`Well, then, why this hound should be loose to-night. I suppose that it does not always run loose upon the moor. Stapleton would not let it go unless he had reason to think that Sir Henry would be there.'
`My difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for I think that we shall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while mine may remain forever a mystery. The question now is, what shall we do with this poor wretch's body? We cannot leave it here to the foxes and the ravens.'
`I suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we can communicate with the police.'
`Exactly. I have no doubt that you and I could carry it so far.
Halloa, Watson, what's this? It's the man himself, by all that's wonderful and audacious! Not a word to show yow suspicions - not a word, or my plans crumble to the ground.'
A figure was approaching us over the moor, and I saw the dull red glow of a cigar. The moon shone upon him, and I could distinguish the dapper shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. He stopped when he saw us, and then came on again.
`Why, Dr. Watson, that's not you, is it? You are the last man that I should have expected to see out on the moor at this time of night.
But, dear me, what's this? Somebody hurt? Not - don't tell me that it is our friend Sir Henry!' He hurried past me and stooped over the dead man.
I heard a sharp intake of his breath and the cigar fell from his fingers.
`Who - who's this?' he stammered.
`It is Selden, the man who escaped from Princetown.'
Stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme effort he had overcome his amazement and his disappointment. He looked sharply from Holmes to me.
`Dear me! What a very shocking affair! How did he die?'
`He appears to have broken his neck by falling over these rocks.
My friend and I were strolling on the moor when we heard a cry.'
`I heard a cry also. That was what brought me out. I was uneasy about Sir Henry.'
`Why about Sir Henry in particular?' I could not help asking.
`Because I had suggested that he should come over. When he did not come I was surprised, and I naturally became alarmed for his safety when I heard cries upon the moor. By the way' - his eyes darted again from my face to Holmes's - `did you hear anything else besides a cry?'
`No,' said Holmes; `did you?'
`No.'
`What do you mean, then?'
`Oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantom hound, and so on. It is said to be heard at night upon the moor. I was wondering if there were any evidence of such a sound to-night.'
`We heard nothing of the kind,' said I.
`And what is your theory of this poor fellow's death?'
`I have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven him off his head. He has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and eventually fallen over here and broken his neck.'
`That seems the most reasonable theory,' said Stapleton, and he gave a sigh which I took to indicate his relief. `What do you think about it, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?'
My friend bowed his compliments.
`You are quick at identification,' said he.
`We have been expecting you in these parts since Dr. Watson came down. You are in time to see a tragedy.'
`Yes, indeed. I have no doubt that my friend's explanation will cover the facts. I will take an unpleasant remembrance back to London with me to-morrow.'
`Oh, you return to-morrow?'
`That is my intention.'
`I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences which have puzzled us?'
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
`One cannot always have the success for which one hopes. An investigator needs facts and not legends or rumours. It has not been a satisfactory case.'
My friend spoke in his frankest and most unconcerned manner. Stapleton still looked hard at him. Then he turned to me.
