"Doyle, Arthur Conan - Sherlock Holmes 04 - The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Doyle Arthur Conan)

he left it. The window, I may add, was not large
enough for a man to get through.

"Hunter waited until his fellow-grooms had returned,
when he sent a message to the trainer and told him
what had occurred. Straker was excited at hearing the
account, although he does not seem to have quite
realized its true significance. It left him, however,
vaguely uneasy, and Mrs. Straker, waking at one in the
morning, found that he was dressing. In reply to her
inquiries, he said that he could not sleep on account
of his anxiety about the horses, and that he intended
to walk down to the stables to see that all was well.
She begged him to remain at home, as she could hear
the rain pattering against the window, but in spite of
her entreaties he pulled on his large mackintosh and
left the house.

"Mrs. Straker awoke at seven in the morning, to find
that her husband had not yet returned. She dressed
herself hastily, called the maid, and set off for the
stables. The door was open; inside, huddled together
upon a chair, Hunter was sunk in a state of absolute
stupor, the favorite's stall was empty, and there were
no signs of his trainer.

"The two lads who slept in the chaff-cutting loft
above the harness-room were quickly aroused. They had
heard nothing during the night, for they are both
sound sleepers. Hunter was obviously under the
influence of some powerful drug, and as no sense could
be got out of him, he was left to sleep it off while
the two lads and the two women ran out in search of
the absentees. They still had hopes that the trainer
had for some reason taken out the horse for early
exercise, but on ascending the knoll near the house,
from which all the neighboring moors were visible,
they not only could see no signs of the missing
favorite, but they perceived something which warned
them that they were in the presence of a tragedy.

"About a quarter of a mile from the stables John
Straker's overcoat was flapping from a furze-bush.
Immediately beyond there was a bowl-shaped depression
in the moor, and at the bottom of this was found the
dead body of the unfortunate trainer. His head had
been shattered by a savage blow from some heavy
weapon, and he was wounded on the thigh, where there
was a long, clean cut, inflicted evidently by some
very sharp instrument. It was clear, however, that