The Adventure at Baskerville Hall & Other Cases

clink of a boot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming nearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner, and cocked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to be discovered until I had an opportunity to see something of the stranger. There was a long pause, which showed that he had stopped. Then once more the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the opening of the hut.
    "It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson," said a well-known voice. "I really think that you will be more comfortable outside than in."
    I was struck dumb with amazement. The next instant I was scrambling out of the hut and soon I stood before him.
    "Holmes," I asked, scarcely believing my eyes. "Holmes, is it really you?"
    He gave a queer half-shrug and a tentative smile. "As you see."
    For a moment I merely gaped at him, my wits entirely scattered by the sight of the one person I expected least to see. For a moment I actually wondered if my frequent thoughts of him had caused me to hallucinate his presence, and then my eyes took in the dust and splatters of mud around the base of his trousers that told me that this was no ethereal vision but the man himself, in the flesh and looking as rumpled and ill-groomed as I had ever seen him during our acquaintance.
    Finally I managed to reply.
    "What are you doing here?"
    "Following you."
    At first I was struck dumb again at the fact that he took no pains to conceal it – not that any would have been realistically possible – but when he ventured, "You look well, if I may say so. Country air seems to agree with you–", I exploded.
    "For God's sake, Holmes, you are utterly impossible! You have been here watching me all the time?"
    "Yes," he admitted. "More or less; I came down just a couple of days after you did. But before you make any assumptions, let me just say–"
    "You don't trust me," I spat, bitterly disappointed. "I should have known it; when have you ever put your faith in anyone save yourself?"
    "I do trust you, I only–"
    "I'm sure you must have been vastly entertained, watching me running all over the moor and Coombe Tracey like a blind fool."
    "Watson, please. Listen to me."
    He was beginning to sound alarmed, as well he might, for I had never lost my temper with him quite so dramatically before.
    "I suppose all my reports are gathering dust at Baker Street, and all my efforts have been for nothing," I said, almost sick with disappointment. "And to think of the hours I put into them; I had even hoped that I might win a word of praise from you, fool that I am!"
    "Your reports are here and very well-thumbed, that I promise you." Looking worried, Holmes delved immediately into his jacket pocket and produced a thick bundle that he thrust into my hands, as though he thought that I would not take his word. "They have been invaluable to me, I swear. Please don't think that I sent you up here on a wild goose chase."
    "This whole wretched thing has been a wild goose chase," I retorted heatedly. "I daresay you had already worked out who the culprit was before I even left London. And you did not send me, damn it, I came of my own free will." I gave a humourless laugh, not the slightest bit appeased by the uncharacteristic concern on his face. "Lord knows I was desperate for some time away from you after that appalling business with Culverton Smith, to convince myself that I do not–"
    Here, with an effort, I checked myself, biting down on the angry flow of words before more incriminating ones could escape. Love you, I had almost said. To convince myself that I do not love you, for if this was to be the end of our partnership then I would at least leave it with my dignity intact.
    But, when I lifted my chin and straightened my shoulders, I saw that Holmes's alarm had been replaced with a queer, almost hungry expression that I found slightly unnerving.
    "Go on," he pressed, when I stopped. "To convince yourself of what?"
    "Nothing," I said tightly.
    Holmes had often subjected me to scrutiny before announcing a fact about me of which I had believed him unaware – upon one memorable occasion outlining an entire train of thought – but his gaze had never devoured me to quite such an extent. It made me profoundly uneasy, seeing in his staring eyes an echo not only of those earlier times but also of his death's-head as he feigned desperate illness, and as he began, "Watson–", I simply said, "Here". Thrusting the papers back into his hands, I turned to leave.
    Whether