he man has a beard!"

"A beard?"

"It is not the baronet--it is--why, it is my neighbour, the
convict!"

With feverish haste we had turned the body over, and that
dripping beard was pointing up to the cold, clear moon. There
could be no doubt about the beetling forehead, the sunken animal
eyes. It was indeed the same face which had glared upon me in the
light of the candle from over the rock--the face of Selden, the
criminal.

Then in an instant it was all clear to me. I remembered how the
baronet had told me that he had handed his old wardrobe to
Barrymore. Barrymore had passed it on in order to help Selden in
his escape. Boots, shirt, cap--it was all Sir Henry's. The
tragedy was still black enough, but this man had at least
deserved death by the laws of his country. I told Holmes how the
matter stood, my heart bubbling over with thankfulness and joy.

"Then the clothes have been the poor devil's death," said he. "It
is clear enough that the hound has been laid on from some article
of Sir Henry's--the boot which was abstracted in the hotel, in
all probability--and so ran this man down. There is one very
singular thing, however: How came Selden, in the darkness, to
know that the hound was on his trail?"

"He heard him."

"To hear a hound upon the moor would not work a hard man like
this convict into such a paroxysm of terror that he would risk
recapture by screaming wildly for help. By his cries he must have
run a long way after he knew the animal was on his track. How did
he know?"

"A greater mystery to me is why this hound, presuming that all
our conjectures are correct --"

"I presume nothing."

"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 your suspicions--not a
word, or my plans crumble to the ground."