The Hound
of the Baskervilles
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
--Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Chapter 2
--The Curse
of the Baskervilles
Chapter 3
--The Problem
Chapter 4
--Sir Henry Baskerville
Chapter 5
--Three Broken Threads
Chapter 6
--Baskerville Hall
Chapter 7
--The Stapletons
of Merripit House
Chapter 8
--First Report
of Dr. Watson
Chapter 9
--The Light Upon The Moor
Chapter 10
--Extract
from the Diary
of Dr. Watson
Chapter 11
--The Man
on the Tor
Chapter 12
--Death
on the Moor
Chapter 13
--Fixing the Nets
Chapter 14
--The Hound
of the Baskervilles
Chapter 15
--A Retrospection
Chapter 1
Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
who was usually very late
in the mornings,
save upon those not infrequent occasions
when he was up all night,
was seated
at the breakfast table.
I stood upon the hearth-rug
and picked up the stick
which our visitor had left
behind him the night before.
It was a fine,
thick piece
of wood,
bulbous-headed,
of the sort
which is known
as a “Penang lawyer.”
Just
under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch across.
“To James Mortimer,
M.R.C.S.,
from his friends
of the C.C.H.,”
was engraved upon it,
with the date “1884.”
It was just such a stick
as the old-fashioned family practitioner used
to carry
--dignified,
solid,
and reassuring.
, , , ,
“Well,
Watson,
what do you make
of it?”
, , , ,
Holmes was sitting
with his back
to me,
and I had given him no sign
of my occupation.
, , , ,
“How did you know
what I was doing?
I believe you have eyes
in the back
of your head.”
, , , ,
“I have,
at least,
a well-polished,
silver-plated coffee-pot
in front
of me,”
said he.
“But,
tell me,
Watson,
what do you make
of our visitor’s stick?
Since we have been so unfortunate as
to miss him
and have no notion
of his errand,
this accidental souvenir becomes
of importance.
Let me hear you reconstruct the man
by an examination
of it.”
, , , ,
“I think,”
said I,
following
as far
as I
could the methods
of my companion,
“that Dr. Mortimer is a successful,
elderly medical man,
well-esteemed
since those
who know him give him this mark
of their appreciation.”
, , , ,
“Good!”
said Holmes.
“Excellent!”
“I think also
that the probability is
in favour
of his being a country practitioner
who does a great deal
of his visiting
on foot.”
, , , ,
“Why so?”
, , , ,
“Because this stick,
though originally a very handsome one has been so knocked about
that I
can
hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it.
The thick-iron ferrule is worn down,
so it is evident
that he has done a great amount
of walking
with it.”
, , , ,
“Perfectly sound!”
said Holmes.
, , , ,
“And
then again,
there is the ‘friends
of the C.C.H.’
I
should guess that
to be the Something Hunt,
the local hunt
to whose members he has possibly given some surgical assistance,
and
which has made him a small presentation
in return.”
, , , ,
“Really,
Watson,
you excel yourself,”
said Holmes,
pushing back his chair
and lighting a cigarette.
“I am bound
to say that
in all the accounts
which you have been so good as
to give
of my own small achievements you have habitually underrated your own abilities.
It may be
that you are not yourself luminous,
but you are a conductor
of light.
Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power
of stimulating it.
I confess,
my dear fellow,
that I am very much
in your debt.”
, , , ,
He had never said
as much before,
and I must admit
that his words gave me keen pleasure,
for I had often been piqued
by his indifference
to my admiration and
to the attempts
which I had made
to give publicity
to his methods.
I was proud,
too,
to think
that I had so far mastered his system as
to apply it
in a way
which earned his approval.
He now took the stick
from my hands
and examined it
for a few minutes
with his naked eyes.
Then
with an expression
of interest he laid down his cigarette,
and carrying the cane
to the window,
he looked
over it again
with a convex lens.
, , , ,
“Interesting,
though elementary,”
said he
as he returned
to his favourite corner
of the settee.
“There are certainly one
or two indications upon the stick.
It gives us the basis
for several deductions.”
, , , ,
“Has anything escaped me?”
I asked
with some self-importance.
“I trust
that
there is nothing
of consequence
which I have overlooked?”
, , , ,
“I am afraid,
my dear Watson,
that most
of your conclusions were erroneous.
When I said
that you stimulated me I meant,
to be frank,
that
in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided
towards the truth.
Not
that you are entirely wrong
in this instance.
The man is certainly a country practitioner.
And he walks a good deal.”
, , , ,
“Then I was right.”
, , , ,
“To
that extent.”
, , , ,
“But
that was all.”
, , , ,
“No,
no,
my dear Watson,
not all
--by no means all.
I
would suggest,
for example,
that a presentation
to a doctor is more likely
to come
from a hospital than
from a hunt,
and that
when the initials ‘C.C.’
are placed before
that hospital the words ‘Charing Cross’ very naturally suggest themselves.”
, , , ,
“You may be right.”
, , , ,
“The probability lies
in
that direction.
And
if we take this
as a working hypothesis we have a fresh basis
from which
to start our construction
of this unknown visitor.”
, , , ,
“Well,
then,
supposing
that ‘C.C.H.’
does stand
for ‘Charing Cross Hospital,’
what further inferences may we draw?”
, , , ,
“Do none suggest themselves?
You know my methods.
Apply them!”
“I
can only think
of the obvious conclusion
that the man has practised
in town
before going
to the country.”
, , , ,
“I think
that we might venture a little farther
than this.
Look
at it
in this light.
On
what occasion
would it be most probable
that such a presentation
would be made?
When
would his friends unite
to give him a pledge
of their good will?
Obviously
at the moment
when Dr. Mortimer withdrew
from the service
of the hospital
in order
to start
in practice
for himself.
We know
there has been a presentation.
We believe
there has been a change
from a town hospital
to a country practice.
Is it,
then,
stretching our inference too far
to say
that the presentation was
on the occasion
of the change?”
, , , ,
“It certainly seems probable.”
, , , ,
“Now,
you
will observe
that he
could not have been
on the staff
of the hospital,
since only a man well-established
in a London practice
could hold such a position,
and such a one
would not drift
into the country.
What was he,
then?
If he was
in the hospital
and yet not
on the staff he
could only have been a house-surgeon
or a house-physician
--little more
than a senior student.
And he left five years ago
--the date is
on the stick.
So your grave,
middle-aged family practitioner vanishes
into thin air,
my dear Watson,
and
there emerges a young fellow
under thirty,
amiable,
unambitious,
absent-minded,
and the possessor
of a favourite dog,
which I
should describe roughly
as being larger
than a terrier
and smaller
than a mastiff.”
, , , ,
I laughed incredulously
as Sherlock Holmes leaned back
in his settee
and blew little wavering rings
of smoke up
to the ceiling.
, , , ,
“As
to the latter part,
I have no means
of checking you,”
said I,
“but
at least it is not difficult
to find out a few particulars
about the man’s age
and professional career.”
From my small medical shelf I took down the Medical Directory
and turned up the name.
There were several Mortimers,
but only one
who
could be our visitor.
I read his record aloud.
, , , ,
“Mortimer,
James,
M.R.C.S.,
1882,
Grimpen,
Dartmoor,
Devon.
House-surgeon,
from 1882
to 1884,
at Charing Cross Hospital.
Winner
of the Jackson prize
for Comparative Pathology,
with essay entitled ‘Is Disease a Reversion?’
Corresponding member
of the Swedish Pathological Society.
Author
of ‘Some Freaks
of Atavism’
(Lancet 1882).
‘Do We Progress?’
(Journal
of Psychology,
March,
1883).
Medical Officer
for the parishes
of Grimpen,
Thorsley,
and High Barrow.”
, , , ,
“No mention
of
that local hunt,
Watson,”
said Holmes
with a mischievous smile,
“but a country doctor,
as you very astutely observed.
I think
that I am fairly justified
in my inferences.
As
to the adjectives,
I said,
if I remember right,
amiable,
unambitious,
and absent-minded.
It is my experience
that it is only an amiable man
in this world
who receives testimonials,
only an unambitious one
who abandons a London career
for the country,
and only an absent-minded one
who leaves his stick
and not his visiting-card after waiting an hour
in your room.”
, , , ,
“And the dog?”
, , , ,
“Has been
in the habit
of carrying this stick
behind his master.
Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly
by the middle,
and the marks
of his teeth are very plainly visible.
The dog’s jaw,
as shown
in the space
between these marks,
is too broad
in my opinion
for a terrier
and not broad enough
for a mastiff.
It may have been
--yes,
by Jove,
it is a curly-haired spaniel.”
, , , ,
He had risen
and paced the room
as he spoke.
Now he halted
in the recess
of the window.
There was such a ring
of conviction
in his voice
that I glanced up
in surprise.
, , , ,
“My dear fellow,
how
can you possibly be so sure
of that?”
, , , ,
“For the very simple reason
that I see the dog himself
on our very door-step,
and
there is the ring
of its owner.
Don’t move,
I beg you,
Watson.
He is a professional brother
of yours,
and your presence may be
of assistance
to me.
Now is the dramatic moment
of fate,
Watson,
when you hear a step upon the stair
which is walking
into your life,
and you know not whether
for good
or ill.
What does Dr. James Mortimer,
the man
of science,
ask
of Sherlock Holmes,
the specialist
in crime?
Come in!”
The appearance
of our visitor was a surprise
to me,
since I had expected a typical country practitioner.
He was a very tall,
thin man,
with a long nose
like a beak,
which jutted out
between two keen,
gray eyes,
set closely together
and sparkling brightly
from
behind a pair
of gold-rimmed glasses.
He was clad
in a professional
but rather slovenly fashion,
for his frock-coat was dingy
and his trousers frayed.
Though young,
his long back was already bowed,
and he walked
with a forward thrust
of his head
and a general air
of peering benevolence.
As he entered his eyes fell upon the stick
in Holmes’s hand,
and he ran
towards it
with an exclamation
of joy.
“I am so very glad,”
said he.
“I was not sure whether I had left it here or
in the Shipping Office.
I
would not lose
that stick
for the world.”
, , , ,
“A presentation,
I see,”
said Holmes.
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir.”
, , , ,
“From Charing Cross Hospital?”
, , , ,
“From one
or two friends there
on the occasion
of my marriage.”
, , , ,
“Dear,
dear,
that’s bad!”
said Holmes,
shaking his head.
, , , ,
Dr. Mortimer blinked
through his glasses
in mild astonishment.
, , , ,
“Why was it bad?”
, , , ,
“Only
that you have disarranged our little deductions.
Your marriage,
you say?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir.
I married,
and so left the hospital,
and
with it all hopes
of a consulting practice.
It was necessary
to make a home
of my own.”
, , , ,
“Come,
come,
we are not so far wrong,
after all,”
said Holmes.
“And now,
Dr. James Mortimer
--
----”
“Mister,
sir,
Mister
--a humble M.R.C.S.”
, , , ,
“And a man
of precise mind,
evidently.”
, , , ,
“A dabbler
in science,
Mr. Holmes,
a picker up
of shells
on the shores
of the great unknown ocean.
I presume
that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmes whom I am addressing
and not
--
----”
“No,
this is my friend Dr. Watson.”
, , , ,
“Glad
to meet you,
sir.
I have heard your name mentioned
in connection
with that
of your friend.
You interest me very much,
Mr. Holmes.
I had
hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull
or such well-marked supra-orbital development.
Would you have any objection
to my running my finger
along your parietal fissure?
A cast
of your skull,
sir,
until the original is available,
would be an ornament
to any anthropological museum.
It is not my intention
to be fulsome,
but I confess
that I covet your skull.”
, , , ,
Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor
into a chair.
“You are an enthusiast
in your line
of thought,
I perceive,
sir,
as I am
in mine,”
said he.
“I observe
from your forefinger
that you make your own cigarettes.
Have no hesitation
in lighting one.”
, , , ,
The man drew out paper
and tobacco
and twirled the one up
in the other
with surprising dexterity.
He had long,
quivering fingers
as agile
and restless
as the antennae
of an insect.
, , , ,
Holmes was silent,
but his little darting glances showed me the interest
which he took
in our curious companion.
, , , ,
“I presume,
sir,”
said he
at last,
“that it was not merely
for the purpose
of examining my skull
that you have done me the honour
to call here last night
and again to-day?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir,
no;
though I am happy
to have had the opportunity
of doing that
as well.
I came
to you,
Mr. Holmes,
because I recognized
that I am myself an unpractical man
and
because I am suddenly confronted
with a most serious
and extraordinary problem.
Recognizing,
as I do,
that you are the second highest expert
in Europe
--
----”
“Indeed,
sir!
May I inquire
who has the honour
to be the first?”
asked Holmes
with some asperity.
, , , ,
“To the man
of precisely scientific mind the work
of Monsieur Bertillon must always appeal strongly.”
, , , ,
“Then had you not better consult him?”
, , , ,
“I said,
sir,
to the precisely scientific mind.
But
as a practical man
of affairs it is acknowledged
that you stand alone.
I trust,
sir,
that I have not inadvertently
--
----”
“Just a little,”
said Holmes.
“I think,
Dr. Mortimer,
you
would do wisely
if without more ado you
would kindly tell me plainly
what the exact nature
of the problem is
in
which you demand my assistance.”
, , , ,
Chapter 2
The Curse
of the Baskervilles
“I have
in my pocket a manuscript,”
said Dr. James Mortimer.
, , , ,
“I observed it
as you entered the room,”
said Holmes.
, , , ,
“It is an old manuscript.”
, , , ,
“Early eighteenth century,
unless it is a forgery.”
, , , ,
“How
can you say that,
sir?”
, , , ,
“You have presented an inch
or two
of it
to my examination all the time
that you have been talking.
It
would be a poor expert
who
could not give the date
of a document within a decade
or so.
You may possibly have read my little monograph upon the subject.
I put that
at 1730.”
, , , ,
“The exact date is 1742.”
Dr. Mortimer drew it
from his breast-pocket.
“This family paper was committed
to my care
by Sir Charles Baskerville,
whose sudden
and tragic death some three months ago created so much excitement
in Devonshire.
I may say
that I was his personal friend
as well
as his medical attendant.
He was a strong-minded man,
sir,
shrewd,
practical,
and
as unimaginative
as I am myself.
Yet he took this document very seriously,
and his mind was prepared
for just such an end
as did eventually overtake him.”
, , , ,
Holmes stretched out his hand
for the manuscript
and flattened it upon his knee.
, , , ,
“You
will observe,
Watson,
the alternative use
of the long s
and the short.
It is one
of several indications
which enabled me
to fix the date.”
, , , ,
I looked
over his shoulder
at the yellow paper
and the faded script.
At the head was written:
“Baskerville Hall,”
and below
in large,
scrawling figures:
“1742.”
, , , ,
“It appears
to be a statement
of some sort.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
it is a statement
of a certain legend
which runs
in the Baskerville family.”
, , , ,
“But I understand
that it is something more modern
and practical upon
which you wish
to consult me?”
, , , ,
“Most modern.
A most practical,
pressing matter,
which must be decided within twenty-four hours.
But the manuscript is short
and is intimately connected
with the affair.
With your permission I
will read it
to you.”
, , , ,
Holmes leaned back
in his chair,
placed his finger-tips together,
and closed his eyes,
with an air
of resignation.
Dr. Mortimer turned the manuscript
to the light
and read
in a high,
cracking voice the following curious,
old-world narrative:
--
“Of the origin
of the Hound
of the Baskervilles
there have been many statements,
yet
as I come
in a direct line
from Hugo Baskerville,
and
as I had the story
from my father,
who also had it
from his,
I have set it down
with all belief
that it occurred even
as is here set forth.
And I
would have you believe,
my sons,
that the same Justice
which punishes sin may also most graciously forgive it,
and
that no ban is so heavy
but that
by prayer
and repentance it may be removed.
Learn
then
from this story not
to fear the fruits
of the past,
but rather
to be circumspect
in the future,
that those foul passions whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not again be loosed
to our undoing.
, , , ,
“Know
then that
in the time
of the Great Rebellion
(the history
of which
by the learned Lord Clarendon I most earnestly commend
to your attention)
this Manor
of Baskerville was held
by Hugo
of
that name,
nor
can it be gainsaid
that he was a most wild,
profane,
and godless man.
This,
in truth,
his neighbours might have pardoned,
seeing
that saints have never flourished
in those parts,
but
there was
in him a certain wanton
and cruel humour
which made his name a byword
through the West.
It chanced
that this Hugo came
to love
(if,
indeed,
so dark a passion may be known
under so bright a name)
the daughter
of a yeoman
who held lands near the Baskerville estate.
But the young maiden,
being discreet and
of good repute,
would ever avoid him,
for she feared his evil name.
So it came
to pass
that one Michaelmas this Hugo,
with five
or six
of his idle
and wicked companions,
stole down upon the farm
and carried off the maiden,
her father
and brothers being
from home,
as he well knew.
When they had brought her
to the Hall the maiden was placed
in an upper chamber,
while Hugo
and his friends sat down
to a long carouse,
as was their nightly custom.
Now,
the poor lass upstairs was like
to have her wits turned
at the singing
and shouting
and terrible oaths
which came up
to her
from below,
for they say
that the words used
by Hugo Baskerville,
when he was
in wine,
were such
as might blast the man
who said them.
At last
in the stress
of her fear she did
that
which might have daunted the bravest
or most active man,
for
by the aid
of the growth
of ivy
which covered
(and still covers)
the south wall she came down
from
under the eaves,
and so homeward
across the moor,
there being three leagues betwixt the Hall
and her father’s farm.
, , , ,
“It chanced
that some little time later Hugo left his guests
to carry food
and drink
--with other worse things,
perchance
--to his captive,
and so found the cage empty
and the bird escaped.
Then,
as it
would seem,
he became
as one
that hath a devil,
for,
rushing down the stairs
into the dining-hall,
he sprang upon the great table,
flagons
and trenchers flying
before him,
and he cried aloud
before all the company
that he would
that very night render his body
and soul
to the Powers
of Evil
if he might
but overtake the wench.
And
while the revellers stood aghast
at the fury
of the man,
one more wicked or,
it may be,
more drunken
than the rest,
cried out
that they
should put the hounds upon her.
Whereat Hugo ran
from the house,
crying
to his grooms
that they
should saddle his mare
and unkennel the pack,
and giving the hounds a kerchief
of the maid’s,
he swung them
to the line,
and so off full cry
in the moonlight
over the moor.
, , , ,
“Now,
for some space the revellers stood agape,
unable
to understand all
that had been done
in such haste.
But anon their bemused wits awoke
to the nature
of the deed
which was like
to be done upon the moorlands.
Everything was now
in an uproar,
some calling
for their pistols,
some
for their horses,
and some
for another flask
of wine.
But
at length some sense came back
to their crazed minds,
and the whole
of them,
thirteen
in number,
took horse
and started
in pursuit.
The moon shone clear
above them,
and they rode swiftly abreast,
taking
that course
which the maid must needs have taken
if she were
to reach her own home.
, , , ,
“They had gone a mile
or two
when they passed one
of the night shepherds upon the moorlands,
and they cried
to him
to know
if he had seen the hunt.
And the man,
as the story goes,
was so crazed
with fear
that he
could scarce speak,
but
at last he said
that he had indeed seen the unhappy maiden,
with the hounds upon her track.
‘But I have seen more
than that,’
said he,
‘for Hugo Baskerville passed me upon his black mare,
and
there ran mute
behind him such a hound
of hell
as God forbid
should ever be
at my heels.’
So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd
and rode onward.
But soon their skins turned cold,
for
there came a galloping
across the moor,
and the black mare,
dabbled
with white froth,
went past
with trailing bridle
and empty saddle.
Then the revellers rode close together,
for a great fear was
on them,
but they still followed
over the moor,
though each,
had he been alone,
would have been right glad
to have turned his horse’s head.
Riding slowly
in this fashion they came
at last upon the hounds.
These,
though known
for their valour
and their breed,
were whimpering
in a cluster
at the head
of a deep dip
or goyal,
as we call it,
upon the moor,
some slinking away
and some,
with starting hackles
and staring eyes,
gazing down the narrow valley
before them.
, , , ,
“The company had come
to a halt,
more sober men,
as you may guess,
than
when they started.
The most
of them would
by no means advance,
but three
of them,
the boldest,
or it may be the most drunken,
rode forward down the goyal.
Now,
it opened
into a broad space
in
which stood two
of those great stones,
still
to be seen there,
which were set
by certain forgotten peoples
in the days
of old.
The moon was shining bright upon the clearing,
and there
in the centre lay the unhappy maid
where she had fallen,
dead
of fear and
of fatigue.
But it was not the sight
of her body,
nor yet was it that
of the body
of Hugo Baskerville lying near her,
which raised the hair upon the heads
of these three daredevil roysterers,
but it was that,
standing
over Hugo,
and plucking
at his throat,
there stood a foul thing,
a great,
black beast,
shaped
like a hound,
yet larger
than any hound
that ever mortal eye has rested upon.
And even
as they looked the thing tore the throat out
of Hugo Baskerville,
on which,
as it turned its blazing eyes
and dripping jaws upon them,
the three shrieked
with fear
and rode
for dear life,
still screaming,
across the moor.
One,
it is said,
died
that very night
of
what he had seen,
and the other twain were
but broken men
for the rest
of their days.
, , , ,
“Such is the tale,
my sons,
of the coming
of the hound
which is said
to have plagued the family so sorely ever since.
If I have set it down it is because
that
which is clearly known hath less terror than
that
which is
but hinted
at
and guessed.
Nor
can it be denied
that many
of the family have been unhappy
in their deaths,
which have been sudden,
bloody,
and mysterious.
Yet may we shelter ourselves
in the infinite goodness
of Providence,
which
would not forever punish the innocent beyond
that third
or fourth generation
which is threatened
in Holy Writ.
To
that Providence,
my sons,
I hereby commend you,
and I counsel you
by way
of caution
to forbear
from crossing the moor
in those dark hours
when the powers
of evil are exalted.
, , , ,
“[This
from Hugo Baskerville
to his sons Rodger
and John,
with instructions
that they say nothing thereof
to their sister Elizabeth.]”
When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed his spectacles up
on his forehead
and stared across
at Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
The latter yawned
and tossed the end
of his cigarette
into the fire.
, , , ,
“Well?”
said he.
, , , ,
“Do you not find it interesting?”
, , , ,
“To a collector
of fairy tales.”
, , , ,
Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out
of his pocket.
, , , ,
“Now,
Mr. Holmes,
we
will give you something a little more recent.
This is the Devon County Chronicle
of May 14th
of this year.
It is a short account
of the facts elicited
at the death
of Sir Charles Baskerville
which occurred a few days before
that date.”
, , , ,
My friend leaned a little forward
and his expression became intent.
Our visitor readjusted his glasses
and began:
--
“The recent sudden death
of Sir Charles Baskerville,
whose name has been mentioned
as the probable Liberal candidate
for Mid-Devon
at the next election,
has cast a gloom
over the county.
Though Sir Charles had resided
at Baskerville Hall
for a comparatively short period his amiability
of character
and extreme generosity had won the affection
and respect
of all
who had been brought
into contact
with him.
In these days
of _nouveaux riches_ it is refreshing
to find a case
where the scion
of an old county family
which has fallen upon evil days is able
to make his own fortune and
to bring it back
with him
to restore the fallen grandeur
of his line.
Sir Charles,
as is well known,
made large sums
of money
in South African speculation.
More wise
than those
who go
on
until the wheel turns
against them,
he realized his gains
and returned
to England
with them.
It is only two years
since he took up his residence
at Baskerville Hall,
and it is common talk
how large were those schemes
of reconstruction
and improvement
which have been interrupted
by his death.
Being himself childless,
it was his openly expressed desire
that the whole country-side should,
within his own lifetime,
profit
by his good fortune,
and many
will have personal reasons
for bewailing his untimely end.
His generous donations
to local
and county charities have been frequently chronicled
in these columns.
, , , ,
“The circumstances connected
with the death
of Sir Charles cannot be said
to have been entirely cleared up
by the inquest,
but
at least enough has been done
to dispose
of those rumours
to
which local superstition has given rise.
There is no reason whatever
to suspect foul play,
or
to imagine
that death
could be
from any
but natural causes.
Sir Charles was a widower,
and a man
who may be said
to have been
in some ways
of an eccentric habit
of mind.
In spite
of his considerable wealth he was simple
in his personal tastes,
and his indoor servants
at Baskerville Hall consisted
of a married couple named Barrymore,
the husband acting
as butler
and the wife
as housekeeper.
Their evidence,
corroborated
by that
of several friends,
tends
to show
that Sir Charles’s health has
for some time been impaired,
and points especially
to some affection
of the heart,
manifesting itself
in changes
of colour,
breathlessness,
and acute attacks
of nervous depression.
Dr. James Mortimer,
the friend
and medical attendant
of the deceased,
has given evidence
to the same effect.
, , , ,
“The facts
of the case are simple.
Sir Charles Baskerville was
in the habit every night
before going
to bed
of walking down the famous Yew Alley
of Baskerville Hall.
The evidence
of the Barrymores shows
that this had been his custom.
On the 4th
of May Sir Charles had declared his intention
of starting next day
for London,
and had ordered Barrymore
to prepare his luggage.
That night he went out
as usual
for his nocturnal walk,
in the course
of
which he was
in the habit
of smoking a cigar.
He never returned.
At twelve o’clock Barrymore,
finding the hall door still open,
became alarmed,
and,
lighting a lantern,
went
in search
of his master.
The day had been wet,
and Sir Charles’s footmarks were easily traced down the Alley.
Half-way down this walk
there is a gate
which leads out
on
to the moor.
There were indications
that Sir Charles had stood
for some little time here.
He
then proceeded down the Alley,
and it was
at the far end
of it
that his body was discovered.
One fact
which has not been explained is the statement
of Barrymore
that his master’s footprints altered their character
from the time
that he passed the moor-gate,
and
that he appeared
from thence onward
to have been walking upon his toes.
One Murphy,
a gipsy horse-dealer,
was
on the moor
at no great distance
at the time,
but he appears
by his own confession
to have been the worse
for drink.
He declares
that he heard cries,
but is unable
to state
from
what direction they came.
No signs
of violence were
to be discovered upon Sir Charles’s person,
and though the doctor’s evidence pointed
to an
almost incredible facial distortion
--so great
that Dr. Mortimer refused
at first
to believe
that it was indeed his friend
and patient
who lay
before him
--it was explained
that that is a symptom
which is not unusual
in cases
of dyspnoea
and death
from cardiac exhaustion.
This explanation was borne out
by the post-mortem examination,
which showed long-standing organic disease,
and the coroner’s jury returned a verdict
in accordance
with the medical evidence.
It is well
that this is so,
for it is obviously
of the utmost importance
that Sir Charles’s heir
should settle
at the Hall
and continue the good work
which has been so sadly interrupted.
Had the prosaic finding
of the coroner not finally put an end
to the romantic stories
which have been whispered
in connection
with the affair,
it might have been difficult
to find a tenant
for Baskerville Hall.
It is understood
that the next
of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville,
if he be still alive,
the son
of Sir Charles Baskerville’s younger brother.
The young man
when last heard
of was
in America,
and inquiries are being instituted
with a view
to informing him
of his good fortune.”
, , , ,
Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper
and replaced it
in his pocket.
, , , ,
“Those are the public facts,
Mr. Holmes,
in connection
with the death
of Sir Charles Baskerville.”
, , , ,
“I must thank you,”
said Sherlock Holmes,
“for calling my attention
to a case
which certainly presents some features
of interest.
I had observed some newspaper comment
at the time,
but I was exceedingly preoccupied
by
that little affair
of the Vatican cameos,
and
in my anxiety
to oblige the Pope I lost touch
with several interesting English cases.
This article,
you say,
contains all the public facts?”
, , , ,
“It does.”
, , , ,
“Then let me have the private ones.”
He leaned back,
put his finger-tips together,
and assumed his most impassive
and judicial expression.
, , , ,
“In doing so,”
said Dr. Mortimer,
who had begun
to show signs
of some strong emotion,
“I am telling
that
which I have not confided
to anyone.
My motive
for withholding it
from the coroner’s inquiry is
that a man
of science shrinks
from placing himself
in the public position
of seeming
to indorse a popular superstition.
I had the further motive
that Baskerville Hall,
as the paper says,
would certainly remain untenanted
if anything were done
to increase its already rather grim reputation.
For both these reasons I thought
that I was justified
in telling rather less
than I knew,
since no practical good
could result
from it,
but
with you
there is no reason
why I
should not be perfectly frank.
, , , ,
“The moor is very sparsely inhabited,
and those
who live near each other are thrown very much together.
For this reason I saw a good deal
of Sir Charles Baskerville.
With the exception
of Mr. Frankland,
of Lafter Hall,
and Mr. Stapleton,
the naturalist,
there are no other men
of education within many miles.
Sir Charles was a retiring man,
but the chance
of his illness brought us together,
and a community
of interests
in science kept us so.
He had brought back much scientific information
from South Africa,
and many a charming evening we have spent together discussing the comparative anatomy
of the Bushman
and the Hottentot.
, , , ,
“Within the last few months it became increasingly plain
to me
that Sir Charles’s nervous system was strained
to the breaking point.
He had taken this legend
which I have read you exceedingly
to heart
--so much so that,
although he
would walk
in his own grounds,
nothing
would induce him
to go out upon the moor
at night.
Incredible
as it may appear
to you,
Mr. Holmes,
he was honestly convinced
that a dreadful fate overhung his family,
and certainly the records
which he was able
to give
of his ancestors were not encouraging.
The idea
of some ghastly presence constantly haunted him,
and
on more
than one occasion he has asked me whether I had
on my medical journeys
at night ever seen any strange creature
or heard the baying
of a hound.
The latter question he put
to me several times,
and always
with a voice
which vibrated
with excitement.
, , , ,
“I
can well remember driving up
to his house
in the evening some three weeks
before the fatal event.
He chanced
to be
at his hall door.
I had descended
from my gig
and was standing
in front
of him,
when I saw his eyes fix themselves
over my shoulder,
and stare past me
with an expression
of the most dreadful horror.
I whisked round
and had just time
to catch a glimpse
of something
which I took
to be a large black calf passing
at the head
of the drive.
So excited
and alarmed was he
that I was compelled
to go down
to the spot
where the animal had been
and look around
for it.
It was gone,
however,
and the incident appeared
to make the worst impression upon his mind.
I stayed
with him all the evening,
and it was
on
that occasion,
to explain the emotion
which he had shown,
that he confided
to my keeping
that narrative
which I read
to you
when first I came.
I mention this small episode
because it assumes some importance
in view
of the tragedy
which followed,
but I was convinced
at the time
that the matter was entirely trivial
and
that his excitement had no justification.
, , , ,
“It was
at my advice
that Sir Charles was about
to go
to London.
His heart was,
I knew,
affected,
and the constant anxiety
in
which he lived,
however chimerical the cause
of it might be,
was evidently having a serious effect upon his health.
I thought
that a few months
among the distractions
of town
would send him back a new man.
Mr. Stapleton,
a mutual friend
who was much concerned
at his state
of health,
was
of the same opinion.
At the last instant came this terrible catastrophe.
, , , ,
“On the night
of Sir Charles’s death Barrymore the butler,
who made the discovery,
sent Perkins the groom
on horseback
to me,
and
as I was sitting up late I was able
to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour
of the event.
I checked
and corroborated all the facts
which were mentioned
at the inquest.
I followed the footsteps down the Yew Alley,
I saw the spot
at the moor-gate
where he seemed
to have waited,
I remarked the change
in the shape
of the prints after
that point,
I noted
that
there were no other footsteps save those
of Barrymore
on the soft gravel,
and finally I carefully examined the body,
which had not been touched
until my arrival.
Sir Charles lay
on his face,
his arms out,
his fingers dug
into the ground,
and his features convulsed
with some strong emotion
to such an extent
that I
could
hardly have sworn
to his identity.
There was certainly no physical injury
of any kind.
But one false statement was made
by Barrymore
at the inquest.
He said
that
there were no traces upon the ground round the body.
He did not observe any.
But I did
--some little distance off,
but fresh
and clear.”
, , , ,
“Footprints?”
, , , ,
“Footprints.”
, , , ,
“A man’s
or a woman’s?”
, , , ,
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely
at us
for an instant,
and his voice sank almost
to a whisper
as he answered:
--
“Mr. Holmes,
they were the footprints
of a gigantic hound!”
Chapter 3
The Problem
I confess
at these words a shudder passed
through me.
There was a thrill
in the doctor’s voice
which showed
that he was himself deeply moved
by
that
which he told us.
Holmes leaned forward
in his excitement
and his eyes had the hard,
dry glitter
which shot
from them
when he was keenly interested.
, , , ,
“You saw this?”
, , , ,
“As clearly
as I see you.”
, , , ,
“And you said nothing?”
, , , ,
“What was the use?”
, , , ,
“How was it
that no one else saw it?”
, , , ,
“The marks were some twenty yards
from the body
and no one gave them a thought.
I
don’t suppose I
should have done so had I not known this legend.”
, , , ,
“There are many sheep-dogs
on the moor?”
, , , ,
“No doubt,
but this was no sheep-dog.”
, , , ,
“You say it was large?”
, , , ,
“Enormous.”
, , , ,
“But it had not approached the body?”
, , , ,
“No.”
, , , ,
“What sort
of night was it?’
, , , ,
“Damp
and raw.”
, , , ,
“But not actually raining?”
, , , ,
“No.”
, , , ,
“What is the Alley like?”
, , , ,
“There are two lines
of old yew hedge,
twelve feet high
and impenetrable.
The walk
in the centre is
about eight feet across.”
, , , ,
“Is
there anything
between the hedges
and the walk?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
there is a strip
of grass
about six feet broad
on either side.”
, , , ,
“I understand
that the yew hedge is penetrated
at one point
by a gate?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
the wicket-gate
which leads
on
to the moor.”
, , , ,
“Is
there any other opening?”
, , , ,
“None.”
, , , ,
“So that
to reach the Yew Alley one either has
to come down it
from the house
or else
to enter it
by the moor-gate?”
, , , ,
“There is an exit
through a summer-house
at the far end.”
, , , ,
“Had Sir Charles reached this?”
, , , ,
“No;
he lay
about fifty yards
from it.”
, , , ,
“Now,
tell me,
Dr. Mortimer
--and this is important
--the marks
which you saw were
on the path
and not
on the grass?”
, , , ,
“No marks
could show
on the grass.”
, , , ,
“Were they
on the same side
of the path
as the moor-gate?”
, , , ,
“Yes;
they were
on the edge
of the path
on the same side
as the moor-gate.”
, , , ,
“You interest me exceedingly.
Another point.
Was the wicket-gate closed?”
, , , ,
“Closed
and padlocked.”
, , , ,
“How high was it?”
, , , ,
“About four feet high.”
, , , ,
“Then anyone
could have got
over it?”
, , , ,
“Yes.”
, , , ,
“And
what marks did you see
by the wicket-gate?”
, , , ,
“None
in particular.”
, , , ,
“Good heaven!
Did no one examine?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I examined myself.”
, , , ,
“And found nothing?”
, , , ,
“It was all very confused.
Sir Charles had evidently stood there
for five
or ten minutes.”
, , , ,
“How do you know that?”
, , , ,
“Because the ash had twice dropped
from his cigar.”
, , , ,
“Excellent!
This is a colleague,
Watson,
after our own heart.
But the marks?”
, , , ,
“He had left his own marks all over
that small patch
of gravel.
I
could discern no others.”
, , , ,
Sherlock Holmes struck his hand
against his knee
with an impatient gesture.
, , , ,
“If I had only been there!”
he cried.
“It is evidently a case
of extraordinary interest,
and one
which presented immense opportunities
to the scientific expert.
That gravel page upon
which I might have read so much has been long ere this smudged
by the rain
and defaced
by the clogs
of curious peasants.
Oh,
Dr. Mortimer,
Dr. Mortimer,
to think
that you
should not have called me in!
You have indeed much
to answer for.”
, , , ,
“I
could not call you in,
Mr. Holmes,
without disclosing these facts
to the world,
and I have already given my reasons
for not wishing
to do so.
Besides,
besides
--”
“Why do you hesitate?”
, , , ,
“There is a realm
in
which the most acute
and most experienced
of detectives is helpless.”
, , , ,
“You mean
that the thing is supernatural?”
, , , ,
“I did not positively say so.”
, , , ,
“No,
but you evidently think it.”
, , , ,
“Since the tragedy,
Mr. Holmes,
there have come
to my ears several incidents
which are hard
to reconcile
with the settled order
of Nature.”
, , , ,
“For example?”
, , , ,
“I find
that
before the terrible event occurred several people had seen a creature upon the moor
which corresponds
with this Baskerville demon,
and
which
could not possibly be any animal known
to science.
They all agreed
that it was a huge creature,
luminous,
ghastly,
and spectral.
I have cross-examined these men,
one
of them a hard-headed countryman,
one a farrier,
and one a moorland farmer,
who all tell the same story
of this dreadful apparition,
exactly corresponding
to the hell-hound
of the legend.
I assure you
that
there is a reign
of terror
in the district,
and
that it is a hardy man
who
will cross the moor
at night.”
, , , ,
“And you,
a trained man
of science,
believe it
to be supernatural?”
, , , ,
“I do not know what
to believe.”
, , , ,
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
, , , ,
“I have hitherto confined my investigations
to this world,”
said he.
“In a modest way I have combated evil,
but
to take
on the Father
of Evil himself would,
perhaps,
be too ambitious a task.
Yet you must admit
that the footmark is material.”
, , , ,
“The original hound was material enough
to tug a man’s throat out,
and yet he was diabolical
as well.”
, , , ,
“I see
that you have quite gone over
to the supernaturalists.
But now,
Dr. Mortimer,
tell me this.
If you hold these views,
why have you come
to consult me
at all?
You tell me
in the same breath
that it is useless
to investigate Sir Charles’s death,
and
that you desire me
to do it.”
, , , ,
“I did not say
that I desired you
to do it.”
, , , ,
“Then,
how
can I assist you?”
, , , ,
“By advising me as
to
what I
should do
with Sir Henry Baskerville,
who arrives
at Waterloo Station”
--Dr. Mortimer looked
at his watch
--”in exactly one hour
and a quarter.”
, , , ,
“He being the heir?”
, , , ,
“Yes.
On the death
of Sir Charles we inquired
for this young gentleman
and found
that he had been farming
in Canada.
From the accounts
which have reached us he is an excellent fellow
in every way.
I speak not
as a medical man but
as a trustee
and executor
of Sir Charles’s will.”
, , , ,
“There is no other claimant,
I presume?”
, , , ,
“None.
The only other kinsman whom we have been able
to trace was Rodger Baskerville,
the youngest
of three brothers
of whom poor Sir Charles was the elder.
The second brother,
who died young,
is the father
of this lad Henry.
The third,
Rodger,
was the black sheep
of the family.
He came
of the old masterful Baskerville strain,
and was the very image,
they tell me,
of the family picture
of old Hugo.
He made England too hot
to hold him,
fled
to Central America,
and died there
in 1876
of yellow fever.
Henry is the last
of the Baskervilles.
In one hour
and five minutes I meet him
at Waterloo Station.
I have had a wire
that he arrived
at Southampton this morning.
Now,
Mr. Holmes,
what
would you advise me
to do
with him?”
, , , ,
“Why
should he not go
to the home
of his fathers?”
, , , ,
“It seems natural,
does it not?
And yet,
consider
that every Baskerville
who goes
there meets
with an evil fate.
I feel sure that
if Sir Charles
could have spoken
with me
before his death he
would have warned me
against bringing this,
the last
of the old race,
and the heir
to great wealth,
to
that deadly place.
And yet it cannot be denied
that the prosperity
of the whole poor,
bleak country-side depends upon his presence.
All the good work
which has been done
by Sir Charles
will crash
to the ground
if
there is no tenant
of the Hall.
I fear lest I
should be swayed too much
by my own obvious interest
in the matter,
and
that is
why I bring the case
before you
and ask
for your advice.”
, , , ,
Holmes considered
for a little time.
, , , ,
“Put
into plain words,
the matter is this,”
said he.
“In your opinion
there is a diabolical agency
which makes Dartmoor an unsafe abode
for a Baskerville
--that is your opinion?”
, , , ,
“At least I might go the length
of saying
that
there is some evidence
that this may be so.”
, , , ,
“Exactly.
But surely,
if your supernatural theory be correct,
it
could work the young man evil
in London
as easily as
in Devonshire.
A devil
with merely local powers
like a parish vestry
would be too inconceivable a thing.”
, , , ,
“You put the matter more flippantly,
Mr. Holmes,
than you
would probably do
if you were brought
into personal contact
with these things.
Your advice,
then,
as I understand it,
is
that the young man
will be
as safe
in Devonshire as
in London.
He comes
in fifty minutes.
What
would you recommend?”
, , , ,
“I recommend,
sir,
that you take a cab,
call off your spaniel
who is scratching
at my front door,
and proceed
to Waterloo
to meet Sir Henry Baskerville.”
, , , ,
“And then?”
, , , ,
“And
then you
will say nothing
to him
at all
until I have made up my mind
about the matter.”
, , , ,
“How long
will it take you
to make up your mind?”
, , , ,
“Twenty-four hours.
At ten o’clock to-morrow,
Dr. Mortimer,
I
will be much obliged
to you
if you
will call upon me here,
and it
will be
of help
to me
in my plans
for the future
if you
will bring Sir Henry Baskerville
with you.”
, , , ,
“I
will do so,
Mr. Holmes.”
He scribbled the appointment
on his shirtcuff
and hurried off
in his strange,
peering,
absent-minded fashion.
Holmes stopped him
at the head
of the stair.
, , , ,
“Only one more question,
Dr. Mortimer.
You say
that
before Sir Charles Baskerville’s death several people saw this apparition upon the moor?”
, , , ,
“Three people did.”
, , , ,
“Did any see it after?”
, , , ,
“I have not heard
of any.”
, , , ,
“Thank you.
Good morning.”
, , , ,
Holmes returned
to his seat
with
that quiet look
of inward satisfaction
which meant
that he had a congenial task
before him.
, , , ,
“Going out,
Watson?”
, , , ,
“Unless I
can help you.”
, , , ,
“No,
my dear fellow,
it is
at the hour
of action
that I turn
to you
for aid.
But this is splendid,
really unique
from some points
of view.
When you pass Bradley’s,
would you ask him
to send up a pound
of the strongest shag tobacco?
Thank you.
It
would be
as well
if you
could make it convenient not
to return
before evening.
Then I
should be very glad
to compare impressions as
to this most interesting problem
which has been submitted
to us this morning.”
, , , ,
I knew
that seclusion
and solitude were very necessary
for my friend
in those hours
of intense mental concentration during
which he weighed every particle
of evidence,
constructed alternative theories,
balanced one
against the other,
and made up his mind as
to
which points were essential
and
which immaterial.
I therefore spent the day
at my club
and did not return
to Baker Street
until evening.
It was nearly nine o’clock
when I found myself
in the sitting-room once more.
, , , ,
My first impression
as I opened the door was
that a fire had broken out,
for the room was so filled
with smoke
that the light
of the lamp upon the table was blurred
by it.
As I entered,
however,
my fears were set
at rest,
for it was the acrid fumes
of strong coarse tobacco
which took me
by the throat
and set me coughing.
Through the haze I had a vague vision
of Holmes
in his dressing-gown coiled up
in an armchair
with his black clay pipe
between his lips.
Several rolls
of paper lay
around him.
, , , ,
“Caught cold,
Watson?”
said he.
, , , ,
“No,
it’s this poisonous atmosphere.”
, , , ,
“I suppose it is pretty thick,
now
that you mention it.”
, , , ,
“Thick!
It is intolerable.”
, , , ,
“Open the window,
then!
You have been
at your club all day,
I perceive.”
, , , ,
“My dear Holmes!”
“Am I right?”
, , , ,
“Certainly,
but how?”
, , , ,
He laughed
at my bewildered expression.
, , , ,
“There is a delightful freshness
about you,
Watson,
which makes it a pleasure
to exercise any small powers
which I possess
at your expense.
A gentleman goes forth
on a showery
and miry day.
He returns immaculate
in the evening
with the gloss still
on his hat
and his boots.
He has been a fixture therefore all day.
He is not a man
with intimate friends.
Where,
then,
could he have been?
Is it not obvious?”
, , , ,
“Well,
it is rather obvious.”
, , , ,
“The world is full
of obvious things
which nobody
by any chance ever observes.
Where do you think
that I have been?”
, , , ,
“A fixture also.”
, , , ,
“On the contrary,
I have been
to Devonshire.”
, , , ,
“In spirit?”
, , , ,
“Exactly.
My body has remained
in this arm-chair
and has,
I regret
to observe,
consumed
in my absence two large pots
of coffee
and an incredible amount
of tobacco.
After you left I sent down
to Stamford’s
for the Ordnance map
of this portion
of the moor,
and my spirit has hovered
over it all day.
I flatter myself
that I
could find my way about.”
, , , ,
“A large scale map,
I presume?”
, , , ,
“Very large.”
He unrolled one section
and held it
over his knee.
“Here you have the particular district
which concerns us.
That is Baskerville Hall
in the middle.”
, , , ,
“With a wood round it?”
, , , ,
“Exactly.
I fancy the Yew Alley,
though not marked under
that name,
must stretch
along this line,
with the moor,
as you perceive,
upon the right
of it.
This small clump
of buildings here is the hamlet
of Grimpen,
where our friend Dr. Mortimer has his headquarters.
Within a radius
of five miles
there are,
as you see,
only a very few scattered dwellings.
Here is Lafter Hall,
which was mentioned
in the narrative.
There is a house indicated here
which may be the residence
of the naturalist
--Stapleton,
if I remember right,
was his name.
Here are two moorland farm-houses,
High Tor
and Foulmire.
Then fourteen miles away the great convict prison
of Princetown.
Between
and
around these scattered points extends the desolate,
lifeless moor.
This,
then,
is the stage upon
which tragedy has been played,
and upon
which we may help
to play it again.”
, , , ,
“It must be a wild place.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
the setting is a worthy one.
If the devil did desire
to have a hand
in the affairs
of men
----”
“Then you are yourself inclining
to the supernatural explanation.”
, , , ,
“The devil’s agents may be
of flesh
and blood,
may they not?
There are two questions waiting
for us
at the outset.
The one is whether any crime has been committed
at all;
the second is,
what is the crime and
how was it committed?
Of course,
if Dr. Mortimer’s surmise
should be correct,
and we are dealing
with forces outside the ordinary laws
of Nature,
there is an end
of our investigation.
But we are bound
to exhaust all other hypotheses
before falling back upon this one.
I think we’ll shut
that window again,
if you
don’t mind.
It is a singular thing,
but I find
that a concentrated atmosphere helps a concentration
of thought.
I have not pushed it
to the length
of getting
into a box
to think,
but
that is the logical outcome
of my convictions.
Have you turned the case over
in your mind?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I have thought a good deal
of it
in the course
of the day.”
, , , ,
“What do you make
of it?”
, , , ,
“It is very bewildering.”
, , , ,
“It has certainly a character
of its own.
There are points
of distinction
about it.
That change
in the footprints,
for example.
What do you make
of that?”
, , , ,
“Mortimer said
that the man had walked
on tiptoe down
that portion
of the alley.”
, , , ,
“He only repeated
what some fool had said
at the inquest.
Why
should a man walk
on tiptoe down the alley?”
, , , ,
“What then?”
, , , ,
“He was running,
Watson
--running desperately,
running
for his life,
running
until he burst his heart
and fell dead upon his face.”
, , , ,
“Running
from what?”
, , , ,
“There lies our problem.
There are indications
that the man was crazed
with fear
before ever he began
to run.”
, , , ,
“How
can you say that?”
, , , ,
“I am presuming
that the cause
of his fears came
to him
across the moor.
If
that were so,
and it seems most probable,
only a man
who had lost his wits
would have run
from the house instead
of
towards it.
If the gipsy’s evidence may be taken
as true,
he ran
with cries
for help
in the direction
where help was least likely
to be.
Then,
again,
whom was he waiting
for
that night,
and
why was he waiting
for him
in the Yew Alley rather than
in his own house?”
, , , ,
“You think
that he was waiting
for someone?”
, , , ,
“The man was elderly
and infirm.
We
can understand his taking an evening stroll,
but the ground was damp
and the night inclement.
Is it natural
that he
should stand
for five
or ten minutes,
as Dr. Mortimer,
with more practical sense
than I
should have given him credit for,
deduced
from the cigar ash?”
, , , ,
“But he went out every evening.”
, , , ,
“I think it unlikely
that he waited
at the moor-gate every evening.
On the contrary,
the evidence is
that he avoided the moor.
That night he waited there.
It was the night
before he made his departure
for London.
The thing takes shape,
Watson.
It becomes coherent.
Might I ask you
to hand me my violin,
and we
will postpone all further thought upon this business
until we have had the advantage
of meeting Dr. Mortimer
and Sir Henry Baskerville
in the morning.”
, , , ,
Chapter 4
Sir Henry Baskerville
Our breakfast-table was cleared early,
and Holmes waited
in his dressing-gown
for the promised interview.
Our clients were punctual
to their appointment,
for the clock had just struck ten
when Dr. Mortimer was shown up,
followed
by the young baronet.
The latter was a small,
alert,
dark-eyed man
about thirty years
of age,
very sturdily built,
with thick black eyebrows
and a strong,
pugnacious face.
He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit
and had the weather-beaten appearance
of one
who has spent most
of his time
in the open air,
and yet
there was something
in his steady eye
and the quiet assurance
of his bearing
which indicated the gentleman.
, , , ,
“This is Sir Henry Baskerville,”
said Dr. Mortimer.
, , , ,
“Why,
yes,”
said he,
“and the strange thing is,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
that
if my friend here had not proposed coming round
to you this morning I
should have come
on my own account.
I understand
that you think out little puzzles,
and I’ve had one this morning
which wants more thinking out
than I am able
to give it.”
, , , ,
“Pray take a seat,
Sir Henry.
Do I understand you
to say
that you have yourself had some remarkable experience
since you arrived
in London?”
, , , ,
“Nothing
of much importance,
Mr. Holmes.
Only a joke,
as like
as not.
It was this letter,
if you
can call it a letter,
which reached me this morning.”
, , , ,
He laid an envelope upon the table,
and we all bent
over it.
It was
of common quality,
grayish
in colour.
The address,
“Sir Henry Baskerville,
Northumberland Hotel,”
was printed
in rough characters;
the postmark “Charing Cross,”
and the date
of posting the preceding evening.
, , , ,
“Who knew
that you were going
to the Northumberland Hotel?”
asked Holmes,
glancing keenly across
at our visitor.
, , , ,
“No one
could have known.
We only decided after I met Dr. Mortimer.”
, , , ,
“But Dr. Mortimer was no doubt already stopping there?”
, , , ,
“No,
I had been staying
with a friend,”
said the doctor.
“There was no possible indication
that we intended
to go
to this hotel.”
, , , ,
“Hum!
Someone seems
to be very deeply interested
in your movements.”
Out
of the envelope he took a half-sheet
of foolscap paper folded
into four.
This he opened
and spread flat upon the table.
Across the middle
of it a single sentence had been formed
by the expedient
of pasting printed words upon it.
It ran:
“As you value your life
or your reason keep away
from the moor.”
The word “moor” only was printed
in ink.
, , , ,
“Now,”
said Sir Henry Baskerville,
“perhaps you
will tell me,
Mr. Holmes,
what
in thunder is the meaning
of that,
and
who it is
that takes so much interest
in my affairs?”
, , , ,
“What do you make
of it,
Dr. Mortimer?
You must allow
that
there is nothing supernatural
about this,
at any rate?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir,
but it might very well come
from someone
who was convinced
that the business is supernatural.”
, , , ,
“What business?”
asked Sir Henry sharply.
“It seems
to me
that all you gentlemen know a great deal more
than I do
about my own affairs.”
, , , ,
“You shall share our knowledge
before you leave this room,
Sir Henry.
I promise you that,”
said Sherlock Holmes.
“We
will confine ourselves
for the present
with your permission
to this very interesting document,
which must have been put together
and posted yesterday evening.
Have you yesterday’s Times,
Watson?”
, , , ,
“It is here
in the corner.”
, , , ,
“Might I trouble you
for it
--the inside page,
please,
with the leading articles?”
He glanced swiftly
over it,
running his eyes up
and down the columns.
“Capital article this
on free trade.
Permit me
to give you an extract
from it.
‘You may be cajoled
into imagining
that your own special trade
or your own industry
will be encouraged
by a protective tariff,
but it stands
to reason
that such legislation must
in the long run keep away wealth
from the country,
diminish the value
of our imports,
and lower the general conditions
of life
in this island.’
What do you think
of that,
Watson?”
cried Holmes
in high glee,
rubbing his hands together
with satisfaction.
“Don’t you think
that is an admirable sentiment?”
, , , ,
Dr. Mortimer looked
at Holmes
with an air
of professional interest,
and Sir Henry Baskerville turned a pair
of puzzled dark eyes upon me.
, , , ,
“I
don’t know much
about the tariff
and things
of
that kind,”
said he;
“but it seems
to me we’ve got a bit off the trail so far
as
that note is concerned.”
, , , ,
“On the contrary,
I think we are particularly hot upon the trail,
Sir Henry.
Watson here knows more
about my methods
than you do,
but I fear
that
even he has not quite grasped the significance
of this sentence.”
, , , ,
“No,
I confess
that I see no connection.”
, , , ,
“And yet,
my dear Watson,
there is so very close a connection
that the one is extracted out
of the other.
‘You,’
‘your,’
‘your,’
‘life,’
‘reason,’
‘value,’
‘keep away,’
‘from the.’
Don’t you see now whence these words have been taken?”
, , , ,
“By thunder,
you’re right!
Well,
if
that isn’t smart!”
cried Sir Henry.
, , , ,
“If any possible doubt remained it is settled
by the fact
that ‘keep away’
and ‘from the’ are cut out
in one piece.”
, , , ,
“Well,
now
--so it is!”
“Really,
Mr. Holmes,
this exceeds anything
which I
could have imagined,”
said Dr. Mortimer,
gazing
at my friend
in amazement.
“I
could understand anyone saying
that the words were
from a newspaper;
but
that you
should name which,
and add
that it came
from the leading article,
is really one
of the most remarkable things
which I have ever known.
How did you do it?”
, , , ,
“I presume,
Doctor,
that you
could tell the skull
of a negro
from that
of an Esquimau?”
, , , ,
“Most certainly.”
, , , ,
“But how?”
, , , ,
“Because
that is my special hobby.
The differences are obvious.
The supra-orbital crest,
the facial angle,
the maxillary curve,
the
--”
“But this is my special hobby,
and the differences are equally obvious.
There is
as much difference
to my eyes
between the leaded bourgeois type
of a Times article
and the slovenly print
of an evening half-penny paper
as
there
could be
between your negro
and your Esquimau.
The detection
of types is one
of the most elementary branches
of knowledge
to the special expert
in crime,
though I confess
that once
when I was very young I confused the Leeds Mercury
with the Western Morning News.
But a Times leader is entirely distinctive,
and these words
could have been taken
from nothing else.
As it was done yesterday the strong probability was
that we
should find the words
in yesterday’s issue.”
, , , ,
“So far
as I
can follow you,
then,
Mr. Holmes,”
said Sir Henry Baskerville,
“someone cut out this message
with a scissors--”
“Nail-scissors,”
said Holmes.
“You
can see
that it was a very short-bladed scissors,
since the cutter had
to take two snips
over ‘keep away.’”
“That is so.
Someone,
then,
cut out the message
with a pair
of short-bladed scissors,
pasted it
with paste--”
“Gum,”
said Holmes.
, , , ,
“With gum
on
to the paper.
But I want
to know
why the word ‘moor’
should have been written?”
, , , ,
“Because he
could not find it
in print.
The other words were all simple
and might be found
in any issue,
but ‘moor’
would be less common.”
, , , ,
“Why,
of course,
that
would explain it.
Have you read anything else
in this message,
Mr. Holmes?”
, , , ,
“There are one
or two indications,
and yet the utmost pains have been taken
to remove all clues.
The address,
you observe is printed
in rough characters.
But the Times is a paper
which is seldom found
in any hands
but those
of the highly educated.
We may take it,
therefore,
that the letter was composed
by an educated man
who wished
to pose
as an uneducated one,
and his effort
to conceal his own writing suggests
that that writing might be known,
or come
to be known,
by you.
Again,
you
will observe
that the words are not gummed on
in an accurate line,
but
that some are much higher
than others.
‘Life,’
for example is quite out
of its proper place.
That may point
to carelessness
or it may point
to agitation
and hurry upon the part
of the cutter.
On the whole I incline
to the latter view,
since the matter was evidently important,
and it is unlikely
that the composer
of such a letter
would be careless.
If he were
in a hurry it opens up the interesting question
why he
should be
in a hurry,
since any letter posted up
to early morning
would reach Sir Henry
before he
would leave his hotel.
Did the composer fear an interruption
--and
from whom?”
, , , ,
“We are coming now rather
into the region
of guesswork,”
said Dr. Mortimer.
, , , ,
“Say,
rather,
into the region
where we balance probabilities
and choose the most likely.
It is the scientific use
of the imagination,
but we have always some material basis
on which
to start our speculation.
Now,
you
would call it a guess,
no doubt,
but I am
almost certain
that this address has been written
in a hotel.”
, , , ,
“How
in the world
can you say that?”
, , , ,
“If you examine it carefully you
will see
that both the pen
and the ink have given the writer trouble.
The pen has spluttered twice
in a single word,
and has run dry three times
in a short address,
showing
that
there was very little ink
in the bottle.
Now,
a private pen
or ink-bottle is seldom allowed
to be
in such a state,
and the combination
of the two must be quite rare.
But you know the hotel ink
and the hotel pen,
where it is rare
to get anything else.
Yes,
I have very little hesitation
in saying
that
could we examine the waste-paper baskets
of the hotels
around Charing Cross
until we found the remains
of the mutilated Times leader we
could lay our hands straight upon the person
who sent this singular message.
Halloa!
Halloa!
What’s this?”
, , , ,
He was carefully examining the foolscap,
upon
which the words were pasted,
holding it only an inch
or two
from his eyes.
, , , ,
“Well?”
, , , ,
“Nothing,”
said he,
throwing it down.
“It is a blank half-sheet
of paper,
without
even a water-mark upon it.
I think we have drawn
as much
as we
can
from this curious letter;
and now,
Sir Henry,
has anything else
of interest happened
to you
since you have been
in London?”
, , , ,
“Why,
no,
Mr. Holmes.
I think not.”
, , , ,
“You have not observed anyone follow
or watch you?”
, , , ,
“I seem
to have walked right
into the thick
of a dime novel,”
said our visitor.
“Why
in thunder
should anyone follow
or watch me?”
, , , ,
“We are coming
to that.
You have nothing else
to report
to us
before we go
into this matter?”
, , , ,
“Well,
it depends upon
what you think worth reporting.”
, , , ,
“I think anything out
of the ordinary routine
of life well worth reporting.”
, , , ,
Sir Henry smiled.
, , , ,
“I
don’t know much
of British life yet,
for I have spent nearly all my time
in the States and
in Canada.
But I hope that
to lose one
of your boots is not part
of the ordinary routine
of life
over here.”
, , , ,
“You have lost one
of your boots?”
, , , ,
“My dear sir,”
cried Dr. Mortimer,
“it is only mislaid.
You
will find it
when you return
to the hotel.
What is the use
of troubling Mr. Holmes
with trifles
of this kind?”
, , , ,
“Well,
he asked me
for anything outside the ordinary routine.”
, , , ,
“Exactly,”
said Holmes,
“however foolish the incident may seem.
You have lost one
of your boots,
you say?”
, , , ,
“Well,
mislaid it,
anyhow.
I put them both outside my door last night,
and
there was only one
in the morning.
I
could get no sense out
of the chap
who cleans them.
The worst
of it is
that I only bought the pair last night
in the Strand,
and I have never had them on.”
, , , ,
“If you have never worn them,
why did you put them out
to be cleaned?”
, , , ,
“They were tan boots
and had never been varnished.
That was
why I put them out.”
, , , ,
“Then I understand that
on your arrival
in London yesterday you went out
at once
and bought a pair
of boots?”
, , , ,
“I did a good deal
of shopping.
Dr. Mortimer here went round
with me.
You see,
if I am
to be squire down
there I must dress the part,
and it may be
that I have got a little careless
in my ways out West.
Among other things I bought these brown boots
--gave six dollars
for them
--and had one stolen
before ever I had them
on my feet.”
, , , ,
“It seems a singularly useless thing
to steal,”
said Sherlock Holmes.
“I confess
that I share Dr. Mortimer’s belief
that it
will not be long
before the missing boot is found.”
, , , ,
“And,
now,
gentlemen,”
said the baronet
with decision,
“it seems
to me
that I have spoken quite enough
about the little
that I know.
It is time
that you kept your promise
and gave me a full account
of
what we are all driving at.”
, , , ,
“Your request is a very reasonable one,”
Holmes answered.
“Dr. Mortimer,
I think you
could not do better than
to tell your story
as you told it
to us.”
, , , ,
Thus encouraged,
our scientific friend drew his papers
from his pocket,
and presented the whole case
as he had done upon the morning before.
Sir Henry Baskerville listened
with the deepest attention,
and
with an occasional exclamation
of surprise.
, , , ,
“Well,
I seem
to have come
into an inheritance
with a vengeance,”
said he
when the long narrative was finished.
“Of course,
I’ve heard
of the hound ever
since I was
in the nursery.
It’s the pet story
of the family,
though I never thought
of taking it seriously before.
But as
to my uncle’s death
--well,
it all seems boiling up
in my head,
and I can’t get it clear yet.
You
don’t seem quite
to have made up your mind whether it’s a case
for a policeman
or a clergyman.”
, , , ,
“Precisely.”
, , , ,
“And now there’s this affair
of the letter
to me
at the hotel.
I suppose
that fits
into its place.”
, , , ,
“It seems
to show
that someone knows more
than we do about
what goes
on upon the moor,”
said Dr. Mortimer.
, , , ,
“And also,”
said Holmes,
“that someone is not ill-disposed
towards you,
since they warn you
of danger.”
, , , ,
“Or it may be
that they wish,
for their own purposes,
to scare me away.”
, , , ,
“Well,
of course,
that is possible also.
I am very much indebted
to you,
Dr. Mortimer,
for introducing me
to a problem
which presents several interesting alternatives.
But the practical point
which we now have
to decide,
Sir Henry,
is whether it is
or is not advisable
for you
to go
to Baskerville Hall.”
, , , ,
“Why
should I not go?”
, , , ,
“There seems
to be danger.”
, , , ,
“Do you mean danger
from this family fiend
or do you mean danger
from human beings?”
, , , ,
“Well,
that is
what we have
to find out.”
, , , ,
“Whichever it is,
my answer is fixed.
There is no devil
in hell,
Mr. Holmes,
and
there is no man upon earth
who
can prevent me
from going
to the home
of my own people,
and you may take that
to be my final answer.”
His dark brows knitted
and his face flushed
to a dusky red
as he spoke.
It was evident
that the fiery temper
of the Baskervilles was not extinct
in this their last representative.
“Meanwhile,”
said he,
“I have
hardly had time
to think
over all
that you have told me.
It’s a big thing
for a man
to have
to understand and
to decide
at one sitting.
I
should like
to have a quiet hour
by myself
to make up my mind.
Now,
look here,
Mr. Holmes,
it’s half-past eleven now
and I am going back right away
to my hotel.
Suppose you
and your friend,
Dr. Watson,
come round
and lunch
with us
at two.
I’ll be able
to tell you more clearly then
how this thing strikes me.”
, , , ,
“Is
that convenient
to you,
Watson?”
, , , ,
“Perfectly.”
, , , ,
“Then you may expect us.
Shall I have a cab called?”
, , , ,
“I’d prefer
to walk,
for this affair has flurried me rather.”
, , , ,
“I’ll join you
in a walk,
with pleasure,”
said his companion.
, , , ,
“Then we meet again
at two o’clock.
Au revoir,
and good-morning!”
We heard the steps
of our visitors descend the stair
and the bang
of the front door.
In an instant Holmes had changed
from the languid dreamer
to the man
of action.
, , , ,
“Your hat
and boots,
Watson,
quick!
Not a moment
to lose!”
He rushed
into his room
in his dressing-gown
and was back again
in a few seconds
in a frock-coat.
We hurried together down the stairs
and
into the street.
Dr. Mortimer
and Baskerville were still visible
about two hundred yards ahead
of us
in the direction
of Oxford Street.
, , , ,
“Shall I run
on
and stop them?”
, , , ,
“Not
for the world,
my dear Watson.
I am perfectly satisfied
with your company
if you
will tolerate mine.
Our friends are wise,
for it is certainly a very fine morning
for a walk.”
, , , ,
He quickened his pace
until we had decreased the distance
which divided us
by
about half.
Then,
still keeping a hundred yards behind,
we followed
into Oxford Street
and so down Regent Street.
Once our friends stopped
and stared
into a shop window,
upon
which Holmes did the same.
An instant afterwards he gave a little cry
of satisfaction,
and,
following the direction
of his eager eyes,
I saw
that a hansom cab
with a man inside
which had halted
on the other side
of the street was now proceeding slowly onward again.
, , , ,
“There’s our man,
Watson!
Come along!
We’ll have a good look
at him,
if we
can do no more.”
, , , ,
At
that instant I was aware
of a bushy black beard
and a pair
of piercing eyes turned upon us
through the side window
of the cab.
Instantly the trapdoor
at the top flew up,
something was screamed
to the driver,
and the cab flew madly off down Regent Street.
Holmes looked eagerly round
for another,
but no empty one was
in sight.
Then he dashed
in wild pursuit amid the stream
of the traffic,
but the start was too great,
and already the cab was out
of sight.
, , , ,
“There now!”
said Holmes bitterly
as he emerged panting
and white
with vexation
from the tide
of vehicles.
“Was ever such bad luck
and such bad management,
too?
Watson,
Watson,
if you are an honest man you
will record this also
and set it
against my successes!”
“Who was the man?”
, , , ,
“I have not an idea.”
, , , ,
“A spy?”
, , , ,
“Well,
it was evident
from
what we have heard
that Baskerville has been very closely shadowed
by someone
since he has been
in town.
How else
could it be known so quickly
that it was the Northumberland Hotel
which he had chosen?
If they had followed him the first day I argued
that they
would follow him also the second.
You may have observed
that I twice strolled over
to the window
while Dr. Mortimer was reading his legend.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I remember.”
, , , ,
“I was looking out
for loiterers
in the street,
but I saw none.
We are dealing
with a clever man,
Watson.
This matter cuts very deep,
and though I have not finally made up my mind whether it is a benevolent
or a malevolent agency
which is
in touch
with us,
I am conscious always
of power
and design.
When our friends left I
at once followed them
in the hopes
of marking down their invisible attendant.
So wily was he
that he had not trusted himself upon foot,
but he had availed himself
of a cab so
that he
could loiter behind
or dash past them
and so escape their notice.
His method had the additional advantage that
if they were
to take a cab he was all ready
to follow them.
It has,
however,
one obvious disadvantage.”
, , , ,
“It puts him
in the power
of the cabman.”
, , , ,
“Exactly.”
, , , ,
“What a pity we did not get the number!”
“My dear Watson,
clumsy
as I have been,
you surely do not seriously imagine
that I neglected
to get the number?
No. 2704 is our man.
But
that is no use
to us
for the moment.”
, , , ,
“I fail
to see
how you
could have done more.”
, , , ,
“On observing the cab I
should have instantly turned
and walked
in the other direction.
I
should then
at my leisure have hired a second cab
and followed the first
at a respectful distance,
or,
better still,
have driven
to the Northumberland Hotel
and waited there.
When our unknown had followed Baskerville home we
should have had the opportunity
of playing his own game upon himself
and seeing
where he made for.
As it is,
by an indiscreet eagerness,
which was taken advantage
of
with extraordinary quickness
and energy
by our opponent,
we have betrayed ourselves
and lost our man.”
, , , ,
We had been sauntering slowly down Regent Street during this conversation,
and Dr. Mortimer,
with his companion,
had long vanished
in front
of us.
, , , ,
“There is no object
in our following them,”
said Holmes.
“The shadow has departed
and
will not return.
We must see
what further cards we have
in our hands
and play them
with decision.
Could you swear
to
that man’s face within the cab?”
, , , ,
“I
could swear only
to the beard.”
, , , ,
“And so
could I
--from
which I gather that
in all probability it was a false one.
A clever man upon so delicate an errand has no use
for a beard save
to conceal his features.
Come
in here,
Watson!”
He turned
into one
of the district messenger offices,
where he was warmly greeted
by the manager.
, , , ,
“Ah,
Wilson,
I see you have not forgotten the little case
in
which I had the good fortune
to help you?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir,
indeed I have not.
You saved my good name,
and perhaps my life.”
, , , ,
“My dear fellow,
you exaggerate.
I have some recollection,
Wilson,
that you had
among your boys a lad named Cartwright,
who showed some ability during the investigation.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir,
he is still
with us.”
, , , ,
“Could you ring him up?
--thank you!
And I
should be glad
to have change
of this five-pound note.”
, , , ,
A lad
of fourteen,
with a bright,
keen face,
had obeyed the summons
of the manager.
He stood now gazing
with great reverence
at the famous detective.
, , , ,
“Let me have the Hotel Directory,”
said Holmes.
“Thank you!
Now,
Cartwright,
there are the names
of twenty-three hotels here,
all
in the immediate neighbourhood
of Charing Cross.
Do you see?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir.”
, , , ,
“You
will visit each
of these
in turn.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir.”
, , , ,
“You
will begin
in each case
by giving the outside porter one shilling.
Here are twenty-three shillings.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir.”
, , , ,
“You
will tell him
that you want
to see the waste-paper
of yesterday.
You
will say
that an important telegram has miscarried
and
that you are looking
for it.
You understand?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir.”
, , , ,
“But
what you are really looking
for is the centre page
of the Times
with some holes cut
in it
with scissors.
Here is a copy
of the Times.
It is this page.
You
could easily recognize it,
could you not?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir.”
, , , ,
“In each case the outside porter
will send
for the hall porter,
to whom also you
will give a shilling.
Here are twenty-three shillings.
You
will
then learn
in possibly twenty cases out
of the twenty-three
that the waste
of the day
before has been burned
or removed.
In the three other cases you
will be shown a heap
of paper
and you
will look
for this page
of the Times
among it.
The odds are enormously
against your finding it.
There are ten shillings over
in case
of emergencies.
Let me have a report
by wire
at Baker Street
before evening.
And now,
Watson,
it only remains
for us
to find out
by wire the identity
of the cabman,
No. 2704,
and
then we
will drop
into one
of the Bond Street picture galleries
and fill
in the time
until we are due
at the hotel.”
, , , ,
Chapter 5
Three Broken Threads
Sherlock Holmes had,
in a very remarkable degree,
the power
of detaching his mind
at will.
For two hours the strange business
in
which we had been involved appeared
to be forgotten,
and he was entirely absorbed
in the pictures
of the modern Belgian masters.
He
would talk
of nothing
but art,
of
which he had the crudest ideas,
from our leaving the gallery
until we found ourselves
at the Northumberland Hotel.
, , , ,
“Sir Henry Baskerville is upstairs expecting you,”
said the clerk.
“He asked me
to show you up
at once
when you came.”
, , , ,
“Have you any objection
to my looking
at your register?”
said Holmes.
, , , ,
“Not
in the least.”
, , , ,
The book showed
that two names had been added after that
of Baskerville.
One was Theophilus Johnson
and family,
of Newcastle;
the other Mrs. Oldmore
and maid,
of High Lodge,
Alton.
, , , ,
“Surely
that must be the same Johnson whom I used
to know,”
said Holmes
to the porter.
“A lawyer,
is he not,
gray-headed,
and walks
with a limp?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir;
this is Mr. Johnson,
the coal-owner,
a very active gentleman,
not older
than yourself.”
, , , ,
“Surely you are mistaken
about his trade?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir!
he has used this hotel
for many years,
and he is very well known
to us.”
, , , ,
“Ah,
that settles it.
Mrs. Oldmore,
too;
I seem
to remember the name.
Excuse my curiosity,
but often
in calling upon one friend one finds another.”
, , , ,
“She is an invalid lady,
sir.
Her husband was once mayor
of Gloucester.
She always comes
to us
when she is
in town.”
, , , ,
“Thank you;
I am afraid I cannot claim her acquaintance.
We have established a most important fact
by these questions,
Watson,”
he continued
in a low voice
as we went upstairs together.
“We know now
that the people
who are so interested
in our friend have not settled down
in his own hotel.
That means
that
while they are,
as we have seen,
very anxious
to watch him,
they are equally anxious
that he
should not see them.
Now,
this is a most suggestive fact.”
, , , ,
“What does it suggest?”
, , , ,
“It suggests
--halloa,
my dear fellow,
what
on earth is the matter?”
, , , ,
As we came round the top
of the stairs we had run up
against Sir Henry Baskerville himself.
His face was flushed
with anger,
and he held an old
and dusty boot
in one
of his hands.
So furious was he
that he was
hardly articulate,
and
when he did speak it was
in a much broader
and more Western dialect
than any
which we had heard
from him
in the morning.
, , , ,
“Seems
to me they are playing me
for a sucker
in this hotel,”
he cried.
“They’ll find they’ve started
in
to monkey
with the wrong man
unless they are careful.
By thunder,
if
that chap can’t find my missing boot there
will be trouble.
I
can take a joke
with the best,
Mr. Holmes,
but they’ve got a bit
over the mark this time.”
, , , ,
“Still looking
for your boot?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir,
and mean
to find it.”
, , , ,
“But,
surely,
you said
that it was a new brown boot?”
, , , ,
“So it was,
sir.
And now it’s an old black one.”
, , , ,
“What!
you
don’t mean
to say
----?”
, , , ,
“That’s just
what I do mean
to say.
I only had three pairs
in the world
--the new brown,
the old black,
and the patent leathers,
which I am wearing.
Last night they took one
of my brown ones,
and to-day they have sneaked one
of the black.
Well,
have you got it?
Speak out,
man,
and
don’t stand staring!”
An agitated German waiter had appeared upon the scene.
, , , ,
“No,
sir;
I have made inquiry all
over the hotel,
but I
can hear no word
of it.”
, , , ,
“Well,
either
that boot comes back
before sundown
or I’ll see the manager
and tell him
that I go right straight out
of this hotel.”
, , , ,
“It shall be found,
sir
--I promise you that
if you
will have a little patience it
will be found.”
, , , ,
“Mind it is,
for it’s the last thing
of mine
that I’ll lose
in this den
of thieves.
Well,
well,
Mr. Holmes,
you’ll excuse my troubling you
about such a trifle
----”
“I think it’s well worth troubling about.”
, , , ,
“Why,
you look very serious
over it.”
, , , ,
“How do you explain it?”
, , , ,
“I just
don’t attempt
to explain it.
It seems the very maddest,
queerest thing
that ever happened
to me.”
, , , ,
“The queerest perhaps
----” said Holmes,
thoughtfully.
, , , ,
“What do you make
of it yourself?”
, , , ,
“Well,
I
don’t profess
to understand it yet.
This case
of yours is very complex,
Sir Henry.
When taken
in conjunction
with your uncle’s death I am not sure that
of all the five hundred cases
of capital importance
which I have handled
there is one
which cuts so deep.
But we hold several threads
in our hands,
and the odds are
that one
or other
of them guides us
to the truth.
We may waste time
in following the wrong one,
but sooner
or later we must come upon the right.”
, , , ,
We had a pleasant luncheon
in
which little was said
of the business
which had brought us together.
It was
in the private sitting-room
to
which we afterwards repaired
that Holmes asked Baskerville
what were his intentions.
, , , ,
“To go
to Baskerville Hall.”
, , , ,
“And when?”
, , , ,
“At the end
of the week.”
, , , ,
“On the whole,”
said Holmes,
“I think
that your decision is a wise one.
I have ample evidence
that you are being dogged
in London,
and amid the millions
of this great city it is difficult
to discover
who these people are
or
what their object
can be.
If their intentions are evil they might do you a mischief,
and we
should be powerless
to prevent it.
You did not know,
Dr. Mortimer,
that you were followed this morning
from my house?”
, , , ,
Dr. Mortimer started violently.
, , , ,
“Followed!
By whom?”
, , , ,
“That,
unfortunately,
is
what I cannot tell you.
Have you
among your neighbours
or acquaintances
on Dartmoor any man
with a black,
full beard?”
, , , ,
“No
--or,
let me see
--why,
yes.
Barrymore,
Sir Charles’s butler,
is a man
with a full,
black beard.”
, , , ,
“Ha!
Where is Barrymore?”
, , , ,
“He is
in charge
of the Hall.”
, , , ,
“We had best ascertain
if he is really there,
or if
by any possibility he might be
in London.”
, , , ,
“How
can you do that?”
, , , ,
“Give me a telegraph form.
‘Is all ready
for Sir Henry?’
That
will do.
Address
to Mr. Barrymore,
Baskerville Hall.
What is the nearest telegraph-office?
Grimpen.
Very good,
we
will send a second wire
to the postmaster,
Grimpen:
‘Telegram
to Mr. Barrymore
to be delivered
into his own hand.
If absent,
please return wire
to Sir Henry Baskerville,
Northumberland Hotel.’
That
should let us know
before evening whether Barrymore is
at his post
in Devonshire
or not.”
, , , ,
“That’s so,”
said Baskerville.
“By the way,
Dr. Mortimer,
who is this Barrymore,
anyhow?”
, , , ,
“He is the son
of the old caretaker,
who is dead.
They have looked after the Hall
for four generations now.
So far
as I know,
he
and his wife are
as respectable a couple
as any
in the county.”
, , , ,
“At the same time,”
said Baskerville,
“it’s clear enough
that so long
as
there are none
of the family
at the Hall these people have a mighty fine home
and nothing
to do.”
, , , ,
“That is true.”
, , , ,
“Did Barrymore profit
at all
by Sir Charles’s will?”
asked Holmes.
, , , ,
“He
and his wife had five hundred pounds each.”
, , , ,
“Ha!
Did they know
that they
would receive this?”
, , , ,
“Yes;
Sir Charles was very fond
of talking
about the provisions
of his will.”
, , , ,
“That is very interesting.”
, , , ,
“I hope,”
said Dr. Mortimer,
“that you do not look
with suspicious eyes upon everyone
who received a legacy
from Sir Charles,
for I also had a thousand pounds left
to me.”
, , , ,
“Indeed!
And anyone else?”
, , , ,
“There were many insignificant sums
to individuals,
and a large number
of public charities.
The residue all went
to Sir Henry.”
, , , ,
“And
how much was the residue?”
, , , ,
“Seven hundred
and forty thousand pounds.”
, , , ,
Holmes raised his eyebrows
in surprise.
“I had no idea
that so gigantic a sum was involved,”
said he.
, , , ,
“Sir Charles had the reputation
of being rich,
but we did not know
how very rich he was
until we came
to examine his securities.
The total value
of the estate was close
on
to a million.”
, , , ,
“Dear me!
It is a stake
for
which a man might well play a desperate game.
And one more question,
Dr. Mortimer.
Supposing
that anything happened
to our young friend here
--you
will forgive the unpleasant hypothesis!
--who
would inherit the estate?”
, , , ,
“Since Rodger Baskerville,
Sir Charles’s younger brother died unmarried,
the estate
would descend
to the Desmonds,
who are distant cousins.
James Desmond is an elderly clergyman
in Westmoreland.”
, , , ,
“Thank you.
These details are all
of great interest.
Have you met Mr. James Desmond?”
, , , ,
“Yes;
he once came down
to visit Sir Charles.
He is a man
of venerable appearance and
of saintly life.
I remember
that he refused
to accept any settlement
from Sir Charles,
though he pressed it upon him.”
, , , ,
“And this man
of simple tastes
would be the heir
to Sir Charles’s thousands.”
, , , ,
“He
would be the heir
to the estate because
that is entailed.
He
would also be the heir
to the money
unless it were willed otherwise
by the present owner,
who can,
of course,
do
what he likes
with it.”
, , , ,
“And have you made your will,
Sir Henry?”
, , , ,
“No,
Mr. Holmes,
I have not.
I’ve had no time,
for it was only yesterday
that I learned
how matters stood.
But
in any case I feel
that the money
should go
with the title
and estate.
That was my poor uncle’s idea.
How is the owner going
to restore the glories
of the Baskervilles
if he has not money enough
to keep up the property?
House,
land,
and dollars must go together.”
, , , ,
“Quite so.
Well,
Sir Henry,
I am
of one mind
with you as
to the advisability
of your going down
to Devonshire without delay.
There is only one provision
which I must make.
You certainly must not go alone.”
, , , ,
“Dr. Mortimer returns
with me.”
, , , ,
“But Dr. Mortimer has his practice
to attend to,
and his house is miles away
from yours.
With all the good will
in the world he may be unable
to help you.
No,
Sir Henry,
you must take
with you someone,
a trusty man,
who
will be always
by your side.”
, , , ,
“Is it possible
that you
could come yourself,
Mr. Holmes?”
, , , ,
“If matters came
to a crisis I
should endeavour
to be present
in person;
but you
can understand that,
with my extensive consulting practice
and
with the constant appeals
which reach me
from many quarters,
it is impossible
for me
to be absent
from London
for an indefinite time.
At the present instant one
of the most revered names
in England is being besmirched
by a blackmailer,
and only I
can stop a disastrous scandal.
You
will see
how impossible it is
for me
to go
to Dartmoor.”
, , , ,
“Whom
would you recommend,
then?”
, , , ,
Holmes laid his hand upon my arm.
, , , ,
“If my friend
would undertake it
there is no man
who is better worth having
at your side
when you are
in a tight place.
No one
can say so more confidently
than I.”
, , , ,
The proposition took me completely
by surprise,
but
before I had time
to answer,
Baskerville seized me
by the hand
and wrung it heartily.
, , , ,
“Well,
now,
that is real kind
of you,
Dr. Watson,”
said he.
“You see
how it is
with me,
and you know just
as much
about the matter
as I do.
If you
will come down
to Baskerville Hall
and see me
through I’ll never forget it.”
, , , ,
The promise
of adventure had always a fascination
for me,
and I was complimented
by the words
of Holmes and
by the eagerness
with
which the baronet hailed me
as a companion.
, , , ,
“I
will come,
with pleasure,”
said I. “I do not know
how I
could employ my time better.”
, , , ,
“And you
will report very carefully
to me,”
said Holmes.
“When a crisis comes,
as it
will do,
I
will direct
how you shall act.
I suppose that
by Saturday all might be ready?”
, , , ,
“Would
that suit Dr. Watson?”
, , , ,
“Perfectly.”
, , , ,
“Then
on Saturday,
unless you hear
to the contrary,
we shall meet
at the 10:30 train
from Paddington.”
, , , ,
We had risen
to depart
when Baskerville gave a cry,
of triumph,
and diving
into one
of the corners
of the room he drew a brown boot
from
under a cabinet.
, , , ,
“My missing boot!”
he cried.
, , , ,
“May all our difficulties vanish
as easily!”
said Sherlock Holmes.
, , , ,
“But it is a very singular thing,”
Dr. Mortimer remarked.
“I searched this room carefully
before lunch.”
, , , ,
“And so did I,”
said Baskerville.
“Every inch
of it.”
, , , ,
“There was certainly no boot
in it then.”
, , , ,
“In
that case the waiter must have placed it
there
while we were lunching.”
, , , ,
The German was sent for
but professed
to know nothing
of the matter,
nor
could any inquiry clear it up.
Another item had been added
to
that constant
and apparently purposeless series
of small mysteries
which had succeeded each other so rapidly.
Setting aside the whole grim story
of Sir Charles’s death,
we had a line
of inexplicable incidents all within the limits
of two days,
which included the receipt
of the printed letter,
the black-bearded spy
in the hansom,
the loss
of the new brown boot,
the loss
of the old black boot,
and now the return
of the new brown boot.
Holmes sat
in silence
in the cab
as we drove back
to Baker Street,
and I knew
from his drawn brows
and keen face
that his mind,
like my own,
was busy
in endeavouring
to frame some scheme
into
which all these strange
and apparently disconnected episodes
could be fitted.
All afternoon
and late
into the evening he sat lost
in tobacco
and thought.
, , , ,
Just
before dinner two telegrams were handed in.
The first ran:
--
“Have just heard
that Barrymore is
at the Hall.
--BASKERVILLE.”
The second:
--
“Visited twenty-three hotels
as directed,
but sorry,
to report unable
to trace cut sheet
of Times.
--CARTWRIGHT.”
, , , ,
“There go two
of my threads,
Watson.
There is nothing more stimulating
than a case
where everything goes
against you.
We must cast round
for another scent.”
, , , ,
“We have still the cabman
who drove the spy.”
, , , ,
“Exactly.
I have wired
to get his name
and address
from the Official Registry.
I
should not be surprised
if this were an answer
to my question.”
, , , ,
The ring
at the bell proved
to be something
even more satisfactory
than an answer,
however,
for the door opened
and a rough-looking fellow entered
who was evidently the man himself.
, , , ,
“I got a message
from the head office
that a gent
at this address had been inquiring
for 2704,”
said he.
“I’ve driven my cab this seven years
and never a word
of complaint.
I came here straight
from the Yard
to ask you
to your face
what you had
against me.”
, , , ,
“I have nothing
in the world
against you,
my good man,”
said Holmes.
“On the contrary,
I have half a sovereign
for you
if you
will give me a clear answer
to my questions.”
, , , ,
“Well,
I’ve had a good day
and no mistake,”
said the cabman,
with a grin.
“What was it you wanted
to ask,
sir?”
, , , ,
“First
of all your name
and address,
in case I want you again.”
, , , ,
“John Clayton,
3 Turpey Street,
the Borough.
My cab is out
of Shipley’s Yard,
near Waterloo Station.”
, , , ,
Sherlock Holmes made a note
of it.
, , , ,
“Now,
Clayton,
tell me all
about the fare
who came
and watched this house
at ten o’clock this morning
and afterwards followed the two gentlemen down Regent Street.”
, , , ,
The man looked surprised
and a little embarrassed.
“Why,
there’s no good my telling you things,
for you seem
to know
as much
as I do already,”
said he.
“The truth is
that the gentleman told me
that he was a detective
and
that I was
to say nothing
about him
to anyone.”
, , , ,
“My good fellow,
this is a very serious business,
and you may find yourself
in a pretty bad position
if you try
to hide anything
from me.
You say
that your fare told you
that he was a detective?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
he did.”
, , , ,
“When did he say this?”
, , , ,
“When he left me.”
, , , ,
“Did he say anything more?”
, , , ,
“He mentioned his name.”
, , , ,
Holmes cast a swift glance
of triumph
at me.
“Oh,
he mentioned his name,
did he?
That was imprudent.
What was the name
that he mentioned?”
, , , ,
“His name,”
said the cabman,
“was Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”
, , , ,
Never have I seen my friend more completely taken aback than
by the cabman’s reply.
For an instant he sat
in silent amazement.
Then he burst
into a hearty laugh.
, , , ,
“A touch,
Watson
--an undeniable touch!”
said he.
“I feel a foil
as quick
and supple
as my own.
He got home upon me very prettily
that time.
So his name was Sherlock Holmes,
was it?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir,
that was the gentleman’s name.”
, , , ,
“Excellent!
Tell me
where you picked him up
and all
that occurred.”
, , , ,
“He hailed me
at half-past nine
in Trafalgar Square.
He said
that he was a detective,
and he offered me two guineas
if I
would do exactly
what he wanted all day
and ask no questions.
I was glad enough
to agree.
First we drove down
to the Northumberland Hotel
and waited there
until two gentlemen came out
and took a cab
from the rank.
We followed their cab
until it pulled up somewhere near here.”
, , , ,
“This very door,”
said Holmes.
, , , ,
“Well,
I couldn’t be sure
of that,
but I dare say my fare knew all
about it.
We pulled up half-way down the street
and waited an hour
and a half.
Then the two gentlemen passed us,
walking,
and we followed down Baker Street
and
along
----”
“I know,”
said Holmes.
, , , ,
“Until we got three-quarters down Regent Street.
Then my gentleman threw up the trap,
and he cried
that I
should drive right away
to Waterloo Station
as hard
as I
could go.
I whipped up the mare
and we were there
under the ten minutes.
Then he paid up his two guineas,
like a good one,
and away he went
into the station.
Only just
as he was leaving he turned round
and he said:
‘It might interest you
to know
that you have been driving Mr. Sherlock Holmes.’
That’s
how I come
to know the name.”
, , , ,
“I see.
And you saw no more
of him?”
, , , ,
“Not after he went
into the station.”
, , , ,
“And
how
would you describe Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
, , , ,
The cabman scratched his head.
“Well,
he wasn’t altogether such an easy gentleman
to describe.
I’d put him
at forty years
of age,
and he was
of a middle height,
two
or three inches shorter
than you,
sir.
He was dressed
like a toff,
and he had a black beard,
cut square
at the end,
and a pale face.
I
don’t know
as I
could say more
than that.”
, , , ,
“Colour
of his eyes?”
, , , ,
“No,
I can’t say that.”
, , , ,
“Nothing more
that you
can remember?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir;
nothing.”
, , , ,
“Well,
then,
here is your half-sovereign.
There’s another one waiting
for you
if you
can bring any more information.
Good night!”
“Good night,
sir,
and thank you!”
John Clayton departed chuckling,
and Holmes turned
to me
with a shrug
of his shoulders
and a rueful smile.
, , , ,
“Snap goes our third thread,
and we end
where we began,”
said he.
“The cunning rascal!
He knew our number,
knew
that Sir Henry Baskerville had consulted me,
spotted
who I was
in Regent Street,
conjectured
that I had got the number
of the cab
and
would lay my hands
on the driver,
and so sent back this audacious message.
I tell you,
Watson,
this time we have got a foeman
who is worthy
of our steel.
I’ve been checkmated
in London.
I
can only wish you better luck
in Devonshire.
But I’m not easy
in my mind
about it.”
, , , ,
“About what?”
, , , ,
“About sending you.
It’s an ugly business,
Watson,
an ugly dangerous business,
and the more I see
of it the less I
like it.
Yes,
my dear fellow,
you may laugh,
but I give you my word
that I shall be very glad
to have you back safe
and sound
in Baker Street once more.”
, , , ,
Chapter 6
Baskerville Hall
Sir Henry Baskerville
and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon the appointed day,
and we started
as arranged
for Devonshire.
Mr. Sherlock Holmes drove
with me
to the station
and gave me his last parting injunctions
and advice.
, , , ,
“I
will not bias your mind
by suggesting theories
or suspicions,
Watson,”
said he;
“I wish you simply
to report facts
in the fullest possible manner
to me,
and you
can leave me
to do the theorizing.”
, , , ,
“What sort
of facts?”
I asked.
, , , ,
“Anything
which may seem
to have a bearing however indirect upon the case,
and especially the relations
between young Baskerville
and his neighbours
or any fresh particulars concerning the death
of Sir Charles.
I have made some inquiries myself
in the last few days,
but the results have,
I fear,
been negative.
One thing only appears
to be certain,
and
that is
that Mr. James Desmond,
who is the next heir,
is an elderly gentleman
of a very amiable disposition,
so
that this persecution does not arise
from him.
I really think
that we may eliminate him entirely
from our calculations.
There remain the people
who
will actually surround Sir Henry Baskerville upon the moor.”
, , , ,
“Would it not be well
in the first place
to get rid
of this Barrymore couple?”
, , , ,
“By no means.
You
could not make a greater mistake.
If they are innocent it
would be a cruel injustice,
and
if they are guilty we
should be giving up all chance
of bringing it home
to them.
No,
no,
we
will preserve them upon our list
of suspects.
Then
there is a groom
at the Hall,
if I remember right.
There are two moorland farmers.
There is our friend Dr. Mortimer,
whom I believe
to be entirely honest,
and
there is his wife,
of whom we know nothing.
There is this naturalist,
Stapleton,
and
there is his sister,
who is said
to be a young lady
of attractions.
There is Mr. Frankland,
of Lafter Hall,
who is also an unknown factor,
and
there are one
or two other neighbours.
These are the folk
who must be your very special study.”
, , , ,
“I
will do my best.”
, , , ,
“You have arms,
I suppose?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I thought it
as well
to take them.”
, , , ,
“Most certainly.
Keep your revolver near you night
and day,
and never relax your precautions.”
, , , ,
Our friends had already secured a first-class carriage
and were waiting
for us upon the platform.
, , , ,
“No,
we have no news
of any kind,”
said Dr. Mortimer
in answer
to my friend’s questions.
“I
can swear
to one thing,
and
that is
that we have not been shadowed during the last two days.
We have never gone out without keeping a sharp watch,
and no one
could have escaped our notice.”
, , , ,
“You have always kept together,
I presume?”
, , , ,
“Except yesterday afternoon.
I usually give up one day
to pure amusement
when I come
to town,
so I spent it
at the Museum
of the College
of Surgeons.”
, , , ,
“And I went
to look
at the folk
in the park,”
said Baskerville.
“But we had no trouble
of any kind.”
, , , ,
“It was imprudent,
all the same,”
said Holmes,
shaking his head
and looking very grave.
“I beg,
Sir Henry,
that you
will not go
about alone.
Some great misfortune
will befall you
if you do.
Did you get your other boot?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir,
it is gone forever.”
, , , ,
“Indeed.
That is very interesting.
Well,
good-bye,”
he added
as the train began
to glide down the platform.
“Bear
in mind,
Sir Henry,
one
of the phrases
in
that queer old legend
which Dr. Mortimer has read
to us,
and avoid the moor
in those hours
of darkness
when the powers
of evil are exalted.”
, , , ,
I looked back
at the platform
when we had left it far behind,
and saw the tall,
austere figure
of Holmes standing motionless
and gazing after us.
, , , ,
The journey was a swift
and pleasant one,
and I spent it
in making the more intimate acquaintance
of my two companions and
in playing
with Dr. Mortimer’s spaniel.
In a very few hours the brown earth had become ruddy,
the brick had changed
to granite,
and red cows grazed
in well-hedged fields
where the lush grasses
and more luxuriant vegetation spoke
of a richer,
if a damper,
climate.
Young Baskerville stared eagerly out
of the window,
and cried aloud
with delight
as he recognized the familiar features
of the Devon scenery.
, , , ,
“I’ve been
over a good part
of the world
since I left it,
Dr. Watson,”
said he;
“but I have never seen a place
to compare
with it.”
, , , ,
“I never saw a Devonshire man
who did not swear
by his county,”
I remarked.
, , , ,
“It depends upon the breed
of men quite
as much as
on the county,”
said Dr. Mortimer.
“A glance
at our friend here reveals the rounded head
of the Celt,
which carries inside it the Celtic enthusiasm
and power
of attachment.
Poor Sir Charles’s head was
of a very rare type,
half Gaelic,
half Ivernian
in its characteristics.
But you were very young
when you last saw Baskerville Hall,
were you not?”
, , , ,
“I was a boy
in my ‘teens
at the time
of my father’s death,
and had never seen the Hall,
for he lived
in a little cottage
on the South Coast.
Thence I went straight
to a friend
in America.
I tell you it is all
as new
to me
as it is
to Dr. Watson,
and I’m
as keen
as possible
to see the moor.”
, , , ,
“Are you?
Then your wish is easily granted,
for
there is your first sight
of the moor,”
said Dr. Mortimer,
pointing out
of the carriage window.
, , , ,
Over the green squares
of the fields
and the low curve
of a wood
there rose
in the distance a gray,
melancholy hill,
with a strange jagged summit,
dim
and vague
in the distance,
like some fantastic landscape
in a dream.
Baskerville sat
for a long time,
his eyes fixed upon it,
and I read upon his eager face
how much it meant
to him,
this first sight
of
that strange spot
where the men
of his blood had held sway so long
and left their mark so deep.
There he sat,
with his tweed suit
and his American accent,
in the corner
of a prosaic railway-carriage,
and yet
as I looked
at his dark
and expressive face I felt more
than ever
how true a descendant he was
of
that long line
of high-blooded,
fiery,
and masterful men.
There were pride,
valour,
and strength
in his thick brows,
his sensitive nostrils,
and his large hazel eyes.
If
on
that forbidding moor a difficult
and dangerous quest
should lie
before us,
this was
at least a comrade
for whom one might venture
to take a risk
with the certainty
that he
would bravely share it.
, , , ,
The train pulled up
at a small wayside station
and we all descended.
Outside,
beyond the low,
white fence,
a wagonette
with a pair
of cobs was waiting.
Our coming was evidently a great event,
for station-master
and porters clustered round us
to carry out our luggage.
It was a sweet,
simple country spot,
but I was surprised
to observe that
by the gate
there stood two soldierly men
in dark uniforms,
who leaned upon their short rifles
and glanced keenly
at us
as we passed.
The coachman,
a hard-faced,
gnarled little fellow,
saluted Sir Henry Baskerville,
and
in a few minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad,
white road.
Rolling pasture lands curved upward
on either side
of us,
and old gabled houses peeped out
from amid the thick green foliage,
but
behind the peaceful
and sunlit country-side
there rose ever,
dark
against the evening sky,
the long,
gloomy curve
of the moor,
broken
by the jagged
and sinister hills.
, , , ,
The wagonette swung round
into a side road,
and we curved upward
through deep lanes worn
by centuries
of wheels,
high banks
on either side,
heavy
with dripping moss
and fleshy hart’s-tongue ferns.
Bronzing bracken
and mottled bramble gleamed
in the light
of the sinking sun.
Still steadily rising,
we passed
over a narrow granite bridge,
and skirted a noisy stream
which gushed swiftly down,
foaming
and roaring amid the gray boulders.
Both road
and stream wound up
through a valley dense
with scrub oak
and fir.
At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation
of delight,
looking eagerly
about him
and asking countless questions.
To his eyes all seemed beautiful,
but
to me a tinge
of melancholy lay upon the country-side,
which bore so clearly the mark
of the waning year.
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.
The farmers
about here don’t
like it,
sir,
and that’s a fact.”
, , , ,
“Well,
I understand
that they get five pounds
if they
can give information.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir,
but the chance
of five pounds is
but a poor thing compared
to the chance
of having your throat cut.
You see,
it isn’t
like any ordinary convict.
This is a man
that
would stick
at nothing.”
, , , ,
“Who is he,
then?”
, , , ,
“It is Selden,
the Notting Hill murderer.”
, , , ,
I remembered the case well,
for it was one
in
which Holmes had taken an interest
on account
of the peculiar ferocity
of the crime
and the wanton brutality
which had marked all the actions
of the assassin.
The commutation
of his death sentence had been due
to some doubts as
to his complete sanity,
so atrocious was his conduct.
Our wagonette had topped a rise and
in front
of us rose the huge expanse
of the moor,
mottled
with gnarled
and craggy cairns
and tors.
A cold wind swept down
from it
and set us shivering.
Somewhere there,
on
that desolate plain,
was lurking this fiendish man,
hiding
in a burrow
like a wild beast,
his heart full
of malignancy
against the whole race
which had cast him out.
It needed
but this
to complete the grim suggestiveness
of the barren waste,
the chilling wind,
and the darkling sky.
Even Baskerville fell silent
and pulled his overcoat more closely
around him.
, , , ,
We had left the fertile country behind
and
beneath us.
We looked back
on it now,
the slanting rays
of a low sun turning the streams
to threads
of gold
and glowing
on the red earth new turned
by the plough
and the broad tangle
of the woodlands.
The road
in front
of us grew bleaker
and wilder
over huge russet
and olive slopes,
sprinkled
with giant boulders.
Now
and
then we passed a moorland cottage,
walled
and roofed
with stone,
with no creeper
to break its harsh outline.
Suddenly we looked down
into a cup-like depression,
patched
with stunted oaks
and firs
which had been twisted
and bent
by the fury
of years
of storm.
Two high,
narrow towers rose
over the trees.
The driver pointed
with his whip.
, , , ,
“Baskerville Hall,”
said he.
, , , ,
Its master had risen
and was staring
with flushed cheeks
and shining eyes.
A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates,
a maze
of fantastic tracery
in wrought iron,
with weather-bitten pillars
on either side,
blotched
with lichens,
and surmounted
by the boars’ heads
of the Baskervilles.
The lodge was a ruin
of black granite
and bared ribs
of rafters,
but facing it was a new building,
half constructed,
the first fruit
of Sir Charles’s South African gold.
, , , ,
Through the gateway we passed
into the avenue,
where the wheels were again hushed amid the leaves,
and the old trees shot their branches
in a sombre tunnel
over our heads.
Baskerville shuddered
as he looked up the long,
dark drive
to
where the house glimmered
like a ghost
at the farther end.
, , , ,
“Was it here?”
he asked
in a low voice.
, , , ,
“No,
no,
the Yew Alley is
on the other side.”
, , , ,
The young heir glanced round
with a gloomy face.
, , , ,
“It’s no wonder my uncle felt
as
if trouble were coming
on him
in such a place
as this,”
said he.
“It’s enough
to scare any man.
I’ll have a row
of electric lamps up here inside
of six months,
and you
won’t know it again,
with a thousand candle-power Swan
and Edison right here
in front
of the hall door.”
, , , ,
The avenue opened
into a broad expanse
of turf,
and the house lay
before us.
In the fading light I
could see
that the centre was a heavy block
of building
from
which a porch projected.
The whole front was draped
in ivy,
with a patch clipped bare here
and there
where a window
or a coat-of-arms broke
through the dark veil.
From this central block rose the twin towers,
ancient,
crenelated,
and pierced
with many loopholes.
To right
and left
of the turrets were more modern wings
of black granite.
A dull light shone
through heavy mullioned windows,
and
from the high chimneys
which rose
from the steep,
high-angled roof
there sprang a single black column
of smoke.
, , , ,
“Welcome,
Sir Henry!
Welcome
to Baskerville Hall!”
A tall man had stepped
from the shadow
of the porch
to open the door
of the wagonette.
The figure
of a woman was silhouetted
against the yellow light
of the hall.
She came out
and helped the man
to hand down our bags.
, , , ,
“You
don’t mind my driving straight home,
Sir Henry?”
said Dr. Mortimer.
“My wife is expecting me.”
, , , ,
“Surely you
will stay
and have some dinner?”
, , , ,
“No,
I must go.
I shall probably find some work awaiting me.
I
would stay
to show you
over the house,
but Barrymore
will be a better guide
than I. Good-bye,
and never hesitate night
or day
to send
for me
if I
can be
of service.”
, , , ,
The wheels died away down the drive
while Sir Henry
and I turned
into the hall,
and the door clanged heavily
behind us.
It was a fine apartment
in
which we found ourselves,
large,
lofty,
and heavily raftered
with huge balks
of age-blackened oak.
In the great old-fashioned fireplace
behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled
and snapped.
Sir Henry
and I held out our hands
to it,
for we were numb
from our long drive.
Then we gazed round us
at the high,
thin window
of old stained glass,
the oak panelling,
the stags’ heads,
the coats-of-arms upon the walls,
all dim
and sombre
in the subdued light
of the central lamp.
, , , ,
“It’s just
as I imagined it,”
said Sir Henry.
“Is it not the very picture
of an old family home?
To think
that this
should be the same hall
in which
for five hundred years my people have lived.
It strikes me solemn
to think
of it.”
, , , ,
I saw his dark face lit up
with a boyish enthusiasm
as he gazed
about him.
The light beat upon him
where he stood,
but long shadows trailed down the walls
and hung
like a black canopy
above him.
Barrymore had returned
from taking our luggage
to our rooms.
He stood
in front
of us now
with the subdued manner
of a well-trained servant.
He was a remarkable-looking man,
tall,
handsome,
with a square black beard
and pale,
distinguished features.
, , , ,
“Would you wish dinner
to be served
at once,
sir?”
, , , ,
“Is it ready?”
, , , ,
“In a very few minutes,
sir.
You
will find hot water
in your rooms.
My wife
and I
will be happy,
Sir Henry,
to stay
with you
until you have made your fresh arrangements,
but you
will understand
that
under the new conditions this house
will require a considerable staff.”
, , , ,
“What new conditions?”
, , , ,
“I only meant,
sir,
that Sir Charles led a very retired life,
and we were able
to look after his wants.
You would,
naturally,
wish
to have more company,
and so you
will need changes
in your household.”
, , , ,
“Do you mean
that your wife
and you wish
to leave?”
, , , ,
“Only
when it is quite convenient
to you,
sir.”
, , , ,
“But your family have been
with us
for several generations,
have they not?
I
should be sorry
to begin my life here
by breaking an old family connection.”
, , , ,
I seemed
to discern some signs
of emotion upon the butler’s white face.
, , , ,
“I feel
that also,
sir,
and so does my wife.
But
to tell the truth,
sir,
we were both very much attached
to Sir Charles,
and his death gave us a shock
and made these surroundings very painful
to us.
I fear
that we shall never again be easy
in our minds
at Baskerville Hall.”
, , , ,
“But
what do you intend
to do?”
, , , ,
“I have no doubt,
sir,
that we shall succeed
in establishing ourselves
in some business.
Sir Charles’s generosity has given us the means
to do so.
And now,
sir,
perhaps I had best show you
to your rooms.”
, , , ,
A square balustraded gallery ran round the top
of the old hall,
approached
by a double stair.
From this central point two long corridors extended the whole length
of the building,
from
which all the bedrooms opened.
My own was
in the same wing
as Baskerville’s
and
almost next door
to it.
These rooms appeared
to be much more modern
than the central part
of the house,
and the bright paper
and numerous candles did something
to remove the sombre impression
which our arrival had left upon my mind.
, , , ,
But the dining-room
which opened out
of the hall was a place
of shadow
and gloom.
It was a long chamber
with a step separating the dais
where the family sat
from the lower portion reserved
for their dependents.
At one end a minstrel’s gallery overlooked it.
Black beams shot across
above our heads,
with a smoke-darkened ceiling beyond them.
With rows
of flaring torches
to light it up,
and the colour
and rude hilarity
of an old-time banquet,
it might have softened;
but now,
when two black-clothed gentlemen sat
in the little circle
of light thrown
by a shaded lamp,
one’s voice became hushed
and one’s spirit subdued.
A dim line
of ancestors,
in every variety
of dress,
from the Elizabethan knight
to the buck
of the Regency,
stared down upon us
and daunted us
by their silent company.
We talked little,
and I
for one was glad
when the meal was over
and we were able
to retire
into the modern billiard-room
and smoke a cigarette.
, , , ,
“My word,
it isn’t a very cheerful place,”
said Sir Henry.
“I suppose one
can tone down
to it,
but I feel a bit out
of the picture
at present.
I
don’t wonder
that my uncle got a little jumpy
if he lived all alone
in such a house
as this.
However,
if it suits you,
we
will retire early to-night,
and perhaps things may seem more cheerful
in the morning.”
, , , ,
I drew aside my curtains
before I went
to bed
and looked out
from my window.
It opened upon the grassy space
which lay
in front
of the hall door.
Beyond,
two copses
of trees moaned
and swung
in a rising wind.
A half moon broke
through the rifts
of racing clouds.
In its cold light I saw beyond the trees a broken fringe
of rocks,
and the long,
low curve
of the melancholy moor.
I closed the curtain,
feeling
that my last impression was
in keeping
with the rest.
, , , ,
And yet it was not quite the last.
I found myself weary
and yet wakeful,
tossing restlessly
from side
to side,
seeking
for the sleep
which
would not come.
Far away a chiming clock struck out the quarters
of the hours,
but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon the old house.
And
then suddenly,
in the very dead
of the night,
there came a sound
to my ears,
clear,
resonant,
and unmistakable.
It was the sob
of a woman,
the muffled,
strangling gasp
of one
who is torn
by an uncontrollable sorrow.
I sat up
in bed
and listened intently.
The noise
could not have been far away
and was certainly
in the house.
For half an hour I waited
with every nerve
on the alert,
but
there came no other sound save the chiming clock
and the rustle
of the ivy
on the wall.
, , , ,
Chapter 7
The Stapletons
of Merripit House
The fresh beauty
of the following morning did something
to efface
from our minds the grim
and gray impression
which had been left upon both
of us
by our first experience
of Baskerville Hall.
As Sir Henry
and I sat
at breakfast the sunlight flooded
in
through the high mullioned windows,
throwing watery patches
of colour
from the coats
of arms
which covered them.
The dark panelling glowed
like bronze
in the golden rays,
and it was hard
to realize
that this was indeed the chamber
which had struck such a gloom
into our souls upon the evening before.
, , , ,
“I guess it is ourselves
and not the house
that we have
to blame!”
said the baronet.
“We were tired
with our journey
and chilled
by our drive,
so we took a gray view
of the place.
Now we are fresh
and well,
so it is all cheerful once more.”
, , , ,
“And yet it was not entirely a question
of imagination,”
I answered.
“Did you,
for example,
happen
to hear someone,
a woman I think,
sobbing
in the night?”
, , , ,
“That is curious,
for I did
when I was half asleep fancy
that I heard something
of the sort.
I waited quite a time,
but
there was no more
of it,
so I concluded
that it was all a dream.”
, , , ,
“I heard it distinctly,
and I am sure
that it was really the sob
of a woman.”
, , , ,
“We must ask
about this right away.”
He rang the bell
and asked Barrymore whether he
could account
for our experience.
It seemed
to me
that the pallid features
of the butler turned a shade paler still
as he listened
to his master’s question.
, , , ,
“There are only two women
in the house,
Sir Henry,”
he answered.
“One is the scullery-maid,
who sleeps
in the other wing.
The other is my wife,
and I
can answer
for it
that the sound
could not have come
from her.”
, , , ,
And yet he lied
as he said it,
for it chanced
that after breakfast I met Mrs. Barrymore
in the long corridor
with the sun full upon her face.
She was a large,
impassive,
heavy-featured woman
with a stern set expression
of mouth.
But her tell-tale eyes were red
and glanced
at me
from
between swollen lids.
It was she,
then,
who wept
in the night,
and
if she did so her husband must know it.
Yet he had taken the obvious risk
of discovery
in declaring
that it was not so.
Why had he done this?
And
why did she weep so bitterly?
Already round this pale-faced,
handsome,
black-bearded man
there was gathering an atmosphere
of mystery and
of gloom.
It was he
who had been the first
to discover the body
of Sir Charles,
and we had only his word
for all the circumstances
which led up
to the old man’s death.
Was it possible
that it was Barrymore after all whom we had seen
in the cab
in Regent Street?
The beard might well have been the same.
The cabman had described a somewhat shorter man,
but such an impression might easily have been erroneous.
How
could I settle the point forever?
Obviously the first thing
to do was
to see the Grimpen postmaster,
and find whether the test telegram had really been placed
in Barrymore’s own hands.
Be the answer
what it might,
I should
at least have something
to report
to Sherlock Holmes.
, , , ,
Sir Henry had numerous papers
to examine after breakfast,
so
that the time was propitious
for my excursion.
It was a pleasant walk
of four miles
along the edge
of the moor,
leading me
at last
to a small gray hamlet,
in
which two larger buildings,
which proved
to be the inn
and the house
of Dr. Mortimer,
stood high
above the rest.
The postmaster,
who was also the village grocer,
had a clear recollection
of the telegram.
, , , ,
“Certainly,
sir,”
said he,
“I had the telegram delivered
to Mr. Barrymore exactly
as directed.”
, , , ,
“Who delivered it?”
, , , ,
“My boy here.
James,
you delivered
that telegram
to Mr. Barrymore
at the Hall last week,
did you not?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
father,
I delivered it.”
, , , ,
“Into his own hands?”
I asked.
, , , ,
“Well,
he was up
in the loft
at the time,
so
that I
could not put it
into his own hands,
but I gave it
into Mrs. Barrymore’s hands,
and she promised
to deliver it
at once.”
, , , ,
“Did you see Mr. Barrymore?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir;
I tell you he was
in the loft.”
, , , ,
“If you didn’t see him,
how do you know he was
in the loft?”
, , , ,
“Well,
surely his own wife ought
to know
where he is,”
said the postmaster testily.
“Didn’t he get the telegram?
If
there is any mistake it is
for Mr. Barrymore himself
to complain.”
, , , ,
It seemed hopeless
to pursue the inquiry any farther,
but it was clear that
in spite
of Holmes’s ruse we had no proof
that Barrymore had not been
in London all the time.
Suppose
that it were so
--suppose
that the same man had been the last
who had seen Sir Charles alive,
and the first
to dog the new heir
when he returned
to England.
What then?
Was he the agent
of others
or had he some sinister design
of his own?
What interest
could he have
in persecuting the Baskerville family?
I thought
of the strange warning clipped out
of the leading article
of the Times.
Was
that his work
or was it possibly the doing
of someone
who was bent upon counteracting his schemes?
The only conceivable motive was
that
which had been suggested
by Sir Henry,
that
if the family
could be scared away a comfortable
and permanent home
would be secured
for the Barrymores.
But surely such an explanation
as
that
would be quite inadequate
to account
for the deep
and subtle scheming
which seemed
to be weaving an invisible net round the young baronet.
Holmes himself had said
that no more complex case had come
to him
in all the long series
of his sensational investigations.
I prayed,
as I walked back
along the gray,
lonely road,
that my friend might soon be freed
from his preoccupations
and able
to come down
to take this heavy burden
of responsibility
from my shoulders.
, , , ,
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted
by the sound
of running feet
behind me and
by a voice
which called me
by name.
I turned,
expecting
to see Dr. Mortimer,
but
to my surprise it was a stranger
who was pursuing me.
He was a small,
slim,
clean-shaven,
prim-faced man,
flaxen-haired
and lean-jawed,
between thirty
and forty years
of age,
dressed
in a gray suit
and wearing a straw hat.
A tin box
for botanical specimens hung
over his shoulder
and he carried a green butterfly-net
in one
of his hands.
, , , ,
“You will,
I am sure,
excuse my presumption,
Dr. Watson,”
said he,
as he came panting up
to
where I stood.
“Here
on the moor we are homely folk
and do not wait
for formal introductions.
You may possibly have heard my name
from our mutual friend,
Mortimer.
I am Stapleton,
of Merripit House.”
, , , ,
“Your net
and box
would have told me
as much,”
said I,
“for I knew
that Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist.
But
how did you know me?”
, , , ,
“I have been calling
on Mortimer,
and he pointed you out
to me
from the window
of his surgery
as you passed.
As our road lay the same way I thought
that I
would overtake you
and introduce myself.
I trust
that Sir Henry is none the worse
for his journey?”
, , , ,
“He is very well,
thank you.”
, , , ,
“We were all rather afraid
that after the sad death
of Sir Charles the new baronet might refuse
to live here.
It is asking much
of a wealthy man
to come down
and bury himself
in a place
of this kind,
but I need not tell you
that it means a very great deal
to the country-side.
Sir Henry has,
I suppose,
no superstitious fears
in the matter?”
, , , ,
“I do not think
that it is likely.”
, , , ,
“Of course you know the legend
of the fiend dog
which haunts the family?”
, , , ,
“I have heard it.”
, , , ,
“It is extraordinary
how credulous the peasants are
about here!
Any number
of them are ready
to swear
that they have seen such a creature upon the moor.”
He spoke
with a smile,
but I seemed
to read
in his eyes
that he took the matter more seriously.
“The story took a great hold upon the imagination
of Sir Charles,
and I have no doubt
that it led
to his tragic end.”
, , , ,
“But how?”
, , , ,
“His nerves were so worked up
that the appearance
of any dog might have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart.
I fancy
that he really did see something
of the kind upon
that last night
in the Yew Alley.
I feared
that some disaster might occur,
for I was very fond
of the old man,
and I knew
that his heart was weak.”
, , , ,
“How did you know that?”
, , , ,
“My friend Mortimer told me.”
, , , ,
“You think,
then,
that some dog pursued Sir Charles,
and
that he died
of fright
in consequence?”
, , , ,
“Have you any better explanation?”
, , , ,
“I have not come
to any conclusion.”
, , , ,
“Has Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
, , , ,
The words took away my breath
for an instant,
but a glance
at the placid face
and steadfast eyes
of my companion showed
that no surprise was intended.
, , , ,
“It is useless
for us
to pretend
that we do not know you,
Dr. Watson,”
said he.
“The records
of your detective have reached us here,
and you
could not celebrate him without being known yourself.
When Mortimer told me your name he
could not deny your identity.
If you are here,
then it follows
that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself
in the matter,
and I am naturally curious
to know
what view he may take.”
, , , ,
“I am afraid
that I cannot answer
that question.”
, , , ,
“May I ask
if he is going
to honour us
with a visit himself?”
, , , ,
“He cannot leave town
at present.
He has other cases
which engage his attention.”
, , , ,
“What a pity!
He might throw some light
on
that
which is so dark
to us.
But as
to your own researches,
if
there is any possible way
in
which I
can be
of service
to you I trust
that you
will command me.
If I had any indication
of the nature
of your suspicions
or
how you propose
to investigate the case,
I might perhaps
even now give you some aid
or advice.”
, , , ,
“I assure you
that I am simply here upon a visit
to my friend,
Sir Henry,
and
that I need no help
of any kind.”
, , , ,
“Excellent!”
said Stapleton.
“You are perfectly right
to be wary
and discreet.
I am justly reproved
for
what I feel was an unjustifiable intrusion,
and I promise you
that I
will not mention the matter again.”
, , , ,
We had come
to a point
where a narrow grassy path struck off
from the road
and wound away
across the moor.
A steep,
boulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right
which had
in bygone days been cut
into a granite quarry.
The face
which was turned
towards us formed a dark cliff,
with ferns
and brambles growing
in its niches.
From
over a distant rise
there floated a gray plume
of smoke.
, , , ,
“A moderate walk
along this moor-path brings us
to Merripit House,”
said he.
“Perhaps you
will spare an hour
that I may have the pleasure
of introducing you
to my sister.”
, , , ,
My first thought was
that I
should be
by Sir Henry’s side.
But
then I remembered the pile
of papers
and bills
with
which his study table was littered.
It was certain
that I
could not help
with those.
And Holmes had expressly said
that I
should study the neighbours upon the moor.
I accepted Stapleton’s invitation,
and we turned together down the path.
, , , ,
“It is a wonderful place,
the moor,”
said he,
looking round
over the undulating downs,
long green rollers,
with crests
of jagged granite foaming up
into fantastic surges.
“You never tire
of the moor.
You cannot think the wonderful secrets
which it contains.
It is so vast,
and so barren,
and so mysterious.”
, , , ,
“You know it well,
then?”
, , , ,
“I have only been here two years.
The residents
would call me a newcomer.
We came shortly after Sir Charles settled.
But my tastes led me
to explore every part
of the country round,
and I
should think
that
there are few men
who know it better
than I do.”
, , , ,
“Is it hard
to know?”
, , , ,
“Very hard.
You see,
for example,
this great plain
to the north here
with the queer hills breaking out
of it.
Do you observe anything remarkable
about that?”
, , , ,
“It
would be a rare place
for a gallop.”
, , , ,
“You
would naturally think so
and the thought has cost several their lives
before now.
You notice those bright green spots scattered thickly
over it?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
they seem more fertile
than the rest.”
, , , ,
Stapleton laughed.
, , , ,
“That is the great Grimpen Mire,”
said he.
“A false step yonder means death
to man
or beast.
Only yesterday I saw one
of the moor ponies wander
into it.
He never came out.
I saw his head
for quite a long time craning out
of the bog-hole,
but it sucked him down
at last.
Even
in dry seasons it is a danger
to cross it,
but after these autumn rains it is an awful place.
And yet I
can find my way
to the very heart
of it
and return alive.
By George,
there is another
of those miserable ponies!”
Something brown was rolling
and tossing
among the green sedges.
Then a long,
agonized,
writhing neck shot upward
and a dreadful cry echoed
over the moor.
It turned me cold
with horror,
but my companion’s nerves seemed
to be stronger
than mine.
, , , ,
“It’s gone!”
said he.
“The mire has him.
Two
in two days,
and many more,
perhaps,
for they get
in the way
of going there
in the dry weather,
and never know the difference
until the mire has them
in its clutches.
It’s a bad place,
the great Grimpen Mire.”
, , , ,
“And you say you
can penetrate it?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
there are one
or two paths
which a very active man
can take.
I have found them out.”
, , , ,
“But
why
should you wish
to go
into so horrible a place?”
, , , ,
“Well,
you see the hills beyond?
They are really islands cut off
on all sides
by the impassable mire,
which has crawled round them
in the course
of years.
That is
where the rare plants
and the butterflies are,
if you have the wit
to reach them.”
, , , ,
“I shall try my luck some day.”
, , , ,
He looked
at me
with a surprised face.
, , , ,
“For God’s sake put such an idea out
of your mind,”
said he.
“Your blood
would be upon my head.
I assure you
that
there
would not be the least chance
of your coming back alive.
It is only
by remembering certain complex landmarks
that I am able
to do it.”
, , , ,
“Halloa!”
I cried.
“What is that?”
, , , ,
A long,
low moan,
indescribably sad,
swept
over the moor.
It filled the whole air,
and yet it was impossible
to say whence it came.
From a dull murmur it swelled
into a deep roar,
and
then sank back
into a melancholy,
throbbing murmur once again.
Stapleton looked
at me
with a curious expression
in his face.
, , , ,
“Queer place,
the moor!”
said he.
, , , ,
“But
what is it?”
, , , ,
“The peasants say it is the Hound
of the Baskervilles calling
for its prey.
I’ve heard it once
or twice before,
but never quite so loud.”
, , , ,
I looked round,
with a chill
of fear
in my heart,
at the huge swelling plain,
mottled
with the green patches
of rushes.
Nothing stirred
over the vast expanse save a pair
of ravens,
which croaked loudly
from a tor
behind us.
, , , ,
“You are an educated man.
You
don’t believe such nonsense
as that?”
said I. “What do you think is the cause
of so strange a sound?”
, , , ,
“Bogs make queer noises sometimes.
It’s the mud settling,
or the water rising,
or something.”
, , , ,
“No,
no,
that was a living voice.”
, , , ,
“Well,
perhaps it was.
Did you ever hear a bittern booming?”
, , , ,
“No,
I never did.”
, , , ,
“It’s a very rare bird
--practically extinct
--in England now,
but all things are possible upon the moor.
Yes,
I
should not be surprised
to learn
that
what we have heard is the cry
of the last
of the bitterns.”
, , , ,
“It’s the weirdest,
strangest thing
that ever I heard
in my life.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
it’s rather an uncanny place altogether.
Look
at the hill- side yonder.
What do you make
of those?”
, , , ,
The whole steep slope was covered
with gray circular rings
of stone,
a score
of them
at least.
, , , ,
“What are they?
Sheep-pens?”
, , , ,
“No,
they are the homes
of our worthy ancestors.
Prehistoric man lived thickly
on the moor,
and
as no one
in particular has lived
there since,
we find all his little arrangements exactly
as he left them.
These are his wigwams
with the roofs off.
You
can
even see his hearth
and his couch
if you have the curiosity
to go inside.
, , , ,
“But it is quite a town.
When was it inhabited?”
, , , ,
“Neolithic man
--no date.”
, , , ,
“What did he do?”
, , , ,
“He grazed his cattle
on these slopes,
and he learned
to dig
for tin
when the bronze sword began
to supersede the stone axe.
Look
at the great trench
in the opposite hill.
That is his mark.
Yes,
you
will find some very singular points
about the moor,
Dr. Watson.
Oh,
excuse me an instant!
It is surely Cyclopides.”
, , , ,
A small fly
or moth had fluttered
across our path,
and
in an instant Stapleton was rushing
with extraordinary energy
and speed
in pursuit
of it.
To my dismay the creature flew straight
for the great mire,
and my acquaintance never paused
for an instant,
bounding
from tuft
to tuft
behind it,
his green net waving
in the air.
His gray clothes
and jerky,
zigzag,
irregular progress made him not unlike some huge moth himself.
I was standing watching his pursuit
with a mixture
of admiration
for his extraordinary activity
and fear lest he
should lose his footing
in the treacherous mire,
when I heard the sound
of steps,
and turning round found a woman near me upon the path.
She had come
from the direction
in
which the plume
of smoke indicated the position
of Merripit House,
but the dip
of the moor had hid her
until she was quite close.
, , , ,
I
could not doubt
that this was the Miss Stapleton
of whom I had been told,
since ladies
of any sort must be few upon the moor,
and I remembered
that I had heard someone describe her
as being a beauty.
The woman
who approached me was certainly that,
and
of a most uncommon type.
There
could not have been a greater contrast
between brother
and sister,
for Stapleton was neutral tinted,
with light hair
and gray eyes,
while she was darker
than any brunette whom I have seen
in England
--slim,
elegant,
and tall.
She had a proud,
finely cut face,
so regular
that it might have seemed impassive were it not
for the sensitive mouth
and the beautiful dark,
eager eyes.
With her perfect figure
and elegant dress she was,
indeed,
a strange apparition upon a lonely moorland path.
Her eyes were
on her brother
as I turned,
and
then she quickened her pace
towards me.
I had raised my hat
and was about
to make some explanatory remark,
when her own words turned all my thoughts
into a new channel.
, , , ,
“Go back!”
she said.
“Go straight back
to London,
instantly.”
, , , ,
I
could only stare
at her
in stupid surprise.
Her eyes blazed
at me,
and she tapped the ground impatiently
with her foot.
, , , ,
“Why
should I go back?”
I asked.
, , , ,
“I cannot explain.”
She spoke
in a low,
eager voice,
with a curious lisp
in her utterance.
“But
for God’s sake do
what I ask you.
Go back
and never set foot upon the moor again.”
, , , ,
“But I have only just come.”
, , , ,
“Man,
man!”
she cried.
“Can you not tell
when a warning is
for your own good?
Go back
to London!
Start to-night!
Get away
from this place
at all costs!
Hush,
my brother is coming!
Not a word
of
what I have said.
Would you mind getting
that orchid
for me
among the mares-tails yonder?
We are very rich
in orchids
on the moor,
though,
of course,
you are rather late
to see the beauties
of the place.”
, , , ,
Stapleton had abandoned the chase
and came back
to us breathing hard
and flushed
with his exertions.
, , , ,
“Halloa,
Beryl!”
said he,
and it seemed
to me
that the tone
of his greeting was not altogether a cordial one.
, , , ,
“Well,
Jack,
you are very hot.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I was chasing a Cyclopides.
He is very rare
and seldom found
in the late autumn.
What a pity
that I
should have missed him!”
He spoke unconcernedly,
but his small light eyes glanced incessantly
from the girl
to me.
, , , ,
“You have introduced yourselves,
I
can see.”
, , , ,
“Yes.
I was telling Sir Henry
that it was rather late
for him
to see the true beauties
of the moor.”
, , , ,
“Why,
who do you think this is?”
, , , ,
“I imagine
that it must be Sir Henry Baskerville.”
, , , ,
“No,
no,”
said I. “Only a humble commoner,
but his friend.
My name is Dr. Watson.”
, , , ,
A flush
of vexation passed
over her expressive face.
“We have been talking
at cross purposes,”
said she.
, , , ,
“Why,
you had not very much time
for talk,”
her brother remarked
with the same questioning eyes.
, , , ,
“I talked
as
if Dr. Watson were a resident instead
of being merely a visitor,”
said she.
“It cannot much matter
to him whether it is early
or late
for the orchids.
But you
will come on,
will you not,
and see Merripit House?”
, , , ,
A short walk brought us
to it,
a bleak moorland house,
once the farm
of some grazier
in the old prosperous days,
but now put
into repair
and turned
into a modern dwelling.
An orchard surrounded it,
but the trees,
as is usual upon the moor,
were stunted
and nipped,
and the effect
of the whole place was mean
and melancholy.
We were admitted
by a strange,
wizened,
rusty-coated old manservant,
who seemed
in keeping
with the house.
Inside,
however,
there were large rooms furnished
with an elegance
in
which I seemed
to recognize the taste
of the lady.
As I looked
from their windows
at the interminable granite-flecked moor rolling unbroken
to the farthest horizon I
could not
but marvel
at
what
could have brought this highly educated man
and this beautiful woman
to live
in such a place.
, , , ,
“Queer spot
to choose,
is it not?”
said he
as if
in answer
to my thought.
“And yet we manage
to make ourselves fairly happy,
do we not,
Beryl?”
, , , ,
“Quite happy,”
said she,
but
there was no ring
of conviction
in her words.
, , , ,
“I had a school,”
said Stapleton.
“It was
in the north country.
The work
to a man
of my temperament was mechanical
and uninteresting,
but the privilege
of living
with youth,
of helping
to mould those young minds,
and
of impressing them
with one’s own character
and ideals,
was very dear
to me.
However,
the fates were
against us.
A serious epidemic broke out
in the school
and three
of the boys died.
It never recovered
from the blow,
and much
of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up.
And yet,
if it were not
for the loss
of the charming companionship
of the boys,
I
could rejoice
over my own misfortune,
for,
with my strong tastes
for botany
and zoology,
I find an unlimited field
of work here,
and my sister is
as devoted
to Nature
as I am.
All this,
Dr. Watson,
has been brought upon your head
by your expression
as you surveyed the moor out
of our window.”
, , , ,
“It certainly did cross my mind
that it might be a little dull
--less
for you,
perhaps,
than
for your sister.”
, , , ,
“No,
no,
I am never dull,”
said she,
quickly.
, , , ,
“We have books,
we have our studies,
and we have interesting neighbours.
Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man
in his own line.
Poor Sir Charles was also an admirable companion.
We knew him well,
and miss him more
than I
can tell.
Do you think
that I
should intrude
if I were
to call this afternoon
and make the acquaintance
of Sir Henry?”
, , , ,
“I am sure
that he
would be delighted.”
, , , ,
“Then perhaps you
would mention
that I propose
to do so.
We may
in our humble way do something
to make things more easy
for him
until he becomes accustomed
to his new surroundings.
Will you come upstairs,
Dr. Watson,
and inspect my collection
of Lepidoptera?
I think it is the most complete one
in the south-west
of England.
By the time
that you have looked
through them lunch
will be
almost ready.”
, , , ,
But I was eager
to get back
to my charge.
The melancholy
of the moor,
the death
of the unfortunate pony,
the weird sound
which had been associated
with the grim legend
of the Baskervilles,
all these things tinged my thoughts
with sadness.
Then
on the top
of these more
or less vague impressions
there had come the definite
and distinct warning
of Miss Stapleton,
delivered
with such intense earnestness
that I
could not doubt
that some grave
and deep reason lay
behind it.
I resisted all pressure
to stay
for lunch,
and I set off
at once upon my return journey,
taking the grass-grown path
by
which we had come.
, , , ,
It seems,
however,
that
there must have been some short cut
for those
who knew it,
for
before I had reached the road I was astounded
to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock
by the side
of the track.
Her face was beautifully flushed
with her exertions,
and she held her hand
to her side.
, , , ,
“I have run all the way
in order
to cut you off,
Dr. Watson,”
said she.
“I had not
even time
to put
on my hat.
I must not stop,
or my brother may miss me.
I wanted
to say
to you
how sorry I am
about the stupid mistake I made
in thinking
that you were Sir Henry.
Please forget the words I said,
which have no application whatever
to you.”
, , , ,
“But I can’t forget them,
Miss Stapleton,”
said I. “I am Sir Henry’s friend,
and his welfare is a very close concern
of mine.
Tell me
why it was
that you were so eager
that Sir Henry
should return
to London.”
, , , ,
“A woman’s whim,
Dr. Watson.
When you know me better you
will understand
that I cannot always give reasons
for
what I say
or do.”
, , , ,
“No,
no.
I remember the thrill
in your voice.
I remember the look
in your eyes.
Please,
please,
be frank
with me,
Miss Stapleton,
for ever
since I have been here I have been conscious
of shadows all round me.
Life has become like
that great Grimpen Mire,
with little green patches everywhere
into
which one may sink
and
with no guide
to point the track.
Tell me
then
what it was
that you meant,
and I
will promise
to convey your warning
to Sir Henry.”
, , , ,
An expression
of irresolution passed
for an instant
over her face,
but her eyes had hardened again
when she answered me.
, , , ,
“You make too much
of it,
Dr. Watson,”
said she.
“My brother
and I were very much shocked
by the death
of Sir Charles.
We knew him very intimately,
for his favourite walk was
over the moor
to our house.
He was deeply impressed
with the curse
which hung
over the family,
and
when this tragedy came I naturally felt
that
there must be some grounds
for the fears
which he had expressed.
I was distressed therefore
when another member
of the family came down
to live here,
and I felt
that he
should be warned
of the danger
which he
will run.
That was all
which I intended
to convey.
, , , ,
“But
what is the danger?”
, , , ,
“You know the story
of the hound?”
, , , ,
“I do not believe
in such nonsense.”
, , , ,
“But I do.
If you have any influence
with Sir Henry,
take him away
from a place
which has always been fatal
to his family.
The world is wide.
Why
should he wish
to live
at the place
of danger?”
, , , ,
“Because it is the place
of danger.
That is Sir Henry’s nature.
I fear
that
unless you
can give me some more definite information
than this it
would be impossible
to get him
to move.”
, , , ,
“I cannot say anything definite,
for I do not know anything definite.”
, , , ,
“I
would ask you one more question,
Miss Stapleton.
If you meant no more
than this
when you first spoke
to me,
why
should you not wish your brother
to overhear
what you said?
There is nothing
to
which he,
or anyone else,
could object.”
, , , ,
“My brother is very anxious
to have the Hall inhabited,
for he thinks it is
for the good
of the poor folk upon the moor.
He
would be very angry
if he knew
that I have said anything
which might induce Sir Henry
to go away.
But I have done my duty now
and I
will say no more.
I must get back,
or he
will miss me
and suspect
that I have seen you.
Good-bye!”
She turned
and had disappeared
in a few minutes
among the scattered boulders,
while I,
with my soul full
of vague fears,
pursued my way
to Baskerville Hall.
, , , ,
Chapter 8
First Report
of Dr. Watson
From this point onward I
will follow the course
of events
by transcribing my own letters
to Mr. Sherlock Holmes
which lie
before me
on the table.
One page is missing,
but otherwise they are exactly
as written
and show my feelings
and suspicions
of the moment more accurately
than my memory,
clear
as it is upon these tragic events,
can possibly do.
, , , ,
BASKERVILLE HALL,
October 13th.
, , , ,
MY DEAR HOLMES,
--My previous letters
and telegrams have kept you pretty well up
to date as
to all
that has occurred
in this most God-forsaken corner
of the world.
The longer one stays here the more does the spirit
of the moor sink
into one’s soul,
its vastness,
and also its grim charm.
When you are once out upon its bosom you have left all traces
of modern England
behind you,
but
on the other hand you are conscious everywhere
of the homes
and the work
of the prehistoric people.
On all sides
of you
as you walk are the houses
of these forgotten folk,
with their graves
and the huge monoliths
which are supposed
to have marked their temples.
As you look
at their gray stone huts
against the scarred hill-sides you leave your own age
behind you,
and
if you were
to see a skin-clad,
hairy man crawl out
from the low door fitting a flint-tipped arrow
on
to the string
of his bow,
you
would feel
that his presence
there was more natural
than your own.
The strange thing is
that they
should have lived so thickly
on
what must always have been most unfruitful soil.
I am no antiquarian,
but I
could imagine
that they were some unwarlike
and harried race
who were forced
to accept
that
which none other
would occupy.
, , , ,
All this,
however,
is foreign
to the mission
on
which you sent me
and
will probably be very uninteresting
to your severely practical mind.
I
can still remember your complete indifference as
to whether the sun moved round the earth
or the earth round the sun.
Let me,
therefore,
return
to the facts concerning Sir Henry Baskerville.
, , , ,
If you have not had any report within the last few days it is
because up
to to-day
there was nothing
of importance
to relate.
Then a very surprising circumstance occurred,
which I shall tell you
in due course.
But,
first
of all,
I must keep you
in touch
with some
of the other factors
in the situation.
, , , ,
One
of these,
concerning
which I have said little,
is the escaped convict upon the moor.
There is strong reason now
to believe
that he has got right away,
which is a considerable relief
to the lonely householders
of this district.
A fortnight has passed
since his flight,
during
which he has not been seen
and nothing has been heard
of him.
It is surely inconceivable
that he
could have held out upon the moor during all
that time.
Of course,
so far
as his concealment goes
there is no difficulty
at all.
Any one
of these stone huts
would give him a hiding-place.
But
there is nothing
to eat
unless he were
to catch
and slaughter one
of the moor sheep.
We think,
therefore,
that he has gone,
and the outlying farmers sleep the better
in consequence.
, , , ,
We are four able-bodied men
in this household,
so
that we
could take good care
of ourselves,
but I confess
that I have had uneasy moments
when I have thought
of the Stapletons.
They live miles
from any help.
There are one maid,
an old manservant,
the sister,
and the brother,
the latter not a very strong man.
They
would be helpless
in the hands
of a desperate fellow
like this Notting Hill criminal,
if he
could once effect an entrance.
Both Sir Henry
and I were concerned
at their situation,
and it was suggested
that Perkins the groom
should go over
to sleep there,
but Stapleton
would not hear
of it.
, , , ,
The fact is
that our friend,
the baronet,
begins
to display a considerable interest
in our fair neighbour.
It is not
to be wondered at,
for time hangs heavily
in this lonely spot
to an active man
like him,
and she is a very fascinating
and beautiful woman.
There is something tropical
and exotic
about her
which forms a singular contrast
to her cool
and unemotional brother.
Yet he also gives the idea
of hidden fires.
He has certainly a very marked influence
over her,
for I have seen her continually glance
at him
as she talked
as
if seeking approbation
for
what she said.
I trust
that he is kind
to her.
There is a dry glitter
in his eyes,
and a firm set
of his thin lips,
which goes
with a positive
and possibly a harsh nature.
You
would find him an interesting study.
, , , ,
He came over
to call upon Baskerville
on
that first day,
and the very next morning he took us both
to show us the spot
where the legend
of the wicked Hugo is supposed
to have had its origin.
It was an excursion
of some miles
across the moor
to a place
which is so dismal
that it might have suggested the story.
We found a short valley
between rugged tors
which led
to an open,
grassy space flecked over
with the white cotton grass.
In the middle
of it rose two great stones,
worn
and sharpened
at the upper end,
until they looked
like the huge corroding fangs
of some monstrous beast.
In every way it corresponded
with the scene
of the old tragedy.
Sir Henry was much interested
and asked Stapleton more
than once whether he did really believe
in the possibility
of the interference
of the supernatural
in the affairs
of men.
He spoke lightly,
but it was evident
that he was very much
in earnest.
Stapleton was guarded
in his replies,
but it was easy
to see
that he said less
than he might,
and
that he
would not express his whole opinion out
of consideration
for the feelings
of the baronet.
He told us
of similar cases,
where families had suffered
from some evil influence,
and he left us
with the impression
that he shared the popular view upon the matter.
, , , ,
On our way back we stayed
for lunch
at Merripit House,
and it was there
that Sir Henry made the acquaintance
of Miss Stapleton.
From the first moment
that he saw her he appeared
to be strongly attracted
by her,
and I am much mistaken
if the feeling was not mutual.
He referred
to her again
and again
on our walk home,
and since
then
hardly a day has passed
that we have not seen something
of the brother
and sister.
They dine here to-night,
and
there is some talk
of our going
to them next week.
One
would imagine
that such a match
would be very welcome
to Stapleton,
and yet I have more
than once caught a look
of the strongest disapprobation
in his face
when Sir Henry has been paying some attention
to his sister.
He is much attached
to her,
no doubt,
and
would lead a lonely life without her,
but it
would seem the height
of selfishness
if he were
to stand
in the way
of her making so brilliant a marriage.
Yet I am certain
that he does not wish their intimacy
to ripen
into love,
and I have several times observed
that he has taken pains
to prevent them
from being _tête-à-tête_.
By the way,
your instructions
to me never
to allow Sir Henry
to go out alone
will become very much more onerous
if a love affair were
to be added
to our other difficulties.
My popularity
would soon suffer
if I were
to carry out your orders
to the letter.
, , , ,
The other day
--Thursday,
to be more exact
--Dr. Mortimer lunched
with us.
He has been excavating a barrow
at Long Down,
and has got a prehistoric skull
which fills him
with great joy.
Never was
there such a single-minded enthusiast
as he!
The Stapletons came
in afterwards,
and the good doctor took us all
to the Yew Alley,
at Sir Henry’s request,
to show us exactly
how everything occurred upon
that fatal night.
It is a long,
dismal walk,
the Yew Alley,
between two high walls
of clipped hedge,
with a narrow band
of grass upon either side.
At the far end is an old tumble-down summer-house.
Half-way down is the moor-gate,
where the old gentleman left his cigar-ash.
It is a white wooden gate
with a latch.
Beyond it lies the wide moor.
I remembered your theory
of the affair
and tried
to picture all
that had occurred.
As the old man stood
there he saw something coming
across the moor,
something
which terrified him so
that he lost his wits,
and ran
and ran
until he died
of sheer horror
and exhaustion.
There was the long,
gloomy tunnel down
which he fled.
And
from what?
A sheep-dog
of the moor?
Or a spectral hound,
black,
silent,
and monstrous?
Was
there a human agency
in the matter?
Did the pale,
watchful Barrymore know more
than he cared
to say?
It was all dim
and vague,
but always
there is the dark shadow
of crime
behind it.
, , , ,
One other neighbour I have met
since I wrote last.
This is Mr. Frankland,
of Lafter Hall,
who lives some four miles
to the south
of us.
He is an elderly man,
red-faced,
white-haired,
and choleric.
His passion is
for the British law,
and he has spent a large fortune
in litigation.
He fights
for the mere pleasure
of fighting
and is equally ready
to take up either side
of a question,
so
that it is no wonder
that he has found it a costly amusement.
Sometimes he
will shut up a right
of way
and defy the parish
to make him open it.
At others he will
with his own hands tear down some other man’s gate
and declare
that a path has existed there
from time immemorial,
defying the owner
to prosecute him
for trespass.
He is learned
in old manorial
and communal rights,
and he applies his knowledge sometimes
in favour
of the villagers
of Fernworthy
and sometimes
against them,
so
that he is periodically either carried
in triumph down the village street
or else burned
in effigy,
according
to his latest exploit.
He is said
to have
about seven lawsuits upon his hands
at present,
which
will probably swallow up the remainder
of his fortune
and so draw his sting
and leave him harmless
for the future.
Apart
from the law he seems a kindly,
good-natured person,
and I only mention him
because you were particular
that I
should send some description
of the people
who surround us.
He is curiously employed
at present,
for,
being an amateur astronomer,
he has an excellent telescope,
with
which he lies upon the roof
of his own house
and sweeps the moor all day
in the hope
of catching a glimpse
of the escaped convict.
If he
would confine his energies
to this all
would be well,
but
there are rumours
that he intends
to prosecute Dr. Mortimer
for opening a grave without the consent
of the next-of-kin,
because he dug up the Neolithic skull
in the barrow
on Long Down.
He helps
to keep our lives
from being monotonous
and gives a little comic relief
where it is badly needed.
, , , ,
And now,
having brought you up
to date
in the escaped convict,
the Stapletons,
Dr. Mortimer,
and Frankland,
of Lafter Hall,
let me end
on
that
which is most important
and tell you more
about the Barrymores,
and especially
about the surprising development
of last night.
, , , ,
First
of all
about the test telegram,
which you sent
from London
in order
to make sure
that Barrymore was really here.
I have already explained
that the testimony
of the postmaster shows
that the test was worthless
and
that we have no proof one way
or the other.
I told Sir Henry
how the matter stood,
and he
at once,
in his downright fashion,
had Barrymore up
and asked him whether he had received the telegram himself.
Barrymore said
that he had.
, , , ,
“Did the boy deliver it
into your own hands?”
asked Sir Henry.
, , , ,
Barrymore looked surprised,
and considered
for a little time.
, , , ,
“No,”
said he,
“I was
in the box-room
at the time,
and my wife brought it up
to me.”
, , , ,
“Did you answer it yourself?”
, , , ,
“No;
I told my wife what
to answer
and she went down
to write it.”
, , , ,
In the evening he recurred
to the subject
of his own accord.
, , , ,
“I
could not quite understand the object
of your questions this morning,
Sir Henry,”
said he.
“I trust
that they do not mean
that I have done anything
to forfeit your confidence?”
, , , ,
Sir Henry had
to assure him
that it was not so
and pacify him
by giving him a considerable part
of his old wardrobe,
the London outfit having now all arrived.
, , , ,
Mrs. Barrymore is
of interest
to me.
She is a heavy,
solid person,
very limited,
intensely respectable,
and inclined
to be puritanical.
You
could
hardly conceive a less emotional subject.
Yet I have told you how,
on the first night here,
I heard her sobbing bitterly,
and since
then I have more
than once observed traces
of tears upon her face.
Some deep sorrow gnaws ever
at her heart.
Sometimes I wonder
if she has a guilty memory
which haunts her,
and sometimes I suspect Barrymore
of being a domestic tyrant.
I have always felt
that
there was something singular
and questionable
in this man’s character,
but the adventure
of last night brings all my suspicions
to a head.
, , , ,
And yet it may seem a small matter
in itself.
You are aware
that I am not a very sound sleeper,
and
since I have been
on guard
in this house my slumbers have been lighter
than ever.
Last night,
about two
in the morning,
I was aroused
by a stealthy step passing my room.
I rose,
opened my door,
and peeped out.
A long black shadow was trailing down the corridor.
It was thrown
by a man
who walked softly down the passage
with a candle held
in his hand.
He was
in shirt
and trousers,
with no covering
to his feet.
I
could merely see the outline,
but his height told me
that it was Barrymore.
He walked very slowly
and circumspectly,
and
there was something indescribably guilty
and furtive
in his whole appearance.
, , , ,
I have told you
that the corridor is broken
by the balcony
which runs round the hall,
but
that it is resumed upon the farther side.
I waited
until he had passed out
of sight
and
then I followed him.
When I came round the balcony he had reached the end
of the farther corridor,
and I
could see
from the glimmer
of light
through an open door
that he had entered one
of the rooms.
Now,
all these rooms are unfurnished
and unoccupied,
so
that his expedition became more mysterious
than ever.
The light shone steadily
as
if he were standing motionless.
I crept down the passage
as noiselessly
as I could
and peeped round the corner
of the door.
, , , ,
Barrymore was crouching
at the window
with the candle held
against the glass.
His profile was half turned
towards me,
and his face seemed
to be rigid
with expectation
as he stared out
into the blackness
of the moor.
For some minutes he stood watching intently.
Then he gave a deep groan
and
with an impatient gesture he put out the light.
Instantly I made my way back
to my room,
and very shortly came the stealthy steps passing once more upon their return journey.
Long afterwards
when I had fallen
into a light sleep I heard a key turn somewhere
in a lock,
but I
could not tell whence the sound came.
What it all means I cannot guess,
but
there is some secret business going on
in this house
of gloom
which sooner
or later we shall get
to the bottom of.
I do not trouble you
with my theories,
for you asked me
to furnish you only
with facts.
I have had a long talk
with Sir Henry this morning,
and we have made a plan
of campaign founded upon my observations
of last night.
I
will not speak
about it just now,
but it
should make my next report interesting reading.
, , , ,
Chapter 9
(Second Report
of Dr. Watson)
THE LIGHT UPON THE MOOR
BASKERVILLE HALL,
Oct.
15th.
, , , ,
MY DEAR HOLMES,
--If I was compelled
to leave you without much news during the early days
of my mission you must acknowledge
that I am making up
for lost time,
and
that events are now crowding thick
and fast upon us.
In my last report I ended upon my top note
with Barrymore
at the window,
and now I have quite a budget already
which will,
unless I am much mistaken,
considerably surprise you.
Things have taken a turn
which I
could not have anticipated.
In some ways they have within the last forty-eight hours become much clearer and
in some ways they have become more complicated.
But I
will tell you all
and you shall judge
for yourself.
, , , ,
Before breakfast
on the morning following my adventure I went down the corridor
and examined the room
in
which Barrymore had been
on the night before.
The western window through
which he had stared so intently has,
I noticed,
one peculiarity
above all other windows
in the house
--it commands the nearest outlook
on the moor.
There is an opening
between two trees
which enables one
from this point
of view
to look right down upon it,
while
from all the other windows it is only a distant glimpse which
can be obtained.
It follows,
therefore,
that Barrymore,
since only this window
would serve the purpose,
must have been looking out
for something
or somebody upon the moor.
The night was very dark,
so
that I
can
hardly imagine
how he
could have hoped
to see anyone.
It had struck me
that it was possible
that some love intrigue was
on foot.
That
would have accounted
for his stealthy movements
and also
for the uneasiness
of his wife.
The man is a striking-looking fellow,
very well equipped
to steal the heart
of a country girl,
so
that this theory seemed
to have something
to support it.
That opening
of the door
which I had heard after I had returned
to my room might mean
that he had gone out
to keep some clandestine appointment.
So I reasoned
with myself
in the morning,
and I tell you the direction
of my suspicions,
however much the result may have shown
that they were unfounded.
, , , ,
But whatever the true explanation
of Barrymore’s movements might be,
I felt
that the responsibility
of keeping them
to myself
until I
could explain them was more
than I
could bear.
I had an interview
with the baronet
in his study after breakfast,
and I told him all
that I had seen.
He was less surprised
than I had expected.
, , , ,
“I knew
that Barrymore walked
about nights,
and I had a mind
to speak
to him
about it,”
said he.
“Two
or three times I have heard his steps
in the passage,
coming
and going,
just
about the hour you name.”
, , , ,
“Perhaps
then he pays a visit every night
to
that particular window,”
I suggested.
, , , ,
“Perhaps he does.
If so,
we
should be able
to shadow him,
and see
what it is
that he is after.
I wonder
what your friend Holmes
would do,
if he were here.”
, , , ,
“I believe
that he
would do exactly
what you now suggest,”
said I. “He
would follow Barrymore
and see
what he did.”
, , , ,
“Then we shall do it together.”
, , , ,
“But surely he
would hear us.”
, , , ,
“The man is rather deaf,
and
in any case we must take our chance
of that.
We’ll sit up
in my room to-night
and wait
until he passes.”
Sir Henry rubbed his hands
with pleasure,
and it was evident
that he hailed the adventure
as a relief
to his somewhat quiet life upon the moor.
, , , ,
The baronet has been
in communication
with the architect
who prepared the plans
for Sir Charles,
and
with a contractor
from London,
so
that we may expect great changes
to begin here soon.
There have been decorators
and furnishers up
from Plymouth,
and it is evident
that our friend has large ideas,
and means
to spare no pains
or expense
to restore the grandeur
of his family.
When the house is renovated
and refurnished,
all
that he
will need
will be a wife
to make it complete.
Between ourselves
there are pretty clear signs
that this
will not be wanting
if the lady is willing,
for I have seldom seen a man more infatuated
with a woman
than he is
with our beautiful neighbour,
Miss Stapleton.
And yet the course
of true love does not run quite
as smoothly
as one would
under the circumstances expect.
To-day,
for example,
its surface was broken
by a very unexpected ripple,
which has caused our friend considerable perplexity
and annoyance.
, , , ,
After the conversation
which I have quoted
about Barrymore,
Sir Henry put
on his hat
and prepared
to go out.
As a matter
of course I did the same.
, , , ,
“What,
are you coming,
Watson?”
he asked,
looking
at me
in a curious way.
, , , ,
“That depends
on whether you are going
on the moor,”
said I.
“Yes,
I am.”
, , , ,
“Well,
you know
what my instructions are.
I am sorry
to intrude,
but you heard
how earnestly Holmes insisted
that I
should not leave you,
and especially
that you
should not go alone upon the moor.”
, , , ,
Sir Henry put his hand upon my shoulder
with a pleasant smile.
, , , ,
“My dear fellow,”
said he,
“Holmes,
with all his wisdom,
did not foresee some things
which have happened
since I have been
on the moor.
You understand me?
I am sure
that you are the last man
in the world
who
would wish
to be a spoil-sport.
I must go out alone.”
, , , ,
It put me
in a most awkward position.
I was
at a loss what
to say
or what
to do,
and
before I had made up my mind he picked up his cane
and was gone.
, , , ,
But
when I came
to think the matter
over my conscience reproached me bitterly
for having
on any pretext allowed him
to go out
of my sight.
I imagined
what my feelings
would be
if I had
to return
to you and
to confess
that some misfortune had occurred
through my disregard
for your instructions.
I assure you my cheeks flushed
at the very thought.
It might not
even now be too late
to overtake him,
so I set off
at once
in the direction
of Merripit House.
, , , ,
I hurried
along the road
at the top
of my speed without seeing anything
of Sir Henry,
until I came
to the point
where the moor path branches off.
There,
fearing
that perhaps I had come
in the wrong direction after all,
I mounted a hill
from
which I
could command a view
--the same hill
which is cut
into the dark quarry.
Thence I saw him
at once.
He was
on the moor path,
about a quarter
of a mile off,
and a lady was
by his side
who
could only be Miss Stapleton.
It was clear
that
there was already an understanding
between them
and
that they had met
by appointment.
They were walking slowly along
in deep conversation,
and I saw her making quick little movements
of her hands
as
if she were very earnest
in
what she was saying,
while he listened intently,
and once
or twice shook his head
in strong dissent.
I stood
among the rocks watching them,
very much puzzled as
to
what I
should do next.
To follow them
and break
into their intimate conversation seemed
to be an outrage,
and yet my clear duty was never
for an instant
to let him out
of my sight.
To act the spy upon a friend was a hateful task.
Still,
I
could see no better course than
to observe him
from the hill,
and
to clear my conscience
by confessing
to him afterwards
what I had done.
It is true that
if any sudden danger had threatened him I was too far away
to be
of use,
and yet I am sure
that you
will agree
with me
that the position was very difficult,
and
that
there was nothing more
which I
could do.
, , , ,
Our friend,
Sir Henry,
and the lady had halted
on the path
and were standing deeply absorbed
in their conversation,
when I was suddenly aware
that I was not the only witness
of their interview.
A wisp
of green floating
in the air caught my eye,
and another glance showed me
that it was carried
on a stick
by a man
who was moving
among the broken ground.
It was Stapleton
with his butterfly-net.
He was very much closer
to the pair
than I was,
and he appeared
to be moving
in their direction.
At this instant Sir Henry suddenly drew Miss Stapleton
to his side.
His arm was round her,
but it seemed
to me
that she was straining away
from him
with her face averted.
He stooped his head
to hers,
and she raised one hand
as if
in protest.
Next moment I saw them spring apart
and turn hurriedly round.
Stapleton was the cause
of the interruption.
He was running wildly
towards them,
his absurd net dangling
behind him.
He gesticulated
and
almost danced
with excitement
in front
of the lovers.
What the scene meant I
could not imagine,
but it seemed
to me
that Stapleton was abusing Sir Henry,
who offered explanations,
which became more angry
as the other refused
to accept them.
The lady stood by
in haughty silence.
Finally Stapleton turned upon his heel
and beckoned
in a peremptory way
to his sister,
who,
after an irresolute glance
at Sir Henry,
walked off
by the side
of her brother.
The naturalist’s angry gestures showed
that the lady was included
in his displeasure.
The baronet stood
for a minute looking after them,
and
then he walked slowly back the way
that he had come,
his head hanging,
the very picture
of dejection.
, , , ,
What all this meant I
could not imagine,
but I was deeply ashamed
to have witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend’s knowledge.
I ran down the hill therefore
and met the baronet
at the bottom.
His face was flushed
with anger
and his brows were wrinkled,
like one
who is
at his wit’s ends what
to do.
, , , ,
“Halloa,
Watson!
Where have you dropped from?”
said he.
“You
don’t mean
to say
that you came after me
in spite
of all?”
, , , ,
I explained everything
to him:
how I had found it impossible
to remain behind,
how I had followed him,
and
how I had witnessed all
that had occurred.
For an instant his eyes blazed
at me,
but my frankness disarmed his anger,
and he broke
at last
into a rather rueful laugh.
, , , ,
“You
would have thought the middle
of
that prairie a fairly safe place
for a man
to be private,”
said he,
“but,
by thunder,
the whole country-side seems
to have been out
to see me do my wooing
--and a mighty poor wooing
at that!
Where had you engaged a seat?”
, , , ,
“I was
on
that hill.”
, , , ,
“Quite
in the back row,
eh?
But her brother was well up
to the front.
Did you see him come out
on us?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I did.”
, , , ,
“Did he ever strike you
as being crazy
--this brother
of hers?”
, , , ,
“I can’t say
that he ever did.”
, , , ,
“I dare say not.
I always thought him sane enough
until to-day,
but you
can take it
from me
that either he
or I ought
to be
in a strait-jacket.
What’s the matter
with me,
anyhow?
You’ve lived near me
for some weeks,
Watson.
Tell me straight,
now!
Is
there anything
that
would prevent me
from making a good husband
to a woman
that I loved?”
, , , ,
“I
should say not.”
, , , ,
“He can’t object
to my worldly position,
so it must be myself
that he has this down on.
What has he
against me?
I never hurt man
or woman
in my life
that I know of.
And yet he
would not so much
as let me touch the tips
of her fingers.”
, , , ,
“Did he say so?”
, , , ,
“That,
and a deal more.
I tell you,
Watson,
I’ve only known her these few weeks,
but
from the first I just felt
that she was made
for me,
and she,
too
--she was happy
when she was
with me,
and
that I’ll swear.
There’s a light
in a woman’s eyes
that speaks louder
than words.
But he has never let us get together,
and it was only to-day
for the first time
that I saw a chance
of having a few words
with her alone.
She was glad
to meet me,
but
when she did it was not love
that she
would talk about,
and she wouldn’t have let me talk
about it either
if she
could have stopped it.
She kept coming back
to it
that this was a place
of danger,
and
that she
would never be happy
until I had left it.
I told her
that
since I had seen her I was
in no hurry
to leave it,
and that
if she really wanted me
to go,
the only way
to work it was
for her
to arrange
to go
with me.
With
that I offered
in
as many words
to marry her,
but
before she
could answer,
down came this brother
of hers,
running
at us
with a face
on him
like a madman.
He was just white
with rage,
and those light eyes
of his were blazing
with fury.
What was I doing
with the lady?
How dared I offer her attentions
which were distasteful
to her?
Did I think
that
because I was a baronet I
could do
what I liked?
If he had not been her brother I
should have known better how
to answer him.
As it was I told him
that my feelings
towards his sister were such
as I was not ashamed of,
and
that I hoped
that she might honour me
by becoming my wife.
That seemed
to make the matter no better,
so
then I lost my temper too,
and I answered him rather more hotly
than I
should perhaps,
considering
that she was standing by.
So it ended
by his going off
with her,
as you saw,
and here am I
as badly puzzled a man
as any
in this county.
Just tell me
what it all means,
Watson,
and I’ll owe you more
than ever I
can hope
to pay.”
, , , ,
I tried one
or two explanations,
but,
indeed,
I was completely puzzled myself.
Our friend’s title,
his fortune,
his age,
his character,
and his appearance are all
in his favour,
and I know nothing
against him
unless it be this dark fate
which runs
in his family.
That his advances
should be rejected so brusquely without any reference
to the lady’s own wishes,
and
that the lady
should accept the situation without protest,
is very amazing.
However,
our conjectures were set
at rest
by a visit
from Stapleton himself
that very afternoon.
He had come
to offer apologies
for his rudeness
of the morning,
and after a long private interview
with Sir Henry
in his study,
the upshot
of their conversation was
that the breach is quite healed,
and
that we are
to dine
at Merripit House next Friday
as a sign
of it.
, , , ,
“I
don’t say now
that he isn’t a crazy man,”
said Sir Henry;
“I can’t forget the look
in his eyes
when he ran
at me this morning,
but I must allow
that no man
could make a more handsome apology
than he has done.”
, , , ,
“Did he give any explanation
of his conduct?”
, , , ,
“His sister is everything
in his life,
he says.
That is natural enough,
and I am glad
that he
should understand her value.
They have always been together,
and according
to his account he has been a very lonely man
with only her
as a companion,
so
that the thought
of losing her was really terrible
to him.
He had not understood,
he said,
that I was becoming attached
to her,
but
when he saw
with his own eyes
that it was really so,
and
that she might be taken away
from him,
it gave him such a shock that
for a time he was not responsible
for
what he said
or did.
He was very sorry
for all
that had passed,
and he recognized
how foolish and
how selfish it was
that he
should imagine
that he
could hold a beautiful woman
like his sister
to himself
for her whole life.
If she had
to leave him he had rather it was
to a neighbour
like myself than
to anyone else.
But
in any case it was a blow
to him,
and it
would take him some time
before he
could prepare himself
to meet it.
He
would withdraw all opposition upon his part
if I
would promise
for three months
to let the matter rest and
to be content
with cultivating the lady’s friendship during
that time without claiming her love.
This I promised,
and so the matter rests.”
, , , ,
So
there is one
of our small mysteries cleared up.
It is something
to have touched bottom anywhere
in this bog
in
which we are floundering.
We know now
why Stapleton looked
with disfavour upon his sister’s suitor
--even
when
that suitor was so eligible a one
as Sir Henry.
And now I pass
on
to another thread
which I have extricated out
of the tangled skein,
the mystery
of the sobs
in the night,
of the tear-stained face
of Mrs. Barrymore,
of the secret journey
of the butler
to the western lattice window.
Congratulate me,
my dear Holmes,
and tell me
that I have not disappointed you
as an agent
--that you do not regret the confidence
which you showed
in me
when you sent me down.
All these things have
by one night’s work been thoroughly cleared.
, , , ,
I have said “by one night’s work,”
but,
in truth,
it was
by two nights’ work,
for
on the first we drew entirely blank.
I sat up
with Sir Henry
in his rooms
until nearly three o’clock
in the morning,
but no sound
of any sort did we hear except the chiming clock upon the stairs.
It was a most melancholy vigil,
and ended
by each
of us falling asleep
in our chairs.
Fortunately we were not discouraged,
and we determined
to try again.
The next night we lowered the lamp,
and sat smoking cigarettes without making the least sound.
It was incredible
how slowly the hours crawled by,
and yet we were helped
through it
by the same sort
of patient interest
which the hunter must feel
as he watches the trap
into
which he hopes the game may wander.
One struck,
and two,
and we had almost
for the second time given it up
in despair,
when
in an instant we both sat bolt upright
in our chairs,
with all our weary senses keenly
on the alert once more.
We had heard the creak
of a step
in the passage.
, , , ,
Very stealthily we heard it pass
along
until it died away
in the distance.
Then the baronet gently opened his door
and we set out
in pursuit.
Already our man had gone round the gallery,
and the corridor was all
in darkness.
Softly we stole
along
until we had come
into the other wing.
We were just
in time
to catch a glimpse
of the tall,
black-bearded figure,
his shoulders rounded,
as he tip-toed down the passage.
Then he passed
through the same door
as before,
and the light
of the candle framed it
in the darkness
and shot one single yellow beam
across the gloom
of the corridor.
We shuffled cautiously
towards it,
trying every plank
before we dared
to put our whole weight upon it.
We had taken the precaution
of leaving our boots
behind us,
but,
even so,
the old boards snapped
and creaked
beneath our tread.
Sometimes it seemed impossible
that he
should fail
to hear our approach.
However,
the man is fortunately rather deaf,
and he was entirely preoccupied
in
that
which he was doing.
When
at last we reached the door
and peeped
through we found him crouching
at the window,
candle
in hand,
his white,
intent face pressed
against the pane,
exactly
as I had seen him two nights before.
, , , ,
We had arranged no plan
of campaign,
but the baronet is a man
to whom the most direct way is always the most natural.
He walked
into the room,
and
as he did so Barrymore sprang up
from the window
with a sharp hiss
of his breath
and stood,
livid
and trembling,
before us.
His dark eyes,
glaring out
of the white mask
of his face,
were full
of horror
and astonishment
as he gazed
from Sir Henry
to me.
, , , ,
“What are you doing here,
Barrymore?”
, , , ,
“Nothing,
sir.”
His agitation was so great
that he
could
hardly speak,
and the shadows sprang up
and down
from the shaking
of his candle.
“It was the window,
sir.
I go round
at night
to see
that they are fastened.”
, , , ,
“On the second floor?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir,
all the windows.”
, , , ,
“Look here,
Barrymore,”
said Sir Henry,
sternly;
“we have made up our minds
to have the truth out
of you,
so it
will save you trouble
to tell it sooner rather
than later.
Come,
now!
No lies!
What were you doing
at
that window?”
, , , ,
The fellow looked
at us
in a helpless way,
and he wrung his hands together
like one
who is
in the last extremity
of doubt
and misery.
, , , ,
“I was doing no harm,
sir.
I was holding a candle
to the window.”
, , , ,
“And
why were you holding a candle
to the window?”
, , , ,
“Don’t ask me,
Sir Henry
--don’t ask me!
I give you my word,
sir,
that it is not my secret,
and
that I cannot tell it.
If it concerned no one
but myself I
would not try
to keep it
from you.”
, , , ,
A sudden idea occurred
to me,
and I took the candle
from the trembling hand
of the butler.
, , , ,
“He must have been holding it
as a signal,”
said I. “Let us see
if
there is any answer.”
I held it
as he had done,
and stared out
into the darkness
of the night.
Vaguely I
could discern the black bank
of the trees
and the lighter expanse
of the moor,
for the moon was
behind the clouds.
And
then I gave a cry
of exultation,
for a tiny pin-point
of yellow light had suddenly transfixed the dark veil,
and glowed steadily
in the centre
of the black square framed
by the window.
, , , ,
“There it is!”
I cried.
, , , ,
“No,
no,
sir,
it is nothing
--nothing
at all!”
the butler broke in;
“I assure you,
sir
----”
“Move your light
across the window,
Watson!”
cried the baronet.
“See,
the other moves also!
Now,
you rascal,
do you deny
that it is a signal?
Come,
speak up!
Who is your confederate out yonder,
and
what is this conspiracy
that is going on?”
, , , ,
The man’s face became openly defiant.
, , , ,
“It is my business,
and not yours.
I
will not tell.”
, , , ,
“Then you leave my employment right away.”
, , , ,
“Very good,
sir.
If I must I must.”
, , , ,
“And you go
in disgrace.
By thunder,
you may well be ashamed
of yourself.
Your family has lived
with mine
for
over a hundred years
under this roof,
and here I find you deep
in some dark plot
against me.”
, , , ,
“No,
no,
sir;
no,
not
against you!”
It was a woman’s voice,
and Mrs. Barrymore,
paler
and more horror-struck
than her husband,
was standing
at the door.
Her bulky figure
in a shawl
and skirt might have been comic were it not
for the intensity
of feeling upon her face.
, , , ,
“We have
to go,
Eliza.
This is the end
of it.
You
can pack our things,”
said the butler.
, , , ,
“Oh,
John,
John,
have I brought you
to this?
It is my doing,
Sir Henry
--all mine.
He has done nothing except
for my sake
and
because I asked him.”
, , , ,
“Speak out,
then!
What does it mean?”
, , , ,
“My unhappy brother is starving
on the moor.
We cannot let him perish
at our very gates.
The light is a signal
to him
that food is ready
for him,
and his light out yonder is
to show the spot
to which
to bring it.”
, , , ,
“Then your brother is
--”
“The escaped convict,
sir
--Selden,
the criminal.”
, , , ,
“That’s the truth,
sir,”
said Barrymore.
“I said
that it was not my secret
and
that I
could not tell it
to you.
But now you have heard it,
and you
will see that
if
there was a plot it was not
against you.”
, , , ,
This,
then,
was the explanation
of the stealthy expeditions
at night
and the light
at the window.
Sir Henry
and I both stared
at the woman
in amazement.
Was it possible
that this stolidly respectable person was
of the same blood
as one
of the most notorious criminals
in the country?
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir,
my name was Selden,
and he is my younger brother.
We humoured him too much
when he was a lad,
and gave him his own way
in everything
until he came
to think
that the world was made
for his pleasure,
and
that he
could do
what he liked
in it.
Then
as he grew older he met wicked companions,
and the devil entered
into him
until he broke my mother’s heart
and dragged our name
in the dirt.
From crime
to crime he sank lower
and lower,
until it is only the mercy
of God
which has snatched him
from the scaffold;
but
to me,
sir,
he was always the little curly-headed boy
that I had nursed
and played with,
as an elder sister would.
That was
why he broke prison,
sir.
He knew
that I was here
and
that we
could not refuse
to help him.
When he dragged himself here one night,
weary
and starving,
with the warders hard
at his heels,
what
could we do?
We took him
in
and fed him
and cared
for him.
Then you returned,
sir,
and my brother thought he
would be safer
on the moor
than
anywhere else
until the hue
and cry was over,
so he lay
in hiding there.
But every second night we made sure
if he was still there
by putting a light
in the window,
and
if
there was an answer my husband took out some bread
and meat
to him.
Every day we hoped
that he was gone,
but
as long
as he was
there we
could not desert him.
That is the whole truth,
as I am an honest Christian woman,
and you
will see that
if
there is blame
in the matter it does not lie
with my husband,
but
with me,
for whose sake he has done all
that he has.”
, , , ,
The woman’s words came
with an intense earnestness
which carried conviction
with them.
, , , ,
“Is this true,
Barrymore?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
Sir Henry.
Every word
of it.”
, , , ,
“Well,
I cannot blame you
for standing
by your own wife.
Forget
what I have said.
Go
to your room,
you two,
and we shall talk further
about this matter
in the morning.”
, , , ,
When they were gone we looked out
of the window again.
Sir Henry had flung it open,
and the cold night wind beat
in upon our faces.
Far away
in the black distance
there still glowed
that one tiny point
of yellow light.
, , , ,
“I wonder he dares,”
said Sir Henry.
, , , ,
“It may be so placed as
to be only visible
from here.”
, , , ,
“Very likely.
How far do you think it is?”
, , , ,
“Out
by the Cleft Tor,
I think.”
, , , ,
“Not more
than a mile
or two off.”
, , , ,
“Hardly that.”
, , , ,
“Well,
it cannot be far
if Barrymore had
to carry out the food
to it.
And he is waiting,
this villain,
beside
that candle.
By thunder,
Watson,
I am going out
to take
that man!”
The same thought had crossed my own mind.
It was not
as
if the Barrymores had taken us
into their confidence.
Their secret had been forced
from them.
The man was a danger
to the community,
an unmitigated scoundrel
for whom
there was neither pity nor excuse.
We were only doing our duty
in taking this chance
of putting him back
where he
could do no harm.
With his brutal
and violent nature,
others
would have
to pay the price
if we held our hands.
Any night,
for example,
our neighbours the Stapletons might be attacked
by him,
and it may have been the thought
of this
which made Sir Henry so keen upon the adventure.
, , , ,
“I
will come,”
said I.
“Then get your revolver
and put
on your boots.
The sooner we start the better,
as the fellow may put out his light
and be off.”
, , , ,
In five minutes we were outside the door,
starting upon our expedition.
We hurried
through the dark shrubbery,
amid the dull moaning
of the autumn wind
and the rustle
of the falling leaves.
The night air was heavy
with the smell
of damp
and decay.
Now
and again the moon peeped out
for an instant,
but clouds were driving
over the face
of the sky,
and just
as we came out
on the moor a thin rain began
to fall.
The light still burned steadily
in front.
, , , ,
“Are you armed?”
I asked.
, , , ,
“I have a hunting-crop.”
, , , ,
“We must close
in
on him rapidly,
for he is said
to be a desperate fellow.
We shall take him
by surprise
and have him
at our mercy
before he
can resist.”
, , , ,
“I say,
Watson,”
said the baronet,
“what
would Holmes say
to this?
How about
that hour
of darkness
in
which the power
of evil is exalted?”
, , , ,
As if
in answer
to his words
there rose suddenly out
of the vast gloom
of the moor
that strange cry
which I had already heard upon the borders
of the great Grimpen Mire.
It came
with the wind
through the silence
of the night,
a long,
deep mutter,
then a rising howl,
and
then the sad moan
in
which it died away.
Again
and again it sounded,
the whole air throbbing
with it,
strident,
wild,
and menacing.
The baronet caught my sleeve
and his face glimmered white
through the darkness.
, , , ,
“My God,
what’s that,
Watson?”
, , , ,
“I
don’t know.
It’s a sound they have
on the moor.
I heard it once before.”
, , , ,
It died away,
and an absolute silence closed
in upon us.
We stood straining our ears,
but nothing came.
, , , ,
“Watson,”
said the baronet,
“it was the cry
of a hound.”
, , , ,
My blood ran cold
in my veins,
for
there was a break
in his voice
which told
of the sudden horror
which had seized him.
, , , ,
“What do they call this sound?”
he asked.
, , , ,
“Who?”
, , , ,
“The folk
on the country-side.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
they are ignorant people.
Why
should you mind
what they call it?”
, , , ,
“Tell me,
Watson.
What do they say
of it?”
, , , ,
I hesitated
but
could not escape the question.
, , , ,
“They say it is the cry
of the Hound
of the Baskervilles.”
, , , ,
He groaned
and was silent
for a few moments.
, , , ,
“A hound it was,”
he said,
at last,
“but it seemed
to come
from miles away,
over yonder,
I think.”
, , , ,
“It was hard
to say whence it came.”
, , , ,
“It rose
and fell
with the wind.
Isn’t
that the direction
of the great Grimpen Mire?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
it is.”
, , , ,
“Well,
it was up there.
Come now,
Watson,
didn’t you think yourself
that it was the cry
of a hound?
I am not a child.
You need not fear
to speak the truth.”
, , , ,
“Stapleton was
with me
when I heard it last.
He said
that it might be the calling
of a strange bird.”
, , , ,
“No,
no,
it was a hound.
My God,
can
there be some truth
in all these stories?
Is it possible
that I am really
in danger
from so dark a cause?
You
don’t believe it,
do you,
Watson?”
, , , ,
“No,
no.”
, , , ,
“And yet it was one thing
to laugh
about it
in London,
and it is another
to stand out here
in the darkness
of the moor and
to hear such a cry
as that.
And my uncle!
There was the footprint
of the hound beside him
as he lay.
It all fits together.
I
don’t think
that I am a coward,
Watson,
but
that sound seemed
to freeze my very blood.
Feel my hand!”
It was
as cold
as a block
of marble.
, , , ,
“You’ll be all right to-morrow.”
, , , ,
“I
don’t think I’ll get
that cry out
of my head.
What do you advise
that we do now?”
, , , ,
“Shall we turn back?”
, , , ,
“No,
by thunder;
we have come out
to get our man,
and we
will do it.
We after the convict,
and a hell-hound,
as likely
as not,
after us.
Come on!
We’ll see it through
if all the fiends
of the pit were loose upon the moor.”
, , , ,
We stumbled slowly along
in the darkness,
with the black loom
of the craggy hills
around us,
and the yellow speck
of light burning steadily
in front.
There is nothing so deceptive
as the distance
of a light upon a pitch-dark night,
and sometimes the glimmer seemed
to be far away upon the horizon
and sometimes it might have been within a few yards
of us.
But
at last we
could see whence it came,
and
then we knew
that we were indeed very close.
A guttering candle was stuck
in a crevice
of the rocks
which flanked it
on each side so as
to keep the wind
from it
and also
to prevent it
from being visible,
save
in the direction
of Baskerville Hall.
A boulder
of granite concealed our approach,
and crouching
behind it we gazed
over it
at the signal light.
It was strange
to see this single candle burning there
in the middle
of the moor,
with no sign
of life near it
--just the one straight yellow flame
and the gleam
of the rock
on each side
of it.
, , , ,
“What shall we do now?”
whispered Sir Henry.
, , , ,
“Wait here.
He must be near his light.
Let us see
if we
can get a glimpse
of him.”
, , , ,
The words were
hardly out
of my mouth
when we both saw him.
Over the rocks,
in the crevice
of
which the candle burned,
there was thrust out an evil yellow face,
a terrible animal face,
all seamed
and scored
with vile passions.
Foul
with mire,
with a bristling beard,
and hung
with matted hair,
it might well have belonged
to one
of those old savages
who dwelt
in the burrows
on the hillsides.
The light
beneath him was reflected
in his small,
cunning eyes
which peered fiercely
to right
and left
through the darkness,
like a crafty
and savage animal
who has heard the steps
of the hunters.
, , , ,
Something had evidently aroused his suspicions.
It may have been
that Barrymore had some private signal
which we had neglected
to give,
or the fellow may have had some other reason
for thinking
that all was not well,
but I
could read his fears upon his wicked face.
Any instant he might dash out the light
and vanish
in the darkness.
I sprang forward therefore,
and Sir Henry did the same.
At the same moment the convict screamed out a curse
at us
and hurled a rock
which splintered up
against the boulder
which had sheltered us.
I caught one glimpse
of his short,
squat,
strongly- built figure
as he sprang
to his feet
and turned
to run.
At the same moment
by a lucky chance the moon broke
through the clouds.
We rushed
over the brow
of the hill,
and
there was our man running
with great speed down the other side,
springing
over the stones
in his way
with the activity
of a mountain goat.
A lucky long shot
of my revolver might have crippled him,
but I had brought it only
to defend myself
if attacked,
and not
to shoot an unarmed man
who was running away.
, , , ,
We were both swift runners and
in fairly good training,
but we soon found
that we had no chance
of overtaking him.
We saw him
for a long time
in the moonlight
until he was only a small speck moving swiftly
among the boulders upon the side
of a distant hill.
We ran
and ran
until we were completely blown,
but the space
between us grew ever wider.
Finally we stopped
and sat panting
on two rocks,
while we watched him disappearing
in the distance.
, , , ,
And it was
at this moment
that
there occurred a most strange
and unexpected thing.
We had risen
from our rocks
and were turning
to go home,
having abandoned the hopeless chase.
The moon was low upon the right,
and the jagged pinnacle
of a granite tor stood up
against the lower curve
of its silver disc.
There,
outlined
as black
as an ebony statue
on
that shining back-ground,
I saw the figure
of a man upon the tor.
Do not think
that it was a delusion,
Holmes.
I assure you
that I have never
in my life seen anything more clearly.
As far
as I
could judge,
the figure was that
of a tall,
thin man.
He stood
with his legs a little separated,
his arms folded,
his head bowed,
as
if he were brooding over
that enormous wilderness
of peat
and granite
which lay
before him.
He might have been the very spirit
of
that terrible place.
It was not the convict.
This man was far
from the place
where the latter had disappeared.
Besides,
he was a much taller man.
With a cry
of surprise I pointed him out
to the baronet,
but
in the instant during
which I had turned
to grasp his arm the man was gone.
There was the sharp pinnacle
of granite still cutting the lower edge
of the moon,
but its peak bore no trace
of
that silent
and motionless figure.
, , , ,
I wished
to go
in
that direction and
to search the tor,
but it was some distance away.
The baronet’s nerves were still quivering from
that cry,
which recalled the dark story
of his family,
and he was not
in the mood
for fresh adventures.
He had not seen this lonely man upon the tor
and
could not feel the thrill
which his strange presence
and his commanding attitude had given
to me.
“A warder,
no doubt,”
said he.
“The moor has been thick
with them
since this fellow escaped.”
Well,
perhaps his explanation may be the right one,
but I
should like
to have some further proof
of it.
To-day we mean
to communicate
to the Princetown people
where they
should look
for their missing man,
but it is hard lines
that we have not actually had the triumph
of bringing him back
as our own prisoner.
Such are the adventures
of last night,
and you must acknowledge,
my dear Holmes,
that I have done you very well
in the matter
of a report.
Much
of
what I tell you is no doubt quite irrelevant,
but still I feel
that it is best
that I
should let you have all the facts
and leave you
to select
for yourself those which
will be
of most service
to you
in helping you
to your conclusions.
We are certainly making some progress.
So far
as the Barrymores go we have found the motive
of their actions,
and
that has cleared up the situation very much.
But the moor
with its mysteries
and its strange inhabitants remains
as inscrutable
as ever.
Perhaps
in my next I may be able
to throw some light upon this also.
Best
of all
would it be
if you
could come down
to us.
In any case you
will hear
from me again
in the course
of the next few days.
, , , ,
Chapter 10
Extract
from the Diary
of Dr. Watson
So far I have been able
to quote
from the reports
which I have forwarded during these early days
to Sherlock Holmes.
Now,
however,
I have arrived
at a point
in my narrative
where I am compelled
to abandon this method and
to trust once more
to my recollections,
aided
by the diary
which I kept
at the time.
A few extracts
from the latter
will carry me
on
to those scenes
which are indelibly fixed
in every detail upon my memory.
I proceed,
then,
from the morning
which followed our abortive chase
of the convict
and our other strange experiences upon the moor.
, , , ,
OCTOBER 16TH.
--A dull
and foggy day
with a drizzle
of rain.
The house is banked
in
with rolling clouds,
which rise now
and then
to show the dreary curves
of the moor,
with thin,
silver veins upon the sides
of the hills,
and the distant boulders gleaming
where the light strikes upon their wet faces.
It is melancholy outside
and in.
The baronet is
in a black reaction after the excitements
of the night.
I am conscious myself
of a weight
at my heart
and a feeling
of impending danger
--ever present danger,
which is the more terrible
because I am unable
to define it.
, , , ,
And have I not cause
for such a feeling?
Consider the long sequence
of incidents
which have all pointed
to some sinister influence
which is
at work
around us.
There is the death
of the last occupant
of the Hall,
fulfilling so exactly the conditions
of the family legend,
and
there are the repeated reports
from peasants
of the appearance
of a strange creature upon the moor.
Twice I have
with my own ears heard the sound
which resembled the distant baying
of a hound.
It is incredible,
impossible,
that it
should really be outside the ordinary laws
of nature.
A spectral hound
which leaves material footmarks
and fills the air
with its howling is surely not
to be thought of.
Stapleton may fall
in
with such a superstition,
and Mortimer also;
but
if I have one quality upon earth it is common-sense,
and nothing
will persuade me
to believe
in such a thing.
To do so
would be
to descend
to the level
of these poor peasants,
who are not content
with a mere fiend dog
but must needs describe him
with hell-fire shooting
from his mouth
and eyes.
Holmes
would not listen
to such fancies,
and I am his agent.
But facts are facts,
and I have twice heard this crying upon the moor.
Suppose
that
there were really some huge hound loose upon it;
that
would go far
to explain everything.
But
where
could such a hound lie concealed,
where did it get its food,
where did it come from,
how was it
that no one saw it
by day?
It must be confessed
that the natural explanation offers almost
as many difficulties
as the other.
And always,
apart
from the hound,
there is the fact
of the human agency
in London,
the man
in the cab,
and the letter
which warned Sir Henry
against the moor.
This
at least was real,
but it might have been the work
of a protecting friend
as easily as
of an enemy.
Where is
that friend
or enemy now?
Has he remained
in London,
or has he followed us down here?
Could he
--could he be the stranger whom I saw upon the tor?
, , , ,
It is true
that I have had only the one glance
at him,
and yet
there are some things
to
which I am ready
to swear.
He is no one whom I have seen down here,
and I have now met all the neighbours.
The figure was far taller
than that
of Stapleton,
far thinner
than that
of Frankland.
Barrymore it might possibly have been,
but we had left him
behind us,
and I am certain
that he
could not have followed us.
A stranger
then is still dogging us,
just
as a stranger dogged us
in London.
We have never shaken him off.
If I
could lay my hands upon
that man,
then
at last we might find ourselves
at the end
of all our difficulties.
To this one purpose I must now devote all my energies.
, , , ,
My first impulse was
to tell Sir Henry all my plans.
My second
and wisest one is
to play my own game
and speak
as little
as possible
to anyone.
He is silent
and distrait.
His nerves have been strangely shaken
by
that sound upon the moor.
I
will say nothing
to add
to his anxieties,
but I
will take my own steps
to attain my own end.
, , , ,
We had a small scene this morning after breakfast.
Barrymore asked leave
to speak
with Sir Henry,
and they were closeted
in his study some little time.
Sitting
in the billiard-room I more
than once heard the sound
of voices raised,
and I had a pretty good idea
what the point was
which was
under discussion.
After a time the baronet opened his door
and called
for me.
, , , ,
“Barrymore considers
that he has a grievance,”
he said.
“He thinks
that it was unfair
on our part
to hunt his brother-in-law down
when he,
of his own free will,
had told us the secret.”
, , , ,
The butler was standing very pale
but very collected
before us.
, , , ,
“I may have spoken too warmly,
sir,”
said he,
“and
if I have,
I am sure
that I beg your pardon.
At the same time,
I was very much surprised
when I heard you two gentlemen come back this morning
and learned
that you had been chasing Selden.
The poor fellow has enough
to fight
against without my putting more upon his track.”
, , , ,
“If you had told us
of your own free
will it
would have been a different thing,”
said the baronet,
“you only told us,
or rather your wife only told us,
when it was forced
from you
and you
could not help yourself.”
, , , ,
“I didn’t think you
would have taken advantage
of it,
Sir Henry
--indeed I didn’t.”
, , , ,
“The man is a public danger.
There are lonely houses scattered
over the moor,
and he is a fellow
who
would stick
at nothing.
You only want
to get a glimpse
of his face
to see that.
Look
at Mr. Stapleton’s house,
for example,
with no one
but himself
to defend it.
There’s no safety
for anyone
until he is
under lock
and key.”
, , , ,
“He’ll break
into no house,
sir.
I give you my solemn word upon that.
But he
will never trouble anyone
in this country again.
I assure you,
Sir Henry,
that
in a very few days the necessary arrangements
will have been made
and he
will be
on his way
to South America.
For God’s sake,
sir,
I beg
of you not
to let the police know
that he is still
on the moor.
They have given up the chase there,
and he
can lie quiet
until the ship is ready
for him.
You can’t tell
on him without getting my wife
and me
into trouble.
I beg you,
sir,
to say nothing
to the police.”
, , , ,
“What do you say,
Watson?”
, , , ,
I shrugged my shoulders.
“If he were safely out
of the country it
would relieve the tax-payer
of a burden.”
, , , ,
“But
how
about the chance
of his holding someone up
before he goes?”
, , , ,
“He
would not do anything so mad,
sir.
We have provided him
with all
that he
can want.
To commit a crime
would be
to show
where he was hiding.”
, , , ,
“That is true,”
said Sir Henry.
“Well,
Barrymore
--”
“God bless you,
sir,
and thank you
from my heart!
It
would have killed my poor wife had he been taken again.”
, , , ,
“I guess we are aiding
and abetting a felony,
Watson?
But,
after
what we have heard I
don’t feel
as
if I
could give the man up,
so
there is an end
of it.
All right,
Barrymore,
you
can go.”
, , , ,
With a few broken words
of gratitude the man turned,
but he hesitated
and
then came back.
, , , ,
“You’ve been so kind
to us,
sir,
that I
should like
to do the best I can
for you
in return.
I know something,
Sir Henry,
and perhaps I
should have said it before,
but it was long after the inquest
that I found it out.
I’ve never breathed a word
about it yet
to mortal man.
It’s
about poor Sir Charles’s death.”
, , , ,
The baronet
and I were both upon our feet.
“Do you know
how he died?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir,
I
don’t know that.”
, , , ,
“What then?”
, , , ,
“I know
why he was
at the gate
at
that hour.
It was
to meet a woman.”
, , , ,
“To meet a woman!
He?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir.”
, , , ,
“And the woman’s name?”
, , , ,
“I can’t give you the name,
sir,
but I
can give you the initials.
Her initials were L. L.”
, , , ,
“How do you know this,
Barrymore?”
, , , ,
“Well,
Sir Henry,
your uncle had a letter
that morning.
He had usually a great many letters,
for he was a public man
and well known
for his kind heart,
so
that everyone
who was
in trouble was glad
to turn
to him.
But
that morning,
as it chanced,
there was only this one letter,
so I took the more notice
of it.
It was
from Coombe Tracey,
and it was addressed
in a woman’s hand.”
, , , ,
“Well?”
, , , ,
“Well,
sir,
I thought no more
of the matter,
and never
would have done had it not been
for my wife.
Only a few weeks ago she was cleaning out Sir Charles’s study
--it had never been touched
since his death
--and she found the ashes
of a burned letter
in the back
of the grate.
The greater part
of it was charred
to pieces,
but one little slip,
the end
of a page,
hung together,
and the writing
could still be read,
though it was gray
on a black ground.
It seemed
to us
to be a postscript
at the end
of the letter,
and it said:
‘Please,
please,
as you are a gentleman,
burn this letter,
and be
at the gate
by ten o clock.
Beneath it were signed the initials L. L.”
, , , ,
“Have you got
that slip?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir,
it crumbled all
to bits after we moved it.”
, , , ,
“Had Sir Charles received any other letters
in the same writing?”
, , , ,
“Well,
sir,
I took no particular notice
of his letters.
I
should not have noticed this one,
only it happened
to come alone.”
, , , ,
“And you have no idea
who L. L.
is?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir.
No more
than you have.
But I expect
if we
could lay our hands upon
that lady we
should know more
about Sir Charles’s death.”
, , , ,
“I cannot understand,
Barrymore,
how you came
to conceal this important information.”
, , , ,
“Well,
sir,
it was immediately after
that our own trouble came
to us.
And
then again,
sir,
we were both
of us very fond
of Sir Charles,
as we well might be considering all
that he has done
for us.
To rake this up couldn’t help our poor master,
and it’s well
to go carefully
when there’s a lady
in the case.
Even the best
of us
----”
“You thought it might injure his reputation?”
, , , ,
“Well,
sir,
I thought no good
could come
of it.
But now you have been kind
to us,
and I feel
as
if it
would be treating you unfairly not
to tell you all
that I know
about the matter.”
, , , ,
“Very good,
Barrymore;
you
can go.”
When the butler had left us Sir Henry turned
to me.
“Well,
Watson,
what do you think
of this new light?”
, , , ,
“It seems
to leave the darkness rather blacker
than before.”
, , , ,
“So I think.
But
if we
can only trace L. L.
it
should clear up the whole business.
We have gained
that much.
We know
that
there is someone
who has the facts
if we
can only find her.
What do you think we
should do?”
, , , ,
“Let Holmes know all
about it
at once.
It
will give him the clue
for
which he has been seeking.
I am much mistaken
if it does not bring him down.”
, , , ,
I went
at once
to my room
and drew up my report
of the morning’s conversation
for Holmes.
It was evident
to me
that he had been very busy
of late,
for the notes
which I had
from Baker Street were few
and short,
with no comments upon the information
which I had supplied
and
hardly any reference
to my mission.
No doubt his blackmailing case is absorbing all his faculties.
And yet this new factor must surely arrest his attention
and renew his interest.
I wish
that he were here.
, , , ,
OCTOBER 17TH.
--All day to-day the rain poured down,
rustling
on the ivy
and dripping
from the eaves.
I thought
of the convict out upon the bleak,
cold,
shelterless moor.
Poor devil!
Whatever his crimes,
he has suffered something
to atone
for them.
And
then I thought
of
that other one
--the face
in the cab,
the figure
against the moon.
Was he also out
in
that deluged
--the unseen watcher,
the man
of darkness?
In the evening I put
on my waterproof
and I walked far upon the sodden moor,
full
of dark imaginings,
the rain beating upon my face
and the wind whistling
about my ears.
God help those
who wander
into the great mire now,
for
even the firm uplands are becoming a morass.
I found the black tor upon
which I had seen the solitary watcher,
and
from its craggy summit I looked out myself
across the melancholy downs.
Rain squalls drifted
across their russet face,
and the heavy,
slate-coloured clouds hung low
over the landscape,
trailing
in gray wreaths down the sides
of the fantastic hills.
In the distant hollow
on the left,
half hidden
by the mist,
the two thin towers
of Baskerville Hall rose
above the trees.
They were the only signs
of human life
which I
could see,
save only those prehistoric huts
which lay thickly upon the slopes
of the hills.
Nowhere was
there any trace
of
that lonely man whom I had seen
on the same spot two nights before.
, , , ,
As I walked back I was overtaken
by Dr. Mortimer driving
in his dog-cart
over a rough moorland track
which led
from the outlying farmhouse
of Foulmire.
He has been very attentive
to us,
and
hardly a day has passed
that he has not called
at the Hall
to see
how we were getting on.
He insisted upon my climbing
into his dog-cart,
and he gave me a lift homeward.
I found him much troubled
over the disappearance
of his little spaniel.
It had wandered
on
to the moor
and had never come back.
I gave him such consolation
as I might,
but I thought
of the pony
on the Grimpen Mire,
and I do not fancy
that he
will see his little dog again.
, , , ,
“By the way,
Mortimer,”
said I
as we jolted
along the rough road,
“I suppose
there are few people living within driving distance
of this whom you do not know?”
, , , ,
“Hardly any,
I think.”
, , , ,
“Can you,
then,
tell me the name
of any woman whose initials are L. L.?”
, , , ,
He thought
for a few minutes.
, , , ,
“No,”
said he.
“There are a few gipsies
and labouring folk
for whom I can’t answer,
but
among the farmers
or gentry
there is no one whose initials are those.
Wait a bit though,”
he added after a pause.
“There is Laura Lyons
--her initials are L. L.
--but she lives
in Coombe Tracey.”
, , , ,
“Who is she?”
I asked.
, , , ,
“She is Frankland’s daughter.”
, , , ,
“What!
Old Frankland the crank?”
, , , ,
“Exactly.
She married an artist named Lyons,
who came sketching
on the moor.
He proved
to be a blackguard
and deserted her.
The fault
from
what I hear may not have been entirely
on one side.
Her father refused
to have anything
to do
with her
because she had married without his consent,
and perhaps
for one
or two other reasons
as well.
So,
between the old sinner
and the young one the girl has had a pretty bad time.”
, , , ,
“How does she live?”
, , , ,
“I fancy old Frankland allows her a pittance,
but it cannot be more,
for his own affairs are considerably involved.
Whatever she may have deserved one
could not allow her
to go hopelessly
to the bad.
Her story got about,
and several
of the people here did something
to enable her
to earn an honest living.
Stapleton did
for one,
and Sir Charles
for another.
I gave a trifle myself.
It was
to set her up
in a typewriting business.”
, , , ,
He wanted
to know the object
of my inquiries,
but I managed
to satisfy his curiosity without telling him too much,
for
there is no reason
why we
should take anyone
into our confidence.
To-morrow morning I shall find my way
to Coombe Tracey,
and
if I
can see this Mrs. Laura Lyons,
of equivocal reputation,
a long step
will have been made
towards clearing one incident
in this chain
of mysteries.
I am certainly developing the wisdom
of the serpent,
for
when Mortimer pressed his questions
to an inconvenient extent I asked him casually
to
what type Frankland’s skull belonged,
and so heard nothing
but craniology
for the rest
of our drive.
I have not lived
for years
with Sherlock Holmes
for nothing.
, , , ,
I have only one other incident
to record upon this tempestuous
and melancholy day.
This was my conversation
with Barrymore just now,
which gives me one more strong card
which I
can play
in due time.
, , , ,
Mortimer had stayed
to dinner,
and he
and the baronet played ecarté afterwards.
The butler brought me my coffee
into the library,
and I took the chance
to ask him a few questions.
, , , ,
“Well,”
said I,
“has this precious relation
of yours departed,
or is he still lurking out yonder?”
, , , ,
“I
don’t know,
sir.
I hope
to heaven
that he has gone,
for he has brought nothing
but trouble here!
I’ve not heard
of him
since I left out food
for him last,
and
that was three days ago.”
, , , ,
“Did you see him then?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir,
but the food was gone
when next I went
that way.”
, , , ,
“Then he was certainly there?”
, , , ,
“So you
would think,
sir,
unless it was the other man
who took it.”
, , , ,
I sat
with my coffee-cup halfway
to my lips
and stared
at Barrymore.
, , , ,
“You know
that
there is another man then?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir;
there is another man upon the moor.”
, , , ,
“Have you seen him?”
, , , ,
“No,
sir.”
, , , ,
“How do you know
of him then?”
, , , ,
“Selden told me
of him,
sir,
a week ago
or more.
He’s
in hiding,
too,
but he’s not a convict
as far
as I
can make out.
I don’t
like it,
Dr. Watson
--I tell you straight,
sir,
that I don’t
like it.”
He spoke
with a sudden passion
of earnestness.
, , , ,
“Now,
listen
to me,
Barrymore!
I have no interest
in this matter
but that
of your master.
I have come here
with no object except
to help him.
Tell me,
frankly,
what it is
that you
don’t like.”
, , , ,
Barrymore hesitated
for a moment,
as
if he regretted his outburst,
or found it difficult
to express his own feelings
in words.
, , , ,
“It’s all these goings-on,
sir,”
he cried
at last,
waving his hand
towards the rain-lashed window
which faced the moor.
“There’s foul play somewhere,
and there’s black villainy brewing,
to
that I’ll swear!
Very glad I
should be,
sir,
to see Sir Henry
on his way back
to London again!”
“But
what is it
that alarms you?”
, , , ,
“Look
at Sir Charles’s death!
That was bad enough,
for all
that the coroner said.
Look
at the noises
on the moor
at night.
There’s not a man
would cross it after sundown
if he was paid
for it.
Look
at this stranger hiding out yonder,
and watching
and waiting!
What’s he waiting for?
What does it mean?
It means no good
to anyone
of the name
of Baskerville,
and very glad I shall be
to be quit
of it all
on the day
that Sir Henry’s new servants are ready
to take
over the Hall.”
, , , ,
“But
about this stranger,”
said I. “Can you tell me anything
about him?
What did Selden say?
Did he find out
where he hid,
or
what he was doing?”
, , , ,
“He saw him once
or twice,
but he is a deep one,
and gives nothing away.
At first he thought
that he was the police,
but soon he found
that he had some lay
of his own.
A kind
of gentleman he was,
as far
as he
could see,
but
what he was doing he
could not make out.”
, , , ,
“And
where did he say
that he lived?”
, , , ,
“Among the old houses
on the hillside
--the stone huts
where the old folk used
to live.”
, , , ,
“But
how
about his food?”
, , , ,
“Selden found out
that he has got a lad
who works
for him
and brings him all he needs.
I dare say he goes
to Coombe Tracey
for
what he wants.”
, , , ,
“Very good,
Barrymore.
We may talk further
of this some other time.”
When the butler had gone I walked over
to the black window,
and I looked
through a blurred pane
at the driving clouds and
at the tossing outline
of the wind-swept trees.
It is a wild night indoors,
and
what must it be
in a stone hut upon the moor.
What passion
of hatred
can it be
which leads a man
to lurk
in such a place
at such a time!
And
what deep
and earnest purpose
can he have
which calls
for such a trial!
There,
in
that hut upon the moor,
seems
to lie the very centre
of
that problem
which has vexed me so sorely.
I swear
that another day shall not have passed
before I have done all
that man
can do
to reach the heart
of the mystery.
, , , ,
Chapter 11
The Man
on the Tor
The extract
from my private diary
which forms the last chapter has brought my narrative up
to the 18th
of October,
a time
when these strange events began
to move swiftly
towards their terrible conclusion.
The incidents
of the next few days are indelibly graven upon my recollection,
and I
can tell them without reference
to the notes made
at the time.
I start
then
from the day
which succeeded
that upon
which I had established two facts
of great importance,
the one
that Mrs. Laura Lyons
of Coombe Tracey had written
to Sir Charles Baskerville
and made an appointment
with him
at the very place
and hour
that he met his death,
the other
that the lurking man upon the moor was
to be found
among the stone huts upon the hill-side.
With these two facts
in my possession I felt
that either my intelligence
or my courage must be deficient
if I
could not throw some further light upon these dark places.
, , , ,
I had no opportunity
to tell the baronet
what I had learned
about Mrs. Lyons upon the evening before,
for Dr. Mortimer remained
with him
at cards
until it was very late.
At breakfast,
however,
I informed him
about my discovery,
and asked him whether he
would care
to accompany me
to Coombe Tracey.
At first he was very eager
to come,
but
on second thoughts it seemed
to both
of us that
if I went alone the results might be better.
The more formal we made the visit the less information we might obtain.
I left Sir Henry behind,
therefore,
not without some prickings
of conscience,
and drove off upon my new quest.
, , , ,
When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins
to put up the horses,
and I made inquiries
for the lady whom I had come
to interrogate.
I had no difficulty
in finding her rooms,
which were central
and well appointed.
A maid showed me
in without ceremony,
and
as I entered the sitting-room a lady,
who was sitting
before a Remington typewriter,
sprang up
with a pleasant smile
of welcome.
Her face fell,
however,
when she saw
that I was a stranger,
and she sat down again
and asked me the object
of my visit.
, , , ,
The first impression left
by Mrs. Lyons was one
of extreme beauty.
Her eyes
and hair were
of the same rich hazel colour,
and her cheeks,
though considerably freckled,
were flushed
with the exquisite bloom
of the brunette,
the dainty pink
which lurks
at the heart
of the sulphur rose.
Admiration was,
I repeat,
the first impression.
But the second was criticism.
There was something subtly wrong
with the face,
some coarseness
of expression,
some hardness,
perhaps,
of eye,
some looseness
of lip
which marred its perfect beauty.
But these,
of course,
are after-thoughts.
At the moment I was simply conscious
that I was
in the presence
of a very handsome woman,
and
that she was asking me the reasons
for my visit.
I had not quite understood until
that instant
how delicate my mission was.
, , , ,
“I have the pleasure,”
said I,
“of knowing your father.”
It was a clumsy introduction,
and the lady made me feel it.
, , , ,
“There is nothing
in common
between my father
and me,”
she said.
“I owe him nothing,
and his friends are not mine.
If it were not
for the late Sir Charles Baskerville
and some other kind hearts I might have starved
for all
that my father cared.”
, , , ,
“It was
about the late Sir Charles Baskerville
that I have come here
to see you.”
, , , ,
The freckles started out
on the lady’s face.
, , , ,
“What
can I tell you
about him?”
she asked,
and her fingers played nervously
over the stops
of her typewriter.
, , , ,
“You knew him,
did you not?”
, , , ,
“I have already said
that I owe a great deal
to his kindness.
If I am able
to support myself it is largely due
to the interest
which he took
in my unhappy situation.”
, , , ,
“Did you correspond
with him?”
, , , ,
The lady looked quickly up
with an angry gleam
in her hazel eyes.
, , , ,
“What is the object
of these questions?”
she asked sharply.
, , , ,
“The object is
to avoid a public scandal.
It is better
that I
should ask them here than
that the matter
should pass outside our control.”
, , , ,
She was silent
and her face was still very pale.
At last she looked up
with something reckless
and defiant
in her manner.
, , , ,
“Well,
I’ll answer,”
she said.
“What are your questions?”
, , , ,
“Did you correspond
with Sir Charles?”
, , , ,
“I certainly wrote
to him once
or twice
to acknowledge his delicacy
and his generosity.”
, , , ,
“Have you the dates
of those letters?”
, , , ,
“No.”
, , , ,
“Have you ever met him?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
once
or twice,
when he came
into Coombe Tracey.
He was a very retiring man,
and he preferred
to do good
by stealth.”
, , , ,
“But
if you saw him so seldom
and wrote so seldom,
how did he know enough
about your affairs
to be able
to help you,
as you say
that he has done?”
, , , ,
She met my difficulty
with the utmost readiness.
, , , ,
“There were several gentlemen
who knew my sad history
and united
to help me.
One was Mr. Stapleton,
a neighbour
and intimate friend
of Sir Charles’s.
He was exceedingly kind,
and it was
through him
that Sir Charles learned
about my affairs.”
, , , ,
I knew already
that Sir Charles Baskerville had made Stapleton his almoner upon several occasions,
so the lady’s statement bore the impress
of truth upon it.
, , , ,
“Did you ever write
to Sir Charles asking him
to meet you?”
I continued.
, , , ,
Mrs. Lyons flushed
with anger again.
, , , ,
“Really,
sir,
this is a very extraordinary question.”
, , , ,
“I am sorry,
madam,
but I must repeat it.”
, , , ,
“Then I answer,
certainly not.”
, , , ,
“Not
on the very day
of Sir Charles’s death?”
, , , ,
The flush had faded
in an instant,
and a deathly face was
before me.
Her dry lips
could not speak the “No”
which I saw rather
than heard.
, , , ,
“Surely your memory deceives you,”
said I. “I could
even quote a passage
of your letter.
It ran ‘Please,
please,
as you are a gentleman,
burn this letter,
and be
at the gate
by ten o’clock.’”
I thought
that she had fainted,
but she recovered herself
by a supreme effort.
, , , ,
“Is
there no such thing
as a gentleman?”
she gasped.
, , , ,
“You do Sir Charles an injustice.
He did burn the letter.
But sometimes a letter may be legible even
when burned.
You acknowledge now
that you wrote it?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I did write it,”
she cried,
pouring out her soul
in a torrent
of words.
“I did write it.
Why
should I deny it?
I have no reason
to be ashamed
of it.
I wished him
to help me.
I believed that
if I had an interview I
could gain his help,
so I asked him
to meet me.”
, , , ,
“But why
at such an hour?”
, , , ,
“Because I had only just learned
that he was going
to London next day
and might be away
for months.
There were reasons
why I
could not get
there earlier.”
, , , ,
“But
why a rendezvous
in the garden instead
of a visit
to the house?”
, , , ,
“Do you think a woman
could go alone
at
that hour
to a bachelor’s house?”
, , , ,
“Well,
what happened
when you did get there?”
, , , ,
“I never went.”
, , , ,
“Mrs. Lyons!”
“No,
I swear it
to you
on all I hold sacred.
I never went.
Something intervened
to prevent my going.”
, , , ,
“What was that?”
, , , ,
“That is a private matter.
I cannot tell it.”
, , , ,
“You acknowledge then
that you made an appointment
with Sir Charles
at the very hour
and place
at
which he met his death,
but you deny
that you kept the appointment.”
, , , ,
“That is the truth.”
, , , ,
Again
and again I cross-questioned her,
but I
could never get past
that point.
, , , ,
“Mrs. Lyons,”
said I,
as I rose
from this long
and inconclusive interview,
“you are taking a very great responsibility
and putting yourself
in a very false position
by not making an absolutely clean breast
of all
that you know.
If I have
to call
in the aid
of the police you
will find
how seriously you are compromised.
If your position is innocent,
why did you
in the first instance deny having written
to Sir Charles upon
that date?”
, , , ,
“Because I feared
that some false conclusion might be drawn
from it
and
that I might find myself involved
in a scandal.”
, , , ,
“And
why were you so pressing
that Sir Charles
should destroy your letter?”
, , , ,
“If you have read the letter you
will know.”
, , , ,
“I did not say
that I had read all the letter.”
, , , ,
“You quoted some
of it.”
, , , ,
“I quoted the postscript.
The letter had,
as I said,
been burned
and it was not all legible.
I ask you once again
why it was
that you were so pressing
that Sir Charles
should destroy this letter
which he received
on the day
of his death.”
, , , ,
“The matter is a very private one.”
, , , ,
“The more reason
why you
should avoid a public investigation.”
, , , ,
“I
will tell you,
then.
If you have heard anything
of my unhappy history you
will know
that I made a rash marriage
and had reason
to regret it.”
, , , ,
“I have heard so much.”
, , , ,
“My life has been one incessant persecution
from a husband whom I abhor.
The law is upon his side,
and every day I am faced
by the possibility
that he may force me
to live
with him.
At the time
that I wrote this letter
to Sir Charles I had learned
that
there was a prospect
of my regaining my freedom
if certain expenses
could be met.
It meant everything
to me
--peace
of mind,
happiness,
self-respect
--everything.
I knew Sir Charles’s generosity,
and I thought that
if he heard the story
from my own lips he
would help me.”
, , , ,
“Then
how is it
that you did not go?”
, , , ,
“Because I received help
in the interval
from another source.”
, , , ,
“Why then,
did you not write
to Sir Charles
and explain this?”
, , , ,
“So I
should have done had I not seen his death
in the paper next morning.”
, , , ,
The woman’s story hung coherently together,
and all my questions were unable
to shake it.
I
could only check it
by finding
if she had,
indeed,
instituted divorce proceedings
against her husband at
or
about the time
of the tragedy.
, , , ,
It was unlikely
that she
would dare
to say
that she had not been
to Baskerville Hall
if she really had been,
for a trap
would be necessary
to take her there,
and
could not have returned
to Coombe Tracey
until the early hours
of the morning.
Such an excursion
could not be kept secret.
The probability was,
therefore,
that she was telling the truth,
or,
at least,
a part
of the truth.
I came away baffled
and disheartened.
Once again I had reached
that dead wall
which seemed
to be built
across every path
by
which I tried
to get
at the object
of my mission.
And yet the more I thought
of the lady’s face and
of her manner the more I felt
that something was being held back
from me.
Why
should she turn so pale?
Why
should she fight
against every admission
until it was forced
from her?
Why
should she have been so reticent
at the time
of the tragedy?
Surely the explanation
of all this
could not be
as innocent
as she
would have me believe.
For the moment I
could proceed no farther
in
that direction,
but must turn back
to
that other clue
which was
to be sought
for
among the stone huts upon the moor.
, , , ,
And
that was a most vague direction.
I realized it
as I drove back
and noted
how hill after hill showed traces
of the ancient people.
Barrymore’s only indication had been
that the stranger lived
in one
of these abandoned huts,
and many hundreds
of them are scattered throughout the length
and breadth
of the moor.
But I had my own experience
for a guide
since it had shown me the man himself standing upon the summit
of the Black Tor.
That
then
should be the centre
of my search.
From
there I
should explore every hut upon the moor
until I lighted upon the right one.
If this man were inside it I
should find out
from his own lips,
at the point
of my revolver
if necessary,
who he was
and
why he had dogged us so long.
He might slip away
from us
in the crowd
of Regent Street,
but it
would puzzle him
to do so upon the lonely moor.
On the other hand,
if I
should find the hut
and its tenant
should not be within it I must remain there,
however long the vigil,
until he returned.
Holmes had missed him
in London.
It
would indeed be a triumph
for me
if I
could run him
to earth,
where my master had failed.
, , , ,
Luck had been
against us again
and again
in this inquiry,
but now
at last it came
to my aid.
And the messenger
of good fortune was none other
than Mr. Frankland,
who was standing,
gray-whiskered
and red-faced,
outside the gate
of his garden,
which opened
on
to the high road along
which I travelled.
, , , ,
“Good-day,
Dr. Watson,”
cried he
with unwonted good humour,
“you must really give your horses a rest,
and come
in
to have a glass
of wine and
to congratulate me.”
, , , ,
My feelings
towards him were very far
from being friendly after
what I had heard
of his treatment
of his daughter,
but I was anxious
to send Perkins
and the wagonette home,
and the opportunity was a good one.
I alighted
and sent a message
to Sir Henry
that I
should walk over
in time
for dinner.
Then I followed Frankland
into his dining-room.
, , , ,
“It is a great day
for me,
sir
--one
of the red-letter days
of my life,”
he cried
with many chuckles.
“I have brought off a double event.
I mean
to teach them
in these parts
that law is law,
and
that
there is a man here
who does not fear
to invoke it.
I have established a right
of way
through the centre
of old Middleton’s park,
slap
across it,
sir,
within a hundred yards
of his own front door.
What do you think
of that?
We’ll teach these magnates
that they cannot ride roughshod
over the rights
of the commoners,
confound them!
And I’ve closed the wood
where the Fernworthy folk used
to picnic.
These infernal people seem
to think
that
there are no rights
of property,
and
that they
can swarm
where they like
with their papers
and their bottles.
Both cases decided,
Dr. Watson,
and both
in my favour.
I haven’t had such a day
since I had Sir John Morland
for trespass,
because he shot
in his own warren.”
, , , ,
“How
on earth did you do that?”
, , , ,
“Look it up
in the books,
sir.
It
will repay reading
--Frankland v.
Morland,
Court
of Queen’s Bench.
It cost me 200 pounds,
but I got my verdict.”
, , , ,
“Did it do you any good?”
, , , ,
“None,
sir,
none.
I am proud
to say
that I had no interest
in the matter.
I act entirely
from a sense
of public duty.
I have no doubt,
for example,
that the Fernworthy people
will burn me
in effigy to-night.
I told the police last time they did it
that they
should stop these disgraceful exhibitions.
The County Constabulary is
in a scandalous state,
sir,
and it has not afforded me the protection
to
which I am entitled.
The case
of Frankland v.
Regina
will bring the matter
before the attention
of the public.
I told them
that they
would have occasion
to regret their treatment
of me,
and already my words have come true.”
, , , ,
“How so?”
I asked.
, , , ,
The old man put
on a very knowing expression.
, , , ,
“Because I
could tell them
what they are dying
to know;
but nothing
would induce me
to help the rascals
in any way.”
, , , ,
I had been casting round
for some excuse
by
which I
could get away
from his gossip,
but now I began
to wish
to hear more
of it.
I had seen enough
of the contrary nature
of the old sinner
to understand
that any strong sign
of interest
would be the surest way
to stop his confidences.
, , , ,
“Some poaching case,
no doubt?”
said I,
with an indifferent manner.
, , , ,
“Ha,
ha,
my boy,
a very much more important matter
than that!
What
about the convict
on the moor?”
, , , ,
I started.
“You
don’t mean
that you know
where he is?”
said I.
“I may not know exactly
where he is,
but I am quite sure
that I
could help the police
to lay their hands
on him.
Has it never struck you
that the way
to catch
that man was
to find out
where he got his food,
and so trace it
to him?”
, , , ,
He certainly seemed
to be getting uncomfortably near the truth.
“No doubt,”
said I;
“but
how do you know
that he is
anywhere upon the moor?”
, , , ,
“I know it
because I have seen
with my own eyes the messenger
who takes him his food.”
, , , ,
My heart sank
for Barrymore.
It was a serious thing
to be
in the power
of this spiteful old busybody.
But his next remark took a weight
from my mind.
, , , ,
“You’ll be surprised
to hear
that his food is taken
to him
by a child.
I see him every day
through my telescope upon the roof.
He passes
along the same path
at the same hour,
and
to whom
should he be going except
to the convict?”
, , , ,
Here was luck indeed!
And yet I suppressed all appearance
of interest.
A child!
Barrymore had said
that our unknown was supplied
by a boy.
It was
on his track,
and not upon the convict’s,
that Frankland had stumbled.
If I
could get his knowledge it might save me a long
and weary hunt.
But incredulity
and indifference were evidently my strongest cards.
, , , ,
“I
should say
that it was much more likely
that it was the son
of one
of the moorland shepherds taking out his father’s dinner.”
, , , ,
The least appearance
of opposition struck fire out
of the old autocrat.
His eyes looked malignantly
at me,
and his gray whiskers bristled
like those
of an angry cat.
, , , ,
“Indeed,
sir!”
said he,
pointing out
over the wide-stretching moor.
“Do you see
that Black Tor
over yonder?
Well,
do you see the low hill beyond
with the thornbush upon it?
It is the stoniest part
of the whole moor.
Is
that a place
where a shepherd
would be likely
to take his station?
Your suggestion,
sir,
is a most absurd one.”
, , , ,
I meekly answered
that I had spoken without knowing all the facts.
My submission pleased him
and led him
to further confidences.
, , , ,
“You may be sure,
sir,
that I have very good grounds
before I come
to an opinion.
I have seen the boy again
and again
with his bundle.
Every day,
and sometimes twice a day,
I have been able
--but wait a moment,
Dr. Watson.
Do my eyes deceive me,
or is there
at the present moment something moving upon
that hill- side?”
, , , ,
It was several miles off,
but I
could distinctly see a small dark dot
against the dull green
and gray.
, , , ,
“Come,
sir,
come!”
cried Frankland,
rushing upstairs.
“You
will see
with your own eyes
and judge
for yourself.”
, , , ,
The telescope,
a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod,
stood upon the flat leads
of the house.
Frankland clapped his eye
to it
and gave a cry
of satisfaction.
, , , ,
“Quick,
Dr. Watson,
quick,
before he passes
over the hill!”
There he was,
sure enough,
a small urchin
with a little bundle upon his shoulder,
toiling slowly up the hill.
When he reached the crest I saw the ragged uncouth figure outlined
for an instant
against the cold blue sky.
He looked round him
with a furtive
and stealthy air,
as one
who dreads pursuit.
Then he vanished
over the hill.
, , , ,
“Well!
Am I right?”
, , , ,
“Certainly,
there is a boy
who seems
to have some secret errand.”
, , , ,
“And
what the errand is
even a county constable
could guess.
But not one word shall they have
from me,
and I bind you
to secrecy also,
Dr. Watson.
Not a word!
You understand!”
“Just
as you wish.”
, , , ,
“They have treated me shamefully
--shamefully.
When the facts come out
in Frankland v.
Regina I venture
to think
that a thrill
of indignation
will run
through the country.
Nothing
would induce me
to help the police
in any way.
For all they cared it might have been me,
instead
of my effigy,
which these rascals burned
at the stake.
Surely you are not going!
You
will help me
to empty the decanter
in honour
of this great occasion!”
But I resisted all his solicitations
and succeeded
in dissuading him
from his announced intention
of walking home
with me.
I kept the road
as long
as his eye was
on me,
and
then I struck off
across the moor
and made
for the stony hill
over
which the boy had disappeared.
Everything was working
in my favour,
and I swore
that it
should not be
through lack
of energy
or perseverance
that I
should miss the chance
which fortune had thrown
in my way.
, , , ,
The sun was already sinking
when I reached the summit
of the hill,
and the long slopes
beneath me were all golden-green
on one side
and gray shadow
on the other.
A haze lay low upon the farthest sky-line,
out
of
which jutted the fantastic shapes
of Belliver
and Vixen Tor.
Over the wide expanse
there was no sound
and no movement.
One great gray bird,
a gull
or curlew,
soared aloft
in the blue heaven.
He
and I seemed
to be the only living things
between the huge arch
of the sky
and the desert
beneath it.
The barren scene,
the sense
of loneliness,
and the mystery
and urgency
of my task all struck a chill
into my heart.
The boy was nowhere
to be seen.
But down
beneath me
in a cleft
of the hills
there was a circle
of the old stone huts,
and
in the middle
of them
there was one
which retained sufficient roof
to act
as a screen
against the weather.
My heart leaped within me
as I saw it.
This must be the burrow
where the stranger lurked.
At last my foot was
on the threshold
of his hiding place
--his secret was within my grasp.
, , , ,
As I approached the hut,
walking
as warily
as Stapleton
would do when
with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly,
I satisfied myself
that the place had indeed been used
as a habitation.
A vague pathway
among the boulders led
to the dilapidated opening
which served
as a door.
All was silent within.
The unknown might be lurking there,
or he might be prowling
on the moor.
My nerves tingled
with the sense
of adventure.
Throwing aside my cigarette,
I closed my hand upon the butt
of my revolver and,
walking swiftly up
to the door,
I looked in.
The place was empty.
, , , ,
But
there were ample signs
that I had not come upon a false scent.
This was certainly
where the man lived.
Some blankets rolled
in a waterproof lay upon
that very stone slab upon
which Neolithic man had once slumbered.
The ashes
of a fire were heaped
in a rude grate.
Beside it lay some cooking utensils
and a bucket half-full
of water.
A litter
of empty tins showed
that the place had been occupied
for some time,
and I saw,
as my eyes became accustomed
to the checkered light,
a pannikin
and a half-full bottle
of spirits standing
in the corner.
In the middle
of the hut a flat stone served the purpose
of a table,
and upon this stood a small cloth bundle
--the same,
no doubt,
which I had seen
through the telescope upon the shoulder
of the boy.
It contained a loaf
of bread,
a tinned tongue,
and two tins
of preserved peaches.
As I set it down again,
after having examined it,
my heart leaped
to see
that
beneath it
there lay a sheet
of paper
with writing upon it.
I raised it,
and this was
what I read,
roughly scrawled
in pencil:
--
Dr. Watson has gone
to Coombe Tracey.
, , , ,
For a minute I stood there
with the paper
in my hands thinking out the meaning
of this curt message.
It was I,
then,
and not Sir Henry,
who was being dogged
by this secret man.
He had not followed me himself,
but he had set an agent
--the boy,
perhaps
--upon my track,
and this was his report.
Possibly I had taken no step
since I had been upon the moor
which had not been observed
and reported.
Always
there was this feeling
of an unseen force,
a fine net drawn round us
with infinite skill
and delicacy,
holding us so lightly
that it was only
at some supreme moment
that one realized
that one was indeed entangled
in its meshes.
, , , ,
If
there was one report
there might be others,
so I looked round the hut
in search
of them.
There was no trace,
however,
of anything
of the kind,
nor
could I discover any sign
which might indicate the character
or intentions
of the man
who lived
in this singular place,
save
that he must be
of Spartan habits
and cared little
for the comforts
of life.
When I thought
of the heavy rains
and looked
at the gaping roof I understood
how strong
and immutable must be the purpose
which had kept him
in
that inhospitable abode.
Was he our malignant enemy,
or was he
by chance our guardian angel?
I swore
that I
would not leave the hut
until I knew.
, , , ,
Outside the sun was sinking low
and the west was blazing
with scarlet
and gold.
Its reflection was shot back
in ruddy patches
by the distant pools
which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire.
There were the two towers
of Baskerville Hall,
and
there a distant blur
of smoke
which marked the village
of Grimpen.
Between the two,
behind the hill,
was the house
of the Stapletons.
All was sweet
and mellow
and peaceful
in the golden evening light,
and yet
as I looked
at them my soul shared none
of the peace
of nature
but quivered
at the vagueness
and the terror
of
that interview
which every instant was bringing nearer.
With tingling nerves,
but a fixed purpose,
I sat
in the dark recess
of the hut
and waited
with sombre patience
for the coming
of its tenant.
, , , ,
And then
at last I heard him.
Far away came the sharp clink
of a boot striking upon a stone.
Then another
and yet another,
coming nearer
and nearer.
I shrank back
into the darkest corner,
and cocked the pistol
in my pocket,
determined not
to discover myself
until I had an opportunity
of seeing something
of the stranger.
There was a long pause
which showed
that he had stopped.
Then once more the footsteps approached
and a shadow fell
across the opening
of the hut.
, , , ,
“It is a lovely evening,
my dear Watson,”
said a well-known voice.
“I really think
that you
will be more comfortable outside
than in.”
, , , ,
Chapter 12
Death
on the Moor
For a moment
or two I sat breathless,
hardly able
to believe my ears.
Then my senses
and my voice came back
to me,
while a crushing weight
of responsibility seemed
in an instant
to be lifted
from my soul.
That cold,
incisive,
ironical voice
could belong
to
but one man
in all the world.
, , , ,
“Holmes!”
I cried
--”Holmes!”
“Come out,”
said he,
“and please be careful
with the revolver.”
, , , ,
I stooped
under the rude lintel,
and
there he sat upon a stone outside,
his gray eyes dancing
with amusement
as they fell upon my astonished features.
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 cat-like 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.”
, , , ,
“Exactly.”
, , , ,
“I thought
as much
--and knowing your admirable tenacity I was convinced
that you were sitting
in ambush,
a weapon within reach,
waiting
for the tenant
to return.
So you actually thought
that I was the criminal?”
, , , ,
“I did not know
who you were,
but I was determined
to find out.”
, , , ,
“Excellent,
Watson!
And
how did you localize me?
You saw me,
perhaps,
on the night
of the convict hunt,
when I was so imprudent as
to allow the moon
to rise
behind me?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I saw you then.”
, , , ,
“And have no doubt searched all the huts
until you came
to this one?”
, , , ,
“No,
your boy had been observed,
and
that gave me a guide where
to look.”
, , , ,
“The old gentleman
with the telescope,
no doubt.
I
could not make it out
when first I saw the light flashing upon the lens.”
He rose
and peeped
into the hut.
“Ha,
I see
that Cartwright has brought up some supplies.
What’s this paper?
So you have been
to Coombe Tracey,
have you?”
, , , ,
“Yes.”
, , , ,
“To see Mrs. Laura Lyons?”
, , , ,
“Exactly.”
, , , ,
“Well done!
Our researches have evidently been running
on parallel lines,
and
when we unite our results I expect we shall have a fairly full knowledge
of the case.”
, , , ,
“Well,
I am glad
from my heart
that you are here,
for indeed the responsibility
and the mystery were both becoming too much
for my nerves.
But how
in the name
of wonder did you come here,
and
what have you been doing?
I thought
that you were
in Baker Street working out
that case
of blackmailing.”
, , , ,
“That was
what I wished you
to think.”
, , , ,
“Then you use me,
and yet do not trust me!”
I cried
with some bitterness.
“I think
that I have deserved better
at your hands,
Holmes.”
, , , ,
“My dear fellow,
you have been invaluable
to me
in this as
in many other cases,
and I beg
that you
will forgive me
if I have seemed
to play a trick upon you.
In truth,
it was partly
for your own sake
that I did it,
and it was my appreciation
of the danger
which you ran
which led me
to come down
and examine the matter
for myself.
Had I been
with Sir Henry
and you it is confident
that my point
of view
would have been the same
as yours,
and my presence
would have warned our very formidable opponents
to be
on their guard.
As it is,
I have been able
to get about
as I
could not possibly have done had I been living
in the Hall,
and I remain an unknown factor
in the business,
ready
to throw
in all my weight
at a critical moment.”
, , , ,
“But
why keep me
in the dark?”
, , , ,
“For you
to know
could not have helped us,
and might possibly have led
to my discovery.
You
would have wished
to tell me something,
or
in your kindness you
would have brought me out some comfort
or other,
and so an unnecessary risk
would be run.
I brought Cartwright down
with me
--you remember the little chap
at the express office
--and he has seen after my simple wants:
a loaf
of bread
and a clean collar.
What does man want more?
He has given me an extra pair
of eyes upon a very active pair
of feet,
and both have been invaluable.”
, , , ,
“Then my reports have all been wasted!”
--My voice trembled
as I recalled the pains
and the pride
with
which I had composed them.
, , , ,
Holmes took a bundle
of papers
from his pocket.
, , , ,
“Here are your reports,
my dear fellow,
and very well thumbed,
I assure you.
I made excellent arrangements,
and they are only delayed one day upon their way.
I must compliment you exceedingly upon the zeal
and the intelligence
which you have shown
over an extraordinarily difficult case.”
, , , ,
I was still rather raw
over the deception
which had been practised upon me,
but the warmth
of Holmes’s praise drove my anger
from my mind.
I felt also
in my heart
that he was right
in
what he said
and
that it was really best
for our purpose
that I
should not have known
that he was upon the moor.
, , , ,
“That’s better,”
said he,
seeing the shadow rise
from my face.
“And now tell me the result
of your visit
to Mrs. Laura Lyons
--it was not difficult
for me
to guess
that it was
to see her
that you had gone,
for I am already aware
that she is the one person
in Coombe Tracey
who might be
of service
to us
in the matter.
In fact,
if you had not gone to-day it is exceedingly probable
that I
should have gone to-morrow.”
, , , ,
The sun had set
and dusk was settling
over the moor.
The air had turned chill
and we withdrew
into the hut
for warmth.
There,
sitting together
in the twilight,
I told Holmes
of my conversation
with the lady.
So interested was he
that I had
to repeat some
of it twice
before he was satisfied.
, , , ,
“This is most important,”
said he
when I had concluded.
“It fills up a gap
which I had been unable
to bridge,
in this most complex affair.
You are aware,
perhaps,
that a close intimacy exists
between this lady
and the man Stapleton?”
, , , ,
“I did not know
of a close intimacy.”
, , , ,
“There
can be no doubt
about the matter.
They meet,
they write,
there is a complete understanding
between them.
Now,
this puts a very powerful weapon
into our hands.
If I
could only use it
to detach his wife
----”
“His wife?”
, , , ,
“I am giving you some information now,
in return
for all
that you have given me.
The lady
who has passed here
as Miss Stapleton is
in reality his wife.”
, , , ,
“Good heavens,
Holmes!
Are you sure
of
what you say?
How
could he have permitted Sir Henry
to fall
in love
with her?”
, , , ,
“Sir Henry’s falling
in love
could do no harm
to anyone except Sir Henry.
He took particular care
that Sir Henry did not make love
to her,
as you have yourself observed.
I repeat
that the lady is his wife
and not his sister.”
, , , ,
“But
why this elaborate deception?”
, , , ,
“Because he foresaw
that she
would be very much more useful
to him
in the character
of a free woman.”
, , , ,
All my unspoken instincts,
my vague suspicions,
suddenly took shape
and centred upon the naturalist.
In
that impassive,
colourless man,
with his straw hat
and his butterfly-net,
I seemed
to see something terrible
--a creature
of infinite patience
and craft,
with a smiling face
and a murderous heart.
, , , ,
“It is he,
then,
who is our enemy
--it is he
who dogged us
in London?”
, , , ,
“So I read the riddle.”
, , , ,
“And the warning
--it must have come
from her!”
“Exactly.”
, , , ,
The shape
of some monstrous villainy,
half seen,
half guessed,
loomed
through the darkness
which had girt me so long.
, , , ,
“But are you sure
of this,
Holmes?
How do you know
that the woman is his wife?”
, , , ,
“Because he so far forgot himself as
to tell you a true piece
of autobiography upon the occasion
when he first met you,
and I dare say he has many a time regretted it since.
He was once a schoolmaster
in the north
of England.
Now,
there is no one more easy
to trace
than a schoolmaster.
There are scholastic agencies
by
which one may identify any man
who has been
in the profession.
A little investigation showed me
that a school had come
to grief
under atrocious circumstances,
and
that the man
who had owned it
--the name was different
--had disappeared
with his wife.
The descriptions agreed.
When I learned
that the missing man was devoted
to entomology the identification was complete.”
, , , ,
The darkness was rising,
but much was still hidden
by the shadows.
, , , ,
“If this woman is
in truth his wife,
where does Mrs. Laura Lyons come in?”
I asked.
, , , ,
“That is one
of the points upon
which your own researches have shed a light.
Your interview
with the lady has cleared the situation very much.
I did not know
about a projected divorce
between herself
and her husband.
In
that case,
regarding Stapleton
as an unmarried man,
she counted no doubt upon becoming his wife.”
, , , ,
“And
when she is undeceived?”
, , , ,
“Why,
then we may find the lady
of service.
It must be our first duty
to see her
--both
of us
--to-morrow.
Don’t you think,
Watson,
that you are away
from your charge rather long?
Your place
should be
at Baskerville Hall.”
, , , ,
The last red streaks had faded away
in the west
and night had settled upon the moor.
A few faint stars were gleaming
in a violet sky.
, , , ,
“One last question,
Holmes,”
I said,
as I rose.
“Surely
there is no need
of secrecy
between you
and me.
What is the meaning
of it all?
What is he after?”
, , , ,
Holmes’s voice sank
as he answered:
--
--
“It is murder,
Watson
--refined,
cold-blooded,
deliberate murder.
Do not ask me
for particulars.
My nets are closing upon him,
even
as his are upon Sir Henry,
and
with your help he is already almost
at my mercy.
There is
but one danger which
can threaten us.
It is
that he
should strike
before we are ready
to do so.
Another day
--two
at the most
--and I have my case complete,
but until
then guard your charge
as closely
as ever a fond mother watched her ailing child.
Your mission to-day has justified itself,
and yet I
could
almost wish
that you had not left his side.
Hark!”
A terrible scream
--a prolonged yell
of horror
and anguish
--burst out
of the silence
of the moor.
That frightful cry turned the blood
to ice
in my veins.
, , , ,
“Oh,
my God!”
I gasped.
“What is it?
What does it mean?”
, , , ,
Holmes had sprung
to his feet,
and I saw his dark,
athletic outline
at the door
of the hut,
his shoulders stooping,
his head thrust forward,
his face peering
into the darkness.
, , , ,
“Hush!”
he whispered.
“Hush!”
The cry had been loud
on account
of its vehemence,
but it had pealed out
from somewhere far off
on the shadowy plain.
Now it burst upon our ears,
nearer,
louder,
more urgent
than before.
, , , ,
“Where is it?”
Holmes whispered;
and I knew
from the thrill
of his voice
that he,
the man
of iron,
was shaken
to the soul.
“Where is it,
Watson?”
, , , ,
“There,
I think.”
I pointed
into the darkness.
, , , ,
“No,
there!”
Again the agonized cry swept
through the silent night,
louder
and much nearer
than ever.
And a new sound mingled
with it,
a deep,
muttered rumble,
musical
and yet menacing,
rising
and falling
like the low,
constant murmur
of the sea.
, , , ,
“The hound!”
cried Holmes.
“Come,
Watson,
come!
Great heavens,
if we are too late!”
He had started running swiftly
over the moor,
and I had followed
at his heels.
But now
from somewhere
among the broken ground immediately
in front
of us
there came one last despairing yell,
and
then a dull,
heavy thud.
We halted
and listened.
Not another sound broke the heavy silence
of the windless night.
, , , ,
I saw Holmes put his hand
to his forehead
like a man distracted.
He stamped his feet upon the ground.
, , , ,
“He has beaten us,
Watson.
We are too late.”
, , , ,
“No,
no,
surely not!”
“Fool
that I was
to hold my hand.
And you,
Watson,
see
what comes
of abandoning your charge!
But,
by Heaven,
if the worst has happened,
we’ll avenge him!”
Blindly we ran
through the gloom,
blundering
against boulders,
forcing our way
through gorse bushes,
panting up hills
and rushing down slopes,
heading always
in the direction whence those dreadful sounds had come.
At every rise Holmes looked eagerly round him,
but the shadows were thick upon the moor,
and nothing moved upon its dreary face.
, , , ,
“Can you see anything?”
, , , ,
“Nothing.”
, , , ,
“But,
hark,
what is that?”
, , , ,
A low moan had fallen upon our ears.
There it was again upon our left!
On
that side a ridge
of rocks ended
in a sheer cliff
which overlooked a stone-strewn slope.
On its jagged face was spread-eagled some dark,
irregular object.
As we ran
towards it the vague outline hardened
into a definite shape.
It was a prostrate man face downward upon the ground,
the head doubled
under him
at a horrible angle,
the shoulders rounded
and the body hunched together
as if
in the act
of throwing a somersault.
So grotesque was the attitude
that I
could not
for the instant realize
that that moan had been the passing
of his soul.
Not a whisper,
not a rustle,
rose now
from the dark figure
over
which we stooped.
Holmes laid his hand upon him,
and held it up again,
with an exclamation
of horror.
The gleam
of the match
which he struck shone upon his clotted fingers
and upon the ghastly pool
which widened slowly
from the crushed skull
of the victim.
And it shone upon something else
which turned our hearts sick
and faint within us
--the body
of Sir Henry Baskerville!
There was no chance
of either
of us forgetting
that peculiar ruddy tweed suit
--the very one
which he had worn
on the first morning
that we had seen him
in Baker Street.
We caught the one clear glimpse
of it,
and
then the match flickered
and went out,
even
as the hope had gone out
of our souls.
Holmes groaned,
and his face glimmered white
through the darkness.
, , , ,
“The brute!
the brute!”
I cried
with clenched hands.
“Oh Holmes,
I shall never forgive myself
for having left him
to his fate.”
, , , ,
“I am more
to blame
than you,
Watson.
In order
to have my case well rounded
and complete,
I have thrown away the life
of my client.
It is the greatest blow
which has befallen me
in my career.
But
how
could I know
--how
could l know
--that he
would risk his life alone upon the moor
in the face
of all my warnings?”
, , , ,
“That we
should have heard his screams
--my God,
those screams!
--and yet have been unable
to save him!
Where is this brute
of a hound
which drove him
to his death?
It may be lurking
among these rocks
at this instant.
And Stapleton,
where is he?
He shall answer
for this deed.”
, , , ,
“He shall.
I
will see
to that.
Uncle
and nephew have been murdered
--the one frightened
to death
by the very sight
of a beast
which he thought
to be supernatural,
the other driven
to his end
in his wild flight
to escape
from it.
But now we have
to prove the connection
between the man
and the beast.
Save
from
what we heard,
we cannot
even swear
to the existence
of the latter,
since Sir Henry has evidently died
from the fall.
But,
by heavens,
cunning
as he is,
the fellow shall be
in my power
before another day is past!”
We stood
with bitter hearts
on either side
of the mangled body,
overwhelmed
by this sudden
and irrevocable disaster
which had brought all our long
and weary labours
to so piteous an end.
Then,
as the moon rose we climbed
to the top
of the rocks
over
which our poor friend had fallen,
and
from the summit we gazed out
over the shadowy moor,
half silver
and half gloom.
Far away,
miles off,
in the direction
of Grimpen,
a single steady yellow light was shining.
It
could only come
from the lonely abode
of the Stapletons.
With a bitter curse I shook my fist
at it
as I gazed.
, , , ,
“Why
should we not seize him
at once?”
, , , ,
“Our case is not complete.
The fellow is wary
and cunning
to the last degree.
It is not
what we know,
but
what we
can prove.
If we make one false move the villain may escape us yet.”
, , , ,
“What
can we do?”
, , , ,
“There
will be plenty
for us
to do to-morrow.
To-night we
can only perform the last offices
to our poor friend.”
, , , ,
Together we made our way down the precipitous slope
and approached the body,
black
and clear
against the silvered stones.
The agony
of those contorted limbs struck me
with a spasm
of pain
and blurred my eyes
with tears.
, , , ,
“We must send
for help,
Holmes!
We cannot carry him all the way
to the Hall.
Good heavens,
are you mad?”
, , , ,
He had uttered a cry
and bent
over the body.
Now he was dancing
and laughing
and wringing my hand.
Could this be my stern,
self-contained friend?
These were hidden fires,
indeed!
“A beard!
A beard!
The man has a beard!”
“A beard?”
, , , ,
“It is not the baronet
--it is
--why,
it is my neighbour,
the convict!”
With feverish haste we had turned the body over,
and
that dripping beard was pointing up
to the cold,
clear moon.
There
could be no doubt
about the beetling forehead,
the sunken animal eyes.
It was indeed the same face
which had glared upon me
in the light
of the candle from
over the rock
--the face
of Selden,
the criminal.
, , , ,
Then
in an instant it was all clear
to me.
I remembered
how the baronet had told me
that he had handed his old wardrobe
to Barrymore.
Barrymore had passed it on
in order
to help Selden
in his escape.
Boots,
shirt,
cap
--it was all Sir Henry’s.
The tragedy was still black enough,
but this man had
at least deserved death
by the laws
of his country.
I told Holmes
how the matter stood,
my heart bubbling over
with thankfulness
and joy.
, , , ,
“Then the clothes have been the poor devil’s death,”
said he.
“It is clear enough
that the hound has been laid
on
from some article
of Sir Henry’s
--the boot
which was abstracted
in the hotel,
in all probability
--and so ran this man down.
There is one very singular thing,
however:
How came Selden,
in the darkness,
to know
that the hound was
on his trail?”
, , , ,
“He heard him.”
, , , ,
“To hear a hound upon the moor
would not work a hard man
like this convict
into such a paroxysm
of terror
that he
would risk recapture
by screaming wildly
for help.
By his cries he must have run a long way after he knew the animal was
on his track.
How did he know?”
, , , ,
“A greater mystery
to me is
why this hound,
presuming
that all our conjectures are correct
--”
“I presume nothing.”
, , , ,
“Well,
then,
why this hound
should be loose to-night.
I suppose
that it does not always run loose upon the moor.
Stapleton
would not let it go
unless he had reason
to think
that Sir Henry
would be there.”
, , , ,
“My difficulty is the more formidable
of the two,
for I think
that we shall very shortly get an explanation
of yours,
while mine may remain forever a mystery.
The question now is,
what shall we do
with this poor wretch’s body?
We cannot leave it here
to the foxes
and the ravens.”
, , , ,
“I suggest
that we put it
in one
of the huts
until we
can communicate
with the police.”
, , , ,
“Exactly.
I have no doubt
that you
and I
could carry it so far.
Halloa,
Watson,
what’s this?
It’s the man himself,
by all that’s wonderful
and audacious!
Not a word
to show your suspicions
--not a word,
or my plans crumble
to the ground.”
, , , ,
A figure was approaching us
over the moor,
and I saw the dull red glow
of a cigar.
The moon shone upon him,
and I
could distinguish the dapper shape
and jaunty walk
of the naturalist.
He stopped
when he saw us,
and
then came
on again.
, , , ,
“Why,
Dr. Watson,
that’s not you,
is it?
You are the last man
that I
should have expected
to see out
on the moor
at this time
of night.
But,
dear me,
what’s this?
Somebody hurt?
Not
--don’t tell me
that it is our friend Sir Henry!”
He hurried past me
and stooped
over the dead man.
I heard a sharp intake
of his breath
and the cigar fell
from his fingers.
, , , ,
“Who
--who’s this?”
he stammered.
, , , ,
“It is Selden,
the man
who escaped
from Princetown.”
, , , ,
Stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us,
but
by a supreme effort he had overcome his amazement
and his disappointment.
He looked sharply
from Holmes
to me.
, , , ,
“Dear me!
What a very shocking affair!
How did he die?”
, , , ,
“He appears
to have broken his neck
by falling
over these rocks.
My friend
and I were strolling
on the moor
when we heard a cry.”
, , , ,
“I heard a cry also.
That was
what brought me out.
I was uneasy
about Sir Henry.”
, , , ,
“Why
about Sir Henry
in particular?”
I
could not help asking.
, , , ,
“Because I had suggested
that he
should come over.
When he did not come I was surprised,
and I naturally became alarmed
for his safety
when I heard cries upon the moor.
By the way”
--his eyes darted again
from my face
to Holmes’s
--”did you hear anything else
besides a cry?”
, , , ,
“No,”
said Holmes;
“did you?”
, , , ,
“No.”
, , , ,
“What do you mean,
then?”
, , , ,
“Oh,
you know the stories
that the peasants tell
about a phantom hound,
and so on.
It is said
to be heard
at night upon the moor.
I was wondering
if
there were any evidence
of such a sound to-night.”
, , , ,
“We heard nothing
of the kind,”
said I.
“And
what is your theory
of this poor fellow’s death?”
, , , ,
“I have no doubt
that anxiety
and exposure have driven him off his head.
He has rushed
about the moor
in a crazy state
and eventually fallen
over here
and broken his neck.”
, , , ,
“That seems the most reasonable theory,”
said Stapleton,
and he gave a sigh
which I took
to indicate his relief.
“What do you think
about it,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
, , , ,
My friend bowed his compliments.
, , , ,
“You are quick
at identification,”
said he.
, , , ,
“We have been expecting you
in these parts
since Dr. Watson came down.
You are
in time
to see a tragedy.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
indeed.
I have no doubt
that my friend’s explanation
will cover the facts.
I
will take an unpleasant remembrance back
to London
with me to-morrow.”
, , , ,
“Oh,
you return to-morrow?”
, , , ,
“That is my intention.”
, , , ,
“I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences
which have puzzled us?”
, , , ,
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
, , , ,
“One cannot always have the success
for
which one hopes.
An investigator needs facts,
and not legends
or rumours.
It has not been a satisfactory case.”
, , , ,
My friend spoke
in his frankest
and most unconcerned manner.
Stapleton still looked hard
at him.
Then he turned
to me.
, , , ,
“I
would suggest carrying this poor fellow
to my house,
but it
would give my sister such a fright
that I do not feel justified
in doing it.
I think that
if we put something
over his face he
will be safe
until morning.”
, , , ,
And so it was arranged.
Resisting Stapleton’s offer
of hospitality,
Holmes
and I set off
to Baskerville Hall,
leaving the naturalist
to return alone.
Looking back we saw the figure moving slowly away
over the broad moor,
and
behind him
that one black smudge
on the silvered slope
which showed
where the man was lying
who had come so horribly
to his end.
, , , ,
Chapter 13
Fixing the Nets
“We’re
at close grips
at last,”
said Holmes
as we walked together
across the moor.
“What a nerve the fellow has!
How he pulled himself together
in the face
of
what must have been a paralyzing shock
when he found
that the wrong man had fallen a victim
to his plot.
I told you
in London,
Watson,
and I tell you now again,
that we have never had a foeman more worthy
of our steel.”
, , , ,
“I am sorry
that he has seen you.”
, , , ,
“And so was I
at first.
But
there was no getting out
of it.”
, , , ,
“What effect do you think it
will have upon his plans now
that he knows you are here?”
, , , ,
“It may cause him
to be more cautious,
or it may drive him
to desperate measures
at once.
Like most clever criminals,
he may be too confident
in his own cleverness
and imagine
that he has completely deceived us.”
, , , ,
“Why
should we not arrest him
at once?”
, , , ,
“My dear Watson,
you were born
to be a man
of action.
Your instinct is always
to do something energetic.
But supposing,
for argument’s sake,
that we had him arrested to-night,
what
on earth the better off
should we be
for that?
We
could prove nothing
against him.
There’s the devilish cunning
of it!
If he were acting
through a human agent we
could get some evidence,
but
if we were
to drag this great dog
to the light
of day it
would not help us
in putting a rope round the neck
of its master.”
, , , ,
“Surely we have a case.”
, , , ,
“Not a shadow
of one
--only surmise
and conjecture.
We
should be laughed out
of court
if we came
with such a story
and such evidence.”
, , , ,
“There is Sir Charles’s death.”
, , , ,
“Found dead without a mark upon him.
You
and I know
that he died
of sheer fright,
and we know also
what frightened him;
but
how are we
to get twelve stolid jurymen
to know it?
What signs are there
of a hound?
Where are the marks
of its fangs?
Of course we know
that a hound does not bite a dead body
and
that Sir Charles was dead
before ever the brute overtook him.
But we have
to prove all this,
and we are not
in a position
to do it.”
, , , ,
“Well,
then,
to-night?”
, , , ,
“We are not much better off to-night.
Again,
there was no direct connection
between the hound
and the man’s death.
We never saw the hound.
We heard it;
but we
could not prove
that it was running upon this man’s trail.
There is a complete absence
of motive.
No,
my dear fellow;
we must reconcile ourselves
to the fact
that we have no case
at present,
and
that it is worth our while
to run any risk
in order
to establish one.”
, , , ,
“And
how do you propose
to do so?”
, , , ,
“I have great hopes
of
what Mrs. Laura Lyons may do
for us
when the position
of affairs is made clear
to her.
And I have my own plan
as well.
Sufficient
for to-morrow is the evil thereof;
but I hope
before the day is past
to have the upper hand
at last.”
, , , ,
I
could draw nothing further
from him,
and he walked,
lost
in thought,
as far
as the Baskerville gates.
, , , ,
“Are you coming up?”
, , , ,
“Yes;
I see no reason
for further concealment.
But one last word,
Watson.
Say nothing
of the hound
to Sir Henry.
Let him think
that Selden’s death was
as Stapleton
would have us believe.
He
will have a better nerve
for the ordeal
which he
will have
to undergo to-morrow,
when he is engaged,
if I remember your report aright,
to dine
with these people.”
, , , ,
“And so am I.”
, , , ,
“Then you must excuse yourself
and he must go alone.
That
will be easily arranged.
And now,
if we are too late
for dinner,
I think
that we are both ready
for our suppers.”
, , , ,
Sir Henry was more pleased
than surprised
to see Sherlock Holmes,
for he had
for some days been expecting
that recent events
would bring him down
from London.
He did raise his eyebrows,
however,
when he found
that my friend had neither any luggage nor any explanations
for its absence.
Between us we soon supplied his wants,
and then
over a belated supper we explained
to the baronet
as much
of our experience
as it seemed desirable
that he
should know.
But first I had the unpleasant duty
of breaking the news
to Barrymore
and his wife.
To him it may have been an unmitigated relief,
but she wept bitterly
in her apron.
To all the world he was the man
of violence,
half animal
and half demon;
but
to her he always remained the little wilful boy
of her own girlhood,
the child
who had clung
to her hand.
Evil indeed is the man
who has not one woman
to mourn him.
, , , ,
“I’ve been moping
in the house all day
since Watson went off
in the morning,”
said the baronet.
“I guess I
should have some credit,
for I have kept my promise.
If I hadn’t sworn not
to go
about alone I might have had a more lively evening,
for I had a message
from Stapleton asking me
over there.”
, , , ,
“I have no doubt
that you
would have had a more lively evening,”
said Holmes drily.
“By the way,
I
don’t suppose you appreciate
that we have been mourning
over you
as having broken your neck?”
, , , ,
Sir Henry opened his eyes.
“How was that?”
, , , ,
“This poor wretch was dressed
in your clothes.
I fear your servant
who gave them
to him may get
into trouble
with the police.”
, , , ,
“That is unlikely.
There was no mark
on any
of them,
as far
as I know.”
, , , ,
“That’s lucky
for him
--in fact,
it’s lucky
for all
of you,
since you are all
on the wrong side
of the law
in this matter.
I am not sure that
as a conscientious detective my first duty is not
to arrest the whole household.
Watson’s reports are most incriminating documents.”
, , , ,
“But
how
about the case?”
asked the baronet.
“Have you made anything out
of the tangle?
I
don’t know
that Watson
and I are much the wiser
since we came down.”
, , , ,
“I think
that I shall be
in a position
to make the situation rather more clear
to you
before long.
It has been an exceedingly difficult
and most complicated business.
There are several points upon
which we still want light
--but it is coming all the same.”
, , , ,
“We’ve had one experience,
as Watson has no doubt told you.
We heard the hound
on the moor,
so I
can swear
that it is not all empty superstition.
I had something
to do
with dogs
when I was out West,
and I know one
when I hear one.
If you
can muzzle
that one
and put him
on a chain I’ll be ready
to swear you are the greatest detective
of all time.”
, , , ,
“I think I
will muzzle him
and chain him all right
if you
will give me your help.”
, , , ,
“Whatever you tell me
to do I
will do.”
, , , ,
“Very good;
and I
will ask you also
to do it blindly,
without always asking the reason.”
, , , ,
“Just
as you like.”
, , , ,
“If you
will do this I think the chances are
that our little problem
will soon be solved.
I have no doubt
----”
He stopped suddenly
and stared fixedly up
over my head
into the air.
The lamp beat upon his face,
and so intent was it
and so still
that it might have been that
of a clear-cut classical statue,
a personification
of alertness
and expectation.
, , , ,
“What is it?”
we both cried.
, , , ,
I
could see
as he looked down
that he was repressing some internal emotion.
His features were still composed,
but his eyes shone
with amused exultation.
, , , ,
“Excuse the admiration
of a connoisseur,”
said he
as he waved his hand
towards the line
of portraits
which covered the opposite wall.
“Watson
won’t allow
that I know anything
of art,
but
that is mere jealousy,
because our views upon the subject differ.
Now,
these are a really very fine series
of portraits.”
, , , ,
“Well,
I’m glad
to hear you say so,”
said Sir Henry,
glancing
with some surprise
at my friend.
“I
don’t pretend
to know much
about these things,
and I’d be a better judge
of a horse
or a steer than
of a picture.
I didn’t know
that you found time
for such things.”
, , , ,
“I know
what is good
when I see it,
and I see it now.
That’s a Kneller,
I’ll swear,
that lady
in the blue silk
over yonder,
and the stout gentleman
with the wig ought
to be a Reynolds.
They are all family portraits,
I presume?”
, , , ,
“Every one.”
, , , ,
“Do you know the names?”
, , , ,
“Barrymore has been coaching me
in them,
and I think I
can say my lessons fairly well.”
, , , ,
“Who is the gentleman
with the telescope?”
, , , ,
“That is Rear-Admiral Baskerville,
who served
under Rodney
in the West Indies.
The man
with the blue coat
and the roll
of paper is Sir William Baskerville,
who was Chairman
of Committees
of the House
of Commons
under Pitt.”
, , , ,
“And this Cavalier opposite
to me
--the one
with the black velvet
and the lace?”
, , , ,
“Ah,
you have a right
to know
about him.
That is the cause
of all the mischief,
the wicked Hugo,
who started the Hound
of the Baskervilles.
We’re not likely
to forget him.”
, , , ,
I gazed
with interest
and some surprise upon the portrait.
, , , ,
“Dear me!”
said Holmes,
“he seems a quiet,
meek-mannered man enough,
but I dare say
that
there was a lurking devil
in his eyes.
I had pictured him
as a more robust
and ruffianly person.”
, , , ,
“There’s no doubt
about the authenticity,
for the name
and the date,
1647,
are
on the back
of the canvas.”
, , , ,
Holmes said little more,
but the picture
of the old roysterer seemed
to have a fascination
for him,
and his eyes were continually fixed upon it during supper.
It was not
until later,
when Sir Henry had gone
to his room,
that I was able
to follow the trend
of his thoughts.
He led me back
into the banqueting-hall,
his bedroom candle
in his hand,
and he held it up
against the time-stained portrait
on the wall.
, , , ,
“Do you see anything there?”
, , , ,
I looked
at the broad plumed hat,
the curling love-locks,
the white lace collar,
and the straight,
severe face
which was framed
between them.
It was not a brutal countenance,
but it was prim,
hard,
and stern,
with a firm-set,
thin-lipped mouth,
and a coldly intolerant eye.
, , , ,
“Is it
like anyone you know?”
, , , ,
“There is something
of Sir Henry
about the jaw.”
, , , ,
“Just a suggestion,
perhaps.
But wait an instant!”
He stood upon a chair,
and,
holding up the light
in his left hand,
he curved his right arm
over the broad hat
and round the long ringlets.
, , , ,
“Good heavens!”
I cried,
in amazement.
, , , ,
The face
of Stapleton had sprung out
of the canvas.
, , , ,
“Ha,
you see it now.
My eyes have been trained
to examine faces
and not their trimmings.
It is the first quality
of a criminal investigator
that he
should see
through a disguise.”
, , , ,
“But this is marvellous.
It might be his portrait.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
it is an interesting instance
of a throwback,
which appears
to be both physical
and spiritual.
A study
of family portraits is enough
to convert a man
to the doctrine
of reincarnation.
The fellow is a Baskerville
--that is evident.”
, , , ,
“With designs upon the succession.”
, , , ,
“Exactly.
This chance
of the picture has supplied us
with one
of our most obvious missing links.
We have him,
Watson,
we have him,
and I dare swear
that
before to-morrow night he
will be fluttering
in our net
as helpless
as one
of his own butterflies.
A pin,
a cork,
and a card,
and we add him
to the Baker Street collection!”
He burst
into one
of his rare fits
of laughter
as he turned away
from the picture.
I have not heard him laugh often,
and it has always boded ill
to somebody.
, , , ,
I was up betimes
in the morning,
but Holmes was afoot earlier still,
for I saw him
as I dressed,
coming up the drive.
, , , ,
“Yes,
we
should have a full day to-day,”
he remarked,
and he rubbed his hands
with the joy
of action.
“The nets are all
in place,
and the drag is about
to begin.
We’ll know
before the day is out whether we have caught our big,
lean-jawed pike,
or whether he has got
through the meshes.”
, , , ,
“Have you been
on the moor already?”
, , , ,
“I have sent a report
from Grimpen
to Princetown as
to the death
of Selden.
I think I
can promise
that none
of you
will be troubled
in the matter.
And I have also communicated
with my faithful Cartwright,
who
would certainly have pined away
at the door
of my hut,
as a dog does
at his master’s grave,
if I had not set his mind
at rest
about my safety.”
, , , ,
“What is the next move?”
, , , ,
“To see Sir Henry.
Ah,
here he is!”
“Good morning,
Holmes,”
said the baronet.
“You look
like a general
who is planning a battle
with his chief
of the staff.”
, , , ,
“That is the exact situation.
Watson was asking
for orders.”
, , , ,
“And so do I.”
, , , ,
“Very good.
You are engaged,
as I understand,
to dine
with our friends the Stapletons to-night.”
, , , ,
“I hope
that you
will come also.
They are very hospitable people,
and I am sure
that they
would be very glad
to see you.”
, , , ,
“I fear
that Watson
and I must go
to London.”
, , , ,
“To London?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I think
that we
should be more useful there
at the present juncture.”
, , , ,
The baronet’s face perceptibly lengthened.
, , , ,
“I hoped
that you were going
to see me
through this business.
The Hall
and the moor are not very pleasant places
when one is alone.”
, , , ,
“My dear fellow,
you must trust me implicitly
and do exactly
what I tell you.
You
can tell your friends
that we
should have been happy
to have come
with you,
but
that urgent business required us
to be
in town.
We hope very soon
to return
to Devonshire.
Will you remember
to give them
that message?”
, , , ,
“If you insist upon it.”
, , , ,
“There is no alternative,
I assure you.”
, , , ,
I saw
by the baronet’s clouded brow
that he was deeply hurt
by
what he regarded
as our desertion.
, , , ,
“When do you desire
to go?”
he asked coldly.
, , , ,
“Immediately after breakfast.
We
will drive
in
to Coombe Tracey,
but Watson
will leave his things
as a pledge
that he
will come back
to you.
Watson,
you
will send a note
to Stapleton
to tell him
that you regret
that you cannot come.”
, , , ,
“I have a good mind
to go
to London
with you,”
said the baronet.
“Why
should I stay here alone?”
, , , ,
“Because it is your post
of duty.
Because you gave me your word
that you
would do
as you were told,
and I tell you
to stay.”
, , , ,
“All right,
then,
I’ll stay.”
, , , ,
“One more direction!
I wish you
to drive
to Merripit House.
Send back your trap,
however,
and let them know
that you intend
to walk home.”
, , , ,
“To walk
across the moor?”
, , , ,
“Yes.”
, , , ,
“But
that is the very thing
which you have so often cautioned me not
to do.”
, , , ,
“This time you may do it
with safety.
If I had not every confidence
in your nerve
and courage I
would not suggest it,
but it is essential
that you
should do it.”
, , , ,
“Then I
will do it.”
, , , ,
“And
as you value your life do not go
across the moor
in any direction save
along the straight path
which leads
from Merripit House
to the Grimpen Road,
and is your natural way home.”
, , , ,
“I
will do just
what you say.”
, , , ,
“Very good.
I
should be glad
to get away
as soon after breakfast
as possible,
so as
to reach London
in the afternoon.”
, , , ,
I was much astounded
by this programme,
though I remembered
that Holmes had said
to Stapleton
on the night before
that his visit
would terminate next day.
It had not crossed my mind,
however,
that he
would wish me
to go
with him,
nor
could I understand
how we
could both be absent
at a moment
which he himself declared
to be critical.
There was nothing
for it,
however,
but implicit obedience;
so we bade good-bye
to our rueful friend,
and a couple
of hours afterwards we were
at the station
of Coombe Tracey
and had dispatched the trap upon its return journey.
A small boy was waiting upon the platform.
, , , ,
“Any orders,
sir?”
, , , ,
“You
will take this train
to town,
Cartwright.
The moment you arrive you
will send a wire
to Sir Henry Baskerville,
in my name,
to say that
if he finds the pocket-book
which I have dropped he is
to send it
by registered post
to Baker Street.”
, , , ,
“Yes,
sir.”
, , , ,
“And ask
at the station office
if
there is a message
for me.”
, , , ,
The boy returned
with a telegram,
which Holmes handed
to me.
It ran:
“Wire received.
Coming down
with unsigned warrant.
Arrive five-forty.
--LESTRADE.”
, , , ,
“That is
in answer
to mine
of this morning.
He is the best
of the professionals,
I think,
and we may need his assistance.
Now,
Watson,
I think
that we cannot employ our time better than
by calling upon your acquaintance,
Mrs. Laura Lyons.”
, , , ,
His plan
of campaign was beginning
to be evident.
He
would use the baronet
in order
to convince the Stapletons
that we were really gone,
while we
should actually return
at the instant
when we were likely
to be needed.
That telegram
from London,
if mentioned
by Sir Henry
to the Stapletons,
must remove the last suspicions
from their minds.
Already I seemed
to see our nets drawing closer around
that lean-jawed pike.
, , , ,
Mrs. Laura Lyons was
in her office,
and Sherlock Holmes opened his interview
with a frankness
and directness
which considerably amazed her.
, , , ,
“I am investigating the circumstances
which attended the death
of the late Sir Charles Baskerville,”
said he.
“My friend here,
Dr. Watson,
has informed me
of
what you have communicated,
and also
of
what you have withheld
in connection
with
that matter.”
, , , ,
“What have I withheld?”
she asked defiantly.
, , , ,
“You have confessed
that you asked Sir Charles
to be
at the gate
at ten o’clock.
We know
that that was the place
and hour
of his death.
You have withheld
what the connection is
between these events.”
, , , ,
“There is no connection.”
, , , ,
“In
that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinary one.
But I think
that we shall succeed
in establishing a connection after all.
I wish
to be perfectly frank
with you,
Mrs. Lyons.
We regard this case
as one
of murder,
and the evidence may implicate not only your friend Mr. Stapleton,
but his wife
as well.”
, , , ,
The lady sprang
from her chair.
, , , ,
“His wife!”
she cried.
, , , ,
“The fact is no longer a secret.
The person
who has passed
for his sister is really his wife.”
, , , ,
Mrs. Lyons had resumed her seat.
Her hands were grasping the arms
of her chair,
and I saw
that the pink nails had turned white
with the pressure
of her grip.
, , , ,
“His wife!”
she said again.
“His wife!
He is not a married man.”
, , , ,
Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
, , , ,
“Prove it
to me!
Prove it
to me!
And
if you
can do so
--!”
The fierce flash
of her eyes said more
than any words.
, , , ,
“I have come prepared
to do so,”
said Holmes,
drawing several papers
from his pocket.
“Here is a photograph
of the couple taken
in York four years ago.
It is indorsed ‘Mr.
and Mrs. Vandeleur,’
but you
will have no difficulty
in recognizing him,
and her also,
if you know her
by sight.
Here are three written descriptions
by trustworthy witnesses
of Mr.
and Mrs. Vandeleur,
who
at
that time kept St. Oliver’s private school.
Read them
and see
if you
can doubt the identity
of these people.”
, , , ,
She glanced
at them,
and
then looked up
at us
with the set,
rigid face
of a desperate woman.
, , , ,
“Mr. Holmes,”
she said,
“this man had offered me marriage
on condition
that I
could get a divorce
from my husband.
He has lied
to me,
the villain,
in every conceivable way.
Not one word
of truth has he ever told me.
And why
--why?
I imagined
that all was
for my own sake.
But now I see
that I was never anything
but a tool
in his hands.
Why
should I preserve faith
with him
who never kept any
with me?
Why
should I try
to shield him
from the consequences
of his own wicked acts?
Ask me
what you like,
and
there is nothing
which I shall hold back.
One thing I swear
to you,
and
that is that
when I wrote the letter I never dreamed
of any harm
to the old gentleman,
who had been my kindest friend.”
, , , ,
“I entirely believe you,
madam,”
said Sherlock Holmes.
“The recital
of these events must be very painful
to you,
and perhaps it
will make it easier
if I tell you
what occurred,
and you
can check me
if I make any material mistake.
The sending
of this letter was suggested
to you
by Stapleton?”
, , , ,
“He dictated it.”
, , , ,
“I presume
that the reason he gave was
that you
would receive help
from Sir Charles
for the legal expenses connected
with your divorce?”
, , , ,
“Exactly.”
, , , ,
“And
then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you
from keeping the appointment?”
, , , ,
“He told me
that it
would hurt his self-respect
that any other man
should find the money
for such an object,
and
that though he was a poor man himself he
would devote his last penny
to removing the obstacles
which divided us.”
, , , ,
“He appears
to be a very consistent character.
And
then you heard nothing
until you read the reports
of the death
in the paper?”
, , , ,
“No.”
, , , ,
“And he made you swear
to say nothing
about your appointment
with Sir Charles?”
, , , ,
“He did.
He said
that the death was a very mysterious one,
and
that I
should certainly be suspected
if the facts came out.
He frightened me
into remaining silent.”
, , , ,
“Quite so.
But you had your suspicions?”
, , , ,
She hesitated
and looked down.
, , , ,
“I knew him,”
she said.
“But
if he had kept faith
with me I
should always have done so
with him.”
, , , ,
“I think that
on the whole you have had a fortunate escape,”
said Sherlock Holmes.
“You have had him
in your power
and he knew it,
and yet you are alive.
You have been walking
for some months very near
to the edge
of a precipice.
We must wish you good-morning now,
Mrs. Lyons,
and it is probable
that you
will very shortly hear
from us again.”
, , , ,
“Our case becomes rounded off,
and difficulty after difficulty thins away
in front
of us,”
said Holmes
as we stood waiting
for the arrival
of the express
from town.
“I shall soon be
in the position
of being able
to put
into a single connected narrative one
of the most singular
and sensational crimes
of modern times.
Students
of criminology
will remember the analogous incidents
in Godno,
in Little Russia,
in the year ‘66,
and
of course
there are the Anderson murders
in North Carolina,
but this case possesses some features
which are entirely its own.
Even now we have no clear case
against this very wily man.
But I shall be very much surprised
if it is not clear enough
before we go
to bed this night.”
, , , ,
The London express came roaring
into the station,
and a small,
wiry bulldog
of a man had sprung
from a first-class carriage.
We all three shook hands,
and I saw
at once
from the reverential way
in
which Lestrade gazed
at my companion
that he had learned a good deal
since the days
when they had first worked together.
I
could well remember the scorn
which the theories
of the reasoner used then
to excite
in the practical man.
, , , ,
“Anything good?”
he asked.
, , , ,
“The biggest thing
for years,”
said Holmes.
“We have two hours
before we need think
of starting.
I think we might employ it
in getting some dinner
and then,
Lestrade,
we
will take the London fog out
of your throat
by giving you a breath
of the pure night air
of Dartmoor.
Never been there?
Ah,
well,
I
don’t suppose you
will forget your first visit.”
, , , ,
Chapter 14
The Hound
of the Baskervilles
One
of Sherlock Holmes’s defects
--if,
indeed,
one may call it a defect
--was
that he was exceedingly loath
to communicate his full plans
to any other person
until the instant
of their fulfilment.
Partly it came no doubt
from his own masterful nature,
which loved
to dominate
and surprise those
who were
around him.
Partly also
from his professional caution,
which urged him never
to take any chances.
The result,
however,
was very trying
for those
who were acting
as his agents
and assistants.
I had often suffered
under it,
but never more so
than during
that long drive
in the darkness.
The great ordeal was
in front
of us;
at last we were about
to make our final effort,
and yet Holmes had said nothing,
and I
could only surmise
what his course
of action
would be.
My nerves thrilled
with anticipation when
at last the cold wind upon our faces
and the dark,
void spaces
on either side
of the narrow road told me
that we were back upon the moor once again.
Every stride
of the horses
and every turn
of the wheels was taking us nearer
to our supreme adventure.
, , , ,
Our conversation was hampered
by the presence
of the driver
of the hired wagonette,
so
that we were forced
to talk
of trivial matters
when our nerves were tense
with emotion
and anticipation.
It was a relief
to me,
after
that unnatural restraint,
when we
at last passed Frankland’s house
and knew
that we were drawing near
to the Hall and
to the scene
of action.
We did not drive up
to the door
but got down near the gate
of the avenue.
The wagonette was paid off
and ordered
to return
to Coombe Tracey forthwith,
while we started
to walk
to Merripit House.
, , , ,
“Are you armed,
Lestrade?”
, , , ,
The little detective smiled.
, , , ,
“As long
as I have my trousers I have a hip-pocket,
and
as long
as I have my hip-pocket I have something
in it.”
, , , ,
“Good!
My friend
and I are also ready
for emergencies.”
, , , ,
“You’re mighty close
about this affair,
Mr. Holmes.
What’s the game now?”
, , , ,
“A waiting game.”
, , , ,
“My word,
it does not seem a very cheerful place,”
said the detective
with a shiver,
glancing round him
at the gloomy slopes
of the hill and
at the huge lake
of fog
which lay
over the Grimpen Mire.
“I see the lights
of a house ahead
of us.”
, , , ,
“That is Merripit House
and the end
of our journey.
I must request you
to walk
on tiptoe
and not
to talk
above a whisper.”
, , , ,
We moved cautiously
along the track
as
if we were bound
for the house,
but Holmes halted us
when we were
about two hundred yards
from it.
, , , ,
“This
will do,”
said he.
“These rocks upon the right make an admirable screen.”
, , , ,
“We are
to wait here?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
we shall make our little ambush here.
Get
into this hollow,
Lestrade.
You have been inside the house,
have you not,
Watson?
Can you tell the position
of the rooms?
What are those latticed windows
at this end?”
, , , ,
“I think they are the kitchen windows.”
, , , ,
“And the one beyond,
which shines so brightly?”
, , , ,
“That is certainly the dining-room.”
, , , ,
“The blinds are up.
You know the lie
of the land best.
Creep forward quietly
and see
what they are doing
--but
for heaven’s sake
don’t let them know
that they are watched!”
I tiptoed down the path
and stooped
behind the low wall
which surrounded the stunted orchard.
Creeping
in its shadow I reached a point whence I
could look straight
through the uncurtained window.
, , , ,
There were only two men
in the room,
Sir Henry
and Stapleton.
They sat
with their profiles
towards me
on either side
of the round table.
Both
of them were smoking cigars,
and coffee
and wine were
in front
of them.
Stapleton was talking
with animation,
but the baronet looked pale
and distrait.
Perhaps the thought
of
that lonely walk
across the ill-omened moor was weighing heavily upon his mind.
, , , ,
As I watched them Stapleton rose
and left the room,
while Sir Henry filled his glass again
and leaned back
in his chair,
puffing
at his cigar.
I heard the creak
of a door
and the crisp sound
of boots upon gravel.
The steps passed
along the path
on the other side
of the wall under
which I crouched.
Looking over,
I saw the naturalist pause
at the door
of an out-house
in the corner
of the orchard.
A key turned
in a lock,
and
as he passed
in
there was a curious scuffling noise
from within.
He was only a minute
or so inside,
and
then I heard the key turn once more
and he passed me
and re-entered the house.
I saw him rejoin his guest,
and I crept quietly back
to
where my companions were waiting
to tell them
what I had seen.
, , , ,
“You say,
Watson,
that the lady is not there?”
Holmes asked,
when I had finished my report.
, , , ,
“No.”
, , , ,
“Where
can she be,
then,
since
there is no light
in any other room except the kitchen?”
, , , ,
“I cannot think
where she is.”
, , , ,
I have said
that
over the great Grimpen Mire
there hung a dense,
white fog.
It was drifting slowly
in our direction,
and banked itself up
like a wall
on
that side
of us,
low,
but thick
and well defined.
The moon shone
on it,
and it looked
like a great shimmering ice-field,
with the heads
of the distant tors
as rocks borne upon its surface.
Holmes’s face was turned
towards it,
and he muttered impatiently
as he watched its sluggish drift.
, , , ,
“It’s moving
towards us,
Watson.”
, , , ,
“Is
that serious?”
, , , ,
“Very serious,
indeed
--the one thing upon earth
which
could have disarranged my plans.
He can’t be very long,
now.
It is already ten o’clock.
Our success
and
even his life may depend upon his coming out
before the fog is
over the path.”
, , , ,
The night was clear
and fine
above us.
The stars shone cold
and bright,
while a half-moon bathed the whole scene
in a soft,
uncertain light.
Before us lay the dark bulk
of the house,
its serrated roof
and bristling chimneys hard outlined
against the silver-spangled sky.
Broad bars
of golden light
from the lower windows stretched
across the orchard
and the moor.
One
of them was suddenly shut off.
The servants had left the kitchen.
There only remained the lamp
in the dining-room
where the two men,
the murderous host
and the unconscious guest,
still chatted
over their cigars.
, , , ,
Every minute
that white woolly plain
which covered one half
of the moor was drifting closer
and closer
to the house.
Already the first thin wisps
of it were curling
across the golden square
of the lighted window.
The farther wall
of the orchard was already invisible,
and the trees were standing out
of a swirl
of white vapour.
As we watched it the fog-wreaths came crawling round both corners
of the house
and rolled slowly
into one dense bank,
on
which the upper floor
and the roof floated
like a strange ship upon a shadowy sea.
Holmes struck his hand passionately upon the rock
in front
of us
and stamped his feet
in his impatience.
, , , ,
“If he isn’t out
in a quarter
of an hour the path
will be covered.
In half an hour we
won’t be able
to see our hands
in front
of us.”
, , , ,
“Shall we move farther back upon higher ground?”
, , , ,
“Yes,
I think it
would be
as well.”
, , , ,
So
as the fog-bank flowed onward we fell back
before it
until we were half a mile
from the house,
and still
that dense white sea,
with the moon silvering its upper edge,
swept slowly
and inexorably on.
, , , ,
“We are going too far,”
said Holmes.
“We dare not take the chance
of his being overtaken
before he
can reach us.
At all costs we must hold our ground
where we are.”
He dropped
on his knees
and clapped his ear
to the ground.
“Thank God,
I think
that I hear him coming.”
, , , ,
A sound
of quick steps broke the silence
of the moor.
Crouching
among the stones we stared intently
at the silver-tipped bank
in front
of us.
The steps grew louder,
and
through the fog,
as
through a curtain,
there stepped the man whom we were awaiting.
He looked round him
in surprise
as he emerged
into the clear,
starlit night.
Then he came swiftly
along the path,
passed close
to
where we lay,
and went
on up the long slope
behind us.
As he walked he glanced continually
over either shoulder,
like a man
who is ill
at ease.
, , , ,
“Hist!”
cried Holmes,
and I heard the sharp click
of a cocking pistol.
“Look out!
It’s coming!”
There was a thin,
crisp,
continuous patter
from somewhere
in the heart
of
that crawling bank.
The cloud was within fifty yards
of
where we lay,
and we glared
at it,
all three,
uncertain
what horror was about
to break
from the heart
of it.
I was
at Holmes’s elbow,
and I glanced
for an instant
at his face.
It was pale
and exultant,
his eyes shining brightly
in the moonlight.
But suddenly they started forward
in a rigid,
fixed stare,
and his lips parted
in amazement.
At the same instant Lestrade gave a yell
of terror
and threw himself face downward upon the ground.
I sprang
to my feet,
my inert hand grasping my pistol,
my mind paralyzed
by the dreadful shape
which had sprung out upon us
from the shadows
of the fog.
A hound it was,
an enormous coal-black hound,
but not such a hound
as mortal eyes have ever seen.
Fire burst
from its open mouth,
its eyes glowed
with a smouldering glare,
its muzzle
and hackles
and dewlap were outlined
in flickering flame.
Never
in the delirious dream
of a disordered brain
could anything more savage,
more appalling,
more hellish be conceived than
that dark form
and savage face
which broke upon us out
of the wall
of fog.
, , , ,
With long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down the track,
following hard upon the footsteps
of our friend.
So paralyzed were we
by the apparition
that we allowed him
to pass
before we had recovered our nerve.
Then Holmes
and I both fired together,
and the creature gave a hideous howl,
which showed
that one
at least had hit him.
He did not pause,
however,
but bounded onward.
Far away
on the path we saw Sir Henry looking back,
his face white
in the moonlight,
his hands raised
in horror,
glaring helplessly
at the frightful thing
which was hunting him down.
, , , ,
But
that cry
of pain
from the hound had blown all our fears
to the winds.
If he was vulnerable he was mortal,
and
if we
could wound him we
could kill him.
Never have I seen a man run
as Holmes ran
that night.
I am reckoned fleet
of foot,
but he outpaced me
as much
as I outpaced the little professional.
In front
of us
as we flew up the track we heard scream after scream
from Sir Henry
and the deep roar
of the hound.
I was
in time
to see the beast spring upon its victim,
hurl him
to the ground,
and worry
at his throat.
But the next instant Holmes had emptied five barrels
of his revolver
into the creature’s flank.
With a last howl
of agony
and a vicious snap
in the air,
it rolled upon its back,
four feet pawing furiously,
and
then fell limp upon its side.
I stooped,
panting,
and pressed my pistol
to the dreadful,
shimmering head,
but it was useless
to press the trigger.
The giant hound was dead.
, , , ,
Sir Henry lay insensible
where he had fallen.
We tore away his collar,
and Holmes breathed a prayer
of gratitude
when we saw
that
there was no sign
of a wound
and
that the rescue had been
in time.
Already our friend’s eyelids shivered
and he made a feeble effort
to move.
Lestrade thrust his brandy-flask
between the baronet’s teeth,
and two frightened eyes were looking up
at us.
, , , ,
“My God!”
he whispered.
“What was it?
What,
in heaven’s name,
was it?”
, , , ,
“It’s dead,
whatever it is,”
said Holmes.
“We’ve laid the family ghost once
and forever.”
, , , ,
In mere size
and strength it was a terrible creature
which was lying stretched
before us.
It was not a pure bloodhound
and it was not a pure mastiff;
but it appeared
to be a combination
of the two
--gaunt,
savage,
and
as large
as a small lioness.
Even now,
in the stillness
of death,
the huge jaws seemed
to be dripping
with a bluish flame
and the small,
deep-set,
cruel eyes were ringed
with fire.
I placed my hand upon the glowing muzzle,
and
as I held them up my own fingers smouldered
and gleamed
in the darkness.
, , , ,
“Phosphorus,”
I said.
, , , ,
“A cunning preparation
of it,”
said Holmes,
sniffing
at the dead animal.
“There is no smell
which might have interfered
with his power
of scent.
We owe you a deep apology,
Sir Henry,
for having exposed you
to this fright.
I was prepared
for a hound,
but not
for such a creature
as this.
And the fog gave us little time
to receive him.”
, , , ,
“You have saved my life.”
, , , ,
“Having first endangered it.
Are you strong enough
to stand?”
, , , ,
“Give me another mouthful
of
that brandy
and I shall be ready
for anything.
So!
Now,
if you
will help me up.
What do you propose
to do?”
, , , ,
“To leave you here.
You are not fit
for further adventures to-night.
If you
will wait,
one
or other
of us
will go back
with you
to the Hall.”
, , , ,
He tried
to stagger
to his feet;
but he was still ghastly pale
and trembling
in every limb.
We helped him
to a rock,
where he sat shivering
with his face buried
in his hands.
, , , ,
“We must leave you now,”
said Holmes.
“The rest
of our work must be done,
and every moment is
of importance.
We have our case,
and now we only want our man.
, , , ,
“It’s a thousand
to one
against our finding him
at the house,”
he continued
as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path.
“Those shots must have told him
that the game was up.”
, , , ,
“We were some distance off,
and this fog may have deadened them.”
, , , ,
“He followed the hound
to call him off
--of
that you may be certain.
No,
no,
he’s gone
by this time!
But we’ll search the house
and make sure.”
, , , ,
The front door was open,
so we rushed
in
and hurried
from room
to room
to the amazement
of a doddering old manservant,
who met us
in the passage.
There was no light save
in the dining-room,
but Holmes caught up the lamp
and left no corner
of the house unexplored.
No sign
could we see
of the man whom we were chasing.
On the upper floor,
however,
one
of the bedroom doors was locked.
, , , ,
“There’s someone
in here,”
cried Lestrade.
“I
can hear a movement.
Open this door!”
A faint moaning
and rustling came
from within.
Holmes struck the door just
over the lock
with the flat
of his foot
and it flew open.
Pistol
in hand,
we all three rushed
into the room.
, , , ,
But
there was no sign within it
of
that desperate
and defiant villain whom we expected
to see.
Instead we were faced
by an object so strange
and so unexpected
that we stood
for a moment staring
at it
in amazement.
, , , ,
The room had been fashioned
into a small museum,
and the walls were lined
by a number
of glass-topped cases full
of
that collection
of butterflies
and moths the formation
of
which had been the relaxation
of this complex
and dangerous man.
In the centre
of this room
there was an upright beam,
which had been placed
at some period
as a support
for the old worm-eaten baulk
of timber
which spanned the roof.
To this post a figure was tied,
so swathed
and muffled
in the sheets
which had been used
to secure it
that one
could not
for the moment tell whether it was that
of a man
or a woman.
One towel passed round the throat
and was secured
at the back
of the pillar.
Another covered the lower part
of the face,
and
over it two dark eyes
--eyes full
of grief
and shame
and a dreadful questioning
--stared back
at us.
In a minute we had torn off the gag,
unswathed the bonds,
and Mrs. Stapleton sank upon the floor
in front
of us.
As her beautiful head fell upon her chest I saw the clear red weal
of a whiplash
across her neck.
, , , ,
“The brute!”
cried Holmes.
“Here,
Lestrade,
your brandy-bottle!
Put her
in the chair!
She has fainted
from ill-usage
and exhaustion.”
, , , ,
She opened her eyes again.
, , , ,
“Is he safe?”
she asked.
“Has he escaped?”
, , , ,
“He cannot escape us,
madam.”
, , , ,
“No,
no,
I did not mean my husband.
Sir Henry?
Is he safe?”
, , , ,
“Yes.”
, , , ,
“And the hound?”
, , , ,
“It is dead.”
, , , ,
She gave a long sigh
of satisfaction.
, , , ,
“Thank God!
Thank God!
Oh,
this villain!
See
how he has treated me!”
She shot her arms out
from her sleeves,
and we saw
with horror
that they were all mottled
with bruises.
“But this is nothing
--nothing!
It is my mind
and soul
that he has tortured
and defiled.
I
could endure it all,
ill-usage,
solitude,
a life
of deception,
everything,
as long
as I
could still cling
to the hope
that I had his love,
but now I know that
in this also I have been his dupe
and his tool.”
She broke
into passionate sobbing
as she spoke.
, , , ,
“You bear him no good will,
madam,”
said Holmes.
“Tell us
then
where we shall find him.
If you have ever aided him
in evil,
help us now
and so atone.”
, , , ,
“There is
but one place
where he
can have fled,”
she answered.
“There is an old tin mine
on an island
in the heart
of the mire.
It was there
that he kept his hound
and
there also he had made preparations so
that he might have a refuge.
That is
where he
would fly.”
, , , ,
The fog-bank lay
like white wool
against the window.
Holmes held the lamp
towards it.
, , , ,
“See,”
said he.
“No one
could find his way
into the Grimpen Mire to-night.”
, , , ,
She laughed
and clapped her hands.
Her eyes
and teeth gleamed
with fierce merriment.
, , , ,
“He may find his way in,
but never out,”
she cried.
“How
can he see the guiding wands to-night?
We planted them together,
he
and I,
to mark the pathway
through the mire.
Oh,
if I
could only have plucked them out to-day.
Then indeed you
would have had him
at your mercy!”
It was evident
to us
that all pursuit was
in vain
until the fog had lifted.
Meanwhile we left Lestrade
in possession
of the house
while Holmes
and I went back
with the baronet
to Baskerville Hall.
The story
of the Stapletons
could no longer be withheld
from him,
but he took the blow bravely
when he learned the truth
about the woman whom he had loved.
But the shock
of the night’s adventures had shattered his nerves,
and
before morning he lay delirious
in a high fever,
under the care
of Dr. Mortimer.
The two
of them were destined
to travel together round the world
before Sir Henry had become once more the hale,
hearty man
that he had been
before he became master
of
that ill-omened estate.
, , , ,
And now I come rapidly
to the conclusion
of this singular narrative,
in
which I have tried
to make the reader share those dark fears
and vague surmises
which clouded our lives so long
and ended
in so tragic a manner.
On the morning after the death
of the hound the fog had lifted
and we were guided
by Mrs. Stapleton
to the point
where they had found a pathway
through the bog.
It helped us
to realize the horror
of this woman’s life
when we saw the eagerness
and joy
with
which she laid us
on her husband’s track.
We left her standing upon the thin peninsula
of firm,
peaty soil
which tapered out
into the widespread bog.
From the end
of it a small wand planted here
and
there showed
where the path zigzagged
from tuft
to tuft
of rushes
among those green-scummed pits
and foul quagmires
which barred the way
to the stranger.
Rank reeds
and lush,
slimy water-plants sent an odour
of decay
and a heavy miasmatic vapour
onto our faces,
while a false step plunged us more
than once thigh-deep
into the dark,
quivering mire,
which shook
for yards
in soft undulations
around our feet.
Its tenacious grip plucked
at our heels
as we walked,
and
when we sank
into it it was
as
if some malignant hand was tugging us down
into those obscene depths,
so grim
and purposeful was the clutch
in
which it held us.
Once only we saw a trace
that someone had passed
that perilous way
before us.
From amid a tuft
of cotton grass
which bore it up out
of the slime some dark thing was projecting.
Holmes sank
to his waist
as he stepped
from the path
to seize it,
and had we not been there
to drag him out he
could never have set his foot upon firm land again.
He held an old black boot
in the air.
“Meyers,
Toronto,”
was printed
on the leather inside.
, , , ,
“It is worth a mud bath,”
said he.
“It is our friend Sir Henry’s missing boot.”
, , , ,
“Thrown there
by Stapleton
in his flight.”
, , , ,
“Exactly.
He retained it
in his hand after using it
to set the hound upon the track.
He fled
when he knew the game was up,
still clutching it.
And he hurled it away
at this point
of his flight.
We know
at least
that he came so far
in safety.”
, , , ,
But more than
that we were never destined
to know,
though
there was much
which we might surmise.
There was no chance
of finding footsteps
in the mire,
for the rising mud oozed swiftly
in upon them,
but
as we
at last reached firmer ground beyond the morass we all looked eagerly
for them.
But no slightest sign
of them ever met our eyes.
If the earth told a true story,
then Stapleton never reached
that island
of refuge towards
which he struggled
through the fog upon
that last night.
Somewhere
in the heart
of the great Grimpen Mire,
down
in the foul slime
of the huge morass
which had sucked him in,
this cold
and cruel-hearted man is forever buried.
, , , ,
Many traces we found
of him
in the bog-girt island
where he had hid his savage ally.
A huge driving-wheel
and a shaft half-filled
with rubbish showed the position
of an abandoned mine.
Beside it were the crumbling remains
of the cottages
of the miners,
driven away no doubt
by the foul reek
of the surrounding swamp.
In one
of these a staple
and chain
with a quantity
of gnawed bones showed
where the animal had been confined.
A skeleton
with a tangle
of brown hair adhering
to it lay
among the debris.
, , , ,
“A dog!”
said Holmes.
“By Jove,
a curly-haired spaniel.
Poor Mortimer
will never see his pet again.
Well,
I do not know
that this place contains any secret
which we have not already fathomed.
He
could hide his hound,
but he
could not hush its voice,
and hence came those cries
which even
in daylight were not pleasant
to hear.
On an emergency he
could keep the hound
in the out-house
at Merripit,
but it was always a risk,
and it was only
on the supreme day,
which he regarded
as the end
of all his efforts,
that he dared do it.
This paste
in the tin is no doubt the luminous mixture
with
which the creature was daubed.
It was suggested,
of course,
by the story
of the family hell-hound,
and
by the desire
to frighten old Sir Charles
to death.
No wonder the poor devil
of a convict ran
and screamed,
even
as our friend did,
and
as we ourselves might have done,
when he saw such a creature bounding
through the darkness
of the moor upon his track.
It was a cunning device,
for,
apart
from the chance
of driving your victim
to his death,
what peasant
would venture
to inquire too closely
into such a creature
should he get sight
of it,
as many have done,
upon the moor?
I said it
in London,
Watson,
and I say it again now,
that never yet have we helped
to hunt down a more dangerous man
than he
who is lying yonder”
--he swept his long arm
towards the huge mottled expanse
of green-splotched bog
which stretched away
until it merged
into the russet slopes
of the moor.
, , , ,
Chapter 15
A Retrospection
It was the end
of November
and Holmes
and I sat,
upon a raw
and foggy night,
on either side
of a blazing fire
in our sitting-room
in Baker Street.
Since the tragic upshot
of our visit
to Devonshire he had been engaged
in two affairs
of the utmost importance,
in the first
of
which he had exposed the atrocious conduct
of Colonel Upwood
in connection
with the famous card scandal
of the Nonpareil Club,
while
in the second he had defended the unfortunate Mme. Montpensier
from the charge
of murder
which hung
over her
in connection
with the death
of her step-daughter,
Mlle. Carére,
the young lady who,
as it
will be remembered,
was found six months later alive
and married
in New York.
My friend was
in excellent spirits
over the success
which had attended a succession
of difficult
and important cases,
so
that I was able
to induce him
to discuss the details
of the Baskerville mystery.
I had waited patiently
for the opportunity,
for I was aware
that he
would never permit cases
to overlap,
and
that his clear
and logical mind
would not be drawn
from its present work
to dwell upon memories
of the past.
Sir Henry
and Dr. Mortimer were,
however,
in London,
on their way
to
that long voyage
which had been recommended
for the restoration
of his shattered nerves.
They had called upon us
that very afternoon,
so
that it was natural
that the subject
should come up
for discussion.
, , , ,
“The whole course
of events,”
said Holmes,
“from the point
of view
of the man
who called himself Stapleton was simple
and direct,
although
to us,
who had no means
in the beginning
of knowing the motives
of his actions
and
could only learn part
of the facts,
it all appeared exceedingly complex.
I have had the advantage
of two conversations
with Mrs. Stapleton,
and the case has now been so entirely cleared up
that I am not aware
that
there is anything
which has remained a secret
to us.
You
will find a few notes upon the matter
under the heading B
in my indexed list
of cases.”
, , , ,
“Perhaps you
would kindly give me a sketch
of the course
of events
from memory.”
, , , ,
“Certainly,
though I cannot guarantee
that I carry all the facts
in my mind.
Intense mental concentration has a curious way
of blotting out
what has passed.
The barrister
who has his case
at his fingers’ ends,
and is able
to argue
with an expert upon his own subject finds
that a week
or two
of the courts
will drive it all out
of his head once more.
So each
of my cases displaces the last,
and Mlle. Carére has blurred my recollection
of Baskerville Hall.
To-morrow some other little problem may be submitted
to my notice
which will
in turn dispossess the fair French lady
and the infamous Upwood.
So far
as the case
of the Hound goes,
however,
I
will give you the course
of events
as nearly
as I can,
and you
will suggest anything
which I may have forgotten.
, , , ,
“My inquiries show beyond all question
that the family portrait did not lie,
and
that this fellow was indeed a Baskerville.
He was a son
of
that Rodger Baskerville,
the younger brother
of Sir Charles,
who fled
with a sinister reputation
to South America,
where he was said
to have died unmarried.
He did,
as a matter
of fact,
marry,
and had one child,
this fellow,
whose real name is the same
as his father’s.
He married Beryl Garcia,
one
of the beauties
of Costa Rica,
and,
having purloined a considerable sum
of public money,
he changed his name
to Vandeleur
and fled
to England,
where he established a school
in the east
of Yorkshire.
His reason
for attempting this special line
of business was
that he had struck up an acquaintance
with a consumptive tutor upon the voyage home,
and
that he had used this man’s ability
to make the undertaking a success.
Fraser,
the tutor,
died however,
and the school
which had begun well sank
from disrepute
into infamy.
The Vandeleurs found it convenient
to change their name
to Stapleton,
and he brought the remains
of his fortune,
his schemes
for the future,
and his taste
for entomology
to the south
of England.
I learned
at the British Museum
that he was a recognized authority upon the subject,
and
that the name
of Vandeleur has been permanently attached
to a certain moth
which he had,
in his Yorkshire days,
been the first
to describe.
, , , ,
“We now come
to
that portion
of his life
which has proved
to be
of such intense interest
to us.
The fellow had evidently made inquiry
and found
that only two lives intervened
between him
and a valuable estate.
When he went
to Devonshire his plans were,
I believe,
exceedingly hazy,
but
that he meant mischief
from the first is evident
from the way
in
which he took his wife
with him
in the character
of his sister.
The idea
of using her
as a decoy was clearly already
in his mind,
though he may not have been certain
how the details
of his plot were
to be arranged.
He meant
in the end
to have the estate,
and he was ready
to use any tool
or run any risk
for
that end.
His first act was
to establish himself
as near
to his ancestral home
as he could,
and his second was
to cultivate a friendship
with Sir Charles Baskerville
and
with the neighbours.
, , , ,
“The baronet himself told him
about the family hound,
and so prepared the way
for his own death.
Stapleton,
as I
will continue
to call him,
knew
that the old man’s heart was weak
and
that a shock
would kill him.
So much he had learned
from Dr. Mortimer.
He had heard also
that Sir Charles was superstitious
and had taken this grim legend very seriously.
His ingenious mind instantly suggested a way
by
which the baronet
could be done
to death,
and yet it
would be
hardly possible
to bring home the guilt
to the real murderer.
, , , ,
“Having conceived the idea he proceeded
to carry it out
with considerable finesse.
An ordinary schemer
would have been content
to work
with a savage hound.
The use
of artificial means
to make the creature diabolical was a flash
of genius upon his part.
The dog he bought
in London
from Ross
and Mangles,
the dealers
in Fulham Road.
It was the strongest
and most savage
in their possession.
He brought it down
by the North Devon line
and walked a great distance
over the moor so as
to get it home without exciting any remarks.
He had already
on his insect hunts learned
to penetrate the Grimpen Mire,
and so had found a safe hiding-place
for the creature.
Here he kennelled it
and waited his chance.
, , , ,
“But it was some time coming.
The old gentleman
could not be decoyed outside
of his grounds
at night.
Several times Stapleton lurked about
with his hound,
but without avail.
It was during these fruitless quests
that he,
or rather his ally,
was seen
by peasants,
and
that the legend
of the demon dog received a new confirmation.
He had hoped
that his wife might lure Sir Charles
to his ruin,
but here she proved unexpectedly independent.
She
would not endeavour
to entangle the old gentleman
in a sentimental attachment
which might deliver him over
to his enemy.
Threats
and even,
I am sorry
to say,
blows refused
to move her.
She
would have nothing
to do
with it,
and
for a time Stapleton was
at a deadlock.
, , , ,
“He found a way out
of his difficulties
through the chance
that Sir Charles,
who had conceived a friendship
for him,
made him the minister
of his charity
in the case
of this unfortunate woman,
Mrs. Laura Lyons.
By representing himself
as a single man he acquired complete influence
over her,
and he gave her
to understand that
in the event
of her obtaining a divorce
from her husband he
would marry her.
His plans were suddenly brought
to a head
by his knowledge
that Sir Charles was about
to leave the Hall
on the advice
of Dr. Mortimer,
with whose opinion he himself pretended
to coincide.
He must act
at once,
or his victim might get beyond his power.
He therefore put pressure upon Mrs. Lyons
to write this letter,
imploring the old man
to give her an interview
on the evening
before his departure
for London.
He then,
by a specious argument,
prevented her
from going,
and so had the chance
for
which he had waited.
, , , ,
“Driving back
in the evening
from Coombe Tracey he was
in time
to get his hound,
to treat it
with his infernal paint,
and
to bring the beast round
to the gate
at
which he had reason
to expect
that he
would find the old gentleman waiting.
The dog,
incited
by its master,
sprang
over the wicket-gate
and pursued the unfortunate baronet,
who fled screaming down the Yew Alley.
In
that gloomy tunnel it must indeed have been a dreadful sight
to see
that huge black creature,
with its flaming jaws
and blazing eyes,
bounding after its victim.
He fell dead
at the end
of the alley
from heart disease
and terror.
The hound had kept upon the grassy border
while the baronet had run down the path,
so
that no track
but the man’s was visible.
On seeing him lying still the creature had probably approached
to sniff
at him,
but finding him dead had turned away again.
It was then
that it left the print
which was actually observed
by Dr. Mortimer.
The hound was called off
and hurried away
to its lair
in the Grimpen Mire,
and a mystery was left
which puzzled the authorities,
alarmed the country-side,
and finally brought the case within the scope
of our observation.
, , , ,
“So much
for the death
of Sir Charles Baskerville.
You perceive the devilish cunning
of it,
for really it
would be
almost impossible
to make a case
against the real murderer.
His only accomplice was one
who
could never give him away,
and the grotesque,
inconceivable nature
of the device only served
to make it more effective.
Both
of the women concerned
in the case,
Mrs. Stapleton
and Mrs. Laura Lyons,
were left
with a strong suspicion
against Stapleton.
Mrs. Stapleton knew
that he had designs upon the old man,
and also
of the existence
of the hound.
Mrs. Lyons knew neither
of these things,
but had been impressed
by the death occurring
at the time
of an uncancelled appointment
which was only known
to him.
However,
both
of them were
under his influence,
and he had nothing
to fear
from them.
The first half
of his task was successfully accomplished
but the more difficult still remained.
, , , ,
“It is possible
that Stapleton did not know
of the existence
of an heir
in Canada.
In any case he
would very soon learn it
from his friend Dr. Mortimer,
and he was told
by the latter all details
about the arrival
of Henry Baskerville.
Stapleton’s first idea was
that this young stranger
from Canada might possibly be done
to death
in London without coming down
to Devonshire
at all.
He distrusted his wife ever
since she had refused
to help him
in laying a trap
for the old man,
and he dared not leave her long out
of his sight
for fear he
should lose his influence
over her.
It was
for this reason
that he took her
to London
with him.
They lodged,
I find,
at the Mexborough Private Hotel,
in Craven Street,
which was actually one
of those called upon
by my agent
in search
of evidence.
Here he kept his wife imprisoned
in her room
while he,
disguised
in a beard,
followed Dr. Mortimer
to Baker Street
and afterwards
to the station and
to the Northumberland Hotel.
His wife had some inkling
of his plans;
but she had such a fear
of her husband
--a fear founded upon brutal ill-treatment
--that she dare not write
to warn the man whom she knew
to be
in danger.
If the letter
should fall
into Stapleton’s hands her own life
would not be safe.
Eventually,
as we know,
she adopted the expedient
of cutting out the words
which
would form the message,
and addressing the letter
in a disguised hand.
It reached the baronet,
and gave him the first warning
of his danger.
, , , ,
“It was very essential
for Stapleton
to get some article
of Sir Henry’s attire so that,
in case he was driven
to use the dog,
he might always have the means
of setting him upon his track.
With characteristic promptness
and audacity he set
about this
at once,
and we cannot doubt
that the boots
or chamber-maid
of the hotel was well bribed
to help him
in his design.
By chance,
however,
the first boot
which was procured
for him was a new one and,
therefore,
useless
for his purpose.
He
then had it returned
and obtained another
--a most instructive incident,
since it proved conclusively
to my mind
that we were dealing
with a real hound,
as no other supposition
could explain this anxiety
to obtain an old boot
and this indifference
to a new one.
The more outre
and grotesque an incident is the more carefully it deserves
to be examined,
and the very point
which appears
to complicate a case is,
when duly considered
and scientifically handled,
the one
which is most likely
to elucidate it.
, , , ,
“Then we had the visit
from our friends next morning,
shadowed always
by Stapleton
in the cab.
From his knowledge
of our rooms and
of my appearance,
as well
as
from his general conduct,
I am inclined
to think
that Stapleton’s career
of crime has been
by no means limited
to this single Baskerville affair.
It is suggestive
that during the last three years
there have been four considerable burglaries
in the West Country,
for none
of
which was any criminal ever arrested.
The last
of these,
at Folkestone Court,
in May,
was remarkable
for the cold-blooded pistoling
of the page,
who surprised the masked
and solitary burglar.
I cannot doubt
that Stapleton recruited his waning resources
in this fashion,
and that
for years he has been a desperate
and dangerous man.
, , , ,
“We had an example
of his readiness
of resource
that morning
when he got away
from us so successfully,
and also
of his audacity
in sending back my own name
to me
through the cabman.
From
that moment he understood
that I had taken
over the case
in London,
and
that therefore
there was no chance
for him there.
He returned
to Dartmoor
and awaited the arrival
of the baronet.”
, , , ,
“One moment!”
said I. “You have,
no doubt,
described the sequence
of events correctly,
but
there is one point
which you have left unexplained.
What became
of the hound
when its master was
in London?”
, , , ,
“I have given some attention
to this matter
and it is undoubtedly
of importance.
There
can be no question
that Stapleton had a confidant,
though it is unlikely
that he ever placed himself
in his power
by sharing all his plans
with him.
There was an old manservant
at Merripit House,
whose name was Anthony.
His connection
with the Stapletons
can be traced
for several years,
as far back
as the schoolmastering days,
so
that he must have been aware
that his master
and mistress were really husband
and wife.
This man has disappeared
and has escaped
from the country.
It is suggestive
that Anthony is not a common name
in England,
while Antonio is so
in all Spanish
or Spanish-American countries.
The man,
like Mrs. Stapleton herself,
spoke good English,
but
with a curious lisping accent.
I have myself seen this old man cross the Grimpen Mire
by the path
which Stapleton had marked out.
It is very probable,
therefore,
that
in the absence
of his master it was he
who cared
for the hound,
though he may never have known the purpose
for
which the beast was used.
, , , ,
“The Stapletons
then went down
to Devonshire,
whither they were soon followed
by Sir Henry
and you.
One word now as
to
how I stood myself
at
that time.
It may possibly recur
to your memory that
when I examined the paper upon
which the printed words were fastened I made a close inspection
for the water-mark.
In doing so I held it within a few inches
of my eyes,
and was conscious
of a faint smell
of the scent known
as white jessamine.
There are seventy-five perfumes,
which it is very necessary
that a criminal expert
should be able
to distinguish
from each other,
and cases have more
than once within my own experience depended upon their prompt recognition.
The scent suggested the presence
of a lady,
and already my thoughts began
to turn
towards the Stapletons.
Thus I had made certain
of the hound,
and had guessed
at the criminal
before ever we went
to the west country.
, , , ,
“It was my game
to watch Stapleton.
It was evident,
however,
that I
could not do this
if I were
with you,
since he
would be keenly
on his guard.
I deceived everybody,
therefore,
yourself included,
and I came down secretly
when I was supposed
to be
in London.
My hardships were not so great
as you imagined,
though such trifling details must never interfere
with the investigation
of a case.
I stayed
for the most part
at Coombe Tracey,
and only used the hut upon the moor
when it was necessary
to be near the scene
of action.
Cartwright had come down
with me,
and
in his disguise
as a country boy he was
of great assistance
to me.
I was dependent upon him
for food
and clean linen.
When I was watching Stapleton,
Cartwright was frequently watching you,
so
that I was able
to keep my hand upon all the strings.
, , , ,
“I have already told you
that your reports reached me rapidly,
being forwarded instantly
from Baker Street
to Coombe Tracey.
They were
of great service
to me,
and especially
that one incidentally truthful piece
of biography
of Stapleton’s.
I was able
to establish the identity
of the man
and the woman
and knew
at last exactly
how I stood.
The case had been considerably complicated
through the incident
of the escaped convict
and the relations
between him
and the Barrymores.
This also you cleared up
in a very effective way,
though I had already come
to the same conclusions
from my own observations.
, , , ,
“By the time
that you discovered me upon the moor I had a complete knowledge
of the whole business,
but I had not a case
which
could go
to a jury.
Even Stapleton’s attempt upon Sir Henry
that night
which ended
in the death
of the unfortunate convict did not help us much
in proving murder
against our man.
There seemed
to be no alternative but
to catch him red-handed,
and
to do so we had
to use Sir Henry,
alone
and apparently unprotected,
as a bait.
We did so,
and
at the cost
of a severe shock
to our client we succeeded
in completing our case
and driving Stapleton
to his destruction.
That Sir Henry
should have been exposed
to this is,
I must confess,
a reproach
to my management
of the case,
but we had no means
of foreseeing the terrible
and paralyzing spectacle
which the beast presented,
nor
could we predict the fog
which enabled him
to burst upon us
at such short notice.
We succeeded
in our object
at a cost
which both the specialist
and Dr. Mortimer assure me
will be a temporary one.
A long journey may enable our friend
to recover not only
from his shattered nerves
but also
from his wounded feelings.
His love
for the lady was deep
and sincere,
and
to him the saddest part
of all this black business was
that he
should have been deceived
by her.
, , , ,
“It only remains
to indicate the part
which she had played throughout.
There
can be no doubt
that Stapleton exercised an influence
over her
which may have been love
or may have been fear,
or very possibly both,
since they are
by no means incompatible emotions.
It was,
at least,
absolutely effective.
At his command she consented
to pass
as his sister,
though he found the limits
of his power
over her
when he endeavoured
to make her the direct accessory
to murder.
She was ready
to warn Sir Henry so far
as she
could without implicating her husband,
and again
and again she tried
to do so.
Stapleton himself seems
to have been capable
of jealousy,
and
when he saw the baronet paying court
to the lady,
even though it was part
of his own plan,
still he
could not help interrupting
with a passionate outburst
which revealed the fiery soul
which his self-contained manner so cleverly concealed.
By encouraging the intimacy he made it certain
that Sir Henry
would frequently come
to Merripit House
and
that he
would sooner
or later get the opportunity
which he desired.
On the day
of the crisis,
however,
his wife turned suddenly
against him.
She had learned something
of the death
of the convict,
and she knew
that the hound was being kept
in the out-house
on the evening
that Sir Henry was coming
to dinner.
She taxed her husband
with his intended crime,
and a furious scene followed,
in
which he showed her
for the first time
that she had a rival
in his love.
Her fidelity turned
in an instant
to bitter hatred
and he saw
that she
would betray him.
He tied her up,
therefore,
that she might have no chance
of warning Sir Henry,
and he hoped,
no doubt,
that
when the whole country-side put down the baronet’s death
to the curse
of his family,
as they certainly
would do,
he
could win his wife back
to accept an accomplished fact and
to keep silent upon
what she knew.
In this I fancy that
in any case he made a miscalculation,
and that,
if we had not been there,
his doom
would none the less have been sealed.
A woman
of Spanish blood does not condone such an injury so lightly.
And now,
my dear Watson,
without referring
to my notes,
I cannot give you a more detailed account
of this curious case.
I do not know
that anything essential has been left unexplained.”
, , , ,
“He
could not hope
to frighten Sir Henry
to death
as he had done the old uncle
with his bogie hound.”
, , , ,
“The beast was savage
and half-starved.
If its appearance did not frighten its victim
to death,
at least it
would paralyze the resistance
which might be offered.”
, , , ,
“No doubt.
There only remains one difficulty.
If Stapleton came
into the succession,
how
could he explain the fact
that he,
the heir,
had been living unannounced
under another name so close
to the property?
How
could he claim it without causing suspicion
and inquiry?”
, , , ,
“It is a formidable difficulty,
and I fear
that you ask too much
when you expect me
to solve it.
The past
and the present are within the field
of my inquiry,
but
what a man may do
in the future is a hard question
to answer.
Mrs. Stapleton has heard her husband discuss the problem
on several occasions.
There were three possible courses.
He might claim the property
from South America,
establish his identity
before the British authorities there
and so obtain the fortune without ever coming
to England
at all;
or he might adopt an elaborate disguise during the short time
that he need be
in London;
or,
again,
he might furnish an accomplice
with the proofs
and papers,
putting him
in
as heir,
and retaining a claim upon some proportion
of his income.
We cannot doubt
from
what we know
of him
that he
would have found some way out
of the difficulty.
And now,
my dear Watson,
we have had some weeks
of severe work,
and
for one evening,
I think,
we may turn our thoughts
into more pleasant channels.
I have a box
for ‘Les Huguenots.’
Have you heard the De Reszkes?
Might I trouble you then
to be ready
in half an hour,
and we
can stop
at Marcini’s
for a little dinner
on the way?”
, , , ,