THE COMPLETE SHERLOCK HOLMES

                         THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES


                                  Chapter 9

                         SECOND REPORT OF DR. WATSON

                           THE LIGHT UPON THE MOOR

                                                Baskerville Hall, Oct. 15th.
MY DEAR HOLMES:
     If I was compelled to leave you without much news during the early days
of my mission you must acknowledge that I am making up for lost time, and that
events are now crowding thick and fast upon us.  In my last report I ended
upon my top note with Barrymore at the window, and now I have quite a budget
already which will, unless I am much mistaken, considerably surprise you.
Things have taken a turn which I could not have anticipated.  In some ways
they have within the last forty-eight hours become much clearer and in some
ways they have become more complicated.  But I will tell you all and you shall
judge for yourself.
     Before breakfast on the morning following my adventure I went down the
corridor and examined the room in which Barrymore had been on the night
before.  The western window through which he had stared so intently has, I
noticed, one peculiarity above all other windows in the house--it commands the
nearest outlook on to the moor.  There is an opening between two trees which
enables one from this point of view to look right down upon it, while from all
the other windows it is only a distant glimpse which can be obtained.  It
follows, therefore, that Barrymore, since only this window would serve the
purpose, must have been looking out for something or somebody upon the moor.
The night was very dark, so that I can hardly imagine how he could have hoped
to see anyone.  It had struck me that it was possible that some love intrigue
was on foot.  That would have accounted for his stealthy movements and also
for the uneasiness of his wife.  The man is a striking-looking fellow, very
well equipped to steal the heart of a country girl, so that this theory seemed
to have something to support it.  That opening of the door which I had heard
after I had returned to my room might mean that he had gone out to keep some
clandestine appointment.  So I reasoned with myself in the morning, and I tell
you the direction of my suspicions, however much the result may have shown
that they were unfounded.
     But whatever the true explanation of Barrymore's movements might be, I
felt that the responsibility of keeping them to myself until I could explain
them was more than I could bear.  I had an interview with the baronet in his
study after breakfast, and I told him all that I had seen.  He was less
surprised than I had expected.
     "I knew that Barrymore walked about nights, and I had a mind to speak to
him about it," said he.  "Two or three times I have heard his steps in the
passage, coming and going, just about the hour you name."
     "Perhaps then he pays a visit every night to that particular window," I
suggested.
     "Perhaps he does.  If so, we should be able to shadow him and see what it
is that he is after.  I wonder what your friend Holmes would do if he were
here."
     "I believe that he would do exactly what you now suggest," said I.  "He
would follow Barrymore and see what he did."
     "Then we shall do it together."
     "But surely he would hear us."
     "The man is rather deaf, and in any case we must take our chance of that.
We'll sit up in my room to-night and wait until he passes."  Sir Henry rubbed
his hands with pleasure, and it was evident that he hailed the adventure as a
relief to his somewhat quiet life upon the moor.
     The baronet has been in communication with the architect who prepared the
plans for Sir Charles, and with a contractor from London, so that we may
expect great changes to begin here soon.  There have been decorators and
furnishers up from Plymouth, and it is evident that our friend has large ideas
and means to spare no pains or expense to restore the grandeur of his family.
When the house is renovated and refurnished, all that he will need will be a
wife to make it complete.  Between ourselves there are pretty clear signs that
this will not be wanting if the lady is willing, for I have seldom seen a man
more infatuated with a woman than he is with our beautiful neighbour, Miss
Stapleton.  And yet the course of true love does not run quite as smoothly as
one would under the circumstances expect.  To-day, for example, its surface
was broken by a very unexpected ripple, which has caused our friend
considerable perplexity and annoyance.
     After the conversation which I have quoted about Barrymore, Sir Henry put
on his hat and prepared to go out.  As a matter of course I did the same.
     "What, are you coming, Watson?" he asked, looking at me in a curious way.
     "That depends on whether you are going on the moor," said I.
     "Yes, I am."
     "Well, you know what my instructions are.  I am sorry to intrude, but you
heard how earnestly Holmes insisted that I should not leave you, and
especially that you should not go alone upon the moor."
     Sir Henry put his hand upon my shoulder with a pleasant smile.
     "My dear fellow," said he, "Holmes, with all his wisdom, did not foresee
some things which have happened since I have been on the moor.  You understand
me?  I am sure that you are the last man in the world who would wish to be a
spoil-sport.  I must go out alone."
     It put me in a most awkward position.  I was at a loss what to say or
what to do, and before I had made up my mind he picked up his cane and was
gone.
     But when I came to think the matter over my conscience reproached me
bitterly for having on any pretext allowed him to go out of my sight.  I
imagined what my feelings would be if I had to return to you and to confess
that some misfortune had occurred through my disregard for your instructions.
I assure you my cheeks flushed at the very thought.  It might not even now be
too late to overtake him, so I set off at once in the direction of Merripit
House.
     I hurried along the road at the top of my speed without seeing anything
of Sir Henry, until I came to the point where the moor path branches off.
There, fearing that perhaps I had come in the wrong direction after all, I
mounted a hill from which I could command a view--the same hill which is cut
into the dark quarry.  Thence I saw him at once.  He was on the moor path,
about a quarter of a mile off, and a lady was by his side who could only be
Miss Stapleton.  It was clear that there was already an understanding between
them and that they had met by appointment.  They were walking slowly along in
deep conversation, and I saw her making quick little movements of her hands as
if she were very earnest in what she was saying, while he listened intently,
and once or twice shook his head in strong dissent.  I stood among the rocks
watching them, very much puzzled as to what I should do next.  To follow them
and break into their intimate conversation seemed to be an outrage, and yet my
clear duty was never for an instant to let him out of my sight.  To act the
spy upon a friend was a hateful task.  Still, I could see no better course
than to observe him from the hill, and to clear my conscience by confessing to
him afterwards what I had done.  It is true that if any sudden danger had
threatened him I was too far away to be of use, and yet I am sure that you
will agree with me that the position was very difficult, and that there was
nothing more which I could do.
     Our friend, Sir Henry, and the lady had halted on the path and were
standing deeply absorbed in their conversation, when I was suddenly aware that
I was not the only witness of their interview.  A wisp of green floating in
the air caught my eye, and another glance showed me that it was carried on a
stick by a man who was moving among the broken ground.  It was Stapleton with
his butterfly-net.  He was very much closer to the pair than I was, and he
appeared to be moving in their direction.  At this instant Sir Henry suddenly
drew Miss Stapleton to his side.  His arm was round her, but it seemed to me
that she was straining away from him with her face averted.  He stooped his
head to hers, and she raised one hand as if in protest.  Next moment I saw
them spring apart and turn hurriedly round.  Stapleton was the cause of the
interruption.  He was running wildly towards them, his absurd net dangling
behind him.  He gesticulated and almost danced with excitement in front of the
lovers.  What the scene meant I could not imagine, but it seemed to me that
Stapleton was abusing Sir Henry, who offered explanations, which became more
angry as the other refused to accept them.  The lady stood by in haughty
silence.  Finally Stapleton turned upon his heel and beckoned in a peremptory
way to his sister, who, after an irresolute glance at Sir Henry, walked off by
the side of her brother.  The naturalist's angry gestures showed that the lady
was included in his displeasure.  The baronet stood for a minute looking after
them, and then he walked slowly back the way that he had come, his head
hanging, the very picture of dejection.
     What all this meant I could not imagine, but I was deeply ashamed to have
witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend's knowledge.  I ran down the
hill therefore and met the baronet at the bottom.  His face was flushed with
anger and his brows were wrinkled, like one who is at his wit's ends what to
do.
     "Halloa, Watson!  Where have you dropped from?" said he.  "You don't mean
to say that you came after me in spite of all?"
     I explained everything to him:  how I had found it impossible to remain
behind, how I had followed him, and how I had witnessed all that had occurred.
For an instant his eyes blazed at me, but my frankness disarmed his anger, and
he broke at last into a rather rueful laugh.
     "You would have thought the middle of that prairie a fairly safe place
for a man to be private," said he, "but, by thunder, the whole countryside
seems to have been out to see me do my wooing--and a mighty poor wooing at
that!  Where had you engaged a seat?"
     "I was on that hill."
     "Quite in the back row, eh?  But her brother was well up to the front.
Did you see him come out on us?"
     "Yes, I did."
     "Did he ever strike you as being crazy--this brother of hers?"
     "I can't say that he ever did."
     "I dare say not.  I always thought him sane enough until to-day, but you
can take it from me that either he or I ought to be in a strait-jacket.
What's the matter with me, anyhow?  You've lived near me for some weeks,
Watson.  Tell me straight, now!  Is there anything that would prevent me from
making a good husband to a woman that I loved?"
     "I should say not."
     "He can't object to my worldly position, so it must be myself that he has
this down on.  What has he against me?  I never hurt man or woman in my life
that I know of.  And yet he would not so much as let me touch the tips of her
fingers."
     "Did he say so?"
     "That, and a deal more.  I tell you, Watson, I've only known her these
few weeks, but from the first I just felt that she was made for me, and she,
too-- she was happy when she was with me, and that I'll swear.  There's a
light in a woman's eyes that speaks louder than words.  But he has never let
us get together, and it was only to-day for the first time that I saw a chance
of having a few words with her alone.  She was glad to meet me, but when she
did it was not love that she would talk about, and she wouldn't have let me
talk about it either if she could have stopped it.  She kept coming back to it
that this was a place of danger, and that she would never be happy until I had
left it.  I told her that since I had seen her I was in no hurry to leave it,
and that if she really wanted me to go, the only way to work it was for her to
arrange to go with me.  With that I offered in as many words to marry her, but
before she could answer, down came this brother of hers, running at us with a
face on him like a madman.  He was just white with rage, and those light eyes
of his were blazing with fury.  What was I doing with the lady?  How dared I
offer her attentions which were distasteful to her?  Did I think that because
I was a baronet I could do what I liked?  If he had not been her brother I
should have known better how to answer him.  As it was I told him that my
feelings towards his sister were such as I was not ashamed of, and that I
hoped that she might honour me by becoming my wife.  That seemed to make the
matter no better, so then I lost my temper too, and I answered him rather more
hotly than I should perhaps, considering that she was standing by.  So it
ended by his going off with her, as you saw, and here am I as badly puzzled a
man as any in this county.  Just tell me what it all means, Watson, and I'll
owe you more than ever I can hope to pay."
     I tried one or two explanations, but, indeed, I was completely puzzled
myself.  Our friend's title, his fortune, his age, his character, and his
appearance are all in his favour, and I know nothing against him unless it be
this dark fate which runs in his family.  That his advances should be rejected
so brusquely without any reference to the lady's own wishes and that the lady
should accept the situation without protest is very amazing.  However, our
conjectures were set at rest by a visit from Stapleton himself that very
afternoon.  He had come to offer apologies for his rudeness of the morning,
and after a long private interview with Sir Henry in his study the upshot of
their conversation was that the breach is quite healed, and that we are to
dine at Merripit House next Friday as a sign of it.
     "I don't say now that he isn't a crazy man," said Sir Henry; "I can't
forget the look in his eyes when he ran at me this morning, but I must allow
that no man could make a more handsome apology than he has done."
     "Did he give any explanation of his conduct?"
     "His sister is everything in his life, he says.  That is natural enough,
and I am glad that he should understand her value.  They have always been
together, and according to his account he has been a very lonely man with only
her as a companion, so that the thought of losing her was really terrible to
him.  He had not understood, he said, that I was becoming attached to her, but
when he saw with his own eyes that it was really so, and that she might be
taken away from him, it gave him such a shock that for a time he was not
responsible for what he said or did.  He was very sorry for all that had
passed, and he recognized how foolish and how selfish it was that he should
imagine that he could hold a beautiful woman like his sister to himself for
her whole life.  If she had to leave him he had rather it was to a neighbour
like myself than to anyone else.  But in any case it was a blow to him, and it
would take him some time before he could prepare himself to meet it.  He would
withdraw all opposition upon his part if I would promise for three months to
let the matter rest and to be content with cultivating the lady's friendship
during that time without claiming her love.  This I promised, and so the
matter rests."
     So there is one of our small mysteries cleared up.  It is something to
have touched bottom anywhere in this bog in which we are floundering.  We know
now why Stapleton looked with disfavour upon his sister's suitor--even when
that suitor was so eligible a one as Sir Henry.  And now I pass on to another
thread which I have extricated out of the tangled skein, the mystery of the
sobs in the night, of the tear-stained face of Mrs. Barrymore, of the secret
journey of the butler to the western lattice window.  Congratulate me, my dear
Holmes, and tell me that I have not disappointed you as an agent--that you do
not regret the confidence which you showed in me when you sent me down.  All
these things have by one night's work been thoroughly cleared.
     I have said "by one night's work," but, in truth, it was by two nights'
work, for on the first we drew entirely blank.  I sat up with Sir Henry in his
rooms until nearly three o'clock in the morning, but no sound of any sort did
we hear except the chiming clock upon the stairs.  It was a most melancholy
vigil and ended by each of us falling asleep in our chairs.  Fortunately we
were not discouraged, and we determined to try again.  The next night we
lowered the lamp and sat smoking cigarettes without making the least sound.
It was incredible how slowly the hours crawled by, and yet we were helped
through it by the same sort of patient interest which the hunter must feel as
he watches the trap into which he hopes the game may wander.  One struck, and
two, and we had almost for the second time given it up in despair when in an
instant we both sat bolt upright in our chairs, with all our weary senses
keenly on the alert once more.  We had heard the creak of a step in the
passage.
     Very stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in the
distance.  Then the baronet gently opened his door and we set out in pursuit.
Already our man had gone round the gallery, and the corridor was all in
darkness.  Softly we stole along until we had come into the other wing.  We
were just in time to catch a glimpse of the tall, black-bearded figure, his
shoulders rounded, as he tiptoed down the passage.  Then he passed through the
same door as before, and the light of the candle framed it in the darkness and
shot one single yellow beam across the gloom of the corridor.  We shuffled
cautiously towards it, trying every plank before we dared to put our whole
weight upon it.  We had taken the precaution of leaving our boots behind us,
but, even so, the old boards snapped and creaked beneath our tread.  Sometimes
it seemed impossible that he should fail to hear our approach.  However, the
man is fortunately rather deaf, and he was entirely preoccupied in that which
he was doing.  When at last we reached the door and peeped through we found
him crouching at the window, candle in hand, his white, intent face pressed
against the pane, exactly as I had seen him two nights before.
     We had arranged no plan of campaign, but the baronet is a man to whom the
most direct way is always the most natural.  He walked into the room, and as
he did so Barrymore sprang up from the window with a sharp hiss of his breath
and stood, livid and trembling, before us.  His dark eyes, glaring out of the
white mask of his face, were full of horror and astonishment as he gazed from
Sir Henry to me.
     "What are you doing here, Barrymore?"
     "Nothing, sir."  His agitation was so great that he could hardly speak,
and the shadows sprang up and down from the shaking of his candle.  "It was
the window, sir.  I go round at night to see that they are fastened."
     "On the second floor?"
     "Yes, sir, all the windows."
     "Look here, Barrymore," said Sir Henry sternly, "we have made up our
minds to have the truth out of you, so it will save you trouble to tell it
sooner rather than later.  Come, now!  No lies!  What were you doing at that
window?"
     The fellow looked at us in a helpless way, and he wrung his hands
together like one who is in the last extremity of doubt and misery.
     "I was doing no harm, sir.  I was holding a candle to the window."
     "And why were you holding a candle to the window?"
     "Don't ask me, Sir Henry--don't ask me!  I give you my word, sir, that it
is not my secret, and that I cannot tell it.  If it concerned no one but
myself I would not try to keep it from you."
     A sudden idea occurred to me, and I took the candle from the trembling
hand of the butler.
     "He must have been holding it as a signal," said I.  "Let us see if there
is any answer."  I held it as he had done, and stared out into the darkness of
the night.  Vaguely I could discern the black bank of the trees and the
lighter expanse of the moor, for the moon was behind the clouds.  And then I
gave a cry of exultation, for a tiny pin-point of yellow light had suddenly
transfixed the dark veil, and glowed steadily in the centre of the black
square framed by the window.
     "There it is!" I cried.
     "No, no, sir, it is nothing--nothing at all!" the butler broke in; "I
assure you, sir-- --"
     "Move your light across the window, Watson!" cried the baronet.  "See,
the other moves also!  Now, you rascal, do you deny that it is a signal?
Come, speak up!  Who is your confederate out yonder, and what is this
conspiracy that is going on?"
     The man's face became openly defiant.
     "It is my business, and not yours.  I will not tell."
     "Then you leave my employment right away."
     "Very good, sir.  If I must I must."
     "And you go in disgrace.  By thunder, you may well be ashamed of
yourself.  Your family has lived with mine for over a hundred years under this
roof, and here I find you deep in some dark plot against me."
     "No, no, sir; no, not against you!"  It was a woman's voice, and Mrs.
Barrymore, paler and more horror-struck than her husband, was standing at the
door.  Her bulky figure in a shawl and skirt might have been comic were it not
for the intensity of feeling upon her face.
     "We have to go, Eliza.  This is the end of it.  You can pack our things,
" said the butler.
     "Oh, John, John, have I brought you to this?  It is my doing, Sir Henry--
all mine.  He has done nothing except for my sake, and because I asked him."
     "Speak out, then!  What does it mean?"
     "My unhappy brother is starving on the moor.  We cannot let him perish at
our very gates.  The light is a signal to him that food is ready for him, and
his light out yonder is to show the spot to which to bring it."
     "Then your brother is-- --"
     "The escaped convict, sir--Selden, the criminal."
     "That's the truth, sir," said Barrymore.  "I said that it was not my
secret and that I could not tell it to you.  But now you have heard it, and
you will see that if there was a plot it was not against you."
     This, then, was the explanation of the stealthy expeditions at night and
the light at the window.  Sir Henry and I both stared at the woman in
amazement.  Was it possible that this stolidly respectable person was of the
same blood as one of the most notorious criminals in the country?
     "Yes, sir, my name was Selden, and he is my younger brother.  We humoured
him too much when he was a lad and gave him his own way in everything until he
came to think that the world was made for his pleasure, and that he could do
what he liked in it.  Then as he grew older he met wicked companions, and the
devil entered into him until he broke my mother's heart and dragged our name
in the dirt.  From crime to crime he sank lower and lower until it is only the
mercy of God which has snatched him from the scaffold; but to me, sir, he was
always the little curly-headed boy that I had nursed and played with as an
elder sister would.  That was why he broke prison, sir.  He knew that I was
here and that we could not refuse to help him.  When he dragged himself here
one night, weary and starving, with the warders hard at his heels, what could
we do?  We took him in and fed him and cared for him.  Then you returned, sir,
and my brother thought he would be safer on the moor than anywhere else until
the hue and cry was over, so he lay in hiding there.  But every second night
we made sure if he was still there by putting a light in the window, and if
there was an answer my husband took out some bread and meat to him.  Every day
we hoped that he was gone, but as long as he was there we could not desert
him.  That is the whole truth, as I am an honest Christian woman, and you will
see that if there is blame in the matter it does not lie with my husband but
with me, for whose sake he has done all that he has."
     The woman's words came with an intense earnestness which carried
conviction with them.
     "Is this true, Barrymore?"
     "Yes, Sir Henry.  Every word of it."
     "Well, I cannot blame you for standing by your own wife.  Forget what I
have said.  Go to your room, you two, and we shall talk further about this
matter in the morning."
     When they were gone we looked out of the window again.  Sir Henry had
flung it open, and the cold night wind beat in upon our faces.  Far away in
the black distance there still glowed that one tiny point of yellow light.
     "I wonder he dares," said Sir Henry.
     "It may be so placed as to be only visible from here."
     "Very likely.  How far do you think it is?"
     "Out by the Cleft Tor, I think."
     "Not more than a mile or two off."
     "Hardly that."
     "Well, it cannot be far if Barrymore had to carry out the food to it.
And he is waiting, this villain, beside that candle.  By thunder, Watson, I am
going out to take that man!"
     The same thought had crossed my own mind.  It was not as if the
Barrymores had taken us into their confidence.  Their secret had been forced
from them.  The man was a danger to the community, an unmitigated scoundrel
for whom there was neither pity nor excuse.  We were only doing our duty in
taking this chance of putting him back where he could do no harm.  With his
brutal and violent nature, others would have to pay the price if we held our
hands. Any night, for example, our neighbours the Stapletons might be attacked
by him, and it may have been the thought of this which made Sir Henry so keen
upon the adventure.
     "I will come," said I.
     "Then get your revolver and put on your boots.  The sooner we start the
better, as the fellow may put out his light and be off."
     In five minutes we were outside the door, starting upon our expedition.
We hurried through the dark shrubbery, amid the dull moaning of the autumn
wind and the rustle of the falling leaves.  The night air was heavy with the
smell of damp and decay.  Now and again the moon peeped out for an instant,
but clouds were driving over the face of the sky, and just as we came out on
the moor a thin rain began to fall.  The light still burned steadily in front.
     "Are you armed?" I asked.
     "I have a hunting-crop."
     "We must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be a desperate
fellow.  We shall take him by surprise and have him at our mercy before he can
resist."
     "I say, Watson," said the baronet, "what would Holmes say to this?  How
about that hour of darkness in which the power of evil is exalted?"
     As if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vast gloom of
the moor that strange cry which I had already heard upon the borders of the
great Grimpen Mire.  It came with the wind through the silence of the night, a
long, deep mutter, then a rising howl, and then the sad moan in which it died
away.  Again and again it sounded, the whole air throbbing with it, strident,
wild, and menacing.  The baronet caught my sleeve and his face glimmered white
through the darkness.
     "My God, what's that, Watson?"
     "I don't know.  It's a sound they have on the moor.  I heard it once
before."
     It died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us.  We stood
straining our ears, but nothing came.
     "Watson," said the baronet, "it was the cry of a hound."
     My blood ran cold in my veins, for there was a break in his voice which
told of the sudden horror which had seized him.
     "What do they call this sound?" he asked.
     "Who?"
     "The folk on the countryside?"
     "Oh, they are ignorant people.  Why should you mind what they call it?"
     "Tell me, Watson.  What do they say of it?"
     I hesitated but could not escape the question.
     "They say it is the cry of the Hound of the Baskervilles."
     He groaned and was silent for a few moments.
     "A hound it was," he said at last, "but it seemed to come from miles
away, over yonder, I think."
     "It was hard to say whence it came."
     "It rose and fell with the wind.  Isn't that the direction of the great
Grimpen Mire?"
     "Yes, it is."
     "Well, it was up there.  Come now, Watson, didn't you think yourself that
it was the cry of a hound?  I am not a child.  You need not fear to speak the
truth."
     "Stapleton was with me when I heard it last.  He said that it might be
the calling of a strange bird."
     "No, no, it was a hound.  My God, can there be some truth in all these
stories?  Is it possible that I am really in danger from so dark a cause?  You
don't believe it, do you, Watson?"
     "No, no."
     "And yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it is another
to stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hear such a cry as that.
And my uncle!  There was the footprint of the hound beside him as he lay.  It
all fits together.  I don't think that I am a coward, Watson, but that sound
seemed to freeze my very blood.  Feel my hand!"
     It was as cold as a block of marble.
     "You'll be all right to-morrow."
     "I don't think I'll get that cry out of my head.  What do you advise that
we do now?"
     "Shall we turn back?"
     "No, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will do it.  We
after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not, after us.  Come on!
We'll see it through if all the fiends of the pit were loose upon the moor."
     We stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom of the
craggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burning steadily in
front.  There is nothing so deceptive as the distance of a light upon a
pitch-dark night, and sometimes the glimmer seemed to be far away upon the
horizon and sometimes it might have been within a few yards of us.  But at
last we could see whence it came, and then we knew that we were indeed very
close.  A guttering candle was stuck in a crevice of the rocks which flanked
it on each side so as to keep the wind from it and also to prevent it from
being visible, save in the direction of Baskerville Hall.  A boulder of
granite concealed our approach, and crouching behind it we gazed over it at
the signal light.  It was strange to see this single candle burning there in
the middle of the moor, with no sign of life near it--just the one straight
yellow flame and the gleam of the rock on each side of it.
     "What shall we do now?" whispered Sir Henry.
     "Wait here.  He must be near his light.  Let us see if we can get a
glimpse of him."
     The words were hardly out of my mouth when we both saw him.  Over the
rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, there was thrust out an evil
yellow face, a terrible animal face, all seamed and scored with vile passions.
Foul with mire, with a bristling beard, and hung with matted hair, it might
well have belonged to one of those old savages who dwelt in the burrows on the
hillsides.  The light beneath him was reflected in his small, cunning eyes
which peered fiercely to right and left through the darkness like a crafty and
savage animal who has heard the steps of the hunters.
     Something had evidently aroused his suspicions.  It may have been that
Barrymore had some private signal which we had neglected to give, or the
fellow may have had some other reason for thinking that all was not well, but
I could read his fears upon his wicked face.  Any instant he might dash out
the light and vanish in the darkness.  I sprang forward therefore, and Sir
Henry did the same.  At the same moment the convict screamed out a curse at us
and hurled a rock which splintered up against the boulder which had sheltered
us.  I caught one glimpse of his short, squat, strongly built figure as he
sprang to his feet and turned to run.  At the same moment by a lucky chance
the moon broke through the clouds.  We rushed over the brow of the hill, and
there was our man running with great speed down the other side, springing over
the stones in his way with the activity of a mountain goat.  A lucky long shot
of my revolver might have crippled him, but I had brought it only to defend
myself if attacked and not to shoot an unarmed man who was running away.
     We were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we soon found
that we had no chance of overtaking him.  We saw him for a long time in the
moonlight until he was only a small speck moving swiftly among the boulders
upon the side of a distant hill.  We ran and ran until we were completely
blown, but the space between us grew ever wider.  Finally we stopped and sat
panting on two rocks, while we watched him disappearing in the distance.
     And it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange and
unexpected thing.  We had risen from our rocks and were turning to go home,
having abandoned the hopeless chase.  The moon was low upon the right, and the
jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up against the lower curve of its
silver disc.  There, outlined as black as an ebony statue on that shining
background, I saw the figure of a man upon the tor.  Do not think that it was
a delusion, Holmes.  I assure you that I have never in my life seen anything
more clearly.  As far as I could judge, the figure was that of a tall, thin
man.  He stood with his legs a little separated, his arms folded, his head
bowed, as if he were brooding over that enormous wilderness of peat and
granite which lay before him.  He might have been the very spirit of that
terrible place.  It was not the convict.  This man was far from the place
where the latter had disappeared.  Besides, he was a much taller man.  With a
cry of surprise I pointed him out to the baronet, but in the instant during
which I had turned to grasp his arm the man was gone.  There was the sharp
pinnacle of granite still cutting the lower edge of the moon, but its peak
bore no trace of that silent and motionless figure.
     I wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but it was some
distance away.  The baronet's nerves were still quivering from that cry, which
recalled the dark story of his family, and he was not in the mood for fresh
adventures.  He had not seen this lonely man upon the tor and could not feel
the thrill which his strange presence and his commanding attitude had given to
me.  "A warder, no doubt," said he.  "The moor has been thick with them since
this fellow escaped."  Well, perhaps his explanation may be the right one, but
I should like to have some further proof of it.  To-day we mean to communicate
to the Princetown people where they should look for their missing man, but it
is hard lines that we have not actually had the triumph of bringing him back
as our own prisoner.  Such are the adventures of last night, and you must
acknowledge, my dear Holmes, that I have done you very well in the matter of a
report.  Much of what I tell you is no doubt quite irrelevant, but still I
feel that it is best that I should let you have all the facts and leave you to
select for yourself those which will be of most service to you in helping you
to your conclusions.  We are certainly making some progress.  So far as the
Barrymores go we have found the motive of their actions, and that has cleared
up the situation very much.  But the moor with its mysteries and its strange
inhabitants remains as inscrutable as ever.  Perhaps in my next I may be able
to throw some light upon this also.  Best of all would it be if you could come
down to us.  In any case you will hear from me again in the course of the next
few days.