down stable. Holmes raised the hind leg of one of them and laughed aloud.
“Old shoes, but newly shod — old shoes, but new nails. This case deserves to be a classic. Let us go across to the smithy.”
The lad continued his work without regarding us. I saw Holmes' eye darting to right and left among the litter of iron and wood which was scattered about the floor. Sud- denly, however, we heard a step behind us, and there was the landlord, his heavy eyebrows drawn down over his savage eyes, his swarthy features convulsed with passion. He held a short, metal-headed stick in his hand, and he advanced in so menacing a fashion that I was right glad to feel the revolver in my pocket.
“You infernal spies!” the man cried. “What are you doing there?”
“Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes,” said Holmes, coolly, “one might think that you were afraid of our finding something out” The man mastered himself with a violent effort, and his grim mouth loosened into a false laugh, which was more menacing than his frown.
“You're welcome to all you can find out in my smithy,” said he. “But look here, mister, I don't care for folk poking about my place without my leave, so the sooner you pay your score and get out of this the better I shall be pleased.”
“All right, Mr. Hayes, no harm meant,” said Holmes.
“We have been having a look at your horses, but I think I'll walk, after all. It's not far, I believe.”
“Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. That's the road to the left.” He watched us with sullen eyes until we had left his premises.
