ut
I have grave misgivings. Is it not much more likely that the recent
tragedy of the sheep has caused him to take some steps which may have
ended in his own destruction? He may, for example, have lain in wait
for the creature and been carried off by it into the recesses of the
mountains. What an inconceivable fate for a civilized Englishman of the
twentieth century! And yet I feel that it is possible and even probable.
But in that case, how far am I answerable both for his death and for
any other mishap which may occur? Surely with the knowledge I already
possess it must be my duty to see that something is done, or if
necessary to do it myself. It must be the latter, for this morning I
went down to the local police-station and told my story. The inspector
entered it all in a large book and bowed me out with commendable
gravity, but I heard a burst of laughter before I had got down his
garden path. No doubt he was recounting my adventure to his family.

June 10.--I am writing this, propped up in bed, six weeks after my last
entry in this journal. I have gone through a terrible shock both to mind
and body, arising from such an experience as has seldom befallen a human
being before. But I have attained my end. The danger from the Terror
which dwells in the Blue John Gap has passed never to return. Thus much
at least I, a broken invalid, have done for the common good. Let me now
recount what occurred as clearly as I may.

The night of Friday, May 3rd, was dark and cloudy--the very night for
the monster to walk. About eleven o'clock I went from the farm-house
with my lantern and my rifle, having first left a note upon the table
of my bedroom in which I said that, if I were missing, search should be
made for me in the direction of the Gap. I made my way to the mouth of
the Roman shaft, and, having perched myself among the rocks close to the
opening, I shut off my lantern and waited patiently with my loaded rifle
ready to my hand.

It was a melancholy vigil. All down the winding valley I could see
the scattered lights of the farm-houses, and the church clock of
Chapel-le-Dale tolling the hours came faintly to my ears. These tokens
of my fellow-men served only to make my own position seem the more
lonely, and to call for a greater effort to overcome the terror which
tempted me continually to get back to the farm, and abandon for ever
this dangerous quest. And yet there lies deep in every man a rooted
self-respect which make