moor. I was
wondering if there were any evidence of such a sound tonight."

"We heard nothing of the kind," said I.

"And what is your theory of this poor fellow's death?"

"I have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven him off his head.
He has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and eventually fallen over
here and broken his neck."

"That seems the most reasonable theory," said Stapleton, and he gave a
sigh which I took to indicate his relief. "What do you think about it,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

My friend bowed his compliments. "You are quick at identification," said
he.

"We have been expecting you in these parts since Dr. Watson came down.
You are in time to see a tragedy."

"Yes, indeed. I have no doubt that my friend's explanation will cover
the facts. I will take an unpleasant remembrance back to London with me
tomorrow."

"Oh, you return tomorrow?"

"That is my intention."

"I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences which have
puzzled us?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

"One cannot always have the success for which one hopes. An investigator
needs facts and not legends or rumours. It has not been a satisfactory
case."

My friend spoke in his frankest and most unconcerned manner. Stapleton
still looked hard at him. Then he turned to me.

"I would suggest carrying this poor fellow to my house, but it would
give my sister such a fright that I do not feel justified in doing it.
I think that if we put something over his face he will be safe until
morning."

And so it was arranged. Resisting Stapleton's offer of hospitality,
Holmes and I set off to Baskerville Hall, leaving the naturalist to
return alone. Looking back we saw the figure moving slowly away over the
broad moor, and behind him that one black smudge on the silvered slope
which showed where the man was lying who had come so horribly to his
end.

Chapter 13. Fixing the Nets

"We're at close grips at last," said Holmes as we walked together across
the moor. "What a nerve the fellow has! How he pulled himself together
in the face of what must have been a paralyzing shock when he found that
the wrong man had fallen a victim to his plot. I told you in London,
Watson, and I tell you now again, that we have never had a foeman more
worthy of our steel."

"I am sorry that he has seen you."

"And so was I at first. But there was no getting out of it."

"What effect do you think it will have upon hi