me ten miles away. Mr.
Picton appeared to be a man of importance, as his brass plate was
displayed upon the door of a considerable building on the outskirts of
the town. I was about to ring his bell, when some misgiving came into
my mind, and, crossing to a neighbouring shop, I asked the man behind
the counter if he could tell me anything of Mr. Picton. "Why," said
he, "he is the best mad doctor in Derbyshire, and yonder is his
asylum." You can imagine that it was not long before I had shaken the
dust of Castleton from my feet and returned to the farm, cursing all
unimaginative pedants who cannot conceive that there may be things in
creation which have never yet chanced to come across their mole's
vision. After all, now that I am cooler, I can afford to admit that I
have been no more sympathetic to Armitage than Dr. Johnson has been to
me.

April 27. When I was a student I had the reputation of being a man of
courage and enterprise. I remember that when there was a ghost-hunt at
Coltbridge it was I who sat up in the haunted house. Is it advancing
years (after all, I am only thirty-five), or is it this physical malady
which has caused degeneration? Certainly my heart quails when I think
of that horrible cavern in the hill, and the certainty that it has some
monstrous occupant. What shall I do? There is not an hour in the day
that I do not debate the question. If I say nothing, then the mystery
remains unsolved. If I do say anything, then I have the alternative of
mad alarm over the whole countryside, or of absolute incredulity which
may end in consigning me to an asylum. On the whole, I think that my
best course is to wait, and to prepare for some expedition which shall
be more deliberate and better thought out than the last. As a first
step I have been to Castleton and obtained a few essentials--a large
acetylene lantern for one thing, and a good double-barrelled sporting
rifle for another. The latter I have hired, but I have bought a dozen
heavy game cartridges, which would bring down a rhinoceros. Now I am
ready for my troglodyte friend. Give me better health and a little
spate of energy, and I shall try conclusions with him yet. But who and
what is he? Ah! there is the question which stands between me and my
sleep. How many theories do I form, only to discard each in turn! It
is all so utterly unthinkable. And yet the cry, the footmark, the
tread in the cavern--no reasoning can get past these I t