I meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing allthe facts. My submission pleased him and led him to furtherconfidences.
“You may be sure， sir， that I have very good grounds beforeI come to an opinion. I have seen the boy again and again withhis bundle. Every day， and sometimes twice a day， I have beenable—but wait a moment， Dr. Watson. Do my eyes deceive me， oris there at the present moment something moving upon that hillside？”
It was several miles off， but I could distinctly see a small darkdot against the dull green and gray.
“Come， sir， come！” cried Frankland， rushing upstairs. “You willsee with your own eyes and judge for yourself.”
The telescope， a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod，stood upon the flat leads of the house. Frankland clapped his eyeto it and gave a cry of satisfaction.
“Quick， Dr. Watson， quick， before he passes over the hill！”
There he was， sure enough， a small urchin with a little bundleupon his shoulder， toiling slowly up the hill. When he reachedthe crest I saw the ragged uncouth figure outlined for an instantagainst the cold blue sky. He looked round him with a furtive andstealthy air， as one who dreads pursuit. Then he vanished over thehill.
“Well！ Am I right？”
“Certainly， there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand.”
“And what the errand is even a county constable could guess.
But not one word shall they have from me， and I bind you tosecrecy also， Dr. Watson. Not a word！ You understand！”
“Just as you wish.”
“They have treated me shamefully—shamefully. When the factscome out in Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill ofindignation will run through the country. Nothing would induceme to help the police in any way. For all they cared it might havebeen me， instead of my effigy， which these rascals burned at thestake. Surely you are not going！ You will help me to empty thedecanter in honour of this great occasion！”
But I resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuadinghim from his announced intention of walking home with me. Ikept the road as long as his eye was on me， and then I struck offacross the moor and made for the stony hill over which the boyhad disappeared. Everything was working in my favour， and Iswore that it should not be through lack of energy or perseverancethat I should miss the chance which fortune had thrown in myway.
The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit ofthe hill， and the long slopes beneath me were all golden-greenon one side and gray shadow on the other. A haze lay low uponthe farthest sky-line， out of which jutted the fantastic shapes ofBelliver and Vixen Tor. Over the wide expanse there was no soundand no movement. One great gray bird， a gull or curlew， soaredaloft in the blue heaven. He and I seemed to be the only livingthings between the huge arch of the sky and the desert beneathit. The barren scene， the sense of loneliness， and the mystery andurgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy wasnowhere to be seen. But down beneath me in a cleft of the hillsthere was a circle of the old stone huts， and in the middle of themthere was one which retained sufficient roof to act as a screenagainst the weather. My heart leaped within me as I saw it. Thismust be the burrow where the stranger lurked. At last my foot wason the threshold of his hiding place—his secret was within mygrasp.
As I approached the hut， walking as warily as Stapleton woulddo when with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly，I satisfied myself that the place had indeed been used as ahabitation. A vague pathway among the boulders led to thedilapidated opening which served as a door. All was silent within.
The unknown might be lurking there， or he might be prowlingon the moor. My nerves tingled with the sense of adventure.
Throwing aside my cigarette， I closed my hand upon the butt ofmy revolver and， walking swiftly up to the door， I looked in. Theplace was empty.
But there were ample signs that I had not come upon a falsescent. This was certainly where the man lived. Some blanketsrolled in a waterproof lay upon that very stone slab upon whichNeolithic man had once slumbered. The ashes of a fire wereheaped in a rude grate. Beside it lay some cooking utensils and abucket half-full of water. A litter of empty tins showed that theplace had been occupied for some time， and I saw， as my eyesbecame accustomed to the checkered light， a pannikin and ahalf-full bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle ofthe hut a flat stone served the purpose of a table， and upon thisstood a small cloth bundle—the same， no doubt， which I had seenthrough the telescope upon the shoulder of the boy. It contained aloaf of bread， a tinned tongue， and two tins of preserved peaches.
As I set it down again， after having examined it， my heart leapedto see that beneath it there lay a sheet of paper with writing uponit. I raised it， and this was what I read， roughly scrawled in pencil：
“Dr. Watson has gone to Coombe Tracey.”
For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinkingout the meaning of this curt message. It was I， then， and not SirHenry， who was being dogged by this secret man. He had notfollowed me himself， but he had set an agent—the boy， perhaps—upon my track， and this was his report. Possibly I had taken nostep since I had been upon the moor which had not been observedand reported. Always there was this feeling of an unseen force， afine net drawn round us with infinite skill and delicacy， holdingus so lightly that it was only at some supreme moment that onerealized that one was indeed entangled in its meshes.
