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Doyle, Arthur Conan

"The Hound Of The Baskervilles"

He was thin and worn, but clear and alert, his keen face bronzed by the sun and roughened by the wind. In his tweed suit and cloth cap he looked like any other tourist upon the moor, and he had contrived, with that catlike love of personal cleanliness which was one of his characteristics, that his chin should be as smooth and his linen as perfect as if he were in Baker Street.


? ? ? ? "I never was more glad to see anyone in my life," said I as I wrung him by the hand.


? ? ? ? "Or more astonished, eh?"


? ? ? ? "Well, I must confess to it."


? ? ? ? "The surprise was not all on one side, I assure you. I had no idea that you had found my occasional retreat, still less that you were inside it, until I was within twenty paces of the door."


? ? ? ? "My footprint, I presume?"


? ? ? ? "No, Watson, I fear that I could not undertake to recognize your footprint amid all the footprints of the world. If you seriously desire to deceive me you must change your tobacconist; for when I see the stub of a cigarette marked Bradley, Oxford Street, I know that my friend Watson is in the neighbourhood. You will see it there beside the path. You threw it down, no doubt, at that supreme moment when you charged into the empty hut.


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