If Watson doesn't starting getting some answers soon, there's not only going to be a mad dog on the moor, but an Englishman also. (Who didn't see that coming, you know,. . . mad dogs and Englishmen. . . get it?)
Things just aren't coming together the way he had hoped. Sure, he keeps coming up with answers, but most of the time they seem to lead to more questions. Nothing is conclusive.
Sir Henry, since his fright in the night, seems non-committal to pursuing just about anything other than Berly.
The Barrymore's are only being helpful when they want to be.
Mortimer only shows up to play cards.
Stapletons not around.
And what the Heck? Holmes is no where to be found! (Does Watson ever receive any replies to his letters? I can't recall any mention of a reply, correct me if I am wrong, please.)
He has reached the point where he is questioning his "intelligence or (his) courage" saying he is feeling "deficient if (he) could not throw some further light upon the dark places."
He must be feeling a little abandoned.
Where Sherlock Holmes has Watson as his sounding board, Watson, seemingly has no one.
So in this chapter, off he goes to get some answers.
He is less than complimentary in his early descriptions of Mrs. Lyons, basically saying she is a beauty but with some indiscernible flaws Maybe only Mrs. Barrymore gets a less flattering introduction from Watson.
It doesn't take him very long to play the 'bad cop' in his interrogation of Mrs. Lyons, taking perhaps a lesson from Holmes' play book.
And luckily his patience pays off and he finds himself with another clue to the task he was about to undertake.
Next, for the second time in this tale, Watson sets out, at or near dark, to pursue a quest upon the loathsome moor. Resolute and steadfast in his determination to once again, find the man on the tor.
But his determination pays off. He finds the lonely dwelling and some signs of it's occupation. (Waxed paper has been around for a very long time.)
We also don't know how long he waited, it doesn't seem very long, but finally the huts most recent occupant returns.
And then we hear, "It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson. .. "
At this point, if it had been the Jude Law version of Watson, and even maybe the Martin Freeman one, Watson would have come flying out of the hut ready to pommel Holmes. (I like thinking Jude Law would do that.)
But what does our Watson do?
Did he feel relief?
Was he angry?
We will have to wait for the next chapter to find out.
Watson went seeking answers, but instead, if I may say, a prayer was answered as well.