ellow is wary and cunning to the last
degree. It is not what we know, but what we can prove. If we make one
false move the villain may escape us yet."

"What can we do?"

"There will be plenty for us to do tomorrow. Tonight we can only perform
the last offices to our poor friend."

Together we made our way down the precipitous slope and approached the
body, black and clear against the silvered stones. The agony of those
contorted limbs struck me with a spasm of pain and blurred my eyes with
tears.

"We must send for help, Holmes! We cannot carry him all the way to the
Hall. Good heavens, are you mad?"

He had uttered a cry and bent over the body. Now he was dancing and
laughing and wringing my hand. Could this be my stern, self-contained
friend? These were hidden fires, indeed!

"A beard! A beard! The 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."

"Wel