To-day we mean to communicate to the Princetown people wherethey should look for their missing man， but it is hard lines thatwe have not actually had the triumph of bringing him back as ourown prisoner. Such are the adventures of last night， and you mustacknowledge， my dear Holmes， that I have done you very well inthe matter of a report. Much of what I tell you is no doubt quiteirrelevant， but still I feel that it is best that I should let you haveall the facts and leave you to select for yourself those which willbe of most service to you in helping you to your conclusions. Weare certainly making some progress. So far as the Barrymores gowe have found the motive of their actions， and that has cleared upthe situation very much. But the moor with its mysteries and itsstrange inhabitants remains as inscrutable as ever. Perhaps in mynext I may be able to throw some light upon this also. Best of allwould it be if you could come down to us. In any case you will hearfrom me again in the course of the next few days.
Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson
So far I have been able to quote from the reports which I haveforwarded during these early days to Sherlock Holmes. Now，however， I have arrived at a point in my narrative where I amcompelled to abandon this method and to trust once more to myrecollections， aided by the diary which I kept at the time. A fewextracts from the latter will carry me on to those scenes whichare indelibly fixed in every detail upon my memory. I proceed，then， from the morning which followed our abortive chase of theconvict and our other strange experiences upon the moor.
OCTOBER 16TH. A dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain.
The house is banked in with rolling clouds， which rise now andthen to show the dreary curves of the moor， with thin， silver veinsupon the sides of the hills， and the distant boulders gleamingwhere the light strikes upon their wet faces. It is melancholyoutside and in. The baronet is in a black reaction after theexcitements of the night. I am conscious myself of a weight at myheart and a feeling of impending danger—ever present danger，which is the more terrible because I am unable to define it.
And have I not cause for such a feeling？ Consider the longsequence of incidents which have all pointed to some sinisterinfluence which is at work around us. There is the death of thelast occupant of the Hall， fulfilling so exactly the conditions of thefamily legend， and there are the repeated reports from peasants ofthe appearance of a strange creature upon the moor. Twice I havewith my own ears heard the sound which resembled the distantbaying of a hound. It is incredible， impossible， that it shouldreally be outside the ordinary laws of nature. A spectral houndwhich leaves material footmarks and fills the air with its howlingis surely not to be thought of. Stapleton may fall in with such asuperstition， and Mortimer also； but if I have one quality uponearth it is common-sense， and nothing will persuade me to believein such a thing. To do so would be to descend to the level of thesepoor peasants， who are not content with a mere fiend dog butmust needs describe him with hell-fire shooting from his mouthand eyes. Holmes would not listen to such fancies， and I am hisagent. But facts are facts， and I have twice heard this crying uponthe moor. Suppose that there were really some huge hound looseupon it； that would go far to explain everything. But where couldsuch a hound lie concealed， where did it get its food， where didit come from， how was it that no one saw it by day？ It must beconfessed that the natural explanation offers almost as manydifficulties as the other. And always， apart from the hound， there isthe fact of the human agency in London， the man in the cab， andthe letter which warned Sir Henry against the moor. This at leastwas real， but it might have been the work of a protecting friendas easily as of an enemy. Where is that friend or enemy now？ Hashe remained in London， or has he followed us down here？ Couldhe—could he be the stranger whom I saw upon the tor？
It is true that I have had only the one glance at him， and yetthere are some things to which I am ready to swear. He is noone whom I have seen down here， and I have now met all theneighbours. The figure was far taller than that of Stapleton， farthinner than that of Frankland. Barrymore it might possibly havebeen， but we had left him behind us， and I am certain that hecould not have followed us. A stranger then is still dogging us， justas a stranger dogged us in London. We have never shaken him off.
If I could lay my hands upon that man， then at last we might findourselves at the end of all our difficulties. To this one purpose Imust now devote all my energies.
My first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My secondand wisest one is to play my own game and speak as little aspossible to anyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves have beenstrangely shaken by that sound upon the moor. I will say nothingto add to his anxieties， but I will take my own steps to attain myown end.
We had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymoreasked leave to speak with Sir Henry， and they were closeted in hisstudy some little time. Sitting in the billiard-room I more thanonce heard the sound of voices raised， and I had a pretty good ideawhat the point was which was under discussion. After a time thebaronet opened his door and called for me.
“Barrymore considers that he has a grievance，” he said. “Hethinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-lawdown when he， of his own free will， had told us the secret.”
The butler was standing very pale but very collected before us.
“I may have spoken too warmly， sir，” said he， “and if I have，I am sure that I beg your pardon. At the same time， I was verymuch surprised when I heard you two gentlemen come back thismorning and learned that you had been chasing Selden. The poorfellow has enough to fight against without my putting more uponhis track.”