Собака Баскервиллей
The Man on the Tor
Atlastmyfootwasonthethresholdofhishidingplace—hissecretwaswithinmygrasp.
AsIapproachedthehut,walkingaswarilyasStapletonwoulddowhenwithpoisednethedrewnearthesettledbutterfly,Isatisfiedmyselfthattheplacehadindeedbeenusedasahabitation. Avaguepathwayamongthebouldersledtothedilapidatedopeningwhichservedasadoor. Allwassilentwithin. Theunknownmightbelurkingthere,orhemightbeprowlingonthemoor. Mynervestingledwiththesenseofadventure. Throwingasidemycigarette,Iclosedmyhanduponthebuttofmyrevolverand,walkingswiftlyuptothedoor,Ilookedin. Theplacewasempty.
ButtherewereamplesignsthatIhadnotcomeuponafalsescent. Thiswascertainlywherethemanlived. SomeblanketsrolledinawaterprooflayuponthatverystoneslabuponwhichNeolithicmanhadonceslumbered. Theashesofafirewereheapedinarudegrate. Besideitlaysomecookingutensilsandabuckethalf-fullofwater. Alitterofemptytinsshowedthattheplacehadbeenoccupiedforsometime,andIsaw,asmyeyesbecameaccustomedtothecheckeredlight,apannikinandahalf-fullbottleofspiritsstandinginthecorner. Inthemiddleofthehutaflatstoneservedthepurposeofatable,anduponthisstoodasmallclothbundle—thesame,nodoubt,whichIhadseenthroughthetelescopeupontheshoulderoftheboy. Itcontainedaloafofbread,atinnedtongue,andtwotinsofpreservedpeaches. AsIsetitdownagain,afterhavingexaminedit,myheartleapedtoseethatbeneathittherelayasheetofpaperwithwritinguponit. Iraisedit,andthiswaswhatIread,roughlyscrawledinpencil:—
Dr.WatsonhasgonetoCoombeTracey.
ForaminuteIstoodtherewiththepaperinmyhandsthinkingoutthemeaningofthiscurtmessage. ItwasI,then,andnotSirHenry,whowasbeingdoggedbythissecretman.
