The description wasn't bad, but it lacked any one good distinctive detail.

Clearly the policeman took me for an innocent pedestrian, probably the guest of some moorland shooting-box, with my brown face and rough tweeds and hobnailed shoes.
I frowned and puzzled a little.

'I did see a fellow about three miles back on the hillside.

There's a public-house just where the burn comes in, and I think he was making for it.

Maybe that was your man.