Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed.

The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation--sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.
"Halloa!" cried Dr.Mortimer, "what is this ?" A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay in front of us.

On the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle poised ready over his forearm.

He was watching the road along which we travelled.
"What is this, Perkins ?" asked Dr.Mortimer.
Our driver half turned in his seat.
"There's a convict escaped from Princetown, sir.

He's been out three days now, and the warders watch every road and every station, but they've had no sight of him yet.