over the
stones in his way with the activity of a mountain goat. A lucky
long shot of my revolver might have crippled him, but I had
brought it only to defend myself if attacked, and not to shoot an
unarmed man who was running away.

We were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we
soon found that we had no chance of overtaking him. We saw him
for a long time in the moonlight until he was only a small speck
moving swiftly among the boulders upon the side of a distant
hill. We ran and ran until we were completely blown, but the
space between us grew ever wider. Finally we stopped and sat
panting on two rocks, while we watched him disappearing in the
distance.

And it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange and
unexpected thing. We had risen from our rocks and were turning to
go home, having abandoned the hopeless chase. The moon was low
upon the right, and the jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up
against the lower curve of its silver disc. There, outlined as
black as an ebony statue on that shining back-ground, I saw the
figure of a man upon the tor. Do not think that it was a
delusion, Holmes. I assure you that I have never in my life seen
anything more clearly. As far as I could judge, the figure was
that of a tall, thin man. He stood with his legs a little
separated, his arms folded, his head bowed, as if he were
brooding over that enormous wilderness of peat and granite which
lay before him. He might have been the very spirit of that
terrible place. It was not the convict. This man was far from the
place where the latter had disappeared. Besides, he was a much
taller man. With a cry of surprise I pointed him out to the
baronet, but in the instant during which I had turned to grasp
his arm the man was gone. There was the sharp pinnacle of granite
still cutting the lower edge of the moon, but its peak bore no
trace of that silent and motionless figure.

I wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but it
was some distance away. The baronet's nerves were still quivering
from that cry, which recalled the dark story of his family, and
he was not in the mood for fresh adventures. He had not seen this
lonely man upon the tor and could not feel the thrill which his
strange presence and his commanding attitude had given to me. "A
warder, no doubt," said he. "The moor has been thick with them
since this fellow escaped." Well, perhaps his explanation may be
the right one, but I