Thanks to everyone for their lovely reviews! You don't know how they help my spirits.

I have actually split "Chapter 11" into two different chapters as I noticed a good breaking point roughly in the middle. Hopefully, the suspense is engaging rather than cumbersome.

It took us a good half an hour to reach the High Wycombe station. Holmes, who apparently knew the route intimately, chattered away about the latest works by Tchaikovsky and a violin prodigy by the name of von Vecsey. I listened with only half an ear. Holmes' previous words about the violence of the countryside filled me with foreboding over who, or what, might be lurking in the moonlit pastures. Furthermore, our sudden departure from Oxford had my thoughts straying to the little old English professor, a faded copy of the man by my side, wandering the halls and wondering when his son would return from his ride in the country.

When we reached the station, Holmes got out of the trap. He went up to a young man around sixteen years old with straw blond hair and a stub nose. The lad seemed to have been waiting for him—for the instant he caught sight of my friend he sprang to his feet and rushed towards him. I watched tentatively as Holmes put a few coins in the lad's hand and motioned towards the pony. The young man nodded with great solemnity and spoke some words I could not hear. I could, however, infer that whatever he said must have been funny, for Holmes chuckled and ruffled the youngster's hair before heading over to the ticket box. The young man, meanwhile, came up to the trap and took a look at the pony, stroking its head and examining its feet. He seemed to be overall a good horsey sort of fellow and I could see that he knew as much about the animal as Holmes did, if not more. He gave me a brief nod as he was examining the pony's back feet and a murmured "Evenin'."

"Good evening," said I. Wishing to break the silence I added, "Is there something wrong with him?"

He looked up in confusion. "Who? Oh ya mean the pony, sir? Naw, he's fine. I just always check fer stones before I drive 'em. It gives 'em a dev… a hard time if one of them gets in the frog," he replied.

"I see," said I, though I had only a vague idea what he was talking about. "You'll be driving the pony back then?"

"Yes, sir," the lad replied, straightening his posture as he did so. "I always does fer Mr. Holmes." He patted the animal's side and smiled. "Can't very well get on a train and drive a pony back now can you?"

"No, I suppose not," said I, my eyes straying to the ticket box.

It wasn't long before Holmes returned with two tickets for London by the 8:45 train. "There now, Will," said he. "Watson and I will wait in the cart until the train comes, then you may drive it back to Oxford. In the meanwhile, you might have a look at that Arabian mare over there…"

Holmes was prepared to say more on the subject, but the moment the boy heard "Arabian" he was off like a flash. My friend suppressed a chuckle as he got back into the cart. "A curious creature, Will Blake," said he. "His father was a baker, but he seems to have inherited little of his father's skill in the trade and even less desire. He is an excellent horseman, however, one of the best in the area."

"He certainly does seem to have a love for the animals," said I as I watched the young man slowly approach the mare with outstretched hand.

Holmes nodded. "He practically sleeps in their stalls, the rascal. I believe he has spent as much time around horses as it would take to get a degree in medicine. It certainly profits him as much. He is already a well-known name in horses in this area." He took out a cigarette from his coat pocket and began to light it. "I should be surprised," said he through a cloud of smoke. "If I am able to engage him by this time next year."

"He sounds very much like you, Holmes," said I.

He gave a little smile at that. "No, no, no, Watson. I was not that young when I came to the full practice of my trade," said he. "It took studies in chemistry and working out the art of deduction before I could become a skilled opponent against criminal man."

"Yet you worked on your craft at his age," I emphasized. "And were of help to the police."

"True," said he with an exhalation of smoke.

We spent the next few minutes in silence with Holmes taking long drags from his cigarette and I watching the clock that hung by the station. It was about fifteen past eight when I noticed a man staring at us from the opposite side of the street.

"Holmes," I whispered, only to be waved off as he took another drag. He was deep in thought and I was not to disturb him.

I looked back at the man. He was wearing a Paddock coat and a soft cap that covered half of his face. However, despite these, I could see that he was an older man with a pair of white, bushy sideburns framing a pair of wan cheeks. He had something of a button nose and a sharp chin which he now pointed towards us as he surveyed us from across the road.

"Holmes," said I, unsure of this man's intentions and my sense of danger sharpened by his earlier words.

"What is it, Watson?" said he irritably.

I pointed to the man across the street. My friend looked in that direction and furrowed his brow.

"Will!" he cried out. The lad appeared in an instant.

"Look after the pony," said he, his eyes still glued to the man. "I think Watson and I shall get something to eat."

The lad frowned, but knew not to question Holmes. "Yes, sir," said he, taking the pony's reins from my friend. "Will ya be wantin' her back before ya leave?"

"No, I think the two of us shall be fine spending thirty minutes at the station."

The boy nodded and moved aside so Holmes could get out. It was lucky that he did so for my friend practically leapt from the cart. He had begun walking over to a nearby pub before I could even get down. I gave a wary glance to the fellow who had been watching us. His gaze followed Holmes as he disappeared into the pub. Whoever this was, he was certainly out for Holmes and my friend certainly knew it.

"Will," said I, approaching the lad. He paused in his ascent into the trap. "Do you know that man across the street?"

Will frowned and looked over his shoulder. "Who, sir?"

"That man in the Paddock coat and the soft cap."

At this, the young man hopped off the trap and turned his head. After a few moments, he frowned and turned to me. "Not anyone that I know of, sir," said he in a conspiratorial tone. "But that ain't sayin' much. 'Less they're in the horsin' I'm not likely to know a body. I'd have a care, though. He looks like a rough sort."

I nodded and fingered the place where I normally would have kept my revolver. Believing there to be no danger in a social visit, I had neglected to bring it and now cursed my lack of foresight. Both Holmes and myself might be in danger if this ominous figure had anything to do with it. "Thank you, Will," said I, clapping the lad on the shoulder. "I shall keep an eye out."

"Ya'd best keep two fer Mr. Holmes," he said. "I ain't never seen a man so observant so blind ta his own safety."

I chuckled at that, knowing it to be far too true. The youth truly did remind me of Holmes, now more than ever.

"True," said I. "I shall keep watch for the both of us. Now you'd best return the pony."

"Yes, sir," said he, already mounting the trap.

With that, he drove off down the road and I followed my friend into the tavern.

Unfortunate that Watson forgot to bring his gun; but then he did think it was just going to be a social visit with Holmes' family.

Reviews appreciated as always!