If there was one report there might be others， so I lookedround the hut in search of them. There was no trace， however，of anything of the kind， nor could I discover any sign whichmight indicate the character or intentions of the man who livedin this singular place， save that he must be of Spartan habits andcared little for the comforts of life. When I thought of the heavyrains and looked at the gaping roof I understood how strongand immutable must be the purpose which had kept him in thatinhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy， or was he bychance our guardian angel？ I swore that I would not leave the hutuntil I knew.
Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing withscarlet and gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches bythe distant pools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire. Therewere the two towers of Baskerville Hall， and there a distant blurof smoke which marked the village of Grimpen. Between the two，behind the hill， was the house of the Stapletons. All was sweetand mellow and peaceful in the golden evening light， and yet as Ilooked at them my soul shared none of the peace of Nature butquivered at the vagueness and the terror of that interview whichevery instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nerves but afixed purpose， I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited withsombre patience for the coming of its tenant.
And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of aboot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another， comingnearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner andcocked the pistol in my pocket， determined not to discover myselfuntil I had an opportunity of seeing something of the stranger.
There was a long pause which showed that he had stopped. Thenonce more the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across theopening of the hut.
“It is a lovely evening， my dear Watson，” said a well-knownvoice. “I really think that you will be more comfortable outsidethan in.”
Death on the Moor
For a moment or two I sat breathless， hardly able to believemy ears. Then my senses and my voice came back to me， while acrushing weight of responsibility seemed in an instant to be liftedfrom my soul. That cold， incisive， ironical voice could belong tobut one man in all the world.
“Holmes！” I cried—“Holmes！”
“Come out，” said he， “and please be careful with the revolver.”
I stooped under the rude lintel， and there he sat upon a stoneoutside， his gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell uponmy astonished features. He was thin and worn， but clear and alert，his keen face bronzed by the sun and roughened by the wind. Inhis tweed suit and cloth cap he looked like any other tourist uponthe moor， and he had contrived， with that catlike love of personalcleanliness which was one of his characteristics， that his chinshould be as smooth and his linen as perfect as if he were in BakerStreet.
“I never was more glad to see anyone in my life，” said I as Iwrung him by the hand.
“Or more astonished， eh？”
“Well， I must confess to it.”
“The surprise was not all on one side， I assure you. I had no ideathat you had found my occasional retreat， still less that you wereinside it， until I was within twenty paces of the door.”
“My footprint， I presume？”
“No， Watson； I fear that I could not undertake to recognizeyour footprint amid all the footprints of the world. If you seriouslydesire to deceive me you must change your tobacconist； for whenI see the stub of a cigarette marked Bradley， Oxford Street， Iknow that my friend Watson is in the neighbourhood. You willsee it there beside the path. You threw it down， no doubt， at thatsupreme moment when you charged into the empty hut.”
“Exactly.”
“I thought as much—and knowing your admirable tenacity Iwas convinced that you were sitting in ambush， a weapon withinreach， waiting for the tenant to return. So you actually thoughtthat I was the criminal？”
“I did not know who you were， but I was determined to findout.”
“Excellent， Watson！ And how did you localize me？ You sawme， perhaps， on the night of the convict hunt， when I was soimprudent as to allow the moon to rise behind me？”
“Yes， I saw you then.”
“And have no doubt searched all the huts until you came to thisone？”
“No， your boy had been observed， and that gave me a guidewhere to look.”
“The old gentleman with the telescope， no doubt. I could notmake it out when first I saw the light flashing upon the lens.”
He rose and peeped into the hut. “Ha， I see that Cartwright hasbrought up some supplies. What’s this paper？ So you have been toCoombe Tracey， have you？”
“Yes.”
“To see Mrs. Laura Lyons？”
“Exactly.”
“Well done！ Our researches have evidently been running onparallel lines， and when we unite our results I expect we shall havea fairly full knowledge of the case.”
“Well， I am glad from my heart that you are here， for indeed theresponsibility and the mystery were both becoming too much formy nerves. But how in the name of wonder did you come here，and what have you been doing？ I thought that you were in BakerStreet working out that case of blackmailing.”
“That was what I wished you to think.”
“Then you use me， and yet do not trust me！” I cried with somebitterness. “I think that I have deserved better at your hands，Holmes.”
“My dear fellow， you have been invaluable to me in this as inmany other cases， and I beg that you will forgive me if I haveseemed to play a trick upon you. In truth， it was partly for yourown sake that I did it， and it was my appreciation of the dangerwhich you ran which led me to come down and examine thematter for myself. Had I been with Sir Henry and you it is confidentthat my point of view would have been the same as yours， and mypresence would have warned our very formidable opponents tobe on their guard. As it is， I have been able to get about as I couldnot possibly have done had I been living in the Hall， and I remainan unknown factor in the business， ready to throw in all my weightat a critical moment.”
“But why keep me in the dark？”