"I will come, with pleasure," said I. "I do not know how I could employ
my time better."

"And you will report very carefully to me," said Holmes. "When a crisis
comes, as it will do, I will direct how you shall act. I suppose that by
Saturday all might be ready?"

"Would that suit Dr. Watson?"

"Perfectly."

"Then on Saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet at the
ten-thirty train from Paddington."

We had risen to depart when Baskerville gave a cry, of triumph, and
diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown boot from
under a cabinet.

"My missing boot!" he cried.

"May all our difficulties vanish as easily!" said Sherlock Holmes.

"But it is a very singular thing," Dr. Mortimer remarked. "I searched
this room carefully before lunch."

"And so did I," said Baskerville. "Every inch of it."

"There was certainly no boot in it then."

"In that case the waiter must have placed it there while we were
lunching."

The German was sent for but professed to know nothing of the matter,
nor could any inquiry clear it up. Another item had been added to that
constant and apparently purposeless series of small mysteries which had
succeeded each other so rapidly. Setting aside the whole grim story of
Sir Charles's death, we had a line of inexplicable incidents all within
the limits of two days, which included the receipt of the printed
letter, the black-bearded spy in the hansom, the loss of the new brown
boot, the loss of the old black boot, and now the return of the new
brown boot. Holmes sat in silence in the cab as we drove back to Baker
Street, and I knew from his drawn brows and keen face that his mind,
like my own, was busy in endeavouring to frame some scheme into which
all these strange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted.
All afternoon and late into the evening he sat lost in tobacco and
thought.

Just before dinner two telegrams were handed in. The first ran:

Have just heard that Barrymore is at the Hall. BASKERVILLE.

The second:

Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry, to report unable to
trace cut sheet of Times. CARTWRIGHT.

"There go two of my threads, Watson. There is nothing more stimulating
than a case where everything goes against you. We must cast round for
another scent."

"We have still the cabman who drove the spy."

"Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from the Official
Registry. I should not be surprised if