"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 its companions, a nice patriotic touch I thought.
"This being the balcony that you feel the intruder reached?" questioned Holmes in a manner that indicated his query was purely form.
Deets nodded. "For the life of me, I don't see how he made it."
I didn't, either. The windows on the ground floor were all effectively barred. Above them the walls were smooth, and any ledges or projections of some sort that would have given a cat burglar the handholds necessary to reach the balcony were just not there. Stout English ivy, which has served the lawless so well, was also absent.
Deets and I watched Holmes survey the side of the building and then move to a different position to view the balcony from another angle. When the horse-breeder looked at me questioningly, I indicated that I was as ignorant as he was to what was going through the sleuth's mind. This was not quite true, of course.
"Suppose I go inside and clean up," he suggested. "If you would care to view the sitting room, Dooley will show you up."
"Capital!" responded Holmes in a preoccupied manner.
As our client removed himself, I turned anxiously to my companion. Unless he had already come upon something, I fancied that he was viewing the scene and asking his agile mind what he would do were he a burglar intent on reaching the balcony. Before I could frame a question, Holmes's eyes found mine.
"A poser, would you say, Watson?"
"Indeed. I cannot imagine how even one of those human flies from the circus world could do it."
"Well, he did not climb the walls. He did not use a ladder. Such equipment could not have been removed in time. And," he added, chuckling, "he did not fly, lacking wings."
"Then how? There's certainly no clue."
"You are not at your best, ol' chap. By eliminating the more common methods, we must settle on a rope, an aid used by mountain climbers all the time."
My mouth sagged. Not at Holmes's simple explanation but at my idiocy for not thinking of it myself.
"Here I stand," continued the detective. "It is a dark and rainy night, important since the sound of falling water serves to cover any noise. In my hand is a coil of line attached to a light grappling hook. From right about here," he said, positioning himself, "I believe I could cast the hook upwards and over that stone balustrade. When the tines of the hook grip the railing, I keep the line taut and swarm up it to the second story. Now, if clever, I prepare for the worst by releasing the grappling hook, passing it under the rail of the balustrade, and lowering it to the ground. Now I have two strands of rope leading to the ground. I enter Mayswood via the French windows. But I hear approaching sounds. I flee back to the balcony and lower myself rapidly by sliding down the lines. Back at ground level, I pull the line free and disappear into the darkness. 'Tis done."
"Holmes, that's amazing. You have recreated the entire event."
"Not so, for I've revealed how I would do it. However, should we discover some scratches on that balustrade that might have been made by the hook I envision, I rather fancy the matter is solved."
There was a certain self-satisfaction in his words that was grating. I banished my irritation as unworthy.
A venerable butler greeted us at the front entrance and led us upstairs. Mayswood was high-ceilinged, and most of the rooms were large enough to hold a meeting of the army general staff. But the feudal atmosphere of so many English country estates was completely lacking, no surprise since the mansion was certainly erected in this century and the furnishings were of no particular period but reflected the styles of many lands.
The upstairs sitting room was filled with sunlight from its four French windows, and the balcony revealed a breathless view of the surrounding countryside. Holmes was surveying the stone balustrade with his ever-present pocket glass when Deets rejoined us, now clad in tweeds. Holmes's movements had become more feverish as he moved from section to section of the stone railing, and finally he regarded us both with an expression akin to chagrin.
"I presented a plausible explanation to Watson regarding the coming and going of your uninvited guest, but the necessary corroboration eludes me."
I had begun to explain to Deets Holmes's idea when there was a sharp exclamation from the sleuth, who was now inspecting the outside of the railing.
"All is not lost," he exclaimed as we crossed to stand beside him, following the line indicated by his outstretched index finger. The ornamental lion's head on the outside of the balustrade rail was missing half an ear.
"What's this?" said Deets. "I wonder when that happened."
"Quite recently," replied Holmes in a triumphant tone. "Note how the newly revealed marble is not weathered as is the stone around it. My basic idea was sound, but I missed on the execution."
Deets was regarding him with a baffled expression that I recognized and well understood.
"Allow me to re-create the actions of your intruder."
Holmes shot me a quick glance. "This time, correctly. The man stood below, having no doubt seen you, Mr. Deets, depart. He held a light but strong line with a weight attached to its end, similar to the South American bolo. He spun the weighted line round his head, much in the manner of a cowboy of the American West with a lariat, and then cast it upwards. The weighted end wrapped itself round this ornament, knocking off part of an ear in the process. Holding the line taut, he climbed up. Once here on the balcony he removed the weighted end, ran it under the rail, and let it drop to the ground. I would estimate that on departure he could slide down the rope and pull the unweighted end free in a matter of fifteen seconds. Especially if he wore gloves or had heavily calloused hands."
Deets was shaking his head. "You have solved the mystery with a very clear explanation, Mr. Holmes. What do I do now?"
"I don't know. Nor do I know my next move unless I find out what the intruder was after."
This suggestive remark was allowed to dangle for a brief moment and I felt that we might be getting somewhere, but then Deets looked away. Was there an expression of guilt on his face?
"I can't tell you," he finally said.
This could have been read two ways, but Holmes did not choose to pursue the matter. Rather, he turned to admire the vista of rolling green fields.
"I note the horses all around us," he said casually.
Deets eagerly seized on the change of subject.
"We keep the brood mares separate, of course, but allow the yearlings and the stallions to roam at will. We're at the crest of the hill here and the fields stretch on every side. They are well fenced, and it gives the young fellows a chance to watch the sires. They seem to develop faster that way, chasing after pater as it were."