of action. We did not drive up to
the door but got down near the gate of the avenue. The wagonette
was paid off and ordered to return to Coombe Tracey forthwith,
while we started to walk to Merripit House.

"Are you armed, Lestrade?"

The little detective smiled.

"As long as I have my trousers I have a hip-pocket, and as long
as I have my hip-pocket I have something in it."

"Good! My friend and I are also ready for emergencies."

"You're mighty close about this affair, Mr. Holmes. What's the
game now?"

"A waiting game."

"My word, it does not seem a very cheerful place," said the
detective with a shiver, glancing round him at the gloomy slopes
of the hill and at the huge lake of fog which lay over the
Grimpen Mire. "I see the lights of a house ahead of us."

"That is Merripit House and the end of our journey. I must
request you to walk on tiptoe and not to talk above a whisper."

We moved cautiously along the track as if we were bound for the
house, but Holmes halted us when we were about two hundred yards
from it.

"This will do," said he. "These rocks upon the right make an
admirable screen."

"We are to wait here?"

"Yes, we shall make our little ambush here. Get into this hollow,
Lestrade. You have been inside the house, have you not, Watson?
Can you tell the position of the rooms? What are those latticed
windows at this end?"

"I think they are the kitchen windows."

"And the one beyond, which shines so brightly?"

"That is certainly the dining-room."

"The blinds are up. You know the lie of the land best. Creep
forward quietly and see what they are doing--but for heaven's
sake don't let them know that they are watched!"

I tiptoed down the path and stooped behind the low wall which
surrounded the stunted orchard. Creeping in its shadow I reached
a point whence I could look straight through the uncurtained
window.

There were only two men in the room, Sir Henry and Stapleton.
They sat with their profiles towards me on either side of the
round table. Both of them were smoking cigars, and coffee and
wine were in front of them. Stapleton was talking with animation,
but the baronet looked pale and distrait. Perhaps the thought of
that lonely walk across the ill-omened moor was weighing heavily
upon his mind.

As I watched them Stapleton rose and left the room, while Sir
Henry filled his glass again and leaned back in his chair,
puffing at his cigar. I heard the creak of a door and the c