appearance of that odious
man, Mr. Woodley. He was always hideous, but he looks more awful
than ever now, for he appears to have had an accident and he is much
disfigured. I saw him out of the window, but I am glad to say I did
not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. Carruthers, who seemed much
excited afterwards. Woodley must be staying in the neighbourhood, for
he did not sleep here, and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this
morning, slinking about in the shrubbery. I would sooner have a savage
wild animal loose about the place. I loathe and fear him more than I
can say. How CAN Mr. Carruthers endure such a creature for a moment?
However, all my troubles will be over on Saturday.

"So I trust, Watson, so I trust," said Holmes, gravely. "There is some
deep intrigue going on round that little woman, and it is our duty to
see that no one molests her upon that last journey. I think, Watson,
that we must spare time to run down together on Saturday morning and
make sure that this curious and inclusive investigation has no untoward
ending."

I confess that I had not up to now taken a very serious view of
the case, which had seemed to me rather grotesque and bizarre than
dangerous. That a man should lie in wait for and follow a very handsome
woman is no unheard-of thing, and if he has so little audacity that he
not only dared not address her, but even fled from her approach, he
was not a very formidable assailant. The ruffian Woodley was a very
different person, but, except on one occasion, he had not molested our
client, and now he visited the house of Carruthers without intruding
upon her presence. The man on the bicycle was doubtless a member of
those week-end parties at the Hall of which the publican had spoken,
but who he was, or what he wanted, was as obscure as ever. It was the
severity of Holmes's manner and the fact that he slipped a revolver into
his pocket before leaving our rooms which impressed me with the feeling
that tragedy might prove to lurk behind this curious train of events.

A rainy night had been followed by a glorious morning, and the
heath-covered countryside, with the glowing clumps of flowering gorse,
seemed all the more beautiful to eyes which were weary of the duns and
drabs and slate grays of London. Holmes and I walked along the broad,
sandy road inhaling the fresh morning air and rejoicing in the music of
the birds and the fresh breath of the spring. From a rise of the road
on the shoul