l, then, why this hound should be loose tonight. I suppose that it
does not always run loose upon the moor. Stapleton would not let it go
unless he had reason to think that Sir Henry would be there."

"My difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for I think that we
shall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while mine may remain
forever a mystery. The question now is, what shall we do with this poor
wretch's body? We cannot leave it here to the foxes and the ravens."

"I suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we can communicate
with the police."

"Exactly. I have no doubt that you and I could carry it so far. Halloa,
Watson, what's this? It's the man himself, by all that's wonderful and
audacious! Not a word to show your suspicions--not a word, or my plans
crumble to the ground."

A figure was approaching us over the moor, and I saw the dull red glow
of a cigar. The moon shone upon him, and I could distinguish the dapper
shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. He stopped when he saw us, and
then came on again.

"Why, Dr. Watson, that's not you, is it? You are the last man that I
should have expected to see out on the moor at this time of night. But,
dear me, what's this? Somebody hurt? Not--don't tell me that it is our
friend Sir Henry!" He hurried past me and stooped over the dead man. I
heard a sharp intake of his breath and the cigar fell from his fingers.

"Who--who's this?" he stammered.

"It is Selden, the man who escaped from Princetown."

Stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme effort he had
overcome his amazement and his disappointment. He looked sharply from
Holmes to me. "Dear me! What a very shocking affair! How did he die?"

"He appears to have broken his neck by falling over these rocks. My
friend and I were strolling on the moor when we heard a cry."

"I heard a cry also. That was what brought me out. I was uneasy about
Sir Henry."

"Why about Sir Henry in particular?" I could not help asking.

"Because I had suggested that he should come over. When he did not come
I was surprised, and I naturally became alarmed for his safety when I
heard cries upon the moor. By the way"--his eyes darted again from my
face to Holmes's--"did you hear anything else besides a cry?"

"No," said Holmes; "did you?"

"No."

"What do you mean, then?"

"Oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantom
hound, and so on. It is said to be heard at night upon the