Original subtitles

It's no good.

I'm going to have to go.

Go? Go where?

Kingspiren!

Last evening, Inspector Gregory of the Devonshire Constabulary arrested well

-known racing personality Fitzroy Simpson and charged him with the murder

trainer John Straker.

Come in!

Two more telegrams, Mr. Holmes?

Thank you, Mrs. Hodgson.

You've been bombarded with these the last couple of days.

Another one from Inspector Gregory.

And one from Colonel Roth.

Ah, that's the horse's owner.

Thank you, my dear.

Watson, I have made a blunder, which I am afraid is a more common occurrence

than anyone would think, who only knew me through your memoirs.

And the fact is that I could not believe that so remarkable a horse as

Silverblaze could disappear, especially in the seclusion of somewhere like...

The north of Dartmoor. From hour to hour I'm expected to hear that the abductor

was the murder of John Straker and the horse had been found, but that doesn't

seem to be the case. I could be happy to go with you.

Now, tell us, Doc, if I should not be in the way.

Oh, my dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by coming.

I'm sure your time will not be misplanned. The case promises to be

unique.

We can just catch our trains at Paddington. And Watson, would you be so

to bring your field glasses?

Tickets, please.

Thank you, Inspector.

Thank you.

Watson, we're going well.

Our speed at present is 53 .5 miles an hour.

I've not observed the quarter -mile post.

Nor have I.

But the telegraph posts on this line are 60 yards apart.

Calculation is a simple one.

Has that remarkably colored sporting paper anything to say on the subject of

force?

Oh.

Yes. Yes.

Here we are.

Silver Blaze.

Silver Blaze is from Isonomy Stock.

Isonomy. And holds as brilliant a record as his famous ancestor.

He's now in his fifth year and has bought in turn each of the prizes of the

to Colonel Ross, his fortunate owner.

At the time of the catastrophe, he was first favourite to the Wessex Cup.

The odds quoted being two to one against.

He's always been a prime favorite of the racing public and has never yet

disappointed them.

In spite of the unfavorable price, a great deal of money has been placed upon

it. So it is obvious, therefore, that there are many people with the strongest

interest in preventing Silver Blade from being there at the fall of the flag.

please, because this is rather a good view.

Now, that's King's Highland over there, Mr. Holmes.

You know, my training stable where the missing horse was kept.

What exactly does your establishment consist of, Colonel Ross?

Well, there's a trainer's house where poor Straker lived with his wife and a

maidservant. How long had he been with you, sir?

Oh, five years as jockey until he got too heavy for the weighing chair.

Then seven years as my trainer.

Yes, he was a first -class man.

And I presume the fables are beyond.

Yes, yes, not a big yard. It's a good one.

My style is quality, not quantity.

As anyone connected with the turf will tell you, Mr. Holmes. Yes, thank you,

Inspector. You see, at the moment, I've only five horses in the yard.

I see you have two of them entered for the Wessex Cup, Colonel Ross. That's

right, yes.

Silver Blaze and Bayard.

But between ourselves, Bayard is intended for a pacemaker.

Well, with such valuable animal under his charge, I imagine your trainer, Mr.

Straker, must have taken some precautions.

Oh, yes, indeed.

Three stable lads live with the horses.

And after dark, one of the lads is always on duty in the stables while the

two sleep above in the loft.

Is that another training stable over there?

Yes, that's Mapleton.

That's Lord Backwater's yard.

Oh, Lord Backwater. Lord Backwater owns Desborough, the second favorite for the

Wethers' Cup. This is not a bad horse.

Not in the same class as Silver Blaze.

A fellow called Silas Brown trains for Backwater. I can't stick to the fellow

himself. Nor could Straker come to that.

It's a natural rivalry, I presume.

Rather more than that.

Shall we drive on? Yes.

All right, Baines.

Inspector Gregory.

Are there any further developments as to the whereabouts of the horse?

Nothing at all.

We have made very little progress in that direction.

I can't imagine how a horse like Silver Blaze could go missing for so long in a

place like this. Nor can I.

I must tell you, Mr. Holmes, that at first I was not at all taken with

Gregory's suggestion that you should be asked to come down here.

Because I don't like amateurs, you see.

But you did send me a telegram, Colonel.

Well, no one else seems to be able to find my horse.

If you ask me, it's these damned gypsies wandering all over the moor.

It's a perfect scandal. I've said so for years.

My men have seen every group of gypsies on Dartmoor in the last two days,

Colonel.

And searched every stable yard, quarry and cave in South Devon.

It's an absolute mystery.

I expect a miracle from you, Mr. Holmes.

Inspector Gregory, my friends at Scotland Yard tell me that you're

making a reputation for yourself in the English detective service.

I'm a keen student of your methods too, Mr. Holmes.

I have the two principal which is waiting for you. Thank you.

Who are they?

Edith Baxter, the maid, and Hunter, the stable boy, who was on duty on Monday

night.

It was just a few minutes after nine o 'clock, sir.

I was carrying Mr. Hunter's supper across from the house. But, Mr. Baxter,

did the supper consist of?

It was a dish of curried mutton, sir.

Suddenly I heard a man's voice.

Dinah, give me a turn. I can tell you, sir.

Excuse me, miss.

What do you want, sir?

Can you tell me where I am?

I'd almost made up my mind to sleep on the moor when I saw the light.

This is King's Pile and Training Stable, sir.

What a stroke of luck.

I understand there's a stable lad.

Sleeps here at night.

No doubt that's his supper you have there.

I'm sure you wouldn't be too proud to earn yourself the price of a new dress,

would you?

See, the boy has this tonight.

And you shall have the prettiest frock money can buy. I can.

Ned!

Ned!

Ned!

It's a man. Stop me out there.

I'm ever so frightened.

What do you want?

He asked after you.

He asked me to give you something.

What was it?

I don't know.

It was white.

Where is he now? He's gone.

We best cut back up the house, quick. Tell the governor. Yes, ma 'am.

Good evening.

I want a word with you.

What business have you here?

It's a business that may put something in your pocket, my lad.

Now, you've two horses entered in the Wessex Cup.

Silverblaze and Bayard.

Let me have the straight tip and you won't be the loser.

Is it the fact that at the weight, Bayard can give the other 100 yards in

furlongs? We don't have any damn touch around here.

The governor and the others came down soon enough.

We found neither sight nor a sound of the man. One moment.

When you let the dog out, did you leave the door open behind you? Oh, excellent.

Excellent. Just the point I was getting to make.

I locked the door behind me, sir. I swear it. Good luck.

Does Fitzroy Simpson admit to all this?

He denies nothing.

He says he came for information.

What about the white paper?

He says it was a five -pound note.

What happened next?

Well, sir, it was about dawn when the mistress came into my bedroom and told

to come with her.

Well, wouldn't she want? She'd found Mrs. Drake's bed empty.

Heavens! The horse is gone.

And the bridle.

Ned! Wake up!

Wake the boys.

Ned!

He was dead, sir.

He's dead.

It's all knocked in.

It was the terrible blow on the head from some blunt instrument that had

him.

It was clear that he had defended himself most vigorously.

The blood -stained knife.

As to the wound on the thigh, who can tell?

Well, it is possible that the wound on the thigh could have been caused by the

strength of fowl. The lad here was drugged.

Appreciable quantities of powdered opium were found in his curry.

Did all the household eat the same dish?

Yes, sir.

I made it myself and served it.

This black and red scarf.

The gentleman was wearing that scarf when he talked to me.

I'd swear that on the Bible, sir.

Thank you.

My theory is that Simpson was under some strong obligation to nobble or

otherwise incapacitate this horse so that he would be unable to run in the

Weflex Cup.

Clever move, that, putting opium in the boy's food, and easy enough through that

window. Yes.

Then it was simple.

He'd obtained a duplicate key, led out the horse.

It was his bad luck that Straker was alert enough to catch him up on the

In the struggle, the horse bolted.

There's no proof that Simpson killed Straker, is there?

The evidence against him is very strong.

He was undoubtedly here that night on some devious business. He poisoned the

stable lad. He had in his hand a heavy stick weighted with lead, and his scarf

was found in the dead man's hand.

And he went pale as death when I confronted him with that fact.

I really think we have enough to go before a jury.

No, no, no.

Inspector, that's how the council would turn it all to rags.

Has a duplicate key been found in his possession?

No. But what chemist sold him the pounded opium? And above all, how could

stranger in this district, hide a horse?

I agree the evidence is circumstantial.

But I think the net is drawn pretty tightly around Fitzroy Simpson.

And I believe he is our man.

What sort of a fellow is he?

Why would he do such a thing?

Fitzroy Simpson is a man of excellent birth and dedication.

Unfortunately, he has squandered a fortune on the turf, which has put him

hands of moneylenders and unscrupulous bookmakers.

Plenty of those sharks in the racing world. I don't know that you're a

man.

Occasional flutter?

I presume an inventory has been made of what Strager had in his pockets at the

time of his death?

I have the things themselves in the sitting room, if you would care to see

I think her London.

For the bloodstains, I presume this is the knife that was found at the dead

man's craft.

Yes, indeed.

This is more in your line, Doctor.

Yes, it's what we call a cataract knife.

A very delicate blade devised for very delicate work. Strange thing for a man

take on so rough an expedition, Holmes.

Especially as it wouldn't shut in his pocket. The tip was guarded by a disc of

cork, which we found beside the body. You impress me, Inspector. Thank you.

Mrs. Drager said it was on the dressing table.

It was probably the nearest thing to hand at the time. I see.

I see.

Corn letters, Bill.

Instructions for Colonel Ross.

And what have we here?

A millimetre count.

£37 .15 from a Madame de Zurier of Bond Street, London.

To a Mr. William Derbyshire. Mrs. Drager tells us that Derbyshire was a friend

of her husband's and occasionally had his letters addressed here.

22 guineas.

Somewhat heavy for a single costume.

Mrs. Darwish had rather expensive taste.

Yes.

Well, there appears to be nothing more to learn here, Inspector. Shall we move

on to the theme of the crime?

Yes, of course.

How do you look?

Have you got them, Inspector?

Is there any more news?

I'm afraid not, Mrs. Strager.

But Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson have come down from London to help us.

They assure you we are doing everything possible.

I wish you good luck, Mr. Holmes.

Well, thank you, madam.

And I commiserations on your great loss.

Look, surely we met at a garden party in Plymouth some time ago.

No, sir.

You are mistaken.

No, do you know, I could have sworn it.

You're a costume of dove -coloured silk with ostrich feather trimming.

I've never had such a dress, sir.

A quite fair visit, thank you.

That is the bush where the coat was hanging.

What was the weather like? Oh, calm.

Bit of rain about.

And the coat was not blown against the bush, but placed there? Yes, it was

placed there. Inspector.

No, no, no!

So many people have trampled around this land.

There have been many people here.

That piece of matting has been placed there, and we have all stood upon that.

Not the general public.

I have in this bag one of the boots John Stryker wore.

One of Fitzroy Simpson's shoes.

And a cart horseshoe of silver blade.

Thank you, Inspector.

Burnt wax, best of.

Can't believe it.

I cannot understand how I came to overlook them.

They were invisible, buried in the mud.

I only saw them because I was looking for them.

What?

You expected to find them?

I thought it not unlikely.

I'm afraid there are no more tracks.

I've examined the ground for a hundred yards in every direction.

What a pleasant evening.

I think I'll take a walk, switch my legs.

Watson? Yes, indeed.

I'll take this, for luck.

I have some work to do in the house. Then Colonel Ross is coming to take us

to Tavistock.

Suppose his silver blades broke away.

I mean, where would he have gone?

If he'd run loose on the moor, he'd have surely been seen by now.

Perhaps the gypsy theory is correct.

No, no, no, no, no.

A horse is a most gregarious creature.

Now, he did not go back to King's Pylons, to his own stable, so he must

gone to Melton.

Now, let us use that as a working hypothesis.

The ground around here is very hard and dry, but over there, in that hollow, it

must have been very wet on Monday night.

If our supposition is correct,

he must have crossed it.

Why, George, look at that.

You see, the value of imagination is the one quality which Inspector Gregory

lacks.

We imagined what might have happened, acted upon the supposition, and find

ourselves justified. Let us proceed.

And man turned.

Haven't you got eyes in your head?

I only wanted to ask you a question.

Should I be too early to see Mr. Silas Brown if I was to call around here at 5

.30 tomorrow morning?

I shouldn't be speaking to you by rate.

Mr.

Brown's the early bird round here, all right.

Darshan. What are you doing gossiping with strangers?

Fear about your business.

Now, what the devil do you two want round here?

Just a few minutes of your time, Mr. Brown.

Be off with you or you'll find the dog on your heels.

Why should I talk every gad about stranger on the moor?

It may save you instant dismissal from Lord Backwater's service

and a stiffish prison sentence.

Early Tuesday morning, you were about the yard as usual, when you

saw a horse on the moor.

When you approached it, you realised that it wasn't a strange horse at all,

one that you knew very well.

Your first instinct was to lead Silver... Silver Blaze.

Back to Kingspireland. But then the devil put other ideas into your head.

Here's a chance to make a great deal of money.

It occurred to you that if you were to hide, though...

You've been watching me,

haven't you?

You've been spying on me, sir.

What you want.

If it's money you want, you shall have it.

You will do exactly as I tell you.

A more perfect compound of the bully, coward, and sneak than Master Silas

I've seldom met with. He has the horse, then? Of course.

But his stables have been searched.

An old faker like him knows many a dodge.

Watson, I don't know whether you observed, but Colonel Ross's manner to

been somewhat cavalier.

I'm inclined to have a little amusement at his expense.

Say nothing to him about the horse. I shall say nothing without your

Splendid.

We have found traces which show that a party of gypsies encamped on Monday

within a mile of where the murder took place.

Fitzroy Simpson may well have an understanding with them over hiding the

Nevertheless, I think I owe it to the public to remove Silver Blaze's name

the entrance for the cup. No, certainly not. Colonel, I should let the name

stand. But I've already withdrawn by art. But I have every hope that Silver

Blaze will start on Saturday. Have your jockey in readiness.

I'm very glad to have your opinion, sir.

That is a minor point, of course, compared with the question of who killed

Straker. Doubtless you will be devoting yourself to that problem.

On the contrary, Dr Watson and I are taking the night express to London.

We've had the most charming little breath of your country air.

So you've despaired already of arresting the murderer of poor John Straker?

There are certain grave difficulties.

Do you have a photograph of Straker?

Thank you, Inspector.

I am quite ready now for Tavistock.

Linger.

I must say I'm rather disappointed in our London consultant.

I don't see that we're any further than when he came.

At least you have his assurance, Colonel, that your horse will run.

Oh, yes, I have his assurance.

I should prefer to have the horse. I think you should heed Mr. Holmes'

Colonel.

Well, I shall have a seat.

Excuse me, who looks after these sheep?

I do, sir.

Have you noted something amiss for the night?

No, sir.

Well, it's not much account, but three of them have gone lame.

A long shot, Watson.

A very long shot. After you.

Inspector, I'd like to recommend to you the singular epidemic among the sheep.

You rarely consider that to be important.

Exceedingly so.

All right, Burns.

Is there any other point to which you wish to draw my attention, Mr. Holmes?

To the curious incident of the dog in the night.

But the dog did nothing in the night time.

That is the curious incident.

Well,

the devil is my horse, Holmes. No, no, no, no, no. Where's the devil, is he?

I suppose, Colonel, that you wouldn't recognise him if you saw him.

No, my own horse.

I've been on the turf for 20 years and I've never been on such a damn fool

question before.

Why, try it, Silver Blaze.

With a white star on his forehead and mottled hind leg.

realize that if my horse doesn't run, quite apart from being lynched by the

crowd, I shall be up before the stewards.

Probably warned off every racecourse in England for life. Reputation ruined.

Ah, let us hope it does not come to that, if Dr. Watson.

And this, Colonel, is your horse.

That's not my horse, Holmes!

God, man, what have you done?

There, Colonel.

is your silver blaze.

I found him in the hands of a faker and brought him to the course just as he

was.

Good heavens.

You take my breath away, Mr. Holmes.

You've done me a great service by recovering my horse. You'd do me a

still if you could lay your hand on the murderer of John Straker. I've done it,

sir.

What?

What's all this about if you've got him? Where is he, then? He's here.

Here? Oh, well.

Somebody who's not present at this very moment.

Yes, I quite recognise that I'm under obligations to you, Mr Holmes, but this

either a very bad joke or an insult.

The real murderer, Colonel, is standing immediately behind you.

But the horse... Yes, the horse.

And it may lessen his guilt if I say that it was done entirely in self

And that John Strako was a man quite unworthy.

Number four, third. Winner.

Come on, Rod.

Yes.

Yes, thank you, Dan.

Thank you very much.

Number 12.

Number 12.

And when we came down to Kings Park and I was convinced that Fitzroy Simpson was

the true culprit, all the newspaper and police reports seemed to point to it.

It was only when I entered the trainer's house that the immense significance of

the colored mutton occurred to me. I confess that even now I cannot see how

happens.

Powdered opium, Colonel, is by no means tasteful.

I am, correct?

Oh, quite correct. The, uh...

Flavour is not detectable, but it is perceptible. Were it mixed with an

dish, the eater would undoubtedly detect it, but would probably eat no more.

Curry was exactly the medium with which to disguise the taste.

So it must have been Spraker or his wife.

Exactly.

Because I remember you spoke of a dog.

The dog that didn't bark in the night.

Well, someone had been into the stable and taken out the horse, and the dog had

not barked. So, obviously, this midnight visitor was someone the dog be will.

I wasn't really convinced that it was Draco. For what purpose should he take

the horse and drug his own stable?

To be honest, well, obviously, there have been cases before now where

have made great sums of money by...

laying against their own horses and then preventing them from winning.

Sometimes you get a pulling jockey, I will say that.

Sometimes by shorter and more subtle means.

This singular knife which was

found in the dead man's hand and which no sane man would use as a weapon.

Doctor? Yes, only...

Only used in the most delicate operations.

It was used for a very delicate operation, that line.

Excuse me.

As you know, Colonel, with your wide knowledge of turf matters,

that it is possible to make a slight nick in the haughty attendant.

And do it subcutaneously.

Any slight lameness will be put down to a strain in training or a bruise, never

foul play.

Villain and damned!

Not an operation to be done in the stable. No food for me.

So sensitive a creature...

would arouse the soundest of sleepers.

I've been blind, and Gregory too.

Of course, that's why he needed the candle and struck the match.

When I examined Straker's belongings, I was fortunate to discover not only the

method of the crime, but also the motive.

Most men do not carry other people's bills in their pockets.

From this I concluded that Straker was leading a double life.

The nature of the bill, It shows that there was a woman in the case, and a

of expensive taste.

Liberal though you are with your servants, I'm sure they're not able to

22 guinea walking dresses for their ladies.

Mrs. Traker never had one by her own admission.

When I visited Bond Street the other morning, I showed Madame Lesvurier this

photograph of Straker.

She recognised him as an extremely good customer called William Derbyshire.

He was a very dashing young wife with a partiality for expensive dresses. Women.

Women!

I suppose it was she who plunged him head over heels into debt and so led him

this miserable plot.

Straker led out Silver Blaze.

into the hollow, where his light would not be visible from the yard.

Simpson, in his flight, had dropped his scarf.

Straker picked it up, with the idea, no doubt, that he might use it in securing

the horse's leg.

Straker was able to light his candle, but just...

As he had the knife ready, the horse lashed out and caught him a fatal blow

the forehead.

Why?

Why did the horse lash out so thoroughly?

Frightened by the candle, the knife?

Well, animals have a strange instinct.

They seem to know when some mischief is intended.

My final shot, I must confess, was a long one.

It struck me that such an astute man as Straker would not undertake this tendon

-nicking without a little practice.

Man!

Wonderful, my dear.

Now, you've explained all but one thing.

The horse. Now, where?

Well, I think we must have a little amnesty in that direction, Colonel.

It bolted and was looked after by one of your neighbours.

Gentlemen, I give you a toast to Silver Blaze, coupled with the names of my

friends, to Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson.

To Silver Blaze.