handed it to him. "'My dear Gregory, you anticipate all my wants. If I might ask you to wait here for an instant, I have a question which I should like to put to the maid."

"'I must say that I am rather disappointed in our London consultant,' said Colonel Ross bluntly as my friend left the room. "'I do not see that we are any further than when he came.'" "'At least you have his assurance that your horse will run,' said I. "'Yes, I have his assurance,' said the Colonel, with a shrug of his shoulders. I should prefer to have the horse. I was about to make some reply in defense of my friend when he entered the room again. Now, gentlemen, he said, I am quite ready for Tavistock.

ready for Tavistock. As we stepped into the carriage, one of the stable lads held the door open for us. A sudden idea seemed to occur to Holmes, for he leaned forward and touched the lad upon the sleeve. You have a few sheep in the paddock, he said. Who attends to them? I do, sir. Have you noticed anything amiss with them of late? Well, sir, not of much account, but three of them have gone lame, sir. I could see that Holmes was extremely pleased, for he chuckled and rubbed his hands together. A long shot, Watson, a very long shot," said he, pinching my arm.

Gregory, let me recommend to your attention this singular epidemic among the sheep. Drive on, coachman! Colonel Ross still wore an expression which showed the poor opinion which he had formed of my companion's ability. But I saw by the inspector's face that his attention had been keenly aroused. "'You consider that to be important?' he asked. "'Exceedingly so. Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?' "'To the curious incident of the dog in the night time. Well, the dog did nothing in the night time.

That was the curious incident, remarked Sherlock Holmes. Want to own part of the airline you flew with on your last vacation? Or part of the company that makes your favorite triple shot latte with extra foam. What about owning part of a company that one day could send you on a tour of outer space? Now you can. With partial shares from TD Direct Investing you can own part of your favorite companies. Just pick a stock and decide how much to spend on the share. It's a piece of cake. Learn more at td.com slash partial shares. TD ready for you. Four days later, Holmes and I were again in the train bound for Winchester to see the race for the Wessex Cup. Colonel Ross met us by appointment outside the station, and we drove in his drag to the course beyond the town.

His face was grave, and his manner was cold in the extreme. I have seen nothing of my horse, said he. I suppose that you would know him when you saw him, asked Holmes. The Colonel was very angry. I have been on the turf for 20 years and never was asked such a question as that before, said he. A child would know silver blaze with his white forehead and his mottled off foreleg. How is the betting? Well, that is the curious part of it. You could have got 15 to 1 yesterday, but the price has become shorter and shorter until you can hardly get 3 to 1 now. Hmm, said Holmes, somebody knows something that is clear.

As the drag drew up in the enclosure near the grandstand, I glanced at the card to see the entries. near the grandstand, I glanced at the card to see the entries. It ran Wessex Plate, 50 sovereigns each, half forfeit, with 1,000 sovereigns added for four and five-year-olds. Second, 300 pounds, third, 200 pounds. New course, one mile and five furlongs. One, Mr. Heath Newton's The Hurricane, red cap, cinnamon jacket. 2. Colonel Wardlaw's Pugilist, pink cap, blue and black jacket.

3. Lord Backwater's Desbra, yellow cap and sleeves. 4. Colonel Ross's Silver Blaze, black cap, red jacket. 5. Duke of Balmoral's iris. Yellow and black stripes. Six, Lord Singletford's rasper.

Purple cap, black sleeves. We scratched our other one and put all hopes on your word, said the Colonel. Why, what's that? Silver blaze favourite? Five to four against silver blaze, roared the ring. Five to four against silver blaze. Five to four against Silver Blaze, roared the ring. Five to four against Silver Blaze, five to fifteen against Despera, five to four in the field. There are the numbers up, I cried. They are all six there. All six there? Then my horse is running, cried the Colonel in great agitation.

But I don't see him. My colors have not passed. Only five have passed. This must be he. As I spoke, a powerful bay horse swept out from the weighing enclosure and canted past us, bearing on its back the well-known black and red of the Colonel. That's not my horse! cried the owner. That beast has not a white hair upon its body. What is this that you've done, Mr. Holmes? Well, well, let us see how he gets on, said my friend imperturbably.

For a few minutes he gazed through my field glass. Capital, an excellent start! he cried suddenly. There they are, coming round the curve! From our drag we had a superb view as they came up the strait. The six horses were so close together that a carpet could have covered them, but halfway up the yellow of the Mapleton stable showed to the front. Before they reached us, however, Desbrer's bolt was shot, and the Colonel's

horse, coming away with a rush, passed the post a good six lengths before its rival, the Duke of Balmoral's Iris, making a bad third. "'It's my race, anyhow,' gasped the Colonel, passing his hand over his eyes. I confess that I can make neither head nor tail of it. Don't you think that you have kept up your mystery long enough, Mr. Holmes?" "'Certainly, Colonel. You shall know everything. Let us all go round and have a look at the horse together.'" Here he is," he continued, as we made our way into the weighing enclosure, where only

owners and their friends find admittance. "'You have only to wash his face and his leg in spirits of wine, and you will find that he is the same old silver blaze as ever. You take my breath away." I found him in the hands of a faker and took the liberty of running him just as he was sent over. My dear sir, you have done wonders. The horse looks very fit and well. It never went better in its life. I owe you a thousand apologies for having doubted your ability. You have done me a great service by recovering my horse.

You would do me a greater still if you could lay your hands on the murderer of John Straker." I have done so, said Holmes quietly. The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. The Colonel and I stared at him in amazement. You've got him? Where is he then? He is here. Here? Where?

In my company at the present moment. The Colonel flushed angrily. I quite recognize that I am under obligations to you, Mr. Holmes, said he, but I must regard what you have just said as either a very bad joke or an insult.'" Sherlock Holmes laughed. "'I assure you that I have not associated you with the crime, Colonel,' said he. "'The real murderer is standing immediately behind you.' He stepped past and laid his hand upon the glossy neck of the thoroughbred.

The horse! cried both the Colonel and myself. Yes, the horse. And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was done in self-defense, and that John Straker was a man who was entirely unworthy of your confidence. But there goes the bell, and as I stand to win a little on this next race, I shall defer a lengthy explanation until a more fitting time. We had the corner of a Pullman car to ourselves that evening as we whirled back to London. And I fancied that the journey was a short one to Colonel Ross as well as to myself, as we listened to our companion's narrative of the events which had occurred at the Dartmoor training stables upon the Monday night, and the means by which he had unraveled them. "'I confess,' said he, "'that any theories which I had formed from the newspaper report

were entirely erroneous, and yet there were indications there, had they not been overlaid by other details which concealed their true import. I went to Devonshire with the conviction that Fitzroy Simpson was the true culprit, although of course I saw that the evidence against him was by no means complete. It was while I was in the carriage, just as we reached the trainer's house, that the immense significance of the curried mutton occurred to me. You may remember that I was distraight and remained sitting after you had all alighted. I was marvelling in my own mind how I could possibly have overlooked so obvious a clue.

"'I confess,' said the Colonel, "'that even now I cannot see how it helps us.'" It was the first link in my chain of reasoning. Powdered opium is by no means tasteless. The flavor is not disagreeable, but it is perceptible. Where it mixed with any ordinary dish, the eater would undoubtedly detect it, and would probably eat no more. A curry was exactly the medium which would disguise this taste. By no possible supposition could this stranger, Fitzroy Simpson, have caused curry to be served

in the trainer's family that night. And it is surely too monstrous a coincidence to suppose that he happened to come along with powdered opium upon the very night when a dish happened to be served which would disguise the flavor. That is unthinkable. Therefore, Simpson becomes eliminated from the case, and our attention centers upon Straker and his wife, the only two people who could have chosen curried mutton for supper that night.

The opium was added after the dish was set aside for the stable boy, for the others had the same for supper with no ill effects. Which of them then had access to that dish without the maid seeing them. Before deciding that question, I had grasped the significance of the silence of the dog, for one true inference invariably suggests others. The Simpson incident had shown me that a dog was kept in the stables, and yet though someone had been in and had fetched out a horse, he had not barked enough to arouse the two lads in the loft. Obviously, the midnight visitor was someone whom the dog knew well.

I was already convinced, or almost convinced, that John Straker went down to the stables in the dead of the night, and took out Silver Blaze. For what purpose? For a dishonest one, obviously, or why should he drug his own stable-boy? And yet I was at a loss to know why. There have been cases before now where trainers have made sure of great sums of money by laying against their own horses through agents, and then preventing them from winning by fraud.

Sometimes it is a pulling jockey, sometimes it is some surer and subtler means. What was it here? I hoped that the contents of his pockets might help me to form a conclusion. And they did so. You cannot have forgotten the singular knife which was found in the dead man's hand. A knife which certainly no sane man would choose for a weapon. It was, as Dr. Watson told us, a form of knife which is used for the most delicate operations known in surgery.

And it was to be used for a delicate operation that night. You must know, with your wide experience of turf matters, Colonel Ross, that it is possible to make a slight nick upon the tendons of a horse's ham, and to do it it subcutaneously so as to leave absolutely no trace. A horse so treated would develop a slight lameness which would be put down to a strain in exercise or a touch of rheumatism, but never to foul play. Villain! Scoundrel! cried the Colonel. We have here the explanation of why John Straker wished to take the horse out onto the moor. So spirited a creature would have certainly roused the soundest of sleepers when it felt the prick of the knife. It was absolutely necessary to do it in the open air." "'I have been blind,' cried the Colonel.

"'Of course that was why he needed the candle and struck the match.' "'Undoubtedly. But in examining his belongings I was fortunate enough to discover not only the method of the crime, but even its motives. As a man of the world, Colonel, you know that men do not carry other people's bills about in their pockets. We have most of us quite enough to do to settle our own. I at once concluded that Straker was leading a double life and keeping a second establishment. a second establishment. The nature of the bill showed that there was a lady in the case, and one who had expensive

tastes. Liberal as you are with your servants, one can hardly expect that they can buy twenty guinea-walking dresses for their ladies. I questioned Mrs. Straker as to the dress without her knowing it, and having satisfied myself that it had never reached her, I made a note of the milliner's address, and felt that by calling there with Straker's photograph, I could easily dispose of the mythical Derbyshire. From that time on, all was plain. Straker had led out the horse to a hollow where his light would be invisible. Simpson, in his flight, had dropped his cravat, and Straker had picked it up,

with some idea, perhaps, that he might use it in securing the horse's leg. Once in the hollow, he had got behind the horse and had struck a light. But the creature, frightened at the sudden glare, and with the strange instinct of animals feeling that some mischief was intended, had lashed out, and the steel shoe had struck Straker full on the forehead. He had already, in spite of the rain, taken off his overcoat in order to do his delicate task. And so, as he fell, his knife gashed his thigh.

Do I make it clear? Wonderful, cried the Colonel, "'Wonderful! You might have been there.'" My final shot was, I confess, a very long one. It struck me that so astute a man as Straker would not undertake this delicate tendon-nicking without a little practice. What could he practice on? My eyes fell upon the sheep, and I asked a question which, rather to my surprise, showed

that my surmise was correct. When I returned to London, I called upon the milliner who had recognized Straker as an excellent customer of the name of Derbyshire, who had a very dashing wife with a strong partiality for expensive dresses. I have no doubt that this woman had plunged him over head and ears in debt, and so led him into this miserable plot. "'You have explained all but one thing,' cried the Colonel. "'Where was the horse?'

"'Ah, it bolted, and was cared for by one of your neighbors. We must have an amnesty in that direction, I think. This is Clapham Junction, if I am not mistaken, and we shall be in Victoria in less than ten minutes. If you care to smoke a cigar in our rooms, Colonel, I shall be happy to give you any other details which might interest you. Next time on Sherlock Holmes Short Stories, we follow a young Holmes as he sets off on one of his first ever cases in The Musgrave Ritual.

When the great detective's old school friend comes to him with a strange tale involving an ancient family ritual, Sherlock suddenly finds himself drawn into a centuries-old mystery. Featuring a series of cryptic calls and responses, the so-called Musgrave Ritual has long been seen as merely an eccentric tradition. But when the family's butler disappears after becoming obsessed with the ceremony's verses, they begin to suspect there's more to it than meets the eye. Now Holmes must decipher the meaning behind this ancestral riddle before innocent lives

are lost. That's next time.