e.
I have not lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing.

I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous and
melancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore just now, which
gives me one more strong card which I can play in due time.

Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played ecarte
afterwards. The butler brought me my coffee into the library, and I took
the chance to ask him a few questions.

"Well," said I, "has this precious relation of yours departed, or is he
still lurking out yonder?"

"I don't know, sir. I hope to heaven that he has gone, for he has
brought nothing but trouble here! I've not heard of him since I left out
food for him last, and that was three days ago."

"Did you see him then?"

"No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way."

"Then he was certainly there?"

"So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it."

I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at Barrymore.

"You know that there is another man then?"

"Yes, sir; there is another man upon the moor."

"Have you seen him?"

"No, sir."

"How do you know of him then?"

"Selden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. He's in hiding, too,
but he's not a convict as far as I can make out. I don't like it, Dr.
Watson--I tell you straight, sir, that I don't like it." He spoke with a
sudden passion of earnestness.

"Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matter but
that of your master. I have come here with no object except to help him.
Tell me, frankly, what it is that you don't like."

Barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst or
found it difficult to express his own feelings in words.

"It's all these goings-on, sir," he cried at last, waving his hand
towards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor. "There's foul play
somewhere, and there's black villainy brewing, to that I'll swear!
Very glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his way back to London
again!"

"But what is it that alarms you?"

"Look at Sir Charles's death! That was bad enough, for all that the
coroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night. There's not a
man would cross it after sundown if he was paid for it. Look at this
stranger hiding out yonder, and watching and waiting! What's he waiting
for? What does it mean? It means no good to anyone of the name of
Baskerville, and very glad I shall be to be quit of it