Unknown by Braven Page B

that he was, instead,
disassociating himself from our discussion with his brother and the
events of the previous evening so that he could approach the Deets
mansion and its problems with a clear mind. It was Holmes's
contention that a brain free of supposition and unclouded by
half-truths was like an unused photographic plate, ready to take
impressions.
    A four-wheeler awaited
our arrival at the station and whisked us into the countryside. The
rain had passed through the area on its way to London and the greens
were greener because of it. A spring sun projected lukewarm rays to
brighten the scene, and everywhere was a soft, almost melodious sound
as swollen rivulets attempted to drain off the surface water that had
accumulated during the torrents of the past few days.
    As we wound through
curved lanes bordered by hedges and trees eagerly displaying the
first new growth of the season, there was the musty but not
unpleasant odor of wet leaves and moist earth. Into these tranquil
surroundings a seeming contradiction sprang to my mind and traveled
to my lips.
    "Did Deets mention
why he lived down country?"
    "It would seem your
interest in the racing world is confined to the equines that you
wager on, ol' fellow."
    I admitted as much.
    "But they had to
come from somewhere. Mayswood is well known as a stud farm."
    "By Jove, I have
heard of it."
    "But did not
associate it with our client. No matter. Possibly you can secure
some hot tips on potential winners of the future."
    Our road now left the
trees and progressed up a slope towards an imposing marble building,
much as Deets had described it. I noted a considerable cluster of
buildings in the rear, obviously stables, and white rail fences that
subdivided lush meadowland. In one area there were several jumps, and
everywhere there was the neat and clipped white-on-green one would
expect at a breeding farm.
    As we reached the crest
of the incline, our carriage swept round the imposing house and we
found Clyde—I forced myself to think of him as Deets—speaking
to two gillies in the stable area. He crossed towards us immediately,
a smile creasing his firm face.
    "I trust your
journey was pleasant, gentlemen."
    "Quite,"
replied Holmes.
    His busy eyes were
absorbing the scene as were mine. A number of horses were being
released to follow familiar paths towards pastures. Some of the
animals were mature, powerful beasts given to demonstrate their fit
condition with leaps and lashing feet as they gained momentum and
streaked into the fenced areas that surrounded the establishment.
    Our host, in riding
trousers and cavalry boots with an open shirt, was a far cry from the
dandy of the previous day. As he led us toward the mansion house, I
could not suppress a question.
    "Any potential
stakes winners among your animals?"
    "We always hope.
Several yearlings show unusual promise and their bloodlines are
excellent. There's one, sired by Nurania, that we're excited about."
    We were close by the
dwelling now. A porte cochere was the main feature of this
side of the mansion, and a large affair it was. Two carriages could
have driven underneath it at the same time. Deets indicated
puzzlement as to the next move.
    "Would you care to
wash up now before lunch, or does a visit to the scene of the
incident appeal?"
    "Being outside, let
us view the balcony from the ground," suggested Holmes, and our
host led us round the nearby corner.
    The north side of
Mayswood had an imposing flight of steps up to a formal entryway,
this being the front entrance, though I imagined the major
traffic passed through the door by the porte cochere. Further
along, the smooth stone walls formed a right-angle recess allowing
for a second-story balcony onto which five French windows opened. The
break in the rectangular shape of the edifice was a pleasing
architectural touch. The balcony was fronted by a stone balustrade on
which were ornamental heads of savage beasts. In the center, a lion's
head was slightly larger than