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No, no,
I can't possibly leave it."
"I am convinced," said I, "that this Reuben Hayes knows all
about it. A more self-evident villain I never saw."
"Oh! he impressed you in that way, did he? There are the
horses, there is the smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this
Fighting Cock. I think we shall have another look at it in an
unobtrusive way."
A long, sloping hillside, dotted with gray limestone boulders,
stretched behind us. We had turned off the road, and were
making our way up the hill, when, looking in the direction of
Holdemesse Hall, I saw a cyclist coming swiftly along.
"Get down, Watson!" cried Holmes, with a heavy hand upon
my shoulder. We had hardly sunk from view when the man flew
past us on the road. Amid a rolling cloud of dust, I caught a
glimpse of a pale, agitated face -- a face with horror in every
lineament, the mouth open, the eyes staring wildly in front. It
was like some strange caricature of the dapper James Wilder
whom we had seen the night before.
"The Duke's secretary!" cried Holmes. "Come, Watson, let
us see what he does.


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