Death on the Moor

           ForamomentortwoIsatbreathless,hardlyabletobelievemyears. Thenmysensesandmyvoicecamebacktome,whileacrushingweightofresponsibilityseemedinaninstanttobeliftedfrommysoul. Thatcold,incisive,ironicalvoicecouldbelongtobutonemaninalltheworld. 

           "Holmes!"Icried—"Holmes!" 

           "Comeout,"saidhe,"andpleasebecarefulwiththerevolver." 

           Istoopedundertherudelintel,andtherehesatuponastoneoutside,hisgrayeyesdancingwithamusementastheyfelluponmyastonishedfeatures. Hewasthinandworn,butclearandalert,hiskeenfacebronzedbythesunandroughenedbythewind. Inhistweedsuitandclothcaphelookedlikeanyothertouristuponthemoor, andhehadcontrived,withthatcat-likeloveofpersonalcleanliness whichwasoneofhischaracteristics,thathischinshouldbeassmoothandhislinenasperfectasifhewereinBakerStreet. 

           "Ineverwasmoregladtoseeanyoneinmylife,"saidI,asIwrunghimbythehand. 

           "Ormoreastonished,eh?" 

           "Well,Imustconfesstoit." 

           "Thesurprisewasnotallononeside,Iassureyou. Ihadnoideathatyouhadfoundmyoccasionalretreat,stilllessthatyouwereinsideit,untilIwaswithintwentypacesofthedoor." 

           "Myfootprint,Ipresume?" 

           "No,Watson; IfearthatIcouldnotundertaketorecognizeyourfootprintamidallthefootprintsoftheworld. Ifyouseriouslydesiretodeceivemeyoumustchangeyourtobacconist;