“I had almost reached the brow of the hill when I thought I heard footsteps behind me. I increased my pace, but the other footsteps seemed at once to become more rapid, too. Then, as they appeared to be gaining on me, I stopped, and with a great effort of will turned round. All about me was dead silence. Had I imagined those dreadful footsteps following me remorselessly along the road? Was it simply some kind of echo from the woods of my own rapid steps? Then, as I stood there in the pitch-black silence, I heard them again, and the blood seemed to turn to ice in my veins: footsteps, soft and furtive now, but rapidly getting closer to where I stood. Panic gripped my heart then and I turned and ran for my life. Uphill and downhill I ran, along that winding road, never once pausing for breath, until a faint light ahead of me indicated that I was approaching the village. Even then, there was little enough illumination, but it sufficed to guide me through the village and down the track to the railway station, which I reached in a panting, breathless state. There, as I feared, I learnt that the last train had already gone; but the station master was still about, and I was able to send a telegram to my wife, explaining that I had been delayed and should return the next day. The station master suggested I enquire at the Fox and Goose, being the only place which might offer a bed for the night, so there I betook myself. As I passed again through the dark and silent village, I looked keenly about me, but as far as I could discern, not a soul was abroad save me. As you will imagine, the evening’s events had left me in a highly nervous state, and I was much relieved when I reached the safety of the inn.

“It seemed very bright and cosy in the Fox and Goose, and the landlord greeted me in a friendly fashion. In answer to my request for a room for the night, he conducted me to a little bedroom situated over the front door. It had a musty, damp smell, but I was in no position to be particular about such things, and thanked him warmly for accommodating me. He had another gentleman staying that night, he informed me, a Mr Bradbury, who was a commercial traveller for a firm of farm equipment manufacturers. When we returned to the parlour, downstairs, he introduced me to that gentleman, and then went to prepare us some food.

“The relief that washed over me as I sat before the blazing fire in the parlour of the inn, chatting with Mr Bradbury and smoking a cigar, can scarcely be described. Of course, I did not mention, either to him or to any of the other men there, the circumstances in which I had passed the last couple of hours. I appeared a big enough fool already in my own eyes, and I had no wish to announce my foolishness to the whole world. Instead, I told them that I had inadvertently alighted from the train at the wrong station and knew no one in the area, which was why I had been obliged to seek shelter for the night at the inn, and lacked the luggage that a traveller would normally have with him. If this story made me appear foolish in the eyes of my audience, it was, I felt, a lesser species of foolishness than the truth would have revealed. As it happened, I need not have been so anxious, as they did not appear to think too badly of me for my folly. In any case, Mr Bradbury was in a similar situation. He had come down that morning from London, expressly to meet one of the largest of the local landed proprietors, to discuss the latest farm machinery, but had received word upon his arrival that he could not be seen until the next day. He had therefore been kicking his heels in idleness all day, as he put it. Like me, he was looking forward to a good night’s sleep, and to making a fresh start on his business in the morning.

“The landlord provided us with an excellent supper, and after that, and a little liquid refreshment, I felt quite restored. My situation did not now seem to me so bad. Presently, I announced that I would retire for the night, and bade the landlord and the other occupants of the parlour good night.

“The staircase of the inn was an ancient, narrow, winding affair, and as I was mounting the stair, a red-haired young man I had not seen before came hurrying down. I stood aside to let him pass, but he did not acknowledge this courtesy. In fact, he did not speak at all, but pushed past me in brusque silence. This struck me as exceedingly rude, but I doubt if I should have considered the matter further but for what I found when I reached the top of the stair. There, the door of my little bedroom stood wide open, and I saw at once that the room had been ransacked. The drawers of a little dressing table hung open, and the mattress and bedclothes had been tipped onto the floor. I heard a door bang downstairs, and at once stepped to the window. Outside, as I could see by the dim illumination of the lamp that hung by the door of the inn, the rude young man I had encountered on the stair was hurrying away. Pulled down tight on his head was a low-crowned soft hat. I could not doubt that it was the same man I had seen crouching below me in the bushes when I had been up in the tree at Owl’s Hill, and a thrill of horror passed through me at the thought. Next moment, he had vanished from my sight into the darkness.

“I hurried downstairs and told the landlord that someone had been in my room and turned it upside down. He and a couple of the other men in the parlour accompanied me back upstairs to see for themselves what had happened. Upon seeing the chaotic state of my bedroom they said nothing, however, merely looking from the room to me and back at the room again, as if struck dumb by the unprecedented nature of the business. Then Mr Bradbury pushed open the door of his bedroom, which was next to mine, and we saw that it was in the same sort of disorder. Drawers had been pulled out, cupboards opened, and his bedding tipped onto the floor.

“Some of the men there, I suspect, had wondered for a moment if I was deranged, and had, in my insanity, upset my bedroom myself. But the disorder in the other gentleman’s bedroom lifted this suspicion from me, for it was obvious that I would not have had time since leaving the parlour to cause such havoc in both bedrooms. I told them then about the man who had pushed past me on the stair.

“‘Have you ever seen him before?’ the landlord asked me.

“‘Never,’ I replied. Of course, I could not tell them that I had seen him in the garden of Owl’s Hill, as I should then have to explain what I had been doing there myself.

“‘Well, I don’t know, I’m sure,’ said the landlord, scratching his head. ‘This has never happened before! We have a constable in these parts,’ he added, addressing me. ‘He’s not much use for anything, but I’ll have a word with him tomorrow, and tell him what’s happened.’

“We straightened the rooms then, and shortly afterwards I retired to bed. Sleep eluded me, however, and I lay awake half the night, starting at every creak of a floorboard. I could not get the events of the evening out of my head, and over and over again I considered the matter from every angle. By the morning I had resolved that I simply could not return to my chambers and resume my routine legal work as if none of these strange events had occurred. Mr Holmes, I must learn what lies behind it all! Why did the woman tell me that Dr Kennett does not live at Owl’s Hill? Why is he so ill-treated there? Is he held in that lonely spot against his will? He certainly appeared to be at liberty on the day I met him on the train. But if he is at liberty, why does he stay there? Who is the man who was hiding in the bushes, and what was his purpose in being there? Why were the rooms at the inn ransacked? I know I shall never rest easy until I know the answers to all these questions! I remembered that my partner, Mr Halesworth, spoke of you in glowing terms about a year ago, Mr Holmes, and I thought you sounded the very man to help me discover the truth. So here I am, that is my story, and if there is anything more you wish to know, please ask.”