thought to be supernatural, and the nephew driven to his end in a wild
flight to escape from it. All our long & weary labours seemed to have been
brought to a piteous end.
As the moon rose, we climbed to the top of the rocks over which our poor
friend had fallen, and from the summit we gazed out over the shadowy moor,
half silver & half gloom. If Holmes knew who was behind all this, why
should we not make our move now, I asked, but Holmes replied that our
quarry was wary & cunning to the last degree, and our case was not yet
proved. If we made one false move the villain might escape us yet. So we
returned to the body to perform the last offices, and as Holmes bent over
the body he uttered a cry and started dancing & laughing & wringing my
hand.
"A beard! A beard! The man has a beard!" he cried. "It is not the baronet
