“There go two of my threads， Watson. There is nothing morestimulating than a case where everything goes against you. Wemust cast round for another scent.”
“We have still the cabman who drove the spy.”
“Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from theOfficial Registry. I should not be surprised if this were an answerto my question.”
The ring at the bell proved to be something even more satisfactorythan an answer， however， for the door opened and a rough-lookingfellow entered who was evidently the man himself.
“I got a message from the head office that a gent at this addresshad been inquiring for 2704，” said he. “I’ve driven my cab thisseven years and never a word of complaint. I came here straightfrom the Yard to ask you to your face what you had against me.”
“I have nothing in the world against you， my good man，” saidHolmes. “On the contrary， I have half a sovereign for you if youwill give me a clear answer to my questions.”
“Well， I’ve had a good day and no mistake，” said the cabman，with a grin. “What was it you wanted to ask， sir？”
“First of all your name and address， in case I want you again.”
“John Clayton， 3 Turpey Street， the Borough. My cab is out ofShipley’s Yard， near Waterloo Station.”
Sherlock Holmes made a note of it.
“Now， Clayton， tell me all about the fare who came and watchedthis house at ten o’clock this morning and afterwards followed thetwo gentlemen down Regent Street.”
The man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. “Why，there’s no good my telling you things， for you seem to know asmuch as I do already，” said he. “The truth is that the gentlemantold me that he was a detective and that I was to say nothingabout him to anyone.”
“My good fellow， this is a very serious business， and you may findyourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide anything fromme. You say that your fare told you that he was a detective？”
“Yes， he did.”
“When did he say this？”
“When he left me.”
“Did he say anything more？”
“He mentioned his name.”
Holmes cast a swift glance of triumph at me. “Oh， he mentionedhis name， did he？ That was imprudent. What was the name thathe mentioned？”
“His name，” said the cabman， “was Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
Never have I seen my friend more completely taken aback thanby the cabman’s reply. For an instant he sat in silent amazement.
Then he burst into a hearty laugh.
“A touch， Watson—an undeniable touch！” said he. “I feel a foil asquick and supple as my own. He got home upon me very prettilythat time. So his name was Sherlock Holmes， was it？”
“Yes， sir， that was the gentleman’s name.”
“Excellent！ Tell me where you picked him up and all thatoccurred.”
“He hailed me at half-past nine in Trafalgar Square. He said thathe was a detective， and he offered me two guineas if I would doexactly what he wanted all day and ask no questions. I was gladenough to agree. First we drove down to the NorthumberlandHotel and waited there until two gentlemen came out and tooka cab from the rank. We followed their cab until it pulled upsomewhere near here.”
“This very door，” said Holmes.
“Well， I couldn’t be sure of that， but I dare say my fare knew allabout it. We pulled up halfway down the street and waited an hourand a half. Then the two gentlemen passed us， walking， and wefollowed down Baker Street and along——”
“I know，” said Holmes.
“Until we got three-quarters down Regent Street. Then mygentleman threw up the trap， and he cried that I should driveright away to Waterloo Station as hard as I could go. I whippedup the mare and we were there under the ten minutes. Then hepaid up his two guineas， like a good one， and away he went intothe station. Only just as he was leaving he turned round and hesaid： ‘It might interest you to know that you have been driving Mr.
Sherlock Holmes.’ That’s how I come to know the name.”
“I see. And you saw no more of him？”
“Not after he went into the station.”
“And how would you describe Mr. Sherlock Holmes？”
The cabman scratched his head. “Well， he wasn’t altogethersuch an easy gentleman to describe. I’d put him at forty years ofage， and he was of a middle height， two or three inches shorterthan you， sir. He was dressed like a toff， and he had a black beard，cut square at the end， and a pale face. I don’t know as I could saymore than that.”
“Colour of his eyes？”
“No， I can’t say that.”
“Nothing more that you can remember？”
“No， sir； nothing.”
“Well， then， here is your half-sovereign. There’s another onewaiting for you if you can bring any more information. Goodnight！”
“Good-night， sir， and thank you！”
John Clayton departed chuckling， and Holmes turned to mewith a shrug of his shoulders and a rueful smile.
“Snap goes our third thread， and we end where we began，” saidhe. “The cunning rascal！ He knew our number， knew that SirHenry Baskerville had consulted me， spotted who I was in RegentStreet， conjectured that I had got the number of the cab andwould lay my hands on the driver， and so sent back this audaciousmessage. I tell you， Watson， this time we have got a foeman whois worthy of our steel. I’ve been checkmated in London. I can onlywish you better luck in Devonshire. But I’m not easy in my mindabout it.”
“About what？”
“About sending you. It’s an ugly business， Watson， an uglydangerous business， and the more I see of it the less I like it. Yes，my dear fellow， you may laugh， but I give you my word that I shallbe very glad to have you back safe and sound in Baker Street oncemore.”
Baskerville Hall
Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon theappointed day， and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr.
Sherlock Holmes drove with me to the station and gave me hislast parting injunctions and advice.
“I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions，Watson，” said he； “I wish you simply to report facts in thefullest possible manner to me， and you can leave me to do thetheorizing.”
“What sort of facts？” I asked.
