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 think of the old-world
legends of dragons and of other monsters. Were they, perhaps, not such
fairy-tales as we have thought? Can it be that there is some fact which
underlies them, and am I, of all mortals, the one who is chosen to
expose it?

May 3.--For several days I have been laid up by the vagaries of an
English spring, and during those days there have been developments, the
true and sinister meaning of which no one can appreciate save myself.
I may say that we have had cloudy and moonless nights of late,
which according to my information were the seasons upon which sheep
disappeared. Well, sheep _have_ disappeared. Two of Miss Allerton's, one
of old Pearson's of the Cat Walk, and one of Mrs. Moulton's. Four in
all during three nights. No trace is left of them at all, and the
countryside is buzzing with rumours of gipsies and of sheep-stealers.

But there is something more serious than that. Young Armitage has
disappeared also. He left his moorland cottage early on Wednesday night
and has never been heard of since. He was an unattached man, so there is
less sensation than would otherwise be the case. The popular explanation
is that he owes money, and has found a situation in some other part of
the country, whence he will presently write for his belongings. B