Holmes gave a cry of delight as he approached it.
An impression like a fine bundle of telegraph wires ran down
the centre of it. It was the Palmer tyre.
"Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough!" cried Holmes, exultantly.
"My reasoning seems to have been pretty sound, Watson."
"I congratulate you."
"But we have a long way still to go. Kindly walk clear
of the path. Now let us follow the trail. I fear that
it will not lead very far."
We found, however, as we advanced that this portion of the moor
is intersected with soft patches, and, though we frequently lost
sight of the track, we always succeeded in picking it up once more.
"Do you observe," said Holmes, "that the rider is now
undoubtedly forcing the pace? There can be no doubt of it.
Look at this impression, where you get both tyres clear.
The one is as deep as the other. That can only mean that
the rider is throwing his weight on to the handle-bar,
as a man does when he is sprinting. By Jove! he has had a fall."
There was a broad, irregular smudge covering some yards of the
track. Then there were a few footmarks, and the tyre reappeared
once more.
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