The heir, Sir Henry Baskerville, arrived from Canada the next day, a small, alert, dark-eyed man of thirty with a strong, weather-beaten face. That morning he had received a letter made of words cut from a newspaper. As you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor. Then one of his new brown boots disappeared from the hotel corridor, and after that an old black one. Holmes and I followed him along Regent Street and saw a cab with a bearded man inside that kept pace with him. When Holmes ran towards it, the cab dashed away. We have been outwitted, said Holmes, but we have a clever opponent. I cannot leave London myself, he told me, so you must go down to Devonshire with Sir Henry and report every fact to me.