It was precisely ten minutes past five o’clock and the long-lingering May twilight was but just beginning to gather when the spring cart of the Rose and Thistle arrived at the Abbey stables, and Cleek and Mr. Narkom descending therefrom found themselves the centre of an interested group composed of the major and Lady Mary, the countryside doctor, and Captain MacTavish.

The captain, who had nothing Scottish about him but his name, was a smiling, debonnaire gentleman with flaxen hair and a curling, fair moustache; and Cleek, catching sight of him as he stood leaning, in a carefully studied pose, against the stable door-post with one foot crossed over the other, one hand in his trousers pocket and the other swinging a hunting crop whose crook was a greyhound’s head wrought in solid silver, concluded that here was, perhaps, the handsomest man of his day, and that, in certain sections of society, he might be guaranteed to break hearts by the hundred. It must be said of him, however, that he carried his manifold charms of person with smooth serenity and perfect poise; that, if he realized his own beauty, he gave no outward evidences of it. He was calm, serene, well-bred, and had nothing of the “Doll” or the “Johnny” element in either his bearing or his deportment. He was at once splendidly composed and almost insolently bland.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Cleek. Read a great deal about you one way and another,” he said, when the major made the introduction—a performance which the captain evidently considered superfluous as between an army officer and a police detective. “Sorry I shan’t be able to remain and study your interesting methods, however. Should have been rather pleased to do so, otherwise.”

“And I for my part should have been pleased to have you do so, Captain, I assure you,” replied Cleek, the first intonation of his voice causing the captain to twitch up his head and stare at him as if he were a monstrosity. “Shall you be leaving us, then, before the investigation is concluded?”

“Well, I’m blest! Why, how in the world—oh—er—yes. Obliged to go. Wire from London this afternoon. Regiment sails for India in two days. Beastly nuisance. Shall miss the Derby and all that. By the way, Norcross, if this chap succeeds in finding the filly in time for the race, that little bet of ours stands, of course?”

“Of course,” agreed the major. “Ready are you, Mr. Cleek? Right you are—come along.” And he forthwith led the way into the stable where Chocolate Maid, like a perfect horse in French bronze, stood munching hay in her box as contentedly as if there were no such things in the world as touts and swindlers and horse thieves, and her companion of two days ago still shared the quarters with her.

“Gad! but she’s a beauty and no mistake, Major,” said Cleek as he went over and, leaning across the low barrier of the enclosure, patted the mare’s shoulder and smoothed her glossy neck. “I don’t wonder that you and her ladyship have such high hopes for her future. The creature seems well nigh perfect.”

“Yes, she is a pretty good bit of horseflesh,” replied he, “but not to be compared with Highland Lassie in speed, wind, or anything. There she is, Mr. Cleek; and it’s as natural as life, the beauty!”

Speaking, he waved his hand toward a framed picture of the missing animal—a coloured gift plate which had been given away with the Easter number of The Horseman, and which Farrow had had glazed and hung just over her box. Cleek, following the direction of the indicating hand, looked up and saw the counterfeit presentment of a splendidly proportioned sorrel with a splash of white on the flank and a white “stocking” on the left forefoot.

“A beauty, as you say, Major,” agreed he, “but do you know that I, for my part, prefer the charms of Chocolate Maid? May be bad judgment upon my part but—there you are. What a coat! What a colour! What splendid legs, the beauty! Mind if I step in for a moment and have a look at her?”

The major did not, so he went in forthwith and proceeded to look over the animal’s points—feeling her legs, stroking her flanks, examining her hoofs. And it was then and then only that the major remembered about the visit to the farrier’s over at Shepperton Old Cross and began to understand that it was not all simple admiration of the animal, this close examination of her.

“Oh, by Jove! I say!” he blurted out as he made—with Cleek—a sudden discovery; his face going first red and then very pale under the emotions thus engendered. “She hasn’t any new shoes on, has she? So she can’t have been taken to the farrier’s after all.”

“No,” said Cleek, “she can’t. I half suspected that she hadn’t, so—well, let it go. Let’s have a look round Highland Lassie’s box, please. H’m! Yes! Very nice; very splendid—everything of the best and all in apple pie order. By the way, Major, you surely don’t allow harness to be washed and oiled in here?”

“Certainly not! What in the world could have put such an idea into your head?”

“Merely that bit of rag and that dirty sponge tucked in the corner over there and half covered by the bedding.”

The major went over and touched the things with the toe of his boot.

“It’s one of those imps of stable-boys, the young vandals!” he declared, as he kicked the rag and the sponge out of the box and across the stable floor. “It’s well for them that Farrow isn’t about or there would be some cuffed ears for that sort of presumption, the young beggars! Hullo! Found something else?”

“No,” said Cleek. “That is, nothing of any importance. Merely a bit torn from an old handbill—see? It probably got mixed up with the bedding. It’s of no account, anyhow.” Here he gave his hand a flirt as if flinging the bit of paper over the low barrier of the box, instead of which he cleverly “palmed” it and afterward conveyed it unsuspected to his pocket. “You were right in what you declared this afternoon, Major; for a case of such far-reaching effects it is singularly bald in the matter of detail. At all events there’s no more to be discovered here. By the way, Doctor, am I privileged to go up and see the patient? I should like to do so if I may.”

“By all means, sir, by all means,” replied the doctor. “I am happy to inform you that his condition has considerably improved since my visit at noon, Mr. Cleek, and I have now every hope that he may pull through all right.”

“Excellent!” said Cleek. “But I think I shouldn’t let that good news go abroad just yet a while, Doctor. If you haven’t taken anybody into your confidence regarding it as yet, don’t do so. You haven’t, have you?”

“No. That is, nobody but those who are now present. I told the major and her ladyship on their return this afternoon, of course. And—naturally—Captain MacTavish. He was with me at the time I made the examination, which led me to arrive at the conclusion that the man would survive.”

“Ah!” said Cleek—and the curious, one-sided smile went slowly up his cheek. “Oh, well, everything is all right among friends, of course, but I shouldn’t let it go any farther. And now, if you please, let us go up to Farrow’s room.”They went up forthwith—Lady Mary alone refraining from joining the group—and a moment or two later Cleek found himself standing beside the bed of the unconscious trainer.

He was a strong, sturdily built man, this Tom Farrow, upon whose integrity the major banked so heavily in his warm, trustful, outspoken way; and if the face is any index to the mind—which, in nine cases out of ten, it isn’t!—that trustfulness and confidence were not misplaced. For Farrow’s was a frank, open countenance which suggested a clear conscience and an honest nature, even though it was now pale and drawn with the lines that come of suffering and injury.

At Cleek’s request the doctor removed the bandages and allowed him to inspect the wound at the back of the head.

“H’m! Made with a heavy implement shaped somewhat after the fashion of a golf stick and almost as heavy as a sledge hammer,” he commented. “Arm broken, too. Probably that was done first, and the man struck again after he was on the ground and unable to defend himself. There are two blows, you see: this one just above the ear, and that crushing one at the back of the head. That’s all I care to see, Doctor, thank you. You may replace the bandages.”

Nevertheless, although he asserted this, it was noticeable that his examination of the stricken trainer did not end here; for while the doctor was busy replacing the bandages he took the opportunity to lift the man’s hands and inspect them closely—parting the fingers and looking at the thin, loose folds of skin between them. A few minutes later, the bandages being replaced and the patient turned over to the nurse in charge, the entire party left the room and filed down the stairs together.

“Any ideas, Mr. Cleek?” questioned the major, eagerly.

“Yes, plenty of them,” replied he. “I rather fancy we shall not have to put you to the trouble of housing us at the Abbey to-night, Major. The case is a shallower one than I fancied at first. Shouldn’t be surprised if we cleared it all up inside of the next two hours.”

“Well, I’ll be—dithered!” exclaimed the major, aghast. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve got at the bottom of the thing? That you’ve found something that leads you to suspect where the animal is?”

“More than suspect, Major. I know where she is. By half-past seven o’clock to-night—if you want me to make you a promise—I’ll put her bridle into your hands and she will be at the other end of it!”

“You will?”

“I certainly will, Major—my word for it.”

“Well, of all the dashed——I’m done! I’m winded! I’m simply scooped dry! Where on earth did you get your clues, man? You never did anything but walk about that I could see; and now to declare——I say, MacTavish, did you hear that? Did you hear what he has promised—eh?”

“I heard,” responded the captain with a laugh. “But I’ll believe when I see. I say, Mr. Inspector, where did you find the secret? Hidden between Farrow’s fingers or wrapped around Chocolate Maid’s legs?”

“Both,” said Cleek serenely. “Tell you something else if you care to hear it. I know who poisoned the dog the other night. Farrow did it himself.”

The major’s exclamation of indignation was quite lost in the peal of the captain’s laughter.

“Hawkshaw out-Hawkshawed!” cried he derisively. “Find out that, too, from Farrow’s fingers?”

“Oh, no—that would be impossible. He washed them before he went out that night and they’ve been washed by the nurse several times since. I found it out from the dog himself—and he’s not the only dog in this little business, believe me—though I’m willing to stake my reputation and my life upon it that neither one nor the other of them had any hand in spiriting away the missing horse.”

“Who did, then, Mr. Cleek? who did?”

“Tom Farrow and Tom Farrow alone, Major,” began Cleek—and then stopped suddenly, interrupted by a painful circumstance.

By this time they had reached the foot of the stairs and were filing out into the stable again, and there by the open door Lady Mary Norcross was standing endeavouring to soothe and to comfort a weeping girl—Maggie McFarland, the dairymaid from Nairn.

“Oh, but say he winna dee—say he winna!” she was crying out distressfully. “If I thoct the sin o’ that wad added to the sair conscience o’ me.” Then with a sudden intaking of the breath, as if drowning, and a sudden paleness that made her face seem ivory white, she cowered away, with hands close shut, and eyes wide with fright as she looked up and saw the gentlemen descending.

“It winna matter—it winna matter: I can come again, my leddy!” she said in a frightened sort of whisper which rose suddenly to a sort of wailing cry as she faced round and ran like a thing pursued.

Cleek glanced round quietly and looked at Captain MacTavish. He was still his old handsome, debonnaire, smiling self; but there was a look in his eyes which did not make them a very pleasant sight at present.

“Upon my word, Seton, I cannot make out what has come over that silly girl,” said Lady Mary as her liege lord appeared. “She came here begging to be allowed to go up and see Farrow and to be assured that he would live, and then the moment you all put in an appearance she simply dashed away, as you saw. I really cannot understand what can be the matter with her.”

“Don’t bother about that just now, Mary; don’t bother about anything, my dear, but what this amazing man has promised,” exclaimed the major excitedly. “Do you know, he has declared that if we give him until half-past seven to-night——”

Here Cleek interrupted.

“Your pardon, Major—I amend that,” he said. “I know all about the horse and it will not now take so long as I thought to know all about the ‘dog’ as well. Give me one hour, Major—just one, gentlemen, all—and I will give you the answer to the riddle—every part of it: dog’s part as well as horse’s—here on this spot, so surely as I am a living man. Major, all I ask of you is one thing. Let me have a couple of your grooms out there on the moor inside of the next fifteen minutes, please. May I have them?”

“Certainly, Mr. Cleek—as many as you want.”

“Two will do, thanks. Two are enough for fair play in any little bout and—not going to stop and see the finish, Captain? It will all be over in an hour.”

“Sorry, but I’ve got my packing to attend to, my man.”

“Ah, to be sure. Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. You know the proverb: ‘If the mountain will not come to Mahomet, why, Mahomet must go to the mountain,’ of course,” said Cleek. “I’ll just slip round to the dairy and have a glass of milk to brace me up for the business and then—in one hour—in just one by the watch—you shall have the answer to the riddle—here.”

Then, with a bow to Lady Mary, he walked out of the stable and went round the angle of the building after Maggie McFarland.