"The Hound of the Baskervilles\n\nby Sir Arthur Conan Doyle\n\n\n\n\n  CONTENTS\n\n  Chapter 1--Mr. Sherlock Holmes\n  Chapter 2--The Curse of the Baskervilles\n  Chapter 3--The Problem\n  Chapter 4--Sir Henry Baskerville\n  Chapter 5--Three Broken Threads\n  Chapter 6--Baskerville Hall\n  Chapter 7--The Stapletons of Merripit House\n  Chapter 8--First Report of Dr. Watson\n  Chapter 9--The Light Upon The Moor\n  Chapter 10--Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson\n  Chapter 11--The Man on the Tor\n  Chapter 12--Death on the Moor\n  Chapter 13--Fixing the Nets\n  Chapter 14--The Hound of the Baskervilles\n  Chapter 15--A Retrospection\n\n\n\n\nChapter 1\n\nMr. Sherlock Holmes\n\n\nMr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings,\nsave upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all\nnight, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the\nhearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left\nbehind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood,\nbulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a \"Penang lawyer.\"\nJust under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch\nacross. \"To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the\nC.C.H.,\" was engraved upon it, with the date \"1884.\" It was just\nsuch a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to\ncarry--dignified, solid, and reassuring.\n\n\"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?\"\n\nHolmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no\nsign of my occupation.\n\n\"How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in\nthe back of your head.\"\n\n\"I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in\nfront of me,\" said he. \"But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of\nour visitor's stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss\nhim and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir\nbecomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an\nexamination of it.\"\n\n\"I think,\" said I, following as far as I could the methods of my\ncompanion, \"that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly medical\nman, well-esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of\ntheir appreciation.\"\n\n\"Good!\" said Holmes. \"Excellent!\"\n\n\"I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a\ncountry practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on\nfoot.\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has\nbeen so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town\npractitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so\nit is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with\nit.\"\n\n\"Perfectly sound!\" said Holmes.\n\n\"And then again, there is the 'friends of the C.C.H.' I should\nguess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose\nmembers he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which\nhas made him a small presentation in return.\"\n\n\"Really, Watson, you excel yourself,\" said Holmes, pushing back\nhis chair and lighting a cigarette. \"I am bound to say that in\nall the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own\nsmall achievements you have habitually underrated your own\nabilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you\nare a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius\nhave a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear\nfellow, that I am very much in your debt.\"\n\nHe had never said as much before, and I must admit that his words\ngave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his\nindifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had\nmade to give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think\nthat I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way\nwhich earned his approval. He now took the stick from my hands\nand examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then with\nan expression of interest he laid down his cigarette, and\ncarrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a\nconvex lens.\n\n\"Interesting, though elementary,\" said he as he returned to his\nfavourite corner of the settee. \"There are certainly one or two\nindications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several\ndeductions.\"\n\n\"Has anything escaped me?\" I asked with some self-importance. \"I\ntrust that there is nothing of consequence which I have\noverlooked?\"\n\n\"I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions were\nerroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be\nfrank, that in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided\ntowards the truth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this\ninstance. The man is certainly a country practitioner. And he\nwalks a good deal.\"\n\n\"Then I was right.\"\n\n\"To that extent.\"\n\n\"But that was all.\"\n\n\"No, no, my dear Watson, not all--by no means all. I would\nsuggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more\nlikely to come from a hospital than from a hunt, and that when\nthe initials 'C.C.' are placed before that hospital the words\n'Charing Cross' very naturally suggest themselves.\"\n\n\"You may be right.\"\n\n\"The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this as a\nworking hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our\nconstruction of this unknown visitor.\"\n\n\"Well, then, supposing that 'C.C.H.' does stand for 'Charing\nCross Hospital,' what further inferences may we draw?\"\n\n\"Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply them!\"\n\n\"I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man has\npractised in town before going to the country.\"\n\n\"I think that we might venture a little farther than this. Look\nat it in this light. On what occasion would it be most probable\nthat such a presentation would be made? When would his friends\nunite to give him a pledge of their good will? Obviously at the\nmoment when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the service of the\nhospital in order to start in practice for himself. We know there\nhas been a presentation. We believe there has been a change from\na town hospital to a country practice. Is it, then, stretching\nour inference too far to say that the presentation was on the\noccasion of the change?\"\n\n\"It certainly seems probable.\"\n\n\"Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff\nof the hospital, since only a man well-established in a London\npractice could hold such a position, and such a one would not\ndrift into the country. What was he, then? If he was in the\nhospital and yet not on the staff he could only have been a\nhouse-surgeon or a house-physician--little more than a senior\nstudent. And he left five years ago--the date is on the stick. So\nyour grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin\nair, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under\nthirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of\na favourite dog, which I should describe roughly as being larger\nthan a terrier and smaller than a mastiff.\"\n\nI laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his\nsettee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling.\n\n\"As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you,\" said I,\n\"but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars\nabout the man's age and professional career.\" From my small\nmedical shelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up the\nname. There were several Mortimers, but only one who could be our\nvisitor. I read his record aloud.\n\n\"Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor,\nDevon. House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross\nHospital. Winner of the Jackson prize for Comparative Pathology,\nwith essay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?' Corresponding\nmember of the Swedish Pathological Society. Author of 'Some\nFreaks of Atavism' (Lancet 1882). 'Do We Progress?' (Journal of\nPsychology, March, 1883). Medical Officer for the parishes of\nGrimpen, Thorsley, and High Barrow.\"\n\n\"No mention of that local hunt, Watson,\" said Holmes with a\nmischievous smile, \"but a country doctor, as you very astutely\nobserved. I think that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As\nto the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable,\nunambitious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is\nonly an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only\nan unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country,\nand only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his\nvisiting-card after waiting an hour in your room.\"\n\n\"And the dog?\"\n\n\"Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master.\nBeing a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle,\nand the marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. The dog's\njaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too broad in\nmy opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It\nmay have been--yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel.\"\n\nHe had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted in the\nrecess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his\nvoice that I glanced up in surprise.\n\n\"My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?\"\n\n\"For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our\nvery door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I\nbeg you, Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and your\npresence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment\nof fate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is\nwalking into your life, and you know not whether for good or ill.\nWhat does Dr. James Mortimer, the man of science, ask of Sherlock\nHolmes, the specialist in crime? Come in!\"\n\nThe appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since I had\nexpected a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall, thin\nman, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two\nkeen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly from\nbehind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a\nprofessional but rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat was\ndingy and his trousers frayed. Though young, his long back was\nalready bowed, and he walked with a forward thrust of his head\nand a general air of peering benevolence. As he entered his eyes\nfell upon the stick in Holmes's hand, and he ran towards it with\nan exclamation of joy. \"I am so very glad,\" said he. \"I was not\nsure whether I had left it here or in the Shipping Office. I\nwould not lose that stick for the world.\"\n\n\"A presentation, I see,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"From Charing Cross Hospital?\"\n\n\"From one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage.\"\n\n\"Dear, dear, that's bad!\" said Holmes, shaking his head.\n\nDr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment.\n\n\"Why was it bad?\"\n\n\"Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your\nmarriage, you say?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all\nhopes of a consulting practice. It was necessary to make a home\nof my own.\"\n\n\"Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all,\" said Holmes.\n\"And now, Dr. James Mortimer ------\"\n\n\"Mister, sir, Mister--a humble M.R.C.S.\"\n\n\"And a man of precise mind, evidently.\"\n\n\"A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the\nshores of the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr.\nSherlock Holmes whom I am addressing and not ------\"\n\n\"No, this is my friend Dr. Watson.\"\n\n\"Glad to meet you, sir. I have heard your name mentioned in\nconnection with that of your friend. You interest me very much,\nMr. Holmes. I had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or\nsuch well-marked supra-orbital development. Would you have any\nobjection to my running my finger along your parietal fissure? A\ncast of your skull, sir, until the original is available, would\nbe an ornament to any anthropological museum. It is not my\nintention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet your skull.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair. \"You are\nan enthusiast in your line of thought, I perceive, sir, as I am\nin mine,\" said he. \"I observe from your forefinger that you make\nyour own cigarettes. Have no hesitation in lighting one.\"\n\nThe man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in the\nother with surprising dexterity. He had long, quivering fingers\nas agile and restless as the antennae of an insect.\n\nHolmes was silent, but his little darting glances showed me the\ninterest which he took in our curious companion.\n\n\"I presume, sir,\" said he at last, \"that it was not merely for\nthe purpose of examining my skull that you have done me the\nhonour to call here last night and again to-day?\"\n\n\"No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had the opportunity of\ndoing that as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I\nrecognized that I am myself an unpractical man and because I am\nsuddenly confronted with a most serious and extraordinary\nproblem. Recognizing, as I do, that you are the second highest\nexpert in Europe ------\"\n\n\"Indeed, sir! May I inquire who has the honour to be the first?\"\nasked Holmes with some asperity.\n\n\"To the man of precisely scientific mind the work of Monsieur\nBertillon must always appeal strongly.\"\n\n\"Then had you not better consult him?\"\n\n\"I said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind. But as a\npractical man of affairs it is acknowledged that you stand alone.\nI trust, sir, that I have not inadvertently ------\"\n\n\"Just a little,\" said Holmes. \"I think, Dr. Mortimer, you would\ndo wisely if without more ado you would kindly tell me plainly\nwhat the exact nature of the problem is in which you demand my\nassistance.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter 2\n\nThe Curse of the Baskervilles\n\n\n\"I have in my pocket a manuscript,\" said Dr. James Mortimer.\n\n\"I observed it as you entered the room,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"It is an old manuscript.\"\n\n\"Early eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery.\"\n\n\"How can you say that, sir?\"\n\n\"You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination all\nthe time that you have been talking. It would be a poor expert\nwho could not give the date of a document within a decade or so.\nYou may possibly have read my little monograph upon the subject.\nI put that at 1730.\"\n\n\"The exact date is 1742.\" Dr. Mortimer drew it from his\nbreast-pocket. \"This family paper was committed to my care by Sir\nCharles Baskerville, whose sudden and tragic death some three\nmonths ago created so much excitement in Devonshire. I may say\nthat I was his personal friend as well as his medical attendant.\nHe was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical, and as\nunimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this document very\nseriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end as did\neventually overtake him.\"\n\nHolmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it\nupon his knee.\n\n\"You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s and\nthe short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to\nfix the date.\"\n\nI looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded\nscript. At the head was written: \"Baskerville Hall,\" and below in\nlarge, scrawling figures: \"1742.\"\n\n\"It appears to be a statement of some sort.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the\nBaskerville family.\"\n\n\"But I understand that it is something more modern and practical\nupon which you wish to consult me?\"\n\n\"Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must be\ndecided within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and\nis intimately connected with the affair. With your permission I\nwill read it to you.\"\n\nHolmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together,\nand closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer\nturned the manuscript to the light and read in a high, cracking\nvoice the following curious, old-world narrative:--\n\n\"Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there have been\nmany statements, yet as I come in a direct line from Hugo\nBaskerville, and as I had the story from my father, who also had\nit from his, I have set it down with all belief that it occurred\neven as is here set forth. And I would have you believe, my sons,\nthat the same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously\nforgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer and\nrepentance it may be removed. Learn then from this story not to\nfear the fruits of the past, but rather to be circumspect in the\nfuture, that those foul passions whereby our family has suffered\nso grievously may not again be loosed to our undoing.\n\n\"Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the history\nof which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most earnestly commend\nto your attention) this Manor of Baskerville was held by Hugo of\nthat name, nor can it be gainsaid that he was a most wild,\nprofane, and godless man. This, in truth, his neighbours might\nhave pardoned, seeing that saints have never flourished in those\nparts, but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour\nwhich made his name a byword through the West. It chanced that\nthis Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be\nknown under so bright a name) the daughter of a yeoman who held\nlands near the Baskerville estate. But the young maiden, being\ndiscreet and of good repute, would ever avoid him, for she\nfeared his evil name. So it came to pass that one Michaelmas\nthis Hugo, with five or six of his idle and wicked companions,\nstole down upon the farm and carried off the maiden, her father\nand brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had\nbrought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper\nchamber, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long carouse,\nas was their nightly custom. Now, the poor lass upstairs was like\nto have her wits turned at the singing and shouting and terrible\noaths which came up to her from below, for they say that the\nwords used by Hugo Baskerville, when he was in wine, were such as\nmight blast the man who said them. At last in the stress of her\nfear she did that which might have daunted the bravest or most\nactive man, for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered\n(and still covers) the south wall she came down from under the\neaves, and so homeward across the moor, there being three leagues\nbetwixt the Hall and her father's farm.\n\n\"It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his guests to\ncarry food and drink--with other worse things, perchance--to his\ncaptive, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then,\nas it would seem, he became as one that hath a devil, for,\nrushing down the stairs into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the\ngreat table, flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he\ncried aloud before all the company that he would that very night\nrender his body and soul to the Powers of Evil if he might but\novertake the wench. And while the revellers stood aghast at the\nfury of the man, one more wicked or, it may be, more drunken than\nthe rest, cried out that they should put the hounds upon her.\nWhereat Hugo ran from the house, crying to his grooms that they\nshould saddle his mare and unkennel the pack, and giving the\nhounds a kerchief of the maid's, he swung them to the line, and\nso off full cry in the moonlight over the moor.\n\n\"Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable to\nunderstand all that had been done in such haste. But anon their\nbemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was like to be\ndone upon the moorlands. Everything was now in an uproar, some\ncalling for their pistols, some for their horses, and some for\nanother flask of wine. But at length some sense came back to\ntheir crazed minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number,\ntook horse and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above\nthem, and they rode swiftly abreast, taking that course which the\nmaid must needs have taken if she were to reach her own home.\n\n\"They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the night\nshepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to him to know if he\nhad seen the hunt. And the man, as the story goes, was so crazed\nwith fear that he could scarce speak, but at last he said that he\nhad indeed seen the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her\ntrack. 'But I have seen more than that,' said he, 'for Hugo\nBaskerville passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute\nbehind him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at\nmy heels.' So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd and rode\nonward. But soon their skins turned cold, for there came a\ngalloping across the moor, and the black mare, dabbled with white\nfroth, went past with trailing bridle and empty saddle. Then the\nrevellers rode close together, for a great fear was on them, but\nthey still followed over the moor, though each, had he been\nalone, would have been right glad to have turned his horse's\nhead. Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last upon the\nhounds. These, though known for their valour and their breed,\nwere whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip or goyal,\nas we call it, upon the moor, some slinking away and some, with\nstarting hackles and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley\nbefore them.\n\n\"The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you may\nguess, than when they started. The most of them would by no means\nadvance, but three of them, the boldest, or it may be the most\ndrunken, rode forward down the goyal. Now, it opened into a broad\nspace in which stood two of those great stones, still to be seen\nthere, which were set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of\nold. The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there in\nthe centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen, dead of\nfear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body, nor\nyet was it that of the body of Hugo Baskerville lying near her,\nwhich raised the hair upon the heads of these three daredevil\nroysterers, but it was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at\nhis throat, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast,\nshaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal\neye has rested upon. And even as they looked the thing tore the\nthroat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it turned its\nblazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the three shrieked with\nfear and rode for dear life, still screaming, across the moor.\nOne, it is said, died that very night of what he had seen, and\nthe other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days.\n\n\"Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound which is\nsaid to have plagued the family so sorely ever since. If I have\nset it down it is because that which is clearly known hath less\nterror than that which is but hinted at and guessed. Nor can it\nbe denied that many of the family have been unhappy in their\ndeaths, which have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious. Yet may\nwe shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence,\nwhich would not forever punish the innocent beyond that third or\nfourth generation which is threatened in Holy Writ. To that\nProvidence, my sons, I hereby commend you, and I counsel you by\nway of caution to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark\nhours when the powers of evil are exalted.\n\n\"[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John, with\ninstructions that they say nothing thereof to their sister\nElizabeth.]\"\n\nWhen Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he\npushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr.\nSherlock Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed the end of his\ncigarette into the fire.\n\n\"Well?\" said he.\n\n\"Do you not find it interesting?\"\n\n\"To a collector of fairy tales.\"\n\nDr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.\n\n\"Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little more\nrecent. This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this\nyear. It is a short account of the facts elicited at the death of\nSir Charles Baskerville which occurred a few days before that\ndate.\"\n\nMy friend leaned a little forward and his expression became\nintent. Our visitor readjusted his glasses and began:--\n\n\"The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose name\nhas been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate for\nMid-Devon at the next election, has cast a gloom over the county.\nThough Sir Charles had resided at Baskerville Hall for a\ncomparatively short period his amiability of character and\nextreme generosity had won the affection and respect of all who\nhad been brought into contact with him. In these days of _nouveaux\nriches_ it is refreshing to find a case where the scion of an old\ncounty family which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his\nown fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the fallen\ngrandeur of his line. Sir Charles, as is well known, made large\nsums of money in South African speculation. More wise than those\nwho go on until the wheel turns against them, he realized his\ngains and returned to England with them. It is only two years\nsince he took up his residence at Baskerville Hall, and it is\ncommon talk how large were those schemes of reconstruction and\nimprovement which have been interrupted by his death. Being\nhimself childless, it was his openly expressed desire that the\nwhole country-side should, within his own lifetime, profit by his\ngood fortune, and many will have personal reasons for bewailing\nhis untimely end. His generous donations to local and county\ncharities have been frequently chronicled in these columns.\n\n\"The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charles\ncannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the inquest,\nbut at least enough has been done to dispose of those rumours to\nwhich local superstition has given rise. There is no reason\nwhatever to suspect foul play, or to imagine that death could be\nfrom any but natural causes. Sir Charles was a widower, and a man\nwho may be said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit\nof mind. In spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his\npersonal tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hall\nconsisted of a married couple named Barrymore, the husband acting\nas butler and the wife as housekeeper. Their evidence,\ncorroborated by that of several friends, tends to show that Sir\nCharles's health has for some time been impaired, and points\nespecially to some affection of the heart, manifesting itself in\nchanges of colour, breathlessness, and acute attacks of nervous\ndepression. Dr. James Mortimer, the friend and medical attendant\nof the deceased, has given evidence to the same effect.\n\n\"The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville was in\nthe habit every night before going to bed of walking down the\nfamous Yew Alley of Baskerville Hall. The evidence of the\nBarrymores shows that this had been his custom. On the 4th of May\nSir Charles had declared his intention of starting next day for\nLondon, and had ordered Barrymore to prepare his luggage. That\nnight he went out as usual for his nocturnal walk, in the course\nof which he was in the habit of smoking a cigar. He never\nreturned. At twelve o'clock Barrymore, finding the hall door\nstill open, became alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in\nsearch of his master. The day had been wet, and Sir Charles's\nfootmarks were easily traced down the Alley. Half-way down this\nwalk there is a gate which leads out on to the moor. There were\nindications that Sir Charles had stood for some little time here.\nHe then proceeded down the Alley, and it was at the far end of it\nthat his body was discovered. One fact which has not been\nexplained is the statement of Barrymore that his master's\nfootprints altered their character from the time that he passed\nthe moor-gate, and that he appeared from thence onward to have\nbeen walking upon his toes. One Murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was\non the moor at no great distance at the time, but he appears by\nhis own confession to have been the worse for drink. He declares\nthat he heard cries, but is unable to state from what\ndirection they came. No signs of violence were to be discovered\nupon Sir Charles's person, and though the doctor's evidence\npointed to an almost incredible facial distortion--so great that\nDr. Mortimer refused at first to believe that it was indeed his\nfriend and patient who lay before him--it was explained that that\nis a symptom which is not unusual in cases of dyspnoea and death\nfrom cardiac exhaustion. This explanation was borne out by the\npost-mortem examination, which showed long-standing organic\ndisease, and the coroner's jury returned a verdict in accordance\nwith the medical evidence. It is well that this is so, for it is\nobviously of the utmost importance that Sir Charles's heir should\nsettle at the Hall and continue the good work which has been so\nsadly interrupted. Had the prosaic finding of the coroner not\nfinally put an end to the romantic stories which have been\nwhispered in connection with the affair, it might have been\ndifficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall. It is understood\nthat the next of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville, if he be still\nalive, the son of Sir Charles Baskerville's younger brother. The\nyoung man when last heard of was in America, and inquiries are\nbeing instituted with a view to informing him of his good\nfortune.\"\n\nDr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket.\n\n\"Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection with the\ndeath of Sir Charles Baskerville.\"\n\n\"I must thank you,\" said Sherlock Holmes, \"for calling my\nattention to a case which certainly presents some features of\ninterest. I had observed some newspaper comment at the time, but\nI was exceedingly preoccupied by that little affair of the\nVatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I lost touch\nwith several interesting English cases. This article, you say,\ncontains all the public facts?\"\n\n\"It does.\"\n\n\"Then let me have the private ones.\" He leaned back, put his\nfinger-tips together, and assumed his most impassive and judicial\nexpression.\n\n\"In doing so,\" said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to show signs of\nsome strong emotion, \"I am telling that which I have not confided\nto anyone. My motive for withholding it from the coroner's\ninquiry is that a man of science shrinks from placing himself in\nthe public position of seeming to indorse a popular superstition.\nI had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the paper\nsays, would certainly remain untenanted if anything were done to\nincrease its already rather grim reputation. For both these\nreasons I thought that I was justified in telling rather less\nthan I knew, since no practical good could result from it, but\nwith you there is no reason why I should not be perfectly frank.\n\n\"The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live near\neach other are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw a\ngood deal of Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr.\nFrankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist,\nthere are no other men of education within many miles. Sir\nCharles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought\nus together, and a community of interests in science kept us so.\nHe had brought back much scientific information from South\nAfrica, and many a charming evening we have spent together\ndiscussing the comparative anatomy of the Bushman and the\nHottentot.\n\n\"Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me\nthat Sir Charles's nervous system was strained to the breaking\npoint. He had taken this legend which I have read you exceedingly\nto heart--so much so that, although he would walk in his own\ngrounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon the moor at\nnight. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. Holmes, he was\nhonestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung his family, and\ncertainly the records which he was able to give of his ancestors\nwere not encouraging. The idea of some ghastly presence\nconstantly haunted him, and on more than one occasion he has\nasked me whether I had on my medical journeys at night ever seen\nany strange creature or heard the baying of a hound. The latter\nquestion he put to me several times, and always with a voice\nwhich vibrated with excitement.\n\n\"I can well remember driving up to his house in the evening some\nthree weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his hall\ndoor. I had descended from my gig and was standing in front of\nhim, when I saw his eyes fix themselves over my shoulder, and\nstare past me with an expression of the most dreadful horror. I\nwhisked round and had just time to catch a glimpse of something\nwhich I took to be a large black calf passing at the head of the\ndrive. So excited and alarmed was he that I was compelled to go\ndown to the spot where the animal had been and look around for\nit. It was gone, however, and the incident appeared to make the\nworst impression upon his mind. I stayed with him all the\nevening, and it was on that occasion, to explain the emotion\nwhich he had shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative\nwhich I read to you when first I came. I mention this small\nepisode because it assumes some importance in view of the tragedy\nwhich followed, but I was convinced at the time that the matter\nwas entirely trivial and that his excitement had no\njustification.\n\n\"It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to London.\nHis heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in\nwhich he lived, however chimerical the cause of it might be, was\nevidently having a serious effect upon his health. I thought that\na few months among the distractions of town would send him back a\nnew man. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual friend who was much concerned at\nhis state of health, was of the same opinion. At the last instant\ncame this terrible catastrophe.\n\n\"On the night of Sir Charles's death Barrymore the butler, who\nmade the discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me,\nand as I was sitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall\nwithin an hour of the event. I checked and corroborated all the\nfacts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed the\nfootsteps down the Yew Alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gate\nwhere he seemed to have waited, I remarked the change in the\nshape of the prints after that point, I noted that there were no\nother footsteps save those of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and\nfinally I carefully examined the body, which had not been touched\nuntil my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his\nfingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed with some\nstrong emotion to such an extent that I could hardly have sworn\nto his identity. There was certainly no physical injury of any\nkind. But one false statement was made by Barrymore at the\ninquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground round\nthe body. He did not observe any. But I did--some little distance\noff, but fresh and clear.\"\n\n\"Footprints?\"\n\n\"Footprints.\"\n\n\"A man's or a woman's?\"\n\nDr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice\nsank almost to a whisper as he answered:--\n\n\"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter 3\n\nThe Problem\n\n\nI confess at these words a shudder passed through me. There was a\nthrill in the doctor's voice which showed that he was himself\ndeeply moved by that which he told us. Holmes leaned forward in\nhis excitement and his eyes had the hard, dry glitter which shot\nfrom them when he was keenly interested.\n\n\"You saw this?\"\n\n\"As clearly as I see you.\"\n\n\"And you said nothing?\"\n\n\"What was the use?\"\n\n\"How was it that no one else saw it?\"\n\n\"The marks were some twenty yards from the body and no one gave\nthem a thought. I don't suppose I should have done so had I not\nknown this legend.\"\n\n\"There are many sheep-dogs on the moor?\"\n\n\"No doubt, but this was no sheep-dog.\"\n\n\"You say it was large?\"\n\n\"Enormous.\"\n\n\"But it had not approached the body?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What sort of night was it?'\n\n\"Damp and raw.\"\n\n\"But not actually raining?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What is the Alley like?\"\n\n\"There are two lines of old yew hedge, twelve feet high and\nimpenetrable. The walk in the centre is about eight feet across.\"\n\n\"Is there anything between the hedges and the walk?\"\n\n\"Yes, there is a strip of grass about six feet broad on either\nside.\"\n\n\"I understand that the yew hedge is penetrated at one point by a\ngate?\"\n\n\"Yes, the wicket-gate which leads on to the moor.\"\n\n\"Is there any other opening?\"\n\n\"None.\"\n\n\"So that to reach the Yew Alley one either has to come down it\nfrom the house or else to enter it by the moor-gate?\"\n\n\"There is an exit through a summer-house at the far end.\"\n\n\"Had Sir Charles reached this?\"\n\n\"No; he lay about fifty yards from it.\"\n\n\"Now, tell me, Dr. Mortimer--and this is important--the\nmarks which you saw were on the path and not on the grass?\"\n\n\"No marks could show on the grass.\"\n\n\"Were they on the same side of the path as the moor-gate?\"\n\n\"Yes; they were on the edge of the path on the same side as the\nmoor-gate.\"\n\n\"You interest me exceedingly. Another point. Was the wicket-gate\nclosed?\"\n\n\"Closed and padlocked.\"\n\n\"How high was it?\"\n\n\"About four feet high.\"\n\n\"Then anyone could have got over it?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And what marks did you see by the wicket-gate?\"\n\n\"None in particular.\"\n\n\"Good heaven! Did no one examine?\"\n\n\"Yes, I examined myself.\"\n\n\"And found nothing?\"\n\n\"It was all very confused. Sir Charles had evidently stood there\nfor five or ten minutes.\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\"\n\n\"Because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar.\"\n\n\"Excellent! This is a colleague, Watson, after our own heart. But\nthe marks?\"\n\n\"He had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel. I\ncould discern no others.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes struck his hand against his knee with an\nimpatient gesture.\n\n\"If I had only been there!\" he cried. \"It is evidently a case of\nextraordinary interest, and one which presented immense\nopportunities to the scientific expert. That gravel page upon\nwhich I might have read so much has been long ere this smudged by\nthe rain and defaced by the clogs of curious peasants. Oh, Dr.\nMortimer, Dr. Mortimer, to think that you should not have called\nme in! You have indeed much to answer for.\"\n\n\"I could not call you in, Mr. Holmes, without disclosing these\nfacts to the world, and I have already given my reasons for not\nwishing to do so. Besides, besides --\"\n\n\"Why do you hesitate?\"\n\n\"There is a realm in which the most acute and most experienced of\ndetectives is helpless.\"\n\n\"You mean that the thing is supernatural?\"\n\n\"I did not positively say so.\"\n\n\"No, but you evidently think it.\"\n\n\"Since the tragedy, Mr. Holmes, there have come to my ears\nseveral incidents which are hard to reconcile with the settled\norder of Nature.\"\n\n\"For example?\"\n\n\"I find that before the terrible event occurred several people\nhad seen a creature upon the moor which corresponds with this\nBaskerville demon, and which could not possibly be any animal\nknown to science. They all agreed that it was a huge creature,\nluminous, ghastly, and spectral. I have cross-examined these men,\none of them a hard-headed countryman, one a farrier, and one a\nmoorland farmer, who all tell the same story of this dreadful\napparition, exactly corresponding to the hell-hound of the\nlegend. I assure you that there is a reign of terror in the\ndistrict, and that it is a hardy man who will cross the moor at\nnight.\"\n\n\"And you, a trained man of science, believe it to be\nsupernatural?\"\n\n\"I do not know what to believe.\"\n\nHolmes shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"I have hitherto confined my investigations to this world,\" said\nhe. \"In a modest way I have combated evil, but to take on the\nFather of Evil himself would, perhaps, be too ambitious a task.\nYet you must admit that the footmark is material.\"\n\n\"The original hound was material enough to tug a man's throat\nout, and yet he was diabolical as well.\"\n\n\"I see that you have quite gone over to the supernaturalists. But\nnow, Dr. Mortimer, tell me this. If you hold these views, why\nhave you come to consult me at all? You tell me in the same\nbreath that it is useless to investigate Sir Charles's death, and\nthat you desire me to do it.\"\n\n\"I did not say that I desired you to do it.\"\n\n\"Then, how can I assist you?\"\n\n\"By advising me as to what I should do with Sir Henry\nBaskerville, who arrives at Waterloo Station\"--Dr. Mortimer\nlooked at his watch--\"in exactly one hour and a quarter.\"\n\n\"He being the heir?\"\n\n\"Yes. On the death of Sir Charles we inquired for this young\ngentleman and found that he had been farming in Canada. From the\naccounts which have reached us he is an excellent fellow in every\nway. I speak not as a medical man but as a trustee and executor\nof Sir Charles's will.\"\n\n\"There is no other claimant, I presume?\"\n\n\"None. The only other kinsman whom we have been able to trace was\nRodger Baskerville, the youngest of three brothers of whom poor\nSir Charles was the elder. The second brother, who died young, is\nthe father of this lad Henry. The third, Rodger, was the black\nsheep of the family. He came of the old masterful Baskerville\nstrain, and was the very image, they tell me, of the family\npicture of old Hugo. He made England too hot to hold him, fled to\nCentral America, and died there in 1876 of yellow fever. Henry is\nthe last of the Baskervilles. In one hour and five minutes I meet\nhim at Waterloo Station. I have had a wire that he arrived at\nSouthampton this morning. Now, Mr. Holmes, what would you advise\nme to do with him?\"\n\n\"Why should he not go to the home of his fathers?\"\n\n\"It seems natural, does it not? And yet, consider that every\nBaskerville who goes there meets with an evil fate. I feel sure\nthat if Sir Charles could have spoken with me before his death he\nwould have warned me against bringing this, the last of the old\nrace, and the heir to great wealth, to that deadly place. And yet\nit cannot be denied that the prosperity of the whole poor, bleak\ncountry-side depends upon his presence. All the good work which\nhas been done by Sir Charles will crash to the ground if there is\nno tenant of the Hall. I fear lest I should be swayed too much by\nmy own obvious interest in the matter, and that is why I bring\nthe case before you and ask for your advice.\"\n\nHolmes considered for a little time.\n\n\"Put into plain words, the matter is this,\" said he. \"In your\nopinion there is a diabolical agency which makes Dartmoor an\nunsafe abode for a Baskerville--that is your opinion?\"\n\n\"At least I might go the length of saying that there is some\nevidence that this may be so.\"\n\n\"Exactly. But surely, if your supernatural theory be correct, it\ncould work the young man evil in London as easily as in\nDevonshire. A devil with merely local powers like a parish\nvestry would be too inconceivable a thing.\"\n\n\"You put the matter more flippantly, Mr. Holmes, than you would\nprobably do if you were brought into personal contact with these\nthings. Your advice, then, as I understand it, is that the young\nman will be as safe in Devonshire as in London. He comes in fifty\nminutes. What would you recommend?\"\n\n\"I recommend, sir, that you take a cab, call off your spaniel who\nis scratching at my front door, and proceed to Waterloo to meet\nSir Henry Baskerville.\"\n\n\"And then?\"\n\n\"And then you will say nothing to him at all until I have made up\nmy mind about the matter.\"\n\n\"How long will it take you to make up your mind?\"\n\n\"Twenty-four hours. At ten o'clock to-morrow, Dr. Mortimer, I\nwill be much obliged to you if you will call upon me here, and it\nwill be of help to me in my plans for the future if you will\nbring Sir Henry Baskerville with you.\"\n\n\"I will do so, Mr. Holmes.\" He scribbled the appointment on his\nshirtcuff and hurried off in his strange, peering, absent-minded\nfashion. Holmes stopped him at the head of the stair.\n\n\"Only one more question, Dr. Mortimer. You say that before Sir\nCharles Baskerville's death several people saw this apparition\nupon the moor?\"\n\n\"Three people did.\"\n\n\"Did any see it after?\"\n\n\"I have not heard of any.\"\n\n\"Thank you. Good morning.\"\n\nHolmes returned to his seat with that quiet look of inward\nsatisfaction which meant that he had a congenial task before him.\n\n\"Going out, Watson?\"\n\n\"Unless I can help you.\"\n\n\"No, my dear fellow, it is at the hour of action that I turn to\nyou for aid. But this is splendid, really unique from some points\nof view. When you pass Bradley's, would you ask him to send up a\npound of the strongest shag tobacco? Thank you. It would be as\nwell if you could make it convenient not to return before\nevening. Then I should be very glad to compare impressions as to\nthis most interesting problem which has been submitted to us this\nmorning.\"\n\nI knew that seclusion and solitude were very necessary for my\nfriend in those hours of intense mental concentration during\nwhich he weighed every particle of evidence, constructed\nalternative theories, balanced one against the other, and made up\nhis mind as to which points were essential and which immaterial.\nI therefore spent the day at my club and did not return to Baker\nStreet until evening. It was nearly nine o'clock when I found\nmyself in the sitting-room once more.\n\nMy first impression as I opened the door was that a fire had\nbroken out, for the room was so filled with smoke that the light\nof the lamp upon the table was blurred by it. As I entered,\nhowever, my fears were set at rest, for it was the acrid fumes of\nstrong coarse tobacco which took me by the throat and set me\ncoughing. Through the haze I had a vague vision of Holmes in his\ndressing-gown coiled up in an armchair with his black clay pipe\nbetween his lips. Several rolls of paper lay around him.\n\n\"Caught cold, Watson?\" said he.\n\n\"No, it's this poisonous atmosphere.\"\n\n\"I suppose it is pretty thick, now that you mention it.\"\n\n\"Thick! It is intolerable.\"\n\n\"Open the window, then! You have been at your club all day, I\nperceive.\"\n\n\"My dear Holmes!\"\n\n\"Am I right?\"\n\n\"Certainly, but how?\"\n\nHe laughed at my bewildered expression.\n\n\"There is a delightful freshness about you, Watson, which makes\nit a pleasure to exercise any small powers which I possess at\nyour expense. A gentleman goes forth on a showery and miry day.\nHe returns immaculate in the evening with the gloss still on his\nhat and his boots. He has been a fixture therefore all day. He is\nnot a man with intimate friends. Where, then, could he have been?\nIs it not obvious?\"\n\n\"Well, it is rather obvious.\"\n\n\"The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance\never observes. Where do you think that I have been?\"\n\n\"A fixture also.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, I have been to Devonshire.\"\n\n\"In spirit?\"\n\n\"Exactly. My body has remained in this arm-chair and has, I\nregret to observe, consumed in my absence two large pots of\ncoffee and an incredible amount of tobacco. After you left I sent\ndown to Stamford's for the Ordnance map of this portion of the\nmoor, and my spirit has hovered over it all day. I flatter myself\nthat I could find my way about.\"\n\n\"A large scale map, I presume?\"\n\n\"Very large.\" He unrolled one section and held it over his knee.\n\"Here you have the particular district which concerns us. That is\nBaskerville Hall in the middle.\"\n\n\"With a wood round it?\"\n\n\"Exactly. I fancy the Yew Alley, though not marked under that\nname, must stretch along this line, with the moor, as you\nperceive, upon the right of it. This small clump of buildings\nhere is the hamlet of Grimpen, where our friend Dr. Mortimer has\nhis headquarters. Within a radius of five miles there are, as you\nsee, only a very few scattered dwellings. Here is Lafter Hall,\nwhich was mentioned in the narrative. There is a house indicated\nhere which may be the residence of the naturalist--Stapleton, if\nI remember right, was his name. Here are two moorland\nfarm-houses, High Tor and Foulmire. Then fourteen miles away the\ngreat convict prison of Princetown. Between and around these\nscattered points extends the desolate, lifeless moor. This, then,\nis the stage upon which tragedy has been played, and upon which\nwe may help to play it again.\"\n\n\"It must be a wild place.\"\n\n\"Yes, the setting is a worthy one. If the devil did desire to\nhave a hand in the affairs of men ----\"\n\n\"Then you are yourself inclining to the supernatural\nexplanation.\"\n\n\"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?\nThere are two questions waiting for us at the outset. The one is\nwhether any crime has been committed at all; the second is, what\nis the crime and how was it committed? Of course, if Dr.\nMortimer's surmise should be correct, and we are dealing with\nforces outside the ordinary laws of Nature, there is an end of\nour investigation. But we are bound to exhaust all other\nhypotheses before falling back upon this one. I think we'll shut\nthat window again, if you don't mind. It is a singular thing, but\nI find that a concentrated atmosphere helps a concentration of\nthought. I have not pushed it to the length of getting into a box\nto think, but that is the logical outcome of my convictions. Have\nyou turned the case over in your mind?\"\n\n\"Yes, I have thought a good deal of it in the course of the day.\"\n\n\"What do you make of it?\"\n\n\"It is very bewildering.\"\n\n\"It has certainly a character of its own. There are points of\ndistinction about it. That change in the footprints, for example.\nWhat do you make of that?\"\n\n\"Mortimer said that the man had walked on tiptoe down that\nportion of the alley.\"\n\n\"He only repeated what some fool had said at the inquest. Why\nshould a man walk on tiptoe down the alley?\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"He was running, Watson--running desperately, running for his\nlife, running until he burst his heart and fell dead upon his\nface.\"\n\n\"Running from what?\"\n\n\"There lies our problem. There are indications that the man was\ncrazed with fear before ever he began to run.\"\n\n\"How can you say that?\"\n\n\"I am presuming that the cause of his fears came to him across\nthe moor. If that were so, and it seems most probable, only a man\nwho had lost his wits would have run from the house instead of\ntowards it. If the gipsy's evidence may be taken as true, he ran\nwith cries for help in the direction where help was least likely\nto be. Then, again, whom was he waiting for that night, and why\nwas he waiting for him in the Yew Alley rather than in his own\nhouse?\"\n\n\"You think that he was waiting for someone?\"\n\n\"The man was elderly and infirm. We can understand his taking an\nevening stroll, but the ground was damp and the night inclement.\nIs it natural that he should stand for five or ten minutes, as\nDr. Mortimer, with more practical sense than I should have given\nhim credit for, deduced from the cigar ash?\"\n\n\"But he went out every evening.\"\n\n\"I think it unlikely that he waited at the moor-gate every\nevening. On the contrary, the evidence is that he avoided the\nmoor. That night he waited there. It was the night before he made\nhis departure for London. The thing takes shape, Watson. It\nbecomes coherent. Might I ask you to hand me my violin, and we\nwill postpone all further thought upon this business until we\nhave had the advantage of meeting Dr. Mortimer and Sir Henry\nBaskerville in the morning.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter 4\n\nSir Henry Baskerville\n\n\nOur breakfast-table was cleared early, and Holmes waited in his\ndressing-gown for the promised interview. Our clients were\npunctual to their appointment, for the clock had just struck ten\nwhen Dr. Mortimer was shown up, followed by the young baronet.\nThe latter was a small, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years\nof age, very sturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a\nstrong, pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and\nhad the weather-beaten appearance of one who has spent most of\nhis time in the open air, and yet there was something in his\nsteady eye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which indicated\nthe gentleman.\n\n\"This is Sir Henry Baskerville,\" said Dr. Mortimer.\n\n\"Why, yes,\" said he, \"and the strange thing is, Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes, that if my friend here had not proposed coming round to\nyou this morning I should have come on my own account. I\nunderstand that you think out little puzzles, and I've had one\nthis morning which wants more thinking out than I am able to give\nit.\"\n\n\"Pray take a seat, Sir Henry. Do I understand you to say that you\nhave yourself had some remarkable experience since you arrived in\nLondon?\"\n\n\"Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes. Only a joke, as like as\nnot. It was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which\nreached me this morning.\"\n\nHe laid an envelope upon the table, and we all bent over it. It\nwas of common quality, grayish in colour. The address, \"Sir Henry\nBaskerville, Northumberland Hotel,\" was printed in rough\ncharacters; the postmark \"Charing Cross,\" and the date of posting\nthe preceding evening.\n\n\"Who knew that you were going to the Northumberland Hotel?\" asked\nHolmes, glancing keenly across at our visitor.\n\n\"No one could have known. We only decided after I met Dr.\nMortimer.\"\n\n\"But Dr. Mortimer was no doubt already stopping there?\"\n\n\"No, I had been staying with a friend,\" said the doctor. \"There\nwas no possible indication that we intended to go to this hotel.\"\n\n\"Hum! Someone seems to be very deeply interested in your\nmovements.\" Out of the envelope he took a half-sheet of foolscap\npaper folded into four. This he opened and spread flat upon the\ntable. Across the middle of it a single sentence had been formed\nby the expedient of pasting printed words upon it. It ran: \"As\nyou value your life or your reason keep away from the moor.\" The\nword \"moor\" only was printed in ink.\n\n\"Now,\" said Sir Henry Baskerville, \"perhaps you will tell me, Mr.\nHolmes, what in thunder is the meaning of that, and who it is\nthat takes so much interest in my affairs?\"\n\n\"What do you make of it, Dr. Mortimer? You must allow that there\nis nothing supernatural about this, at any rate?\"\n\n\"No, sir, but it might very well come from someone who was\nconvinced that the business is supernatural.\"\n\n\"What business?\" asked Sir Henry sharply. \"It seems to me that\nall you gentlemen know a great deal more than I do about my own\naffairs.\"\n\n\"You shall share our knowledge before you leave this room, Sir\nHenry. I promise you that,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"We will\nconfine ourselves for the present with your permission to this\nvery interesting document, which must have been put together and\nposted yesterday evening. Have you yesterday's Times, Watson?\"\n\n\"It is here in the corner.\"\n\n\"Might I trouble you for it--the inside page, please, with the\nleading articles?\" He glanced swiftly over it, running his eyes\nup and down the columns. \"Capital article this on free trade.\nPermit me to give you an extract from it. 'You may be cajoled\ninto imagining that your own special trade or your own industry\nwill be encouraged by a protective tariff, but it stands to\nreason that such legislation must in the long run keep away\nwealth from the country, diminish the value of our imports, and\nlower the general conditions of life in this island.' What do you\nthink of that, Watson?\" cried Holmes in high glee, rubbing his\nhands together with satisfaction. \"Don't you think that is an\nadmirable sentiment?\"\n\nDr. Mortimer looked at Holmes with an air of professional\ninterest, and Sir Henry Baskerville turned a pair of puzzled dark\neyes upon me.\n\n\"I don't know much about the tariff and things of that kind,\"\nsaid he; \"but it seems to me we've got a bit off the trail so far\nas that note is concerned.\"\n\n\"On the contrary, I think we are particularly hot upon the trail,\nSir Henry. Watson here knows more about my methods than you do,\nbut I fear that even he has not quite grasped the significance of\nthis sentence.\"\n\n\"No, I confess that I see no connection.\"\n\n\"And yet, my dear Watson, there is so very close a connection\nthat the one is extracted out of the other. 'You,' 'your,'\n'your,' 'life,' 'reason,' 'value,' 'keep away,' 'from the.' Don't\nyou see now whence these words have been taken?\"\n\n\"By thunder, you're right! Well, if that isn't smart!\" cried Sir\nHenry.\n\n\"If any possible doubt remained it is settled by the fact that\n'keep away' and 'from the' are cut out in one piece.\"\n\n\"Well, now--so it is!\"\n\n\"Really, Mr. Holmes, this exceeds anything which I could have\nimagined,\" said Dr. Mortimer, gazing at my friend in amazement.\n\"I could understand anyone saying that the words were from a\nnewspaper; but that you should name which, and add that it came\nfrom the leading article, is really one of the most remarkable\nthings which I have ever known. How did you do it?\"\n\n\"I presume, Doctor, that you could tell the skull of a negro from\nthat of an Esquimau?\"\n\n\"Most certainly.\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"Because that is my special hobby. The differences are obvious.\nThe supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve,\nthe --\"\n\n\"But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally\nobvious. There is as much difference to my eyes between the\nleaded bourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print\nof an evening half-penny paper as there could be between your\nnegro and your Esquimau. The detection of types is one of the\nmost elementary branches of knowledge to the special expert in\ncrime, though I confess that once when I was very young I\nconfused the Leeds Mercury with the Western Morning News. But a\nTimes leader is entirely distinctive, and these words could have\nbeen taken from nothing else. As it was done yesterday the strong\nprobability was that we should find the words in yesterday's\nissue.\"\n\n\"So far as I can follow you, then, Mr. Holmes,\" said Sir Henry\nBaskerville, \"someone cut out this message with a scissors--\"\n\n\"Nail-scissors,\" said Holmes. \"You can see that it was a very\nshort-bladed scissors, since the cutter had to take two snips\nover 'keep away.'\"\n\n\"That is so. Someone, then, cut out the message with a pair of\nshort-bladed scissors, pasted it with paste--\"\n\n\"Gum,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"With gum on to the paper. But I want to know why the word 'moor'\nshould have been written?\"\n\n\"Because he could not find it in print. The other words were all\nsimple and might be found in any issue, but 'moor' would be less\ncommon.\"\n\n\"Why, of course, that would explain it. Have you read anything\nelse in this message, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"There are one or two indications, and yet the utmost pains have\nbeen taken to remove all clues. The address, you observe is\nprinted in rough characters. But the Times is a paper which is\nseldom found in any hands but those of the highly educated. We\nmay take it, therefore, that the letter was composed by an\neducated man who wished to pose as an uneducated one, and his\neffort to conceal his own writing suggests that that writing\nmight be known, or come to be known, by you. Again, you will\nobserve that the words are not gummed on in an accurate line, but\nthat some are much higher than others. 'Life,' for example is\nquite out of its proper place. That may point to carelessness or\nit may point to agitation and hurry upon the part of the cutter.\nOn the whole I incline to the latter view, since the matter was\nevidently important, and it is unlikely that the composer of such\na letter would be careless. If he were in a hurry it opens up the\ninteresting question why he should be in a hurry, since any\nletter posted up to early morning would reach Sir Henry before he\nwould leave his hotel. Did the composer fear an interruption--and\nfrom whom?\"\n\n\"We are coming now rather into the region of guesswork,\" said Dr.\nMortimer.\n\n\"Say, rather, into the region where we balance probabilities and\nchoose the most likely. It is the scientific use of the\nimagination, but we have always some material basis on which to\nstart our speculation. Now, you would call it a guess, no doubt,\nbut I am almost certain that this address has been written in a\nhotel.\"\n\n\"How in the world can you say that?\"\n\n\"If you examine it carefully you will see that both the pen and\nthe ink have given the writer trouble. The pen has spluttered\ntwice in a single word, and has run dry three times in a short\naddress, showing that there was very little ink in the bottle.\nNow, a private pen or ink-bottle is seldom allowed to be in such\na state, and the combination of the two must be quite rare. But\nyou know the hotel ink and the hotel pen, where it is rare to get\nanything else. Yes, I have very little hesitation in saying that\ncould we examine the waste-paper baskets of the hotels around\nCharing Cross until we found the remains of the mutilated Times\nleader we could lay our hands straight upon the person who sent\nthis singular message. Halloa! Halloa! What's this?\"\n\nHe was carefully examining the foolscap, upon which the words\nwere pasted, holding it only an inch or two from his eyes.\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" said he, throwing it down. \"It is a blank half-sheet\nof paper, without even a water-mark upon it. I think we have\ndrawn as much as we can from this curious letter; and now, Sir\nHenry, has anything else of interest happened to you since you\nhave been in London?\"\n\n\"Why, no, Mr. Holmes. I think not.\"\n\n\"You have not observed anyone follow or watch you?\"\n\n\"I seem to have walked right into the thick of a dime novel,\"\nsaid our visitor. \"Why in thunder should anyone follow or watch\nme?\"\n\n\"We are coming to that. You have nothing else to report to us\nbefore we go into this matter?\"\n\n\"Well, it depends upon what you think worth reporting.\"\n\n\"I think anything out of the ordinary routine of life well worth\nreporting.\"\n\nSir Henry smiled.\n\n\"I don't know much of British life yet, for I have spent nearly\nall my time in the States and in Canada. But I hope that to lose\none of your boots is not part of the ordinary routine of life\nover here.\"\n\n\"You have lost one of your boots?\"\n\n\"My dear sir,\" cried Dr. Mortimer, \"it is only mislaid. You will\nfind it when you return to the hotel. What is the use of\ntroubling Mr. Holmes with trifles of this kind?\"\n\n\"Well, he asked me for anything outside the ordinary routine.\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" said Holmes, \"however foolish the incident may seem.\nYou have lost one of your boots, you say?\"\n\n\"Well, mislaid it, anyhow. I put them both outside my door last\nnight, and there was only one in the morning. I could get no\nsense out of the chap who cleans them. The worst of it is that I\nonly bought the pair last night in the Strand, and I have never\nhad them on.\"\n\n\"If you have never worn them, why did you put them out to be\ncleaned?\"\n\n\"They were tan boots and had never been varnished. That was why I\nput them out.\"\n\n\"Then I understand that on your arrival in London yesterday you\nwent out at once and bought a pair of boots?\"\n\n\"I did a good deal of shopping. Dr. Mortimer here went round with\nme. You see, if I am to be squire down there I must dress the\npart, and it may be that I have got a little careless in my ways\nout West. Among other things I bought these brown boots--gave six\ndollars for them--and had one stolen before ever I had them on my\nfeet.\"\n\n\"It seems a singularly useless thing to steal,\" said Sherlock\nHolmes. \"I confess that I share Dr. Mortimer's belief that it\nwill not be long before the missing boot is found.\"\n\n\"And, now, gentlemen,\" said the baronet with decision, \"it seems\nto me that I have spoken quite enough about the little that I\nknow. It is time that you kept your promise and gave me a full\naccount of what we are all driving at.\"\n\n\"Your request is a very reasonable one,\" Holmes answered. \"Dr.\nMortimer, I think you could not do better than to tell your story\nas you told it to us.\"\n\nThus encouraged, our scientific friend drew his papers from his\npocket, and presented the whole case as he had done upon the\nmorning before. Sir Henry Baskerville listened with the deepest\nattention, and with an occasional exclamation of surprise.\n\n\"Well, I seem to have come into an inheritance with a vengeance,\"\nsaid he when the long narrative was finished. \"Of course, I've\nheard of the hound ever since I was in the nursery. It's the pet\nstory of the family, though I never thought of taking it\nseriously before. But as to my uncle's death--well, it all seems\nboiling up in my head, and I can't get it clear yet. You don't\nseem quite to have made up your mind whether it's a case for a\npoliceman or a clergyman.\"\n\n\"Precisely.\"\n\n\"And now there's this affair of the letter to me at the hotel. I\nsuppose that fits into its place.\"\n\n\"It seems to show that someone knows more than we do about what\ngoes on upon the moor,\" said Dr. Mortimer.\n\n\"And also,\" said Holmes, \"that someone is not ill-disposed\ntowards you, since they warn you of danger.\"\n\n\"Or it may be that they wish, for their own purposes, to scare me\naway.\"\n\n\"Well, of course, that is possible also. I am very much indebted\nto you, Dr. Mortimer, for introducing me to a problem which\npresents several interesting alternatives. But the practical\npoint which we now have to decide, Sir Henry, is whether it is or\nis not advisable for you to go to Baskerville Hall.\"\n\n\"Why should I not go?\"\n\n\"There seems to be danger.\"\n\n\"Do you mean danger from this family fiend or do you mean danger\nfrom human beings?\"\n\n\"Well, that is what we have to find out.\"\n\n\"Whichever it is, my answer is fixed. There is no devil in hell,\nMr. Holmes, and there is no man upon earth who can prevent me\nfrom going to the home of my own people, and you may take that to\nbe my final answer.\" His dark brows knitted and his face flushed\nto a dusky red as he spoke. It was evident that the fiery temper\nof the Baskervilles was not extinct in this their last\nrepresentative. \"Meanwhile,\" said he, \"I have hardly had time to\nthink over all that you have told me. It's a big thing for a man\nto have to understand and to decide at one sitting. I should like\nto have a quiet hour by myself to make up my mind. Now, look\nhere, Mr. Holmes, it's half-past eleven now and I am going back\nright away to my hotel. Suppose you and your friend, Dr. Watson,\ncome round and lunch with us at two. I'll be able to tell you\nmore clearly then how this thing strikes me.\"\n\n\"Is that convenient to you, Watson?\"\n\n\"Perfectly.\"\n\n\"Then you may expect us. Shall I have a cab called?\"\n\n\"I'd prefer to walk, for this affair has flurried me rather.\"\n\n\"I'll join you in a walk, with pleasure,\" said his companion.\n\n\"Then we meet again at two o'clock. Au revoir, and good-morning!\"\n\nWe heard the steps of our visitors descend the stair and the bang\nof the front door. In an instant Holmes had changed from the\nlanguid dreamer to the man of action.\n\n\"Your hat and boots, Watson, quick! Not a moment to lose!\" He\nrushed into his room in his dressing-gown and was back again in a\nfew seconds in a frock-coat. We hurried together down the stairs\nand into the street. Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were still\nvisible about two hundred yards ahead of us in the direction of\nOxford Street.\n\n\"Shall I run on and stop them?\"\n\n\"Not for the world, my dear Watson. I am perfectly satisfied with\nyour company if you will tolerate mine. Our friends are wise, for\nit is certainly a very fine morning for a walk.\"\n\nHe quickened his pace until we had decreased the distance which\ndivided us by about half. Then, still keeping a hundred yards\nbehind, we followed into Oxford Street and so down Regent Street.\nOnce our friends stopped and stared into a shop window, upon\nwhich Holmes did the same. An instant afterwards he gave a little\ncry of satisfaction, and, following the direction of his eager\neyes, I saw that a hansom cab with a man inside which had halted\non the other side of the street was now proceeding slowly onward\nagain.\n\n\"There's our man, Watson! Come along! We'll have a good look at\nhim, if we can do no more.\"\n\nAt that instant I was aware of a bushy black beard and a pair of\npiercing eyes turned upon us through the side window of the cab.\nInstantly the trapdoor at the top flew up, something was screamed\nto the driver, and the cab flew madly off down Regent Street.\nHolmes looked eagerly round for another, but no empty one was in\nsight. Then he dashed in wild pursuit amid the stream of the\ntraffic, but the start was too great, and already the cab was out\nof sight.\n\n\"There now!\" said Holmes bitterly as he emerged panting and white\nwith vexation from the tide of vehicles. \"Was ever such bad luck\nand such bad management, too? Watson, Watson, if you are an\nhonest man you will record this also and set it against my\nsuccesses!\"\n\n\"Who was the man?\"\n\n\"I have not an idea.\"\n\n\"A spy?\"\n\n\"Well, it was evident from what we have heard that Baskerville\nhas been very closely shadowed by someone since he has been in\ntown. How else could it be known so quickly that it was the\nNorthumberland Hotel which he had chosen? If they had followed\nhim the first day I argued that they would follow him also the\nsecond. You may have observed that I twice strolled over to the\nwindow while Dr. Mortimer was reading his legend.\"\n\n\"Yes, I remember.\"\n\n\"I was looking out for loiterers in the street, but I saw none.\nWe are dealing with a clever man, Watson. This matter cuts very\ndeep, and though I have not finally made up my mind whether it is\na benevolent or a malevolent agency which is in touch with us, I\nam conscious always of power and design. When our friends left I\nat once followed them in the hopes of marking down their\ninvisible attendant. So wily was he that he had not trusted\nhimself upon foot, but he had availed himself of a cab so that he\ncould loiter behind or dash past them and so escape their notice.\nHis method had the additional advantage that if they were to take\na cab he was all ready to follow them. It has, however, one\nobvious disadvantage.\"\n\n\"It puts him in the power of the cabman.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"What a pity we did not get the number!\"\n\n\"My dear Watson, clumsy as I have been, you surely do not\nseriously imagine that I neglected to get the number? No. 2704 is\nour man. But that is no use to us for the moment.\"\n\n\"I fail to see how you could have done more.\"\n\n\"On observing the cab I should have instantly turned and walked\nin the other direction. I should then at my leisure have hired a\nsecond cab and followed the first at a respectful distance, or,\nbetter still, have driven to the Northumberland Hotel and waited\nthere. When our unknown had followed Baskerville home we should\nhave had the opportunity of playing his own game upon himself and\nseeing where he made for. As it is, by an indiscreet eagerness,\nwhich was taken advantage of with extraordinary quickness and\nenergy by our opponent, we have betrayed ourselves and lost our\nman.\"\n\nWe had been sauntering slowly down Regent Street during this\nconversation, and Dr. Mortimer, with his companion, had long\nvanished in front of us.\n\n\"There is no object in our following them,\" said Holmes. \"The\nshadow has departed and will not return. We must see what further\ncards we have in our hands and play them with decision. Could you\nswear to that man's face within the cab?\"\n\n\"I could swear only to the beard.\"\n\n\"And so could I--from which I gather that in all probability it\nwas a false one. A clever man upon so delicate an errand has no\nuse for a beard save to conceal his features. Come in here,\nWatson!\"\n\nHe turned into one of the district messenger offices, where he\nwas warmly greeted by the manager.\n\n\"Ah, Wilson, I see you have not forgotten the little case in\nwhich I had the good fortune to help you?\"\n\n\"No, sir, indeed I have not. You saved my good name, and perhaps\nmy life.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, you exaggerate. I have some recollection,\nWilson, that you had among your boys a lad named Cartwright, who\nshowed some ability during the investigation.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, he is still with us.\"\n\n\"Could you ring him up?--thank you! And I should be glad to have\nchange of this five-pound note.\"\n\nA lad of fourteen, with a bright, keen face, had obeyed the\nsummons of the manager. He stood now gazing with great reverence\nat the famous detective.\n\n\"Let me have the Hotel Directory,\" said Holmes. \"Thank you! Now,\nCartwright, there are the names of twenty-three hotels here, all\nin the immediate neighbourhood of Charing Cross. Do you see?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"You will visit each of these in turn.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"You will begin in each case by giving the outside porter one\nshilling. Here are twenty-three shillings.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"You will tell him that you want to see the waste-paper of\nyesterday. You will say that an important telegram has miscarried\nand that you are looking for it. You understand?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"But what you are really looking for is the centre page of the\nTimes with some holes cut in it with scissors. Here is a copy of\nthe Times. It is this page. You could easily recognize it, could\nyou not?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"In each case the outside porter will send for the hall porter,\nto whom also you will give a shilling. Here are twenty-three\nshillings. You will then learn in possibly twenty cases out of\nthe twenty-three that the waste of the day before has been burned\nor removed. In the three other cases you will be shown a heap of\npaper and you will look for this page of the Times among it. The\nodds are enormously against your finding it. There are ten\nshillings over in case of emergencies. Let me have a report by\nwire at Baker Street before evening. And now, Watson, it only\nremains for us to find out by wire the identity of the cabman,\nNo. 2704, and then we will drop into one of the Bond Street\npicture galleries and fill in the time until we are due at the\nhotel.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter 5\n\nThree Broken Threads\n\n\nSherlock Holmes had, in a very remarkable degree, the power of\ndetaching his mind at will. For two hours the strange business in\nwhich we had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he was\nentirely absorbed in the pictures of the modern Belgian masters.\nHe would talk of nothing but art, of which he had the crudest\nideas, from our leaving the gallery until we found ourselves at\nthe Northumberland Hotel.\n\n\"Sir Henry Baskerville is upstairs expecting you,\" said the\nclerk. \"He asked me to show you up at once when you came.\"\n\n\"Have you any objection to my looking at your register?\" said\nHolmes.\n\n\"Not in the least.\"\n\nThe book showed that two names had been added after that of\nBaskerville. One was Theophilus Johnson and family, of Newcastle;\nthe other Mrs. Oldmore and maid, of High Lodge, Alton.\n\n\"Surely that must be the same Johnson whom I used to know,\" said\nHolmes to the porter. \"A lawyer, is he not, gray-headed, and\nwalks with a limp?\"\n\n\"No, sir; this is Mr. Johnson, the coal-owner, a very active\ngentleman, not older than yourself.\"\n\n\"Surely you are mistaken about his trade?\"\n\n\"No, sir! he has used this hotel for many years, and he is very\nwell known to us.\"\n\n\"Ah, that settles it. Mrs. Oldmore, too; I seem to remember the\nname. Excuse my curiosity, but often in calling upon one friend\none finds another.\"\n\n\"She is an invalid lady, sir. Her husband was once mayor of\nGloucester. She always comes to us when she is in town.\"\n\n\"Thank you; I am afraid I cannot claim her acquaintance. We have\nestablished a most important fact by these questions, Watson,\" he\ncontinued in a low voice as we went upstairs together. \"We know\nnow that the people who are so interested in our friend have not\nsettled down in his own hotel. That means that while they are, as\nwe have seen, very anxious to watch him, they are equally anxious\nthat he should not see them. Now, this is a most suggestive\nfact.\"\n\n\"What does it suggest?\"\n\n\"It suggests--halloa, my dear fellow, what on earth is the\nmatter?\"\n\nAs we came round the top of the stairs we had run up against Sir\nHenry Baskerville himself. His face was flushed with anger, and\nhe held an old and dusty boot in one of his hands. So furious was\nhe that he was hardly articulate, and when he did speak it was in\na much broader and more Western dialect than any which we had\nheard from him in the morning.\n\n\"Seems to me they are playing me for a sucker in this hotel,\" he\ncried. \"They'll find they've started in to monkey with the wrong\nman unless they are careful. By thunder, if that chap can't find\nmy missing boot there will be trouble. I can take a joke with the\nbest, Mr. Holmes, but they've got a bit over the mark this time.\"\n\n\"Still looking for your boot?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, and mean to find it.\"\n\n\"But, surely, you said that it was a new brown boot?\"\n\n\"So it was, sir. And now it's an old black one.\"\n\n\"What! you don't mean to say----?\"\n\n\"That's just what I do mean to say. I only had three pairs in the\nworld--the new brown, the old black, and the patent leathers,\nwhich I am wearing. Last night they took one of my brown ones,\nand to-day they have sneaked one of the black. Well, have you got\nit? Speak out, man, and don't stand staring!\"\n\nAn agitated German waiter had appeared upon the scene.\n\n\"No, sir; I have made inquiry all over the hotel, but I can hear\nno word of it.\"\n\n\"Well, either that boot comes back before sundown or I'll see the\nmanager and tell him that I go right straight out of this hotel.\"\n\n\"It shall be found, sir--I promise you that if you will have a\nlittle patience it will be found.\"\n\n\"Mind it is, for it's the last thing of mine that I'll lose in\nthis den of thieves. Well, well, Mr. Holmes, you'll excuse my\ntroubling you about such a trifle----\"\n\n\"I think it's well worth troubling about.\"\n\n\"Why, you look very serious over it.\"\n\n\"How do you explain it?\"\n\n\"I just don't attempt to explain it. It seems the very maddest,\nqueerest thing that ever happened to me.\"\n\n\"The queerest perhaps----\" said Holmes, thoughtfully.\n\n\"What do you make of it yourself?\"\n\n\"Well, I don't profess to understand it yet. This case of yours\nis very complex, Sir Henry. When taken in conjunction with your\nuncle's death I am not sure that of all the five hundred cases of\ncapital importance which I have handled there is one which cuts\nso deep. But we hold several threads in our hands, and the odds\nare that one or other of them guides us to the truth. We may\nwaste time in following the wrong one, but sooner or later we\nmust come upon the right.\"\n\nWe had a pleasant luncheon in which little was said of the\nbusiness which had brought us together. It was in the private\nsitting-room to which we afterwards repaired that Holmes asked\nBaskerville what were his intentions.\n\n\"To go to Baskerville Hall.\"\n\n\"And when?\"\n\n\"At the end of the week.\"\n\n\"On the whole,\" said Holmes, \"I think that your decision is a\nwise one. I have ample evidence that you are being dogged in\nLondon, and amid the millions of this great city it is difficult\nto discover who these people are or what their object can be. If\ntheir intentions are evil they might do you a mischief, and we\nshould be powerless to prevent it. You did not know, Dr. Mortimer,\nthat you were followed this morning from my house?\"\n\nDr. Mortimer started violently.\n\n\"Followed! By whom?\"\n\n\"That, unfortunately, is what I cannot tell you. Have you among\nyour neighbours or acquaintances on Dartmoor any man with a\nblack, full beard?\"\n\n\"No--or, let me see--why, yes. Barrymore, Sir Charles's butler,\nis a man with a full, black beard.\"\n\n\"Ha! Where is Barrymore?\"\n\n\"He is in charge of the Hall.\"\n\n\"We had best ascertain if he is really there, or if by any\npossibility he might be in London.\"\n\n\"How can you do that?\"\n\n\"Give me a telegraph form. 'Is all ready for Sir Henry?' That\nwill do. Address to Mr. Barrymore, Baskerville Hall. What is the\nnearest telegraph-office? Grimpen. Very good, we will send a\nsecond wire to the postmaster, Grimpen: 'Telegram to Mr.\nBarrymore to be delivered into his own hand. If absent, please\nreturn wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel.' That\nshould let us know before evening whether Barrymore is at his\npost in Devonshire or not.\"\n\n\"That's so,\" said Baskerville. \"By the way, Dr. Mortimer, who is\nthis Barrymore, anyhow?\"\n\n\"He is the son of the old caretaker, who is dead. They have\nlooked after the Hall for four generations now. So far as I know,\nhe and his wife are as respectable a couple as any in the\ncounty.\"\n\n\"At the same time,\" said Baskerville, \"it's clear enough that so\nlong as there are none of the family at the Hall these people\nhave a mighty fine home and nothing to do.\"\n\n\"That is true.\"\n\n\"Did Barrymore profit at all by Sir Charles's will?\" asked\nHolmes.\n\n\"He and his wife had five hundred pounds each.\"\n\n\"Ha! Did they know that they would receive this?\"\n\n\"Yes; Sir Charles was very fond of talking about the provisions\nof his will.\"\n\n\"That is very interesting.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said Dr. Mortimer, \"that you do not look with\nsuspicious eyes upon everyone who received a legacy from Sir\nCharles, for I also had a thousand pounds left to me.\"\n\n\"Indeed! And anyone else?\"\n\n\"There were many insignificant sums to individuals, and a large\nnumber of public charities. The residue all went to Sir Henry.\"\n\n\"And how much was the residue?\"\n\n\"Seven hundred and forty thousand pounds.\"\n\nHolmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. \"I had no idea that so\ngigantic a sum was involved,\" said he.\n\n\"Sir Charles had the reputation of being rich, but we did not\nknow how very rich he was until we came to examine his\nsecurities. The total value of the estate was close on to a\nmillion.\"\n\n\"Dear me! It is a stake for which a man might well play a\ndesperate game. And one more question, Dr. Mortimer. Supposing\nthat anything happened to our young friend here--you will forgive\nthe unpleasant hypothesis!--who would inherit the estate?\"\n\n\"Since Rodger Baskerville, Sir Charles's younger brother died\nunmarried, the estate would descend to the Desmonds, who are\ndistant cousins. James Desmond is an elderly clergyman in\nWestmoreland.\"\n\n\"Thank you. These details are all of great interest. Have you met\nMr. James Desmond?\"\n\n\"Yes; he once came down to visit Sir Charles. He is a man of\nvenerable appearance and of saintly life. I remember that he\nrefused to accept any settlement from Sir Charles, though he\npressed it upon him.\"\n\n\"And this man of simple tastes would be the heir to Sir Charles's\nthousands.\"\n\n\"He would be the heir to the estate because that is entailed. He\nwould also be the heir to the money unless it were willed\notherwise by the present owner, who can, of course, do what he\nlikes with it.\"\n\n\"And have you made your will, Sir Henry?\"\n\n\"No, Mr. Holmes, I have not. I've had no time, for it was only\nyesterday that I learned how matters stood. But in any case I\nfeel that the money should go with the title and estate. That was\nmy poor uncle's idea. How is the owner going to restore the\nglories of the Baskervilles if he has not money enough to keep up\nthe property? House, land, and dollars must go together.\"\n\n\"Quite so. Well, Sir Henry, I am of one mind with you as to the\nadvisability of your going down to Devonshire without delay.\nThere is only one provision which I must make. You certainly must\nnot go alone.\"\n\n\"Dr. Mortimer returns with me.\"\n\n\"But Dr. Mortimer has his practice to attend to, and his house is\nmiles away from yours. With all the good will in the world he may\nbe unable to help you. No, Sir Henry, you must take with you\nsomeone, a trusty man, who will be always by your side.\"\n\n\"Is it possible that you could come yourself, Mr. Holmes?\"\n\n\"If matters came to a crisis I should endeavour to be present in\nperson; but you can understand that, with my extensive consulting\npractice and with the constant appeals which reach me from many\nquarters, it is impossible for me to be absent from London for an\nindefinite time. At the present instant one of the most revered\nnames in England is being besmirched by a blackmailer, and only I\ncan stop a disastrous scandal. You will see how impossible it is\nfor me to go to Dartmoor.\"\n\n\"Whom would you recommend, then?\"\n\nHolmes laid his hand upon my arm.\n\n\"If my friend would undertake it there is no man who is better\nworth having at your side when you are in a tight place. No one\ncan say so more confidently than I.\"\n\nThe proposition took me completely by surprise, but before I had\ntime to answer, Baskerville seized me by the hand and wrung it\nheartily.\n\n\"Well, now, that is real kind of you, Dr. Watson,\" said he. \"You\nsee how it is with me, and you know just as much about the matter\nas I do. If you will come down to Baskerville Hall and see me\nthrough I'll never forget it.\"\n\nThe promise of adventure had always a fascination for me, and I\nwas complimented by the words of Holmes and by the eagerness with\nwhich the baronet hailed me as a companion.\n\n\"I will come, with pleasure,\" said I. \"I do not know how I could\nemploy my time better.\"\n\n\"And you will report very carefully to me,\" said Holmes. \"When a\ncrisis comes, as it will do, I will direct how you shall act. I\nsuppose that by Saturday all might be ready?\"\n\n\"Would that suit Dr. Watson?\"\n\n\"Perfectly.\"\n\n\"Then on Saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet\nat the 10:30 train from Paddington.\"\n\nWe had risen to depart when Baskerville gave a cry, of triumph,\nand diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown\nboot from under a cabinet.\n\n\"My missing boot!\" he cried.\n\n\"May all our difficulties vanish as easily!\" said Sherlock\nHolmes.\n\n\"But it is a very singular thing,\" Dr. Mortimer remarked. \"I\nsearched this room carefully before lunch.\"\n\n\"And so did I,\" said Baskerville. \"Every inch of it.\"\n\n\"There was certainly no boot in it then.\"\n\n\"In that case the waiter must have placed it there while we were\nlunching.\"\n\nThe German was sent for but professed to know nothing of the\nmatter, nor could any inquiry clear it up. Another item had been\nadded to that constant and apparently purposeless series of small\nmysteries which had succeeded each other so rapidly. Setting\naside the whole grim story of Sir Charles's death, we had a line\nof inexplicable incidents all within the limits of two days,\nwhich included the receipt of the printed letter, the\nblack-bearded spy in the hansom, the loss of the new brown boot,\nthe loss of the old black boot, and now the return of the new\nbrown boot. Holmes sat in silence in the cab as we drove back to\nBaker Street, and I knew from his drawn brows and keen face that\nhis mind, like my own, was busy in endeavouring to frame some\nscheme into which all these strange and apparently disconnected\nepisodes could be fitted. All afternoon and late into the evening\nhe sat lost in tobacco and thought.\n\nJust before dinner two telegrams were handed in. The first ran:--\n\n\"Have just heard that Barrymore is at the Hall.--BASKERVILLE.\"\nThe second:--\n\n\"Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry, to report\nunable to trace cut sheet of Times.--CARTWRIGHT.\"\n\n\"There go two of my threads, Watson. There is nothing more\nstimulating than a case where everything goes against you. We\nmust cast round for another scent.\"\n\n\"We have still the cabman who drove the spy.\"\n\n\"Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from the\nOfficial Registry. I should not be surprised if this were an\nanswer to my question.\"\n\nThe ring at the bell proved to be something even more\nsatisfactory than an answer, however, for the door opened and a\nrough-looking fellow entered who was evidently the man himself.\n\n\"I got a message from the head office that a gent at this address\nhad been inquiring for 2704,\" said he. \"I've driven my cab this\nseven years and never a word of complaint. I came here straight\nfrom the Yard to ask you to your face what you had against me.\"\n\n\"I have nothing in the world against you, my good man,\" said\nHolmes. \"On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if you\nwill give me a clear answer to my questions.\"\n\n\"Well, I've had a good day and no mistake,\" said the cabman, with\na grin. \"What was it you wanted to ask, sir?\"\n\n\"First of all your name and address, in case I want you again.\"\n\n\"John Clayton, 3 Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out of\nShipley's Yard, near Waterloo Station.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes made a note of it.\n\n\"Now, Clayton, tell me all about the fare who came and watched\nthis house at ten o'clock this morning and afterwards followed\nthe two gentlemen down Regent Street.\"\n\nThe man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. \"Why, there's\nno good my telling you things, for you seem to know as much as I\ndo already,\" said he. \"The truth is that the gentleman told me\nthat he was a detective and that I was to say nothing about him\nto anyone.\"\n\n\"My good fellow, this is a very serious business, and you may\nfind yourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide\nanything from me. You say that your fare told you that he was a\ndetective?\"\n\n\"Yes, he did.\"\n\n\"When did he say this?\"\n\n\"When he left me.\"\n\n\"Did he say anything more?\"\n\n\"He mentioned his name.\"\n\nHolmes cast a swift glance of triumph at me. \"Oh, he mentioned\nhis name, did he? That was imprudent. What was the name that he\nmentioned?\"\n\n\"His name,\" said the cabman, \"was Mr. Sherlock Holmes.\"\n\nNever have I seen my friend more completely taken aback than by\nthe cabman's reply. For an instant he sat in silent amazement.\nThen he burst into a hearty laugh.\n\n\"A touch, Watson--an undeniable touch!\" said he. \"I feel a foil\nas quick and supple as my own. He got home upon me very prettily\nthat time. So his name was Sherlock Holmes, was it?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, that was the gentleman's name.\"\n\n\"Excellent! Tell me where you picked him up and all that\noccurred.\"\n\n\"He hailed me at half-past nine in Trafalgar Square. He said that\nhe was a detective, and he offered me two guineas if I would do\nexactly what he wanted all day and ask no questions. I was glad\nenough to agree. First we drove down to the Northumberland Hotel\nand waited there until two gentlemen came out and took a cab from\nthe rank. We followed their cab until it pulled up somewhere near\nhere.\"\n\n\"This very door,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Well, I couldn't be sure of that, but I dare say my fare knew\nall about it. We pulled up half-way down the street and waited an\nhour and a half. Then the two gentlemen passed us, walking, and\nwe followed down Baker Street and along ----\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Holmes.\n\n\"Until we got three-quarters down Regent Street. Then my\ngentleman threw up the trap, and he cried that I should drive\nright away to Waterloo Station as hard as I could go. I whipped\nup the mare and we were there under the ten minutes. Then he paid\nup his two guineas, like a good one, and away he went into the\nstation. Only just as he was leaving he turned round and he said:\n'It might interest you to know that you have been driving Mr.\nSherlock Holmes.' That's how I come to know the name.\"\n\n\"I see. And you saw no more of him?\"\n\n\"Not after he went into the station.\"\n\n\"And how would you describe Mr. Sherlock Holmes?\"\n\nThe cabman scratched his head. \"Well, he wasn't altogether such\nan easy gentleman to describe. I'd put him at forty years of age,\nand he was of a middle height, two or three inches shorter than\nyou, sir. He was dressed like a toff, and he had a black beard,\ncut square at the end, and a pale face. I don't know as I could\nsay more than that.\"\n\n\"Colour of his eyes?\"\n\n\"No, I can't say that.\"\n\n\"Nothing more that you can remember?\"\n\n\"No, sir; nothing.\"\n\n\"Well, then, here is your half-sovereign. There's another one\nwaiting for you if you can bring any more information. Good\nnight!\"\n\n\"Good night, sir, and thank you!\"\n\nJohn Clayton departed chuckling, and Holmes turned to me with a\nshrug of his shoulders and a rueful smile.\n\n\"Snap goes our third thread, and we end where we began,\" said he.\n\"The cunning rascal! He knew our number, knew that Sir Henry\nBaskerville had consulted me, spotted who I was in Regent Street,\nconjectured that I had got the number of the cab and would lay my\nhands on the driver, and so sent back this audacious message. I\ntell you, Watson, this time we have got a foeman who is worthy of\nour steel. I've been checkmated in London. I can only wish you\nbetter luck in Devonshire. But I'm not easy in my mind about it.\"\n\n\"About what?\"\n\n\"About sending you. It's an ugly business, Watson, an ugly\ndangerous business, and the more I see of it the less I like it.\nYes, my dear fellow, you may laugh, but I give you my word that I\nshall be very glad to have you back safe and sound in Baker\nStreet once more.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter 6\n\nBaskerville Hall\n\n\nSir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon the\nappointed day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr.\nSherlock Holmes drove with me to the station and gave me his last\nparting injunctions and advice.\n\n\"I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions,\nWatson,\" said he; \"I wish you simply to report facts in the\nfullest possible manner to me, and you can leave me to do the\ntheorizing.\"\n\n\"What sort of facts?\" I asked.\n\n\"Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect upon\nthe case, and especially the relations between young Baskerville\nand his neighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death\nof Sir Charles. I have made some inquiries myself in the last few\ndays, but the results have, I fear, been negative. One thing only\nappears to be certain, and that is that Mr. James Desmond, who is\nthe next heir, is an elderly gentleman of a very amiable\ndisposition, so that this persecution does not arise from him. I\nreally think that we may eliminate him entirely from our\ncalculations. There remain the people who will actually surround\nSir Henry Baskerville upon the moor.\"\n\n\"Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of this\nBarrymore couple?\"\n\n\"By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If they are\ninnocent it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty we\nshould be giving up all chance of bringing it home to them. No,\nno, we will preserve them upon our list of suspects. Then there\nis a groom at the Hall, if I remember right. There are two\nmoorland farmers. There is our friend Dr. Mortimer, whom I\nbelieve to be entirely honest, and there is his wife, of whom we\nknow nothing. There is this naturalist, Stapleton, and there is\nhis sister, who is said to be a young lady of attractions. There\nis Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who is also an unknown factor,\nand there are one or two other neighbours. These are the folk who\nmust be your very special study.\"\n\n\"I will do my best.\"\n\n\"You have arms, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Yes, I thought it as well to take them.\"\n\n\"Most certainly. Keep your revolver near you night and day, and\nnever relax your precautions.\"\n\nOur friends had already secured a first-class carriage and were\nwaiting for us upon the platform.\n\n\"No, we have no news of any kind,\" said Dr. Mortimer in answer to\nmy friend's questions. \"I can swear to one thing, and that is\nthat we have not been shadowed during the last two days. We have\nnever gone out without keeping a sharp watch, and no one could\nhave escaped our notice.\"\n\n\"You have always kept together, I presume?\"\n\n\"Except yesterday afternoon. I usually give up one day to pure\namusement when I come to town, so I spent it at the Museum of the\nCollege of Surgeons.\"\n\n\"And I went to look at the folk in the park,\" said Baskerville.\n\"But we had no trouble of any kind.\"\n\n\"It was imprudent, all the same,\" said Holmes, shaking his head\nand looking very grave. \"I beg, Sir Henry, that you will not go\nabout alone. Some great misfortune will befall you if you do. Did\nyou get your other boot?\"\n\n\"No, sir, it is gone forever.\"\n\n\"Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye,\" he added as\nthe train began to glide down the platform. \"Bear in mind, Sir\nHenry, one of the phrases in that queer old legend which Dr.\nMortimer has read to us, and avoid the moor in those hours of\ndarkness when the powers of evil are exalted.\"\n\nI looked back at the platform when we had left it far behind, and\nsaw the tall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionless and\ngazing after us.\n\nThe journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it in\nmaking the more intimate acquaintance of my two companions and in\nplaying with Dr. Mortimer's spaniel. In a very few hours the\nbrown earth had become ruddy, the brick had changed to granite,\nand red cows grazed in well-hedged fields where the lush grasses\nand more luxuriant vegetation spoke of a richer, if a damper,\nclimate. Young Baskerville stared eagerly out of the window, and\ncried aloud with delight as he recognized the familiar features\nof the Devon scenery.\n\n\"I've been over a good part of the world since I left it, Dr.\nWatson,\" said he; \"but I have never seen a place to compare with\nit.\"\n\n\"I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county,\" I\nremarked.\n\n\"It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on the\ncounty,\" said Dr. Mortimer. \"A glance at our friend here reveals\nthe rounded head of the Celt, which carries inside it the Celtic\nenthusiasm and power of attachment. Poor Sir Charles's head was\nof a very rare type, half Gaelic, half Ivernian in its\ncharacteristics. But you were very young when you last saw\nBaskerville Hall, were you not?\"\n\n\"I was a boy in my 'teens at the time of my father's death, and\nhad never seen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on the\nSouth Coast. Thence I went straight to a friend in America. I\ntell you it is all as new to me as it is to Dr. Watson, and I'm\nas keen as possible to see the moor.\"\n\n\"Are you? Then your wish is easily granted, for there is your\nfirst sight of the moor,\" said Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of the\ncarriage window.\n\nOver the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood\nthere rose in the distance a gray, melancholy hill, with a\nstrange jagged summit, dim and vague in the distance, like some\nfantastic landscape in a dream. Baskerville sat for a long time,\nhis eyes fixed upon it, and I read upon his eager face how much\nit meant to him, this first sight of that strange spot where the\nmen of his blood had held sway so long and left their mark so\ndeep. There he sat, with his tweed suit and his American accent,\nin the corner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as I looked\nat his dark and expressive face I felt more than ever how true a\ndescendant he was of that long line of high-blooded, fiery, and\nmasterful men. There were pride, valour, and strength in his\nthick brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his large hazel eyes. If\non that forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous quest should\nlie before us, this was at least a comrade for whom one might\nventure to take a risk with the certainty that he would bravely\nshare it.\n\nThe train pulled up at a small wayside station and we all\ndescended. Outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette with\na pair of cobs was waiting. Our coming was evidently a great\nevent, for station-master and porters clustered round us to carry\nout our luggage. It was a sweet, simple country spot, but I was\nsurprised to observe that by the gate there stood two soldierly\nmen in dark uniforms, who leaned upon their short rifles and\nglanced keenly at us as we passed. The coachman, a hard-faced,\ngnarled little fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in a\nfew minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad, white road.\nRolling pasture lands curved upward on either side of us, and old\ngabled houses peeped out from amid the thick green foliage, but\nbehind the peaceful and sunlit country-side there rose ever, dark\nagainst the evening sky, the long, gloomy curve of the moor,\nbroken by the jagged and sinister hills.\n\nThe wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upward\nthrough deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on\neither side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart's-tongue\nferns. Bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light\nof the sinking sun. Still steadily rising, we passed over a\nnarrow granite bridge, and skirted a noisy stream which gushed\nswiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the gray boulders. Both\nroad and stream wound up through a valley dense with scrub oak\nand fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation of\ndelight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless\nquestions. To his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of\nmelancholy lay upon the country-side, which bore so clearly the\nmark of the waning year. Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and\nfluttered down upon us as we passed. The rattle of our wheels\ndied away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation--sad\ngifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the\ncarriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.\n\n\"Halloa!\" cried Dr. Mortimer, \"what is this?\"\n\nA steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor,\nlay in front of us. On the summit, hard and clear like an\nequestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark\nand stern, his rifle poised ready over his forearm. He was\nwatching the road along which we travelled.\n\n\"What is this, Perkins?\" asked Dr. Mortimer.\n\nOur driver half turned in his seat.\n\n\"There's a convict escaped from Princetown, sir. He's been out\nthree days now, and the warders watch every road and every\nstation, but they've had no sight of him yet. The farmers about\nhere don't like it, sir, and that's a fact.\"\n\n\"Well, I understand that they get five pounds if they can give\ninformation.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is but a poor thing\ncompared to the chance of having your throat cut. You see, it\nisn't like any ordinary convict. This is a man that would stick\nat nothing.\"\n\n\"Who is he, then?\"\n\n\"It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer.\"\n\nI remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmes had\ntaken an interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of the\ncrime and the wanton brutality which had marked all the actions\nof the assassin. The commutation of his death sentence had been\ndue to some doubts as to his complete sanity, so atrocious was\nhis conduct. Our wagonette had topped a rise and in front of us\nrose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled with gnarled and\ncraggy cairns and tors. A cold wind swept down from it and set us\nshivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurking\nthis fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his\nheart full of malignancy against the whole race which had cast\nhim out. It needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness\nof the barren waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky.\nEven Baskerville fell silent and pulled his overcoat more closely\naround him.\n\nWe had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We looked\nback on it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the\nstreams to threads of gold and glowing on the red earth new\nturned by the plough and the broad tangle of the woodlands. The\nroad in front of us grew bleaker and wilder over huge russet and\nolive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now and then we\npassed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone, with no\ncreeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into\na cup-like depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs which\nhad been twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Two\nhigh, narrow towers rose over the trees. The driver pointed with\nhis whip.\n\n\"Baskerville Hall,\" said he.\n\nIts master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and\nshining eyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates,\na maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten\npillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and surmounted by\nthe boars' heads of the Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of\nblack granite and bared ribs of rafters, but facing it was a new\nbuilding, half constructed, the first fruit of Sir Charles's\nSouth African gold.\n\nThrough the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheels\nwere again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their\nbranches in a sombre tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shuddered\nas he looked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered\nlike a ghost at the farther end.\n\n\"Was it here?\" he asked in a low voice.\n\n\"No, no, the Yew Alley is on the other side.\"\n\nThe young heir glanced round with a gloomy face.\n\n\"It's no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on him in\nsuch a place as this,\" said he. \"It's enough to scare any man.\nI'll have a row of electric lamps up here inside of six months,\nand you won't know it again, with a thousand candle-power Swan\nand Edison right here in front of the hall door.\"\n\nThe avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house lay\nbefore us. In the fading light I could see that the centre was a\nheavy block of building from which a porch projected. The whole\nfront was draped in ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there\nwhere a window or a coat-of-arms broke through the dark veil.\nFrom this central block rose the twin towers, ancient,\ncrenelated, and pierced with many loopholes. To right and left of\nthe turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dull light\nshone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high chimneys\nwhich rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a single\nblack column of smoke.\n\n\"Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!\"\n\nA tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open the\ndoor of the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouetted\nagainst the yellow light of the hall. She came out and helped the\nman to hand down our bags.\n\n\"You don't mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry?\" said Dr.\nMortimer. \"My wife is expecting me.\"\n\n\"Surely you will stay and have some dinner?\"\n\n\"No, I must go. I shall probably find some work awaiting me. I\nwould stay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be a\nbetter guide than I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day to\nsend for me if I can be of service.\"\n\nThe wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned\ninto the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a\nfine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and\nheavily raftered with huge balks of age-blackened oak. In the\ngreat old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a\nlog-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands\nto it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed round\nus at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak\npanelling, the stags' heads, the coats-of-arms upon the walls,\nall dim and sombre in the subdued light of the central lamp.\n\n\"It's just as I imagined it,\" said Sir Henry. \"Is it not the very\npicture of an old family home? To think that this should be the\nsame hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived.\nIt strikes me solemn to think of it.\"\n\nI saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazed\nabout him. The light beat upon him where he stood, but long\nshadows trailed down the walls and hung like a black canopy above\nhim. Barrymore had returned from taking our luggage to our rooms.\nHe stood in front of us now with the subdued manner of a\nwell-trained servant. He was a remarkable-looking man, tall,\nhandsome, with a square black beard and pale, distinguished\nfeatures.\n\n\"Would you wish dinner to be served at once, sir?\"\n\n\"Is it ready?\"\n\n\"In a very few minutes, sir. You will find hot water in your\nrooms. My wife and I will be happy, Sir Henry, to stay with you\nuntil you have made your fresh arrangements, but you will\nunderstand that under the new conditions this house will require\na considerable staff.\"\n\n\"What new conditions?\"\n\n\"I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very retired life, and\nwe were able to look after his wants. You would, naturally, wish\nto have more company, and so you will need changes in your\nhousehold.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that your wife and you wish to leave?\"\n\n\"Only when it is quite convenient to you, sir.\"\n\n\"But your family have been with us for several generations, have\nthey not? I should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking an\nold family connection.\"\n\nI seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler's white\nface.\n\n\"I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell the\ntruth, sir, we were both very much attached to Sir Charles, and\nhis death gave us a shock and made these surroundings very\npainful to us. I fear that we shall never again be easy in our\nminds at Baskerville Hall.\"\n\n\"But what do you intend to do?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishing\nourselves in some business. Sir Charles's generosity has given us\nthe means to do so. And now, sir, perhaps I had best show you to\nyour rooms.\"\n\nA square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall,\napproached by a double stair. From this central point two long\ncorridors extended the whole length of the building, from which\nall the bedrooms opened. My own was in the same wing as\nBaskerville's and almost next door to it. These rooms appeared to\nbe much more modern than the central part of the house, and the\nbright paper and numerous candles did something to remove the\nsombre impression which our arrival had left upon my mind.\n\nBut the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place of\nshadow and gloom. It was a long chamber with a step separating\nthe dais where the family sat from the lower portion reserved for\ntheir dependents. At one end a minstrel's gallery overlooked it.\nBlack beams shot across above our heads, with a smoke-darkened\nceiling beyond them. With rows of flaring torches to light it up,\nand the colour and rude hilarity of an old-time banquet, it might\nhave softened; but now, when two black-clothed gentlemen sat in\nthe little circle of light thrown by a shaded lamp, one's voice\nbecame hushed and one's spirit subdued. A dim line of ancestors,\nin every variety of dress, from the Elizabethan knight to the\nbuck of the Regency, stared down upon us and daunted us by their\nsilent company. We talked little, and I for one was glad when the\nmeal was over and we were able to retire into the modern\nbilliard-room and smoke a cigarette.\n\n\"My word, it isn't a very cheerful place,\" said Sir Henry. \"I\nsuppose one can tone down to it, but I feel a bit out of the\npicture at present. I don't wonder that my uncle got a little\njumpy if he lived all alone in such a house as this. However, if\nit suits you, we will retire early to-night, and perhaps things\nmay seem more cheerful in the morning.\"\n\nI drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked out from\nmy window. It opened upon the grassy space which lay in front of\nthe hall door. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in a\nrising wind. A half moon broke through the rifts of racing\nclouds. In its cold light I saw beyond the trees a broken fringe\nof rocks, and the long, low curve of the melancholy moor. I\nclosed the curtain, feeling that my last impression was in\nkeeping with the rest.\n\nAnd yet it was not quite the last. I found myself weary and yet\nwakeful, tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for the\nsleep which would not come. Far away a chiming clock struck out\nthe quarters of the hours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay\nupon the old house. And then suddenly, in the very dead of the\nnight, there came a sound to my ears, clear, resonant, and\nunmistakable. It was the sob of a woman, the muffled, strangling\ngasp of one who is torn by an uncontrollable sorrow. I sat up in\nbed and listened intently. The noise could not have been far away\nand was certainly in the house. For half an hour I waited with\nevery nerve on the alert, but there came no other sound save the\nchiming clock and the rustle of the ivy on the wall.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 7\n\nThe Stapletons of Merripit House\n\n\nThe fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface\nfrom our minds the grim and gray impression which had been left\nupon both of us by our first experience of Baskerville Hall. As\nSir Henry and I sat at breakfast the sunlight flooded in through\nthe high mullioned windows, throwing watery patches of colour\nfrom the coats of arms which covered them. The dark panelling\nglowed like bronze in the golden rays, and it was hard to realize\nthat this was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom\ninto our souls upon the evening before.\n\n\"I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have to\nblame!\" said the baronet. \"We were tired with our journey and\nchilled by our drive, so we took a gray view of the place. Now we\nare fresh and well, so it is all cheerful once more.\"\n\n\"And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination,\" I\nanswered. \"Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman\nI think, sobbing in the night?\"\n\n\"That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that I\nheard something of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there was\nno more of it, so I concluded that it was all a dream.\"\n\n\"I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sob\nof a woman.\"\n\n\"We must ask about this right away.\" He rang the bell and asked\nBarrymore whether he could account for our experience. It seemed\nto me that the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler\nstill as he listened to his master's question.\n\n\"There are only two women in the house, Sir Henry,\" he answered.\n\"One is the scullery-maid, who sleeps in the other wing. The\nother is my wife, and I can answer for it that the sound could\nnot have come from her.\"\n\nAnd yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that after\nbreakfast I met Mrs. Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun\nfull upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy-featured\nwoman with a stern set expression of mouth. But her tell-tale\neyes were red and glanced at me from between swollen lids. It was\nshe, then, who wept in the night, and if she did so her husband\nmust know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery in\ndeclaring that it was not so. Why had he done this? And why did\nshe weep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome,\nblack-bearded man there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery\nand of gloom. It was he who had been the first to discover the\nbody of Sir Charles, and we had only his word for all the\ncircumstances which led up to the old man's death. Was it\npossible that it was Barrymore after all whom we had seen in the\ncab in Regent Street? The beard might well have been the same.\nThe cabman had described a somewhat shorter man, but such an\nimpression might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle\nthe point forever? Obviously the first thing to do was to see the\nGrimpen postmaster, and find whether the test telegram had really\nbeen placed in Barrymore's own hands. Be the answer what it\nmight, I should at least have something to report to Sherlock\nHolmes.\n\nSir Henry had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that\nthe time was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasant walk\nof four miles along the edge of the moor, leading me at last to a\nsmall gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings, which proved to\nbe the inn and the house of Dr. Mortimer, stood high above the\nrest. The postmaster, who was also the village grocer, had a\nclear recollection of the telegram.\n\n\"Certainly, sir,\" said he, \"I had the telegram delivered to Mr.\nBarrymore exactly as directed.\"\n\n\"Who delivered it?\"\n\n\"My boy here. James, you delivered that telegram to Mr. Barrymore\nat the Hall last week, did you not?\"\n\n\"Yes, father, I delivered it.\"\n\n\"Into his own hands?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, he was up in the loft at the time, so that I could not put\nit into his own hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymore's hands,\nand she promised to deliver it at once.\"\n\n\"Did you see Mr. Barrymore?\"\n\n\"No, sir; I tell you he was in the loft.\"\n\n\"If you didn't see him, how do you know he was in the loft?\"\n\n\"Well, surely his own wife ought to know where he is,\" said the\npostmaster testily. \"Didn't he get the telegram? If there is any\nmistake it is for Mr. Barrymore himself to complain.\"\n\nIt seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it was\nclear that in spite of Holmes's ruse we had no proof that\nBarrymore had not been in London all the time. Suppose that it\nwere so--suppose that the same man had been the last who had seen\nSir Charles alive, and the first to dog the new heir when he\nreturned to England. What then? Was he the agent of others or had\nhe some sinister design of his own? What interest could he have\nin persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of the strange\nwarning clipped out of the leading article of the Times. Was that\nhis work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent\nupon counteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive was\nthat which had been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family\ncould be scared away a comfortable and permanent home would be\nsecured for the Barrymores. But surely such an explanation as\nthat would be quite inadequate to account for the deep and subtle\nscheming which seemed to be weaving an invisible net round the\nyoung baronet. Holmes himself had said that no more complex case\nhad come to him in all the long series of his sensational\ninvestigations. I prayed, as I walked back along the gray, lonely\nroad, that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations\nand able to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility\nfrom my shoulders.\n\nSuddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running\nfeet behind me and by a voice which called me by name. I turned,\nexpecting to see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it was a\nstranger who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim, clean-shaven,\nprim-faced man, flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between thirty and\nforty years of age, dressed in a gray suit and wearing a straw\nhat. A tin box for botanical specimens hung over his shoulder and\nhe carried a green butterfly-net in one of his hands.\n\n\"You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson,\" said\nhe, as he came panting up to where I stood. \"Here on the moor we\nare homely folk and do not wait for formal introductions. You may\npossibly have heard my name from our mutual friend, Mortimer. I\nam Stapleton, of Merripit House.\"\n\n\"Your net and box would have told me as much,\" said I, \"for I\nknew that Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you know\nme?\"\n\n\"I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out to me\nfrom the window of his surgery as you passed. As our road lay the\nsame way I thought that I would overtake you and introduce\nmyself. I trust that Sir Henry is none the worse for his\njourney?\"\n\n\"He is very well, thank you.\"\n\n\"We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Sir\nCharles the new baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking\nmuch of a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in a place of\nthis kind, but I need not tell you that it means a very great\ndeal to the country-side. Sir Henry has, I suppose, no\nsuperstitious fears in the matter?\"\n\n\"I do not think that it is likely.\"\n\n\"Of course you know the legend of the fiend dog which haunts the\nfamily?\"\n\n\"I have heard it.\"\n\n\"It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here!\nAny number of them are ready to swear that they have seen such a\ncreature upon the moor.\" He spoke with a smile, but I seemed to\nread in his eyes that he took the matter more seriously. \"The\nstory took a great hold upon the imagination of Sir Charles, and\nI have no doubt that it led to his tragic end.\"\n\n\"But how?\"\n\n\"His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog\nmight have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancy\nthat he really did see something of the kind upon that last night\nin the Yew Alley. I feared that some disaster might occur, for I\nwas very fond of the old man, and I knew that his heart was\nweak.\"\n\n\"How did you know that?\"\n\n\"My friend Mortimer told me.\"\n\n\"You think, then, that some dog pursued Sir Charles, and that he\ndied of fright in consequence?\"\n\n\"Have you any better explanation?\"\n\n\"I have not come to any conclusion.\"\n\n\"Has Mr. Sherlock Holmes?\"\n\nThe words took away my breath for an instant, but a glance at the\nplacid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no\nsurprise was intended.\n\n\"It is useless for us to pretend that we do not know you, Dr.\nWatson,\" said he. \"The records of your detective have reached us\nhere, and you could not celebrate him without being known\nyourself. When Mortimer told me your name he could not deny your\nidentity. If you are here, then it follows that Mr. Sherlock\nHolmes is interesting himself in the matter, and I am naturally\ncurious to know what view he may take.\"\n\n\"I am afraid that I cannot answer that question.\"\n\n\"May I ask if he is going to honour us with a visit himself?\"\n\n\"He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases which engage\nhis attention.\"\n\n\"What a pity! He might throw some light on that which is so dark\nto us. But as to your own researches, if there is any possible\nway in which I can be of service to you I trust that you will\ncommand me. If I had any indication of the nature of your\nsuspicions or how you propose to investigate the case, I might\nperhaps even now give you some aid or advice.\"\n\n\"I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friend,\nSir Henry, and that I need no help of any kind.\"\n\n\"Excellent!\" said Stapleton. \"You are perfectly right to be wary\nand discreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was an\nunjustifiable intrusion, and I promise you that I will not\nmention the matter again.\"\n\nWe had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from\nthe road and wound away across the moor. A steep,\nboulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygone\ndays been cut into a granite quarry. The face which was turned\ntowards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing\nin its niches. From over a distant rise there floated a gray\nplume of smoke.\n\n\"A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to Merripit\nHouse,\" said he. \"Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have\nthe pleasure of introducing you to my sister.\"\n\nMy first thought was that I should be by Sir Henry's side. But\nthen I remembered the pile of papers and bills with which his\nstudy table was littered. It was certain that I could not help\nwith those. And Holmes had expressly said that I should study the\nneighbours upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, and\nwe turned together down the path.\n\n\"It is a wonderful place, the moor,\" said he, looking round over\nthe undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged\ngranite foaming up into fantastic surges. \"You never tire of the\nmoor. You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains.\nIt is so vast, and so barren, and so mysterious.\"\n\n\"You know it well, then?\"\n\n\"I have only been here two years. The residents would call me a\nnewcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. But my\ntastes led me to explore every part of the country round, and I\nshould think that there are few men who know it better than I\ndo.\"\n\n\"Is it hard to know?\"\n\n\"Very hard. You see, for example, this great plain to the north\nhere with the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe\nanything remarkable about that?\"\n\n\"It would be a rare place for a gallop.\"\n\n\"You would naturally think so and the thought has cost several\ntheir lives before now. You notice those bright green spots\nscattered thickly over it?\"\n\n\"Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest.\"\n\nStapleton laughed.\n\n\"That is the great Grimpen Mire,\" said he. \"A false step yonder\nmeans death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor\nponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for\nquite a long time craning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him\ndown at last. Even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but\nafter these autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I can find\nmy way to the very heart of it and return alive. By George, there\nis another of those miserable ponies!\"\n\nSomething brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges.\nThen a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful\ncry echoed over the moor. It turned me cold with horror, but my\ncompanion's nerves seemed to be stronger than mine.\n\n\"It's gone!\" said he. \"The mire has him. Two in two days, and\nmany more, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the\ndry weather, and never know the difference until the mire has\nthem in its clutches. It's a bad place, the great Grimpen Mire.\"\n\n\"And you say you can penetrate it?\"\n\n\"Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man can\ntake. I have found them out.\"\n\n\"But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?\"\n\n\"Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cut off\non all sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them\nin the course of years. That is where the rare plants and the\nbutterflies are, if you have the wit to reach them.\"\n\n\"I shall try my luck some day.\"\n\nHe looked at me with a surprised face.\n\n\"For God's sake put such an idea out of your mind,\" said he.\n\"Your blood would be upon my head. I assure you that there would\nnot be the least chance of your coming back alive. It is only by\nremembering certain complex landmarks that I am able to do it.\"\n\n\"Halloa!\" I cried. \"What is that?\"\n\nA long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It\nfilled the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it\ncame. From a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then\nsank back into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again.\nStapleton looked at me with a curious expression in his face.\n\n\"Queer place, the moor!\" said he.\n\n\"But what is it?\"\n\n\"The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles calling for\nits prey. I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite so\nloud.\"\n\nI looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the huge\nswelling plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing\nstirred over the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which\ncroaked loudly from a tor behind us.\n\n\"You are an educated man. You don't believe such nonsense as\nthat?\" said I. \"What do you think is the cause of so strange a\nsound?\"\n\n\"Bogs make queer noises sometimes. It's the mud settling, or the\nwater rising, or something.\"\n\n\"No, no, that was a living voice.\"\n\n\"Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?\"\n\n\"No, I never did.\"\n\n\"It's a very rare bird--practically extinct--in England now, but\nall things are possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not be\nsurprised to learn that what we have heard is the cry of the last\nof the bitterns.\"\n\n\"It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my\nlife.\"\n\n\"Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hill-\nside yonder. What do you make of those?\"\n\nThe whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of\nstone, a score of them at least.\n\n\"What are they? Sheep-pens?\"\n\n\"No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric man\nlived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived\nthere since, we find all his little arrangements exactly as he\nleft them. These are his wigwams with the roofs off. You can even\nsee his hearth and his couch if you have the curiosity to go\ninside.\n\n\"But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?\"\n\n\"Neolithic man--no date.\"\n\n\"What did he do?\"\n\n\"He grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to dig for\ntin when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look\nat the great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes,\nyou will find some very singular points about the moor, Dr.\nWatson. Oh, excuse me an instant! It is surely Cyclopides.\"\n\nA small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an\ninstant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed\nin pursuit of it. To my dismay the creature flew straight for the\ngreat mire, and my acquaintance never paused for an instant,\nbounding from tuft to tuft behind it, his green net waving in the\nair. His gray clothes and jerky, zigzag, irregular progress made\nhim not unlike some huge moth himself. I was standing watching\nhis pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary\nactivity and fear lest he should lose his footing in the\ntreacherous mire, when I heard the sound of steps, and turning\nround found a woman near me upon the path. She had come from the\ndirection in which the plume of smoke indicated the position of\nMerripit House, but the dip of the moor had hid her until she was\nquite close.\n\nI could not doubt that this was the Miss Stapleton of whom I had\nbeen told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor,\nand I remembered that I had heard someone describe her as being a\nbeauty. The woman who approached me was certainly that, and of a\nmost uncommon type. There could not have been a greater contrast\nbetween brother and sister, for Stapleton was neutral tinted,\nwith light hair and gray eyes, while she was darker than any\nbrunette whom I have seen in England--slim, elegant, and tall.\nShe had a proud, finely cut face, so regular that it might have\nseemed impassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the\nbeautiful dark, eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant\ndress she was, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonely\nmoorland path. Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and then\nshe quickened her pace towards me. I had raised my hat and was\nabout to make some explanatory remark, when her own words turned\nall my thoughts into a new channel.\n\n\"Go back!\" she said. \"Go straight back to London, instantly.\"\n\nI could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed at\nme, and she tapped the ground impatiently with her foot.\n\n\"Why should I go back?\" I asked.\n\n\"I cannot explain.\" She spoke in a low, eager voice, with a\ncurious lisp in her utterance. \"But for God's sake do what I ask\nyou. Go back and never set foot upon the moor again.\"\n\n\"But I have only just come.\"\n\n\"Man, man!\" she cried. \"Can you not tell when a warning is for\nyour own good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get away from\nthis place at all costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not a word\nof what I have said. Would you mind getting that orchid for me\namong the mares-tails yonder? We are very rich in orchids on the\nmoor, though, of course, you are rather late to see the beauties\nof the place.\"\n\nStapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathing\nhard and flushed with his exertions.\n\n\"Halloa, Beryl!\" said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of\nhis greeting was not altogether a cordial one.\n\n\"Well, Jack, you are very hot.\"\n\n\"Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. He is very rare and seldom\nfound in the late autumn. What a pity that I should have missed\nhim!\" He spoke unconcernedly, but his small light eyes glanced\nincessantly from the girl to me.\n\n\"You have introduced yourselves, I can see.\"\n\n\"Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him to\nsee the true beauties of the moor.\"\n\n\"Why, who do you think this is?\"\n\n\"I imagine that it must be Sir Henry Baskerville.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said I. \"Only a humble commoner, but his friend. My\nname is Dr. Watson.\"\n\nA flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. \"We have\nbeen talking at cross purposes,\" said she.\n\n\"Why, you had not very much time for talk,\" her brother remarked\nwith the same questioning eyes.\n\n\"I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of being\nmerely a visitor,\" said she. \"It cannot much matter to him\nwhether it is early or late for the orchids. But you will come\non, will you not, and see Merripit House?\"\n\nA short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the\nfarm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into\nrepair and turned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded\nit, but the trees, as is usual upon the moor, were stunted and\nnipped, and the effect of the whole place was mean and\nmelancholy. We were admitted by a strange, wizened, rusty-coated\nold manservant, who seemed in keeping with the house. Inside,\nhowever, there were large rooms furnished with an elegance in\nwhich I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As I looked\nfrom their windows at the interminable granite-flecked moor\nrolling unbroken to the farthest horizon I could not but marvel\nat what could have brought this highly educated man and this\nbeautiful woman to live in such a place.\n\n\"Queer spot to choose, is it not?\" said he as if in answer to my\nthought. \"And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we\nnot, Beryl?\"\n\n\"Quite happy,\" said she, but there was no ring of conviction in\nher words.\n\n\"I had a school,\" said Stapleton. \"It was in the north country.\nThe work to a man of my temperament was mechanical and\nuninteresting, but the privilege of living with youth, of helping\nto mould those young minds, and of impressing them with one's own\ncharacter and ideals, was very dear to me. However, the fates\nwere against us. A serious epidemic broke out in the school and\nthree of the boys died. It never recovered from the blow, and\nmuch of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, if it\nwere not for the loss of the charming companionship of the boys,\nI could rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with my strong\ntastes for botany and zoology, I find an unlimited field of work\nhere, and my sister is as devoted to Nature as I am. All this,\nDr. Watson, has been brought upon your head by your expression as\nyou surveyed the moor out of our window.\"\n\n\"It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little\ndull--less for you, perhaps, than for your sister.\"\n\n\"No, no, I am never dull,\" said she, quickly.\n\n\"We have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting\nneighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line.\nPoor Sir Charles was also an admirable companion. We knew him\nwell, and miss him more than I can tell. Do you think that I\nshould intrude if I were to call this afternoon and make the\nacquaintance of Sir Henry?\"\n\n\"I am sure that he would be delighted.\"\n\n\"Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so. We may\nin our humble way do something to make things more easy for him\nuntil he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you\ncome upstairs, Dr. Watson, and inspect my collection of\nLepidoptera? I think it is the most complete one in the\nsouth-west of England. By the time that you have looked through\nthem lunch will be almost ready.\"\n\nBut I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of the\nmoor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which\nhad been associated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all\nthese things tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of\nthese more or less vague impressions there had come the definite\nand distinct warning of Miss Stapleton, delivered with such\nintense earnestness that I could not doubt that some grave and\ndeep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for\nlunch, and I set off at once upon my return journey, taking the\ngrass-grown path by which we had come.\n\nIt seems, however, that there must have been some short cut for\nthose who knew it, for before I had reached the road I was\nastounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side\nof the track. Her face was beautifully flushed with her\nexertions, and she held her hand to her side.\n\n\"I have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson,\"\nsaid she. \"I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop,\nor my brother may miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am\nabout the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were Sir\nHenry. Please forget the words I said, which have no application\nwhatever to you.\"\n\n\"But I can't forget them, Miss Stapleton,\" said I. \"I am Sir\nHenry's friend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine.\nTell me why it was that you were so eager that Sir Henry should\nreturn to London.\"\n\n\"A woman's whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me better you will\nunderstand that I cannot always give reasons for what I say or\ndo.\"\n\n\"No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the look\nin your eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, Miss Stapleton,\nfor ever since I have been here I have been conscious of shadows\nall round me. Life has become like that great Grimpen Mire, with\nlittle green patches everywhere into which one may sink and with\nno guide to point the track. Tell me then what it was that you\nmeant, and I will promise to convey your warning to Sir Henry.\"\n\nAn expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her\nface, but her eyes had hardened again when she answered me.\n\n\"You make too much of it, Dr. Watson,\" said she. \"My brother and\nI were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles. We knew him\nvery intimately, for his favourite walk was over the moor to our\nhouse. He was deeply impressed with the curse which hung over the\nfamily, and when this tragedy came I naturally felt that there\nmust be some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I was\ndistressed therefore when another member of the family came down\nto live here, and I felt that he should be warned of the danger\nwhich he will run. That was all which I intended to convey.\n\n\"But what is the danger?\"\n\n\"You know the story of the hound?\"\n\n\"I do not believe in such nonsense.\"\n\n\"But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him\naway from a place which has always been fatal to his family. The\nworld is wide. Why should he wish to live at the place of\ndanger?\"\n\n\"Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry's nature. I\nfear that unless you can give me some more definite information\nthan this it would be impossible to get him to move.\"\n\n\"I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything\ndefinite.\"\n\n\"I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If you meant\nno more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not\nwish your brother to overhear what you said? There is nothing to\nwhich he, or anyone else, could object.\"\n\n\"My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for he\nthinks it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. He\nwould be very angry if he knew that I have said anything which\nmight induce Sir Henry to go away. But I have done my duty now\nand I will say no more. I must get back, or he will miss me and\nsuspect that I have seen you. Good-bye!\" She turned and had\ndisappeared in a few minutes among the scattered boulders, while\nI, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way to\nBaskerville Hall.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 8\n\nFirst Report of Dr. Watson\n\n\nFrom this point onward I will follow the course of events by\ntranscribing my own letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which lie\nbefore me on the table. One page is missing, but otherwise they\nare exactly as written and show my feelings and suspicions of the\nmoment more accurately than my memory, clear as it is upon these\ntragic events, can possibly do.\n\nBASKERVILLE HALL, October 13th.\n\nMY DEAR HOLMES,--My previous letters and telegrams have kept you\npretty well up to date as to all that has occurred in this most\nGod-forsaken corner of the world. The longer one stays here the\nmore does the spirit of the moor sink into one's soul, its\nvastness, and also its grim charm. When you are once out upon its\nbosom you have left all traces of modern England behind you, but\non the other hand you are conscious everywhere of the homes and\nthe work of the prehistoric people. On all sides of you as you\nwalk are the houses of these forgotten folk, with their graves\nand the huge monoliths which are supposed to have marked their\ntemples. As you look at their gray stone huts against the scarred\nhill-sides you leave your own age behind you, and if you were to\nsee a skin-clad, hairy man crawl out from the low door fitting a\nflint-tipped arrow on to the string of his bow, you would feel\nthat his presence there was more natural than your own. The\nstrange thing is that they should have lived so thickly on what\nmust always have been most unfruitful soil. I am no antiquarian,\nbut I could imagine that they were some unwarlike and harried\nrace who were forced to accept that which none other would\noccupy.\n\nAll this, however, is foreign to the mission on which you sent me\nand will probably be very uninteresting to your severely\npractical mind. I can still remember your complete indifference\nas to whether the sun moved round the earth or the earth round\nthe sun. Let me, therefore, return to the facts concerning Sir\nHenry Baskerville.\n\nIf you have not had any report within the last few days it is\nbecause up to to-day there was nothing of importance to relate.\nThen a very surprising circumstance occurred, which I shall tell\nyou in due course. But, first of all, I must keep you in touch\nwith some of the other factors in the situation.\n\nOne of these, concerning which I have said little, is the escaped\nconvict upon the moor. There is strong reason now to believe that\nhe has got right away, which is a considerable relief to the\nlonely householders of this district. A fortnight has passed\nsince his flight, during which he has not been seen and nothing\nhas been heard of him. It is surely inconceivable that he could\nhave held out upon the moor during all that time. Of course, so\nfar as his concealment goes there is no difficulty at all. Any\none of these stone huts would give him a hiding-place. But there\nis nothing to eat unless he were to catch and slaughter one of\nthe moor sheep. We think, therefore, that he has gone, and the\noutlying farmers sleep the better in consequence.\n\nWe are four able-bodied men in this household, so that we could\ntake good care of ourselves, but I confess that I have had uneasy\nmoments when I have thought of the Stapletons. They live miles\nfrom any help. There are one maid, an old manservant, the sister,\nand the brother, the latter not a very strong man. They would be\nhelpless in the hands of a desperate fellow like this Notting\nHill criminal, if he could once effect an entrance. Both Sir\nHenry and I were concerned at their situation, and it was\nsuggested that Perkins the groom should go over to sleep there,\nbut Stapleton would not hear of it.\n\nThe fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to display a\nconsiderable interest in our fair neighbour. It is not to be\nwondered at, for time hangs heavily in this lonely spot to an\nactive man like him, and she is a very fascinating and beautiful\nwoman. There is something tropical and exotic about her which\nforms a singular contrast to her cool and unemotional brother.\nYet he also gives the idea of hidden fires. He has certainly a\nvery marked influence over her, for I have seen her continually\nglance at him as she talked as if seeking approbation for what\nshe said. I trust that he is kind to her. There is a dry glitter\nin his eyes, and a firm set of his thin lips, which goes with a\npositive and possibly a harsh nature. You would find him an\ninteresting study.\n\nHe came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, and the\nvery next morning he took us both to show us the spot where the\nlegend of the wicked Hugo is supposed to have had its origin. It\nwas an excursion of some miles across the moor to a place which\nis so dismal that it might have suggested the story. We found a\nshort valley between rugged tors which led to an open, grassy\nspace flecked over with the white cotton grass. In the middle of\nit rose two great stones, worn and sharpened at the upper end,\nuntil they looked like the huge corroding fangs of some monstrous\nbeast. In every way it corresponded with the scene of the old\ntragedy. Sir Henry was much interested and asked Stapleton more\nthan once whether he did really believe in the possibility of the\ninterference of the supernatural in the affairs of men. He spoke\nlightly, but it was evident that he was very much in earnest.\nStapleton was guarded in his replies, but it was easy to see that\nhe said less than he might, and that he would not express his\nwhole opinion out of consideration for the feelings of the\nbaronet. He told us of similar cases, where families had suffered\nfrom some evil influence, and he left us with the impression that\nhe shared the popular view upon the matter.\n\nOn our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and it was\nthere that Sir Henry made the acquaintance of Miss Stapleton.\nFrom the first moment that he saw her he appeared to be strongly\nattracted by her, and I am much mistaken if the feeling was not\nmutual. He referred to her again and again on our walk home, and\nsince then hardly a day has passed that we have not seen\nsomething of the brother and sister. They dine here to-night, and\nthere is some talk of our going to them next week. One would\nimagine that such a match would be very welcome to Stapleton, and\nyet I have more than once caught a look of the strongest\ndisapprobation in his face when Sir Henry has been paying some\nattention to his sister. He is much attached to her, no doubt,\nand would lead a lonely life without her, but it would seem the\nheight of selfishness if he were to stand in the way of her\nmaking so brilliant a marriage. Yet I am certain that he does not\nwish their intimacy to ripen into love, and I have several times\nobserved that he has taken pains to prevent them from being\n_tête-à-tête_. By the way, your instructions to me never to allow\nSir Henry to go out alone will become very much more onerous if a\nlove affair were to be added to our other difficulties. My\npopularity would soon suffer if I were to carry out your orders\nto the letter.\n\nThe other day--Thursday, to be more exact--Dr. Mortimer lunched\nwith us. He has been excavating a barrow at Long Down, and has\ngot a prehistoric skull which fills him with great joy. Never was\nthere such a single-minded enthusiast as he! The Stapletons came\nin afterwards, and the good doctor took us all to the Yew Alley,\nat Sir Henry's request, to show us exactly how everything\noccurred upon that fatal night. It is a long, dismal walk, the\nYew Alley, between two high walls of clipped hedge, with a narrow\nband of grass upon either side. At the far end is an old\ntumble-down summer-house. Half-way down is the moor-gate, where\nthe old gentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a white wooden gate\nwith a latch. Beyond it lies the wide moor. I remembered your\ntheory of the affair and tried to picture all that had occurred.\nAs the old man stood there he saw something coming across the\nmoor, something which terrified him so that he lost his wits, and\nran and ran until he died of sheer horror and exhaustion. There\nwas the long, gloomy tunnel down which he fled. And from what? A\nsheep-dog of the moor? Or a spectral hound, black, silent, and\nmonstrous? Was there a human agency in the matter? Did the pale,\nwatchful Barrymore know more than he cared to say? It was all dim\nand vague, but always there is the dark shadow of crime behind\nit.\n\nOne other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr.\nFrankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the south\nof us. He is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and\ncholeric. His passion is for the British law, and he has spent a\nlarge fortune in litigation. He fights for the mere pleasure of\nfighting and is equally ready to take up either side of a\nquestion, so that it is no wonder that he has found it a costly\namusement. Sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy the\nparish to make him open it. At others he will with his own hands\ntear down some other man's gate and declare that a path has\nexisted there from time immemorial, defying the owner to\nprosecute him for trespass. He is learned in old manorial and\ncommunal rights, and he applies his knowledge sometimes in favour\nof the villagers of Fernworthy and sometimes against them, so\nthat he is periodically either carried in triumph down the\nvillage street or else burned in effigy, according to his latest\nexploit. He is said to have about seven lawsuits upon his hands\nat present, which will probably swallow up the remainder of his\nfortune and so draw his sting and leave him harmless for the\nfuture. Apart from the law he seems a kindly, good-natured\nperson, and I only mention him because you were particular that I\nshould send some description of the people who surround us. He is\ncuriously employed at present, for, being an amateur astronomer,\nhe has an excellent telescope, with which he lies upon the roof\nof his own house and sweeps the moor all day in the hope of\ncatching a glimpse of the escaped convict. If he would confine\nhis energies to this all would be well, but there are rumours\nthat he intends to prosecute Dr. Mortimer for opening a grave\nwithout the consent of the next-of-kin, because he dug up the\nNeolithic skull in the barrow on Long Down. He helps to keep our\nlives from being monotonous and gives a little comic relief where\nit is badly needed.\n\nAnd now, having brought you up to date in the escaped convict,\nthe Stapletons, Dr. Mortimer, and Frankland, of Lafter Hall, let\nme end on that which is most important and tell you more about\nthe Barrymores, and especially about the surprising development\nof last night.\n\nFirst of all about the test telegram, which you sent from London\nin order to make sure that Barrymore was really here. I have\nalready explained that the testimony of the postmaster shows that\nthe test was worthless and that we have no proof one way or the\nother. I told Sir Henry how the matter stood, and he at once, in\nhis downright fashion, had Barrymore up and asked him whether he\nhad received the telegram himself. Barrymore said that he had.\n\n\"Did the boy deliver it into your own hands?\" asked Sir Henry.\n\nBarrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time.\n\n\"No,\" said he, \"I was in the box-room at the time, and my wife\nbrought it up to me.\"\n\n\"Did you answer it yourself?\"\n\n\"No; I told my wife what to answer and she went down to write\nit.\"\n\nIn the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord.\n\n\"I could not quite understand the object of your questions this\nmorning, Sir Henry,\" said he. \"I trust that they do not mean that\nI have done anything to forfeit your confidence?\"\n\nSir Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify him by\ngiving him a considerable part of his old wardrobe, the London\noutfit having now all arrived.\n\nMrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solid\nperson, very limited, intensely respectable, and inclined to be\npuritanical. You could hardly conceive a less emotional subject.\nYet I have told you how, on the first night here, I heard her\nsobbing bitterly, and since then I have more than once observed\ntraces of tears upon her face. Some deep sorrow gnaws ever at her\nheart. Sometimes I wonder if she has a guilty memory which haunts\nher, and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being a domestic\ntyrant. I have always felt that there was something singular and\nquestionable in this man's character, but the adventure of last\nnight brings all my suspicions to a head.\n\nAnd yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are aware that\nI am not a very sound sleeper, and since I have been on guard in\nthis house my slumbers have been lighter than ever. Last night,\nabout two in the morning, I was aroused by a stealthy step\npassing my room. I rose, opened my door, and peeped out. A long\nblack shadow was trailing down the corridor. It was thrown by a\nman who walked softly down the passage with a candle held in his\nhand. He was in shirt and trousers, with no covering to his feet.\nI could merely see the outline, but his height told me that it\nwas Barrymore. He walked very slowly and circumspectly, and there\nwas something indescribably guilty and furtive in his whole\nappearance.\n\nI have told you that the corridor is broken by the balcony which\nruns round the hall, but that it is resumed upon the farther\nside. I waited until he had passed out of sight and then I\nfollowed him. When I came round the balcony he had reached the\nend of the farther corridor, and I could see from the glimmer of\nlight through an open door that he had entered one of the rooms.\nNow, all these rooms are unfurnished and unoccupied, so that his\nexpedition became more mysterious than ever. The light shone\nsteadily as if he were standing motionless. I crept down the\npassage as noiselessly as I could and peeped round the corner of\nthe door.\n\nBarrymore was crouching at the window with the candle held\nagainst the glass. His profile was half turned towards me, and\nhis face seemed to be rigid with expectation as he stared out\ninto the blackness of the moor. For some minutes he stood\nwatching intently. Then he gave a deep groan and with an\nimpatient gesture he put out the light. Instantly I made my way\nback to my room, and very shortly came the stealthy steps passing\nonce more upon their return journey. Long afterwards when I had\nfallen into a light sleep I heard a key turn somewhere in a lock,\nbut I could not tell whence the sound came. What it all means I\ncannot guess, but there is some secret business going on in this\nhouse of gloom which sooner or later we shall get to the bottom\nof. I do not trouble you with my theories, for you asked me to\nfurnish you only with facts. I have had a long talk with Sir\nHenry this morning, and we have made a plan of campaign founded\nupon my observations of last night. I will not speak about it\njust now, but it should make my next report interesting reading.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 9\n\n(Second Report of Dr. Watson)\n\nTHE LIGHT UPON THE MOOR\n\nBASKERVILLE HALL, Oct. 15th.\n\n\nMY DEAR HOLMES,--If I was compelled to leave you without much\nnews during the early days of my mission you must acknowledge\nthat I am making up for lost time, and that events are now\ncrowding thick and fast upon us. In my last report I ended upon\nmy top note with Barrymore at the window, and now I have quite a\nbudget already which will, unless I am much mistaken,\nconsiderably surprise you. Things have taken a turn which I could\nnot have anticipated. In some ways they have within the last\nforty-eight hours become much clearer and in some ways they have\nbecome more complicated. But I will tell you all and you shall\njudge for yourself.\n\nBefore breakfast on the morning following my adventure I went\ndown the corridor and examined the room in which Barrymore had\nbeen on the night before. The western window through which he had\nstared so intently has, I noticed, one peculiarity above all\nother windows in the house--it commands the nearest outlook on\nthe moor. There is an opening between two trees which enables one\nfrom this point of view to look right down upon it, while from\nall the other windows it is only a distant glimpse which can be\nobtained. It follows, therefore, that Barrymore, since only this\nwindow would serve the purpose, must have been looking out for\nsomething or somebody upon the moor. The night was very dark, so\nthat I can hardly imagine how he could have hoped to see anyone.\nIt had struck me that it was possible that some love intrigue was\non foot. That would have accounted for his stealthy movements and\nalso for the uneasiness of his wife. The man is a\nstriking-looking fellow, very well equipped to steal the heart of\na country girl, so that this theory seemed to have something to\nsupport it. That opening of the door which I had heard after I\nhad returned to my room might mean that he had gone out to keep\nsome clandestine appointment. So I reasoned with myself in the\nmorning, and I tell you the direction of my suspicions, however\nmuch the result may have shown that they were unfounded.\n\nBut whatever the true explanation of Barrymore's movements might\nbe, I felt that the responsibility of keeping them to myself\nuntil I could explain them was more than I could bear. I had an\ninterview with the baronet in his study after breakfast, and I\ntold him all that I had seen. He was less surprised than I had\nexpected.\n\n\"I knew that Barrymore walked about nights, and I had a mind to\nspeak to him about it,\" said he. \"Two or three times I have heard\nhis steps in the passage, coming and going, just about the hour\nyou name.\"\n\n\"Perhaps then he pays a visit every night to that particular\nwindow,\" I suggested.\n\n\"Perhaps he does. If so, we should be able to shadow him, and see\nwhat it is that he is after. I wonder what your friend Holmes\nwould do, if he were here.\"\n\n\"I believe that he would do exactly what you now suggest,\" said\nI. \"He would follow Barrymore and see what he did.\"\n\n\"Then we shall do it together.\"\n\n\"But surely he would hear us.\"\n\n\"The man is rather deaf, and in any case we must take our chance\nof that. We'll sit up in my room to-night and wait until he\npasses.\" Sir Henry rubbed his hands with pleasure, and it was\nevident that he hailed the adventure as a relief to his somewhat\nquiet life upon the moor.\n\nThe baronet has been in communication with the architect who\nprepared the plans for Sir Charles, and with a contractor from\nLondon, so that we may expect great changes to begin here soon.\nThere have been decorators and furnishers up from Plymouth, and\nit is evident that our friend has large ideas, and means to spare\nno pains or expense to restore the grandeur of his family. When\nthe house is renovated and refurnished, all that he will need\nwill be a wife to make it complete. Between ourselves there are\npretty clear signs that this will not be wanting if the lady is\nwilling, for I have seldom seen a man more infatuated with a\nwoman than he is with our beautiful neighbour, Miss Stapleton.\nAnd yet the course of true love does not run quite as smoothly as\none would under the circumstances expect. To-day, for example,\nits surface was broken by a very unexpected ripple, which has\ncaused our friend considerable perplexity and annoyance.\n\nAfter the conversation which I have quoted about Barrymore, Sir\nHenry put on his hat and prepared to go out. As a matter of\ncourse I did the same.\n\n\"What, are you coming, Watson?\" he asked, looking at me in a\ncurious way.\n\n\"That depends on whether you are going on the moor,\" said I.\n\n\"Yes, I am.\"\n\n\"Well, you know what my instructions are. I am sorry to intrude,\nbut you heard how earnestly Holmes insisted that I should not\nleave you, and especially that you should not go alone upon the\nmoor.\"\n\nSir Henry put his hand upon my shoulder with a pleasant smile.\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" said he, \"Holmes, with all his wisdom, did not\nforesee some things which have happened since I have been on the\nmoor. You understand me? I am sure that you are the last man in\nthe world who would wish to be a spoil-sport. I must go out\nalone.\"\n\nIt put me in a most awkward position. I was at a loss what to say\nor what to do, and before I had made up my mind he picked up his\ncane and was gone.\n\nBut when I came to think the matter over my conscience reproached\nme bitterly for having on any pretext allowed him to go out of my\nsight. I imagined what my feelings would be if I had to return to\nyou and to confess that some misfortune had occurred through my\ndisregard for your instructions. I assure you my cheeks flushed\nat the very thought. It might not even now be too late to\novertake him, so I set off at once in the direction of Merripit\nHouse.\n\nI hurried along the road at the top of my speed without seeing\nanything of Sir Henry, until I came to the point where the moor\npath branches off. There, fearing that perhaps I had come in the\nwrong direction after all, I mounted a hill from which I could\ncommand a view--the same hill which is cut into the dark quarry.\nThence I saw him at once. He was on the moor path, about a\nquarter of a mile off, and a lady was by his side who could only\nbe Miss Stapleton. It was clear that there was already an\nunderstanding between them and that they had met by appointment.\nThey were walking slowly along in deep conversation, and I saw\nher making quick little movements of her hands as if she were\nvery earnest in what she was saying, while he listened intently,\nand once or twice shook his head in strong dissent. I stood among\nthe rocks watching them, very much puzzled as to what I should do\nnext. To follow them and break into their intimate conversation\nseemed to be an outrage, and yet my clear duty was never for an\ninstant to let him out of my sight. To act the spy upon a friend\nwas a hateful task. Still, I could see no better course than to\nobserve him from the hill, and to clear my conscience by\nconfessing to him afterwards what I had done. It is true that if\nany sudden danger had threatened him I was too far away to be of\nuse, and yet I am sure that you will agree with me that the\nposition was very difficult, and that there was nothing more\nwhich I could do.\n\nOur friend, Sir Henry, and the lady had halted on the path and\nwere standing deeply absorbed in their conversation, when I was\nsuddenly aware that I was not the only witness of their\ninterview. A wisp of green floating in the air caught my eye, and\nanother glance showed me that it was carried on a stick by a man\nwho was moving among the broken ground. It was Stapleton with his\nbutterfly-net. He was very much closer to the pair than I was,\nand he appeared to be moving in their direction. At this instant\nSir Henry suddenly drew Miss Stapleton to his side. His arm was\nround her, but it seemed to me that she was straining away from\nhim with her face averted. He stooped his head to hers, and she\nraised one hand as if in protest. Next moment I saw them spring\napart and turn hurriedly round. Stapleton was the cause of the\ninterruption. He was running wildly towards them, his absurd net\ndangling behind him. He gesticulated and almost danced with\nexcitement in front of the lovers. What the scene meant I could\nnot imagine, but it seemed to me that Stapleton was abusing Sir\nHenry, who offered explanations, which became more angry as the\nother refused to accept them. The lady stood by in haughty\nsilence. Finally Stapleton turned upon his heel and beckoned in a\nperemptory way to his sister, who, after an irresolute glance at\nSir Henry, walked off by the side of her brother. The\nnaturalist's angry gestures showed that the lady was included in\nhis displeasure. The baronet stood for a minute looking after\nthem, and then he walked slowly back the way that he had come,\nhis head hanging, the very picture of dejection.\n\nWhat all this meant I could not imagine, but I was deeply ashamed\nto have witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend's\nknowledge. I ran down the hill therefore and met the baronet at\nthe bottom. His face was flushed with anger and his brows were\nwrinkled, like one who is at his wit's ends what to do.\n\n\"Halloa, Watson! Where have you dropped from?\" said he. \"You don't\nmean to say that you came after me in spite of all?\"\n\nI explained everything to him: how I had found it impossible to\nremain behind, how I had followed him, and how I had witnessed\nall that had occurred. For an instant his eyes blazed at me, but\nmy frankness disarmed his anger, and he broke at last into a\nrather rueful laugh.\n\n\"You would have thought the middle of that prairie a fairly safe\nplace for a man to be private,\" said he, \"but, by thunder, the\nwhole country-side seems to have been out to see me do my\nwooing--and a mighty poor wooing at that! Where had you engaged a\nseat?\"\n\n\"I was on that hill.\"\n\n\"Quite in the back row, eh? But her brother was well up to the\nfront. Did you see him come out on us?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did.\"\n\n\"Did he ever strike you as being crazy--this brother of hers?\"\n\n\"I can't say that he ever did.\"\n\n\"I dare say not. I always thought him sane enough until to-day,\nbut you can take it from me that either he or I ought to be in a\nstrait-jacket. What's the matter with me, anyhow? You've lived\nnear me for some weeks, Watson. Tell me straight, now! Is there\nanything that would prevent me from making a good husband to a\nwoman that I loved?\"\n\n\"I should say not.\"\n\n\"He can't object to my worldly position, so it must be myself\nthat he has this down on. What has he against me? I never hurt\nman or woman in my life that I know of. And yet he would not so\nmuch as let me touch the tips of her fingers.\"\n\n\"Did he say so?\"\n\n\"That, and a deal more. I tell you, Watson, I've only known her\nthese few weeks, but from the first I just felt that she was made\nfor me, and she, too--she was happy when she was with me, and\nthat I'll swear. There's a light in a woman's eyes that speaks\nlouder than words. But he has never let us get together, and it\nwas only to-day for the first time that I saw a chance of having\na few words with her alone. She was glad to meet me, but when she\ndid it was not love that she would talk about, and she wouldn't\nhave let me talk about it either if she could have stopped it.\nShe kept coming back to it that this was a place of danger, and\nthat she would never be happy until I had left it. I told her\nthat since I had seen her I was in no hurry to leave it, and that\nif she really wanted me to go, the only way to work it was for\nher to arrange to go with me. With that I offered in as many\nwords to marry her, but before she could answer, down came this\nbrother of hers, running at us with a face on him like a madman.\nHe was just white with rage, and those light eyes of his were\nblazing with fury. What was I doing with the lady? How dared I\noffer her attentions which were distasteful to her? Did I think\nthat because I was a baronet I could do what I liked? If he had\nnot been her brother I should have known better how to answer\nhim. As it was I told him that my feelings towards his sister\nwere such as I was not ashamed of, and that I hoped that she\nmight honour me by becoming my wife. That seemed to make the\nmatter no better, so then I lost my temper too, and I answered\nhim rather more hotly than I should perhaps, considering that she\nwas standing by. So it ended by his going off with her, as you\nsaw, and here am I as badly puzzled a man as any in this county.\nJust tell me what it all means, Watson, and I'll owe you more\nthan ever I can hope to pay.\"\n\nI tried one or two explanations, but, indeed, I was completely\npuzzled myself. Our friend's title, his fortune, his age, his\ncharacter, and his appearance are all in his favour, and I know\nnothing against him unless it be this dark fate which runs in his\nfamily. That his advances should be rejected so brusquely without\nany reference to the lady's own wishes, and that the lady should\naccept the situation without protest, is very amazing. However,\nour conjectures were set at rest by a visit from Stapleton\nhimself that very afternoon. He had come to offer apologies for\nhis rudeness of the morning, and after a long private interview\nwith Sir Henry in his study, the upshot of their conversation was\nthat the breach is quite healed, and that we are to dine at\nMerripit House next Friday as a sign of it.\n\n\"I don't say now that he isn't a crazy man,\" said Sir Henry; \"I\ncan't forget the look in his eyes when he ran at me this morning,\nbut I must allow that no man could make a more handsome apology\nthan he has done.\"\n\n\"Did he give any explanation of his conduct?\"\n\n\"His sister is everything in his life, he says. That is natural\nenough, and I am glad that he should understand her value. They\nhave always been together, and according to his account he has\nbeen a very lonely man with only her as a companion, so that the\nthought of losing her was really terrible to him. He had not\nunderstood, he said, that I was becoming attached to her, but\nwhen he saw with his own eyes that it was really so, and that she\nmight be taken away from him, it gave him such a shock that for a\ntime he was not responsible for what he said or did. He was very\nsorry for all that had passed, and he recognized how foolish and\nhow selfish it was that he should imagine that he could hold a\nbeautiful woman like his sister to himself for her whole life. If\nshe had to leave him he had rather it was to a neighbour like\nmyself than to anyone else. But in any case it was a blow to him,\nand it would take him some time before he could prepare himself\nto meet it. He would withdraw all opposition upon his part if I\nwould promise for three months to let the matter rest and to be\ncontent with cultivating the lady's friendship during that time\nwithout claiming her love. This I promised, and so the matter\nrests.\"\n\nSo there is one of our small mysteries cleared up. It is\nsomething to have touched bottom anywhere in this bog in which we\nare floundering. We know now why Stapleton looked with disfavour\nupon his sister's suitor--even when that suitor was so eligible a\none as Sir Henry. And now I pass on to another thread which I\nhave extricated out of the tangled skein, the mystery of the sobs\nin the night, of the tear-stained face of Mrs. Barrymore, of the\nsecret journey of the butler to the western lattice window.\nCongratulate me, my dear Holmes, and tell me that I have not\ndisappointed you as an agent--that you do not regret the\nconfidence which you showed in me when you sent me down. All\nthese things have by one night's work been thoroughly cleared.\n\nI have said \"by one night's work,\" but, in truth, it was by two\nnights' work, for on the first we drew entirely blank. I sat up\nwith Sir Henry in his rooms until nearly three o'clock in the\nmorning, but no sound of any sort did we hear except the chiming\nclock upon the stairs. It was a most melancholy vigil, and ended\nby each of us falling asleep in our chairs. Fortunately we were\nnot discouraged, and we determined to try again. The next night\nwe lowered the lamp, and sat smoking cigarettes without making\nthe least sound. It was incredible how slowly the hours crawled\nby, and yet we were helped through it by the same sort of patient\ninterest which the hunter must feel as he watches the trap into\nwhich he hopes the game may wander. One struck, and two, and we\nhad almost for the second time given it up in despair, when in an\ninstant we both sat bolt upright in our chairs, with all our\nweary senses keenly on the alert once more. We had heard the\ncreak of a step in the passage.\n\nVery stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in the\ndistance. Then the baronet gently opened his door and we set out\nin pursuit. Already our man had gone round the gallery, and the\ncorridor was all in darkness. Softly we stole along until we had\ncome into the other wing. We were just in time to catch a glimpse\nof the tall, black-bearded figure, his shoulders rounded, as he\ntip-toed down the passage. Then he passed through the same door\nas before, and the light of the candle framed it in the darkness\nand shot one single yellow beam across the gloom of the corridor.\nWe shuffled cautiously towards it, trying every plank before we\ndared to put our whole weight upon it. We had taken the\nprecaution of leaving our boots behind us, but, even so, the old\nboards snapped and creaked beneath our tread. Sometimes it seemed\nimpossible that he should fail to hear our approach. However, the\nman is fortunately rather deaf, and he was entirely preoccupied\nin that which he was doing. When at last we reached the door and\npeeped through we found him crouching at the window, candle in\nhand, his white, intent face pressed against the pane, exactly as\nI had seen him two nights before.\n\nWe had arranged no plan of campaign, but the baronet is a man to\nwhom the most direct way is always the most natural. He walked\ninto the room, and as he did so Barrymore sprang up from the\nwindow with a sharp hiss of his breath and stood, livid and\ntrembling, before us. His dark eyes, glaring out of the white\nmask of his face, were full of horror and astonishment as he\ngazed from Sir Henry to me.\n\n\"What are you doing here, Barrymore?\"\n\n\"Nothing, sir.\" His agitation was so great that he could hardly\nspeak, and the shadows sprang up and down from the shaking of his\ncandle. \"It was the window, sir. I go round at night to see that\nthey are fastened.\"\n\n\"On the second floor?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, all the windows.\"\n\n\"Look here, Barrymore,\" said Sir Henry, sternly; \"we have made up\nour minds to have the truth out of you, so it will save you\ntrouble to tell it sooner rather than later. Come, now! No lies!\nWhat were you doing at that window?\"\n\nThe fellow looked at us in a helpless way, and he wrung his hands\ntogether like one who is in the last extremity of doubt and\nmisery.\n\n\"I was doing no harm, sir. I was holding a candle to the window.\"\n\n\"And why were you holding a candle to the window?\"\n\n\"Don't ask me, Sir Henry--don't ask me! I give you my word, sir,\nthat it is not my secret, and that I cannot tell it. If it\nconcerned no one but myself I would not try to keep it from you.\"\n\nA sudden idea occurred to me, and I took the candle from the\ntrembling hand of the butler.\n\n\"He must have been holding it as a signal,\" said I. \"Let us see\nif there is any answer.\" I held it as he had done, and stared out\ninto the darkness of the night. Vaguely I could discern the black\nbank of the trees and the lighter expanse of the moor, for the\nmoon was behind the clouds. And then I gave a cry of exultation,\nfor a tiny pin-point of yellow light had suddenly transfixed the\ndark veil, and glowed steadily in the centre of the black square\nframed by the window.\n\n\"There it is!\" I cried.\n\n\"No, no, sir, it is nothing--nothing at all!\" the butler broke\nin; \"I assure you, sir ----\"\n\n\"Move your light across the window, Watson!\" cried the baronet.\n\"See, the other moves also! Now, you rascal, do you deny that it\nis a signal? Come, speak up! Who is your confederate out yonder,\nand what is this conspiracy that is going on?\"\n\nThe man's face became openly defiant.\n\n\"It is my business, and not yours. I will not tell.\"\n\n\"Then you leave my employment right away.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir. If I must I must.\"\n\n\"And you go in disgrace. By thunder, you may well be ashamed of\nyourself. Your family has lived with mine for over a hundred\nyears under this roof, and here I find you deep in some dark plot\nagainst me.\"\n\n\"No, no, sir; no, not against you!\" It was a woman's voice, and\nMrs. Barrymore, paler and more horror-struck than her husband,\nwas standing at the door. Her bulky figure in a shawl and skirt\nmight have been comic were it not for the intensity of feeling\nupon her face.\n\n\"We have to go, Eliza. This is the end of it. You can pack our\nthings,\" said the butler.\n\n\"Oh, John, John, have I brought you to this? It is my doing, Sir\nHenry--all mine. He has done nothing except for my sake and\nbecause I asked him.\"\n\n\"Speak out, then! What does it mean?\"\n\n\"My unhappy brother is starving on the moor. We cannot let him\nperish at our very gates. The light is a signal to him that food\nis ready for him, and his light out yonder is to show the spot to\nwhich to bring it.\"\n\n\"Then your brother is --\"\n\n\"The escaped convict, sir--Selden, the criminal.\"\n\n\"That's the truth, sir,\" said Barrymore. \"I said that it was not\nmy secret and that I could not tell it to you. But now you have\nheard it, and you will see that if there was a plot it was not\nagainst you.\"\n\nThis, then, was the explanation of the stealthy expeditions at\nnight and the light at the window. Sir Henry and I both stared at\nthe woman in amazement. Was it possible that this stolidly\nrespectable person was of the same blood as one of the most\nnotorious criminals in the country?\n\n\"Yes, sir, my name was Selden, and he is my younger brother. We\nhumoured him too much when he was a lad, and gave him his own way\nin everything until he came to think that the world was made for\nhis pleasure, and that he could do what he liked in it. Then as\nhe grew older he met wicked companions, and the devil entered\ninto him until he broke my mother's heart and dragged our name in\nthe dirt. From crime to crime he sank lower and lower, until it\nis only the mercy of God which has snatched him from the\nscaffold; but to me, sir, he was always the little curly-headed\nboy that I had nursed and played with, as an elder sister would.\nThat was why he broke prison, sir. He knew that I was here and\nthat we could not refuse to help him. When he dragged himself\nhere one night, weary and starving, with the warders hard at his\nheels, what could we do? We took him in and fed him and cared for\nhim. Then you returned, sir, and my brother thought he would be\nsafer on the moor than anywhere else until the hue and cry was\nover, so he lay in hiding there. But every second night we made\nsure if he was still there by putting a light in the window, and\nif there was an answer my husband took out some bread and meat to\nhim. Every day we hoped that he was gone, but as long as he was\nthere we could not desert him. That is the whole truth, as I am\nan honest Christian woman, and you will see that if there is\nblame in the matter it does not lie with my husband, but with me,\nfor whose sake he has done all that he has.\"\n\nThe woman's words came with an intense earnestness which carried\nconviction with them.\n\n\"Is this true, Barrymore?\"\n\n\"Yes, Sir Henry. Every word of it.\"\n\n\"Well, I cannot blame you for standing by your own wife. Forget\nwhat I have said. Go to your room, you two, and we shall talk\nfurther about this matter in the morning.\"\n\nWhen they were gone we looked out of the window again. Sir Henry\nhad flung it open, and the cold night wind beat in upon our\nfaces. Far away in the black distance there still glowed that one\ntiny point of yellow light.\n\n\"I wonder he dares,\" said Sir Henry.\n\n\"It may be so placed as to be only visible from here.\"\n\n\"Very likely. How far do you think it is?\"\n\n\"Out by the Cleft Tor, I think.\"\n\n\"Not more than a mile or two off.\"\n\n\"Hardly that.\"\n\n\"Well, it cannot be far if Barrymore had to carry out the food to\nit. And he is waiting, this villain, beside that candle. By\nthunder, Watson, I am going out to take that man!\"\n\nThe same thought had crossed my own mind. It was not as if the\nBarrymores had taken us into their confidence. Their secret had\nbeen forced from them. The man was a danger to the community, an\nunmitigated scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse.\nWe were only doing our duty in taking this chance of putting him\nback where he could do no harm. With his brutal and violent\nnature, others would have to pay the price if we held our hands.\nAny night, for example, our neighbours the Stapletons might be\nattacked by him, and it may have been the thought of this which\nmade Sir Henry so keen upon the adventure.\n\n\"I will come,\" said I.\n\n\"Then get your revolver and put on your boots. The sooner we\nstart the better, as the fellow may put out his light and be\noff.\"\n\nIn five minutes we were outside the door, starting upon our\nexpedition. We hurried through the dark shrubbery, amid the dull\nmoaning of the autumn wind and the rustle of the falling leaves.\nThe night air was heavy with the smell of damp and decay. Now and\nagain the moon peeped out for an instant, but clouds were driving\nover the face of the sky, and just as we came out on the moor a\nthin rain began to fall. The light still burned steadily in\nfront.\n\n\"Are you armed?\" I asked.\n\n\"I have a hunting-crop.\"\n\n\"We must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be a\ndesperate fellow. We shall take him by surprise and have him at\nour mercy before he can resist.\"\n\n\"I say, Watson,\" said the baronet, \"what would Holmes say to\nthis? How about that hour of darkness in which the power of evil\nis exalted?\"\n\nAs if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vast\ngloom of the moor that strange cry which I had already heard upon\nthe borders of the great Grimpen Mire. It came with the wind\nthrough the silence of the night, a long, deep mutter, then a\nrising howl, and then the sad moan in which it died away. Again\nand again it sounded, the whole air throbbing with it, strident,\nwild, and menacing. The baronet caught my sleeve and his face\nglimmered white through the darkness.\n\n\"My God, what's that, Watson?\"\n\n\"I don't know. It's a sound they have on the moor. I heard it\nonce before.\"\n\nIt died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us. We stood\nstraining our ears, but nothing came.\n\n\"Watson,\" said the baronet, \"it was the cry of a hound.\"\n\nMy blood ran cold in my veins, for there was a break in his voice\nwhich told of the sudden horror which had seized him.\n\n\"What do they call this sound?\" he asked.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"The folk on the country-side.\"\n\n\"Oh, they are ignorant people. Why should you mind what they call\nit?\"\n\n\"Tell me, Watson. What do they say of it?\"\n\nI hesitated but could not escape the question.\n\n\"They say it is the cry of the Hound of the Baskervilles.\"\n\nHe groaned and was silent for a few moments.\n\n\"A hound it was,\" he said, at last, \"but it seemed to come from\nmiles away, over yonder, I think.\"\n\n\"It was hard to say whence it came.\"\n\n\"It rose and fell with the wind. Isn't that the direction of the\ngreat Grimpen Mire?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is.\"\n\n\"Well, it was up there. Come now, Watson, didn't you think\nyourself that it was the cry of a hound? I am not a child. You\nneed not fear to speak the truth.\"\n\n\"Stapleton was with me when I heard it last. He said that it\nmight be the calling of a strange bird.\"\n\n\"No, no, it was a hound. My God, can there be some truth in all\nthese stories? Is it possible that I am really in danger from so\ndark a cause? You don't believe it, do you, Watson?\"\n\n\"No, no.\"\n\n\"And yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it is\nanother to stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hear\nsuch a cry as that. And my uncle! There was the footprint of the\nhound beside him as he lay. It all fits together. I don't think\nthat I am a coward, Watson, but that sound seemed to freeze my\nvery blood. Feel my hand!\"\n\nIt was as cold as a block of marble.\n\n\"You'll be all right to-morrow.\"\n\n\"I don't think I'll get that cry out of my head. What do you\nadvise that we do now?\"\n\n\"Shall we turn back?\"\n\n\"No, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will do\nit. We after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not,\nafter us. Come on! We'll see it through if all the fiends of the\npit were loose upon the moor.\"\n\nWe stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom of\nthe craggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burning\nsteadily in front. There is nothing so deceptive as the distance\nof a light upon a pitch-dark night, and sometimes the glimmer\nseemed to be far away upon the horizon and sometimes it might\nhave been within a few yards of us. But at last we could see\nwhence it came, and then we knew that we were indeed very close.\nA guttering candle was stuck in a crevice of the rocks which\nflanked it on each side so as to keep the wind from it and also\nto prevent it from being visible, save in the direction of\nBaskerville Hall. A boulder of granite concealed our approach, and\ncrouching behind it we gazed over it at the signal light. It was\nstrange to see this single candle burning there in the middle of\nthe moor, with no sign of life near it--just the one straight\nyellow flame and the gleam of the rock on each side of it.\n\n\"What shall we do now?\" whispered Sir Henry.\n\n\"Wait here. He must be near his light. Let us see if we can get a\nglimpse of him.\"\n\nThe words were hardly out of my mouth when we both saw him. Over\nthe rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, there was\nthrust out an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all\nseamed and scored with vile passions. Foul with mire, with a\nbristling beard, and hung with matted hair, it might well have\nbelonged to one of those old savages who dwelt in the burrows on\nthe hillsides. The light beneath him was reflected in his small,\ncunning eyes which peered fiercely to right and left through the\ndarkness, like a crafty and savage animal who has heard the steps\nof the hunters.\n\nSomething had evidently aroused his suspicions. It may have been\nthat Barrymore had some private signal which we had neglected to\ngive, or the fellow may have had some other reason for thinking\nthat all was not well, but I could read his fears upon his wicked\nface. Any instant he might dash out the light and vanish in the\ndarkness. I sprang forward therefore, and Sir Henry did the same.\nAt the same moment the convict screamed out a curse at us and\nhurled a rock which splintered up against the boulder which had\nsheltered us. I caught one glimpse of his short, squat, strongly-\nbuilt figure as he sprang to his feet and turned to run. At the\nsame moment by a lucky chance the moon broke through the clouds.\nWe rushed over the brow of the hill, and there was our man\nrunning with great speed down the other side, springing over the\nstones in his way with the activity of a mountain goat. A lucky\nlong shot of my revolver might have crippled him, but I had\nbrought it only to defend myself if attacked, and not to shoot an\nunarmed man who was running away.\n\nWe were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we\nsoon found that we had no chance of overtaking him. We saw him\nfor a long time in the moonlight until he was only a small speck\nmoving swiftly among the boulders upon the side of a distant\nhill. We ran and ran until we were completely blown, but the\nspace between us grew ever wider. Finally we stopped and sat\npanting on two rocks, while we watched him disappearing in the\ndistance.\n\nAnd it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange and\nunexpected thing. We had risen from our rocks and were turning to\ngo home, having abandoned the hopeless chase. The moon was low\nupon the right, and the jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up\nagainst the lower curve of its silver disc. There, outlined as\nblack as an ebony statue on that shining back-ground, I saw the\nfigure of a man upon the tor. Do not think that it was a\ndelusion, Holmes. I assure you that I have never in my life seen\nanything more clearly. As far as I could judge, the figure was\nthat of a tall, thin man. He stood with his legs a little\nseparated, his arms folded, his head bowed, as if he were\nbrooding over that enormous wilderness of peat and granite which\nlay before him. He might have been the very spirit of that\nterrible place. It was not the convict. This man was far from the\nplace where the latter had disappeared. Besides, he was a much\ntaller man. With a cry of surprise I pointed him out to the\nbaronet, but in the instant during which I had turned to grasp\nhis arm the man was gone. There was the sharp pinnacle of granite\nstill cutting the lower edge of the moon, but its peak bore no\ntrace of that silent and motionless figure.\n\nI wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but it\nwas some distance away. The baronet's nerves were still quivering\nfrom that cry, which recalled the dark story of his family, and\nhe was not in the mood for fresh adventures. He had not seen this\nlonely man upon the tor and could not feel the thrill which his\nstrange presence and his commanding attitude had given to me. \"A\nwarder, no doubt,\" said he. \"The moor has been thick with them\nsince this fellow escaped.\" Well, perhaps his explanation may be\nthe right one, but I should like to have some further proof of\nit. To-day we mean to communicate to the Princetown people where\nthey should look for their missing man, but it is hard lines that\nwe have not actually had the triumph of bringing him back as our\nown prisoner. Such are the adventures of last night, and you must\nacknowledge, my dear Holmes, that I have done you very well in\nthe matter of a report. Much of what I tell you is no doubt quite\nirrelevant, but still I feel that it is best that I should let\nyou have all the facts and leave you to select for yourself those\nwhich will be of most service to you in helping you to your\nconclusions. We are certainly making some progress. So far as the\nBarrymores go we have found the motive of their actions, and that\nhas cleared up the situation very much. But the moor with its\nmysteries and its strange inhabitants remains as inscrutable as\never. Perhaps in my next I may be able to throw some light upon\nthis also. Best of all would it be if you could come down to us.\nIn any case you will hear from me again in the course of the next\nfew days.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 10\n\nExtract from the Diary of Dr. Watson\n\n\nSo far I have been able to quote from the reports which I have\nforwarded during these early days to Sherlock Holmes. Now,\nhowever, I have arrived at a point in my narrative where I am\ncompelled to abandon this method and to trust once more to my\nrecollections, aided by the diary which I kept at the time. A few\nextracts from the latter will carry me on to those scenes which\nare indelibly fixed in every detail upon my memory. I proceed,\nthen, from the morning which followed our abortive chase of the\nconvict and our other strange experiences upon the moor.\n\nOCTOBER 16TH.--A dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. The\nhouse is banked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then\nto show the dreary curves of the moor, with thin, silver veins\nupon the sides of the hills, and the distant boulders gleaming\nwhere the light strikes upon their wet faces. It is melancholy\noutside and in. The baronet is in a black reaction after the\nexcitements of the night. I am conscious myself of a weight at my\nheart and a feeling of impending danger--ever present danger,\nwhich is the more terrible because I am unable to define it.\n\nAnd have I not cause for such a feeling? Consider the long\nsequence of incidents which have all pointed to some sinister\ninfluence which is at work around us. There is the death of the\nlast occupant of the Hall, fulfilling so exactly the conditions\nof the family legend, and there are the repeated reports from\npeasants of the appearance of a strange creature upon the moor.\nTwice I have with my own ears heard the sound which resembled the\ndistant baying of a hound. It is incredible, impossible, that it\nshould really be outside the ordinary laws of nature. A spectral\nhound which leaves material footmarks and fills the air with its\nhowling is surely not to be thought of. Stapleton may fall in\nwith such a superstition, and Mortimer also; but if I have one\nquality upon earth it is common-sense, and nothing will persuade\nme to believe in such a thing. To do so would be to descend to\nthe level of these poor peasants, who are not content with a mere\nfiend dog but must needs describe him with hell-fire shooting\nfrom his mouth and eyes. Holmes would not listen to such fancies,\nand I am his agent. But facts are facts, and I have twice heard\nthis crying upon the moor. Suppose that there were really some\nhuge hound loose upon it; that would go far to explain\neverything. But where could such a hound lie concealed, where did\nit get its food, where did it come from, how was it that no one\nsaw it by day? It must be confessed that the natural explanation\noffers almost as many difficulties as the other. And always,\napart from the hound, there is the fact of the human agency in\nLondon, the man in the cab, and the letter which warned Sir Henry\nagainst the moor. This at least was real, but it might have been\nthe work of a protecting friend as easily as of an enemy. Where\nis that friend or enemy now? Has he remained in London, or has he\nfollowed us down here? Could he--could he be the stranger whom I\nsaw upon the tor?\n\nIt is true that I have had only the one glance at him, and yet\nthere are some things to which I am ready to swear. He is no one\nwhom I have seen down here, and I have now met all the\nneighbours. The figure was far taller than that of Stapleton, far\nthinner than that of Frankland. Barrymore it might possibly have\nbeen, but we had left him behind us, and I am certain that he\ncould not have followed us. A stranger then is still dogging us,\njust as a stranger dogged us in London. We have never shaken him\noff. If I could lay my hands upon that man, then at last we might\nfind ourselves at the end of all our difficulties. To this one\npurpose I must now devote all my energies.\n\nMy first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My second\nand wisest one is to play my own game and speak as little as\npossible to anyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves have\nbeen strangely shaken by that sound upon the moor. I will say\nnothing to add to his anxieties, but I will take my own steps to\nattain my own end.\n\nWe had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymore\nasked leave to speak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted in\nhis study some little time. Sitting in the billiard-room I more\nthan once heard the sound of voices raised, and I had a pretty\ngood idea what the point was which was under discussion. After a\ntime the baronet opened his door and called for me.\n\n\"Barrymore considers that he has a grievance,\" he said. \"He\nthinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-law\ndown when he, of his own free will, had told us the secret.\"\n\nThe butler was standing very pale but very collected before us.\n\n\"I may have spoken too warmly, sir,\" said he, \"and if I have, I\nam sure that I beg your pardon. At the same time, I was very much\nsurprised when I heard you two gentlemen come back this morning\nand learned that you had been chasing Selden. The poor fellow has\nenough to fight against without my putting more upon his track.\"\n\n\"If you had told us of your own free will it would have been a\ndifferent thing,\" said the baronet, \"you only told us, or rather\nyour wife only told us, when it was forced from you and you could\nnot help yourself.\"\n\n\"I didn't think you would have taken advantage of it, Sir\nHenry--indeed I didn't.\"\n\n\"The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses scattered\nover the moor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. You\nonly want to get a glimpse of his face to see that. Look at Mr.\nStapleton's house, for example, with no one but himself to defend\nit. There's no safety for anyone until he is under lock and key.\"\n\n\"He'll break into no house, sir. I give you my solemn word upon\nthat. But he will never trouble anyone in this country again. I\nassure you, Sir Henry, that in a very few days the necessary\narrangements will have been made and he will be on his way to\nSouth America. For God's sake, sir, I beg of you not to let the\npolice know that he is still on the moor. They have given up the\nchase there, and he can lie quiet until the ship is ready for\nhim. You can't tell on him without getting my wife and me into\ntrouble. I beg you, sir, to say nothing to the police.\"\n\n\"What do you say, Watson?\"\n\nI shrugged my shoulders. \"If he were safely out of the country it\nwould relieve the tax-payer of a burden.\"\n\n\"But how about the chance of his holding someone up before he\ngoes?\"\n\n\"He would not do anything so mad, sir. We have provided him with\nall that he can want. To commit a crime would be to show where he\nwas hiding.\"\n\n\"That is true,\" said Sir Henry. \"Well, Barrymore --\"\n\n\"God bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart! It would have\nkilled my poor wife had he been taken again.\"\n\n\"I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson? But, after\nwhat we have heard I don't feel as if I could give the man up, so\nthere is an end of it. All right, Barrymore, you can go.\"\n\nWith a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but he\nhesitated and then came back.\n\n\"You've been so kind to us, sir, that I should like to do the\nbest I can for you in return. I know something, Sir Henry, and\nperhaps I should have said it before, but it was long after the\ninquest that I found it out. I've never breathed a word about it\nyet to mortal man. It's about poor Sir Charles's death.\"\n\nThe baronet and I were both upon our feet. \"Do you know how he\ndied?\"\n\n\"No, sir, I don't know that.\"\n\n\"What then?\"\n\n\"I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet a\nwoman.\"\n\n\"To meet a woman! He?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And the woman's name?\"\n\n\"I can't give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials.\nHer initials were L. L.\"\n\n\"How do you know this, Barrymore?\"\n\n\"Well, Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. He had\nusually a great many letters, for he was a public man and well\nknown for his kind heart, so that everyone who was in trouble was\nglad to turn to him. But that morning, as it chanced, there was\nonly this one letter, so I took the more notice of it. It was\nfrom Coombe Tracey, and it was addressed in a woman's hand.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, I thought no more of the matter, and never would have\ndone had it not been for my wife. Only a few weeks ago she was\ncleaning out Sir Charles's study--it had never been touched since\nhis death--and she found the ashes of a burned letter in the back\nof the grate. The greater part of it was charred to pieces, but\none little slip, the end of a page, hung together, and the\nwriting could still be read, though it was gray on a black\nground. It seemed to us to be a postscript at the end of the\nletter, and it said: 'Please, please, as you are a gentleman,\nburn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o clock. Beneath it\nwere signed the initials L. L.\"\n\n\"Have you got that slip?\"\n\n\"No, sir, it crumbled all to bits after we moved it.\"\n\n\"Had Sir Charles received any other letters in the same writing?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, I took no particular notice of his letters. I should\nnot have noticed this one, only it happened to come alone.\"\n\n\"And you have no idea who L. L. is?\"\n\n\"No, sir. No more than you have. But I expect if we could lay our\nhands upon that lady we should know more about Sir Charles's\ndeath.\"\n\n\"I cannot understand, Barrymore, how you came to conceal this\nimportant information.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, it was immediately after that our own trouble came to\nus. And then again, sir, we were both of us very fond of Sir\nCharles, as we well might be considering all that he has done for\nus. To rake this up couldn't help our poor master, and it's well\nto go carefully when there's a lady in the case. Even the best of\nus ----\"\n\n\"You thought it might injure his reputation?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, I thought no good could come of it. But now you have\nbeen kind to us, and I feel as if it would be treating you\nunfairly not to tell you all that I know about the matter.\"\n\n\"Very good, Barrymore; you can go.\" When the butler had left us\nSir Henry turned to me. \"Well, Watson, what do you think of this\nnew light?\"\n\n\"It seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before.\"\n\n\"So I think. But if we can only trace L. L. it should clear up\nthe whole business. We have gained that much. We know that there\nis someone who has the facts if we can only find her. What do you\nthink we should do?\"\n\n\"Let Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him the clue\nfor which he has been seeking. I am much mistaken if it does not\nbring him down.\"\n\nI went at once to my room and drew up my report of the morning's\nconversation for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been\nvery busy of late, for the notes which I had from Baker Street\nwere few and short, with no comments upon the information which I\nhad supplied and hardly any reference to my mission. No doubt his\nblackmailing case is absorbing all his faculties. And yet this\nnew factor must surely arrest his attention and renew his\ninterest. I wish that he were here.\n\nOCTOBER 17TH.--All day to-day the rain poured down, rustling on\nthe ivy and dripping from the eaves. I thought of the convict out\nupon the bleak, cold, shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whatever his\ncrimes, he has suffered something to atone for them. And then I\nthought of that other one--the face in the cab, the figure\nagainst the moon. Was he also out in that deluged--the unseen\nwatcher, the man of darkness? In the evening I put on my\nwaterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of dark\nimaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling\nabout my ears. God help those who wander into the great mire now,\nfor even the firm uplands are becoming a morass. I found the\nblack tor upon which I had seen the solitary watcher, and from\nits craggy summit I looked out myself across the melancholy\ndowns. Rain squalls drifted across their russet face, and the\nheavy, slate-coloured clouds hung low over the landscape,\ntrailing in gray wreaths down the sides of the fantastic hills.\nIn the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist, the\ntwo thin towers of Baskerville Hall rose above the trees. They\nwere the only signs of human life which I could see, save only\nthose prehistoric huts which lay thickly upon the slopes of the\nhills. Nowhere was there any trace of that lonely man whom I had\nseen on the same spot two nights before.\n\nAs I walked back I was overtaken by Dr. Mortimer driving in his\ndog-cart over a rough moorland track which led from the outlying\nfarmhouse of Foulmire. He has been very attentive to us, and\nhardly a day has passed that he has not called at the Hall to see\nhow we were getting on. He insisted upon my climbing into his\ndog-cart, and he gave me a lift homeward. I found him much\ntroubled over the disappearance of his little spaniel. It had\nwandered on to the moor and had never come back. I gave him such\nconsolation as I might, but I thought of the pony on the Grimpen\nMire, and I do not fancy that he will see his little dog again.\n\n\"By the way, Mortimer,\" said I as we jolted along the rough road,\n\"I suppose there are few people living within driving distance of\nthis whom you do not know?\"\n\n\"Hardly any, I think.\"\n\n\"Can you, then, tell me the name of any woman whose initials are\nL. L.?\"\n\nHe thought for a few minutes.\n\n\"No,\" said he. \"There are a few gipsies and labouring folk for\nwhom I can't answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no\none whose initials are those. Wait a bit though,\" he added after\na pause. \"There is Laura Lyons--her initials are L. L.--but she\nlives in Coombe Tracey.\"\n\n\"Who is she?\" I asked.\n\n\"She is Frankland's daughter.\"\n\n\"What! Old Frankland the crank?\"\n\n\"Exactly. She married an artist named Lyons, who came sketching\non the moor. He proved to be a blackguard and deserted her. The\nfault from what I hear may not have been entirely on one side.\nHer father refused to have anything to do with her because she\nhad married without his consent, and perhaps for one or two other\nreasons as well. So, between the old sinner and the young one the\ngirl has had a pretty bad time.\"\n\n\"How does she live?\"\n\n\"I fancy old Frankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot be\nmore, for his own affairs are considerably involved. Whatever she\nmay have deserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to the\nbad. Her story got about, and several of the people here did\nsomething to enable her to earn an honest living. Stapleton did\nfor one, and Sir Charles for another. I gave a trifle myself. It\nwas to set her up in a typewriting business.\"\n\nHe wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but I managed to\nsatisfy his curiosity without telling him too much, for there is\nno reason why we should take anyone into our confidence.\nTo-morrow morning I shall find my way to Coombe Tracey, and if I\ncan see this Mrs. Laura Lyons, of equivocal reputation, a long\nstep will have been made towards clearing one incident in this\nchain of mysteries. I am certainly developing the wisdom of the\nserpent, for when Mortimer pressed his questions to an\ninconvenient extent I asked him casually to what type Frankland's\nskull belonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest\nof our drive. I have not lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for\nnothing.\n\nI have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous\nand melancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore just\nnow, which gives me one more strong card which I can play in due\ntime.\n\nMortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played\necarté afterwards. The butler brought me my coffee into the\nlibrary, and I took the chance to ask him a few questions.\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"has this precious relation of yours departed, or\nis he still lurking out yonder?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir. I hope to heaven that he has gone, for he has\nbrought nothing but trouble here! I've not heard of him since I\nleft out food for him last, and that was three days ago.\"\n\n\"Did you see him then?\"\n\n\"No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way.\"\n\n\"Then he was certainly there?\"\n\n\"So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took\nit.\"\n\nI sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at\nBarrymore.\n\n\"You know that there is another man then?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; there is another man upon the moor.\"\n\n\"Have you seen him?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"How do you know of him then?\"\n\n\"Selden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. He's in hiding,\ntoo, but he's not a convict as far as I can make out. I don't\nlike it, Dr. Watson--I tell you straight, sir, that I don't like\nit.\" He spoke with a sudden passion of earnestness.\n\n\"Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matter\nbut that of your master. I have come here with no object except\nto help him. Tell me, frankly, what it is that you don't like.\"\n\nBarrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his\noutburst, or found it difficult to express his own feelings in\nwords.\n\n\"It's all these goings-on, sir,\" he cried at last, waving his\nhand towards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor. \"There's\nfoul play somewhere, and there's black villainy brewing, to that\nI'll swear! Very glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his\nway back to London again!\"\n\n\"But what is it that alarms you?\"\n\n\"Look at Sir Charles's death! That was bad enough, for all that\nthe coroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night.\nThere's not a man would cross it after sundown if he was paid for\nit. Look at this stranger hiding out yonder, and watching and\nwaiting! What's he waiting for? What does it mean? It means no\ngood to anyone of the name of Baskerville, and very glad I shall\nbe to be quit of it all on the day that Sir Henry's new servants\nare ready to take over the Hall.\"\n\n\"But about this stranger,\" said I. \"Can you tell me anything\nabout him? What did Selden say? Did he find out where he hid, or\nwhat he was doing?\"\n\n\"He saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one, and gives\nnothing away. At first he thought that he was the police, but\nsoon he found that he had some lay of his own. A kind of\ngentleman he was, as far as he could see, but what he was doing\nhe could not make out.\"\n\n\"And where did he say that he lived?\"\n\n\"Among the old houses on the hillside--the stone huts where the\nold folk used to live.\"\n\n\"But how about his food?\"\n\n\"Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and\nbrings him all he needs. I dare say he goes to Coombe Tracey for\nwhat he wants.\"\n\n\"Very good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this some other\ntime.\" When the butler had gone I walked over to the black\nwindow, and I looked through a blurred pane at the driving clouds\nand at the tossing outline of the wind-swept trees. It is a wild\nnight indoors, and what must it be in a stone hut upon the moor.\nWhat passion of hatred can it be which leads a man to lurk in\nsuch a place at such a time! And what deep and earnest purpose\ncan he have which calls for such a trial! There, in that hut upon\nthe moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which has\nvexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall not have\npassed before I have done all that man can do to reach the heart\nof the mystery.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 11\n\nThe Man on the Tor\n\n\nThe extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter\nhas brought my narrative up to the 18th of October, a time when\nthese strange events began to move swiftly towards their terrible\nconclusion. The incidents of the next few days are indelibly\ngraven upon my recollection, and I can tell them without\nreference to the notes made at the time. I start then from the\nday which succeeded that upon which I had established two facts\nof great importance, the one that Mrs. Laura Lyons of Coombe\nTracey had written to Sir Charles Baskerville and made an\nappointment with him at the very place and hour that he met his\ndeath, the other that the lurking man upon the moor was to be\nfound among the stone huts upon the hill-side. With these two\nfacts in my possession I felt that either my intelligence or my\ncourage must be deficient if I could not throw some further light\nupon these dark places.\n\nI had no opportunity to tell the baronet what I had learned about\nMrs. Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer remained\nwith him at cards until it was very late. At breakfast, however,\nI informed him about my discovery, and asked him whether he would\ncare to accompany me to Coombe Tracey. At first he was very eager\nto come, but on second thoughts it seemed to both of us that if I\nwent alone the results might be better. The more formal we made\nthe visit the less information we might obtain. I left Sir Henry\nbehind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, and\ndrove off upon my new quest.\n\nWhen I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put up the horses,\nand I made inquiries for the lady whom I had come to interrogate.\nI had no difficulty in finding her rooms, which were central and\nwell appointed. A maid showed me in without ceremony, and as I\nentered the sitting-room a lady, who was sitting before a\nRemington typewriter, sprang up with a pleasant smile of welcome.\nHer face fell, however, when she saw that I was a stranger, and\nshe sat down again and asked me the object of my visit.\n\nThe first impression left by Mrs. Lyons was one of extreme\nbeauty. Her eyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, and\nher cheeks, though considerably freckled, were flushed with the\nexquisite bloom of the brunette, the dainty pink which lurks at\nthe heart of the sulphur rose. Admiration was, I repeat, the\nfirst impression. But the second was criticism. There was\nsomething subtly wrong with the face, some coarseness of\nexpression, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some looseness of lip\nwhich marred its perfect beauty. But these, of course, are\nafter-thoughts. At the moment I was simply conscious that I was\nin the presence of a very handsome woman, and that she was asking\nme the reasons for my visit. I had not quite understood until\nthat instant how delicate my mission was.\n\n\"I have the pleasure,\" said I, \"of knowing your father.\" It was a\nclumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it.\n\n\"There is nothing in common between my father and me,\" she said.\n\"I owe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it were not\nfor the late Sir Charles Baskerville and some other kind hearts I\nmight have starved for all that my father cared.\"\n\n\"It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come\nhere to see you.\"\n\nThe freckles started out on the lady's face.\n\n\"What can I tell you about him?\" she asked, and her fingers\nplayed nervously over the stops of her typewriter.\n\n\"You knew him, did you not?\"\n\n\"I have already said that I owe a great deal to his kindness. If\nI am able to support myself it is largely due to the interest\nwhich he took in my unhappy situation.\"\n\n\"Did you correspond with him?\"\n\nThe lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes.\n\n\"What is the object of these questions?\" she asked sharply.\n\n\"The object is to avoid a public scandal. It is better that I\nshould ask them here than that the matter should pass outside our\ncontrol.\"\n\nShe was silent and her face was still very pale. At last she\nlooked up with something reckless and defiant in her manner.\n\n\"Well, I'll answer,\" she said. \"What are your questions?\"\n\n\"Did you correspond with Sir Charles?\"\n\n\"I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his\ndelicacy and his generosity.\"\n\n\"Have you the dates of those letters?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Have you ever met him?\"\n\n\"Yes, once or twice, when he came into Coombe Tracey. He was a\nvery retiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth.\"\n\n\"But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did he\nknow enough about your affairs to be able to help you, as you say\nthat he has done?\"\n\nShe met my difficulty with the utmost readiness.\n\n\"There were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and united\nto help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a neighbour and intimate\nfriend of Sir Charles's. He was exceedingly kind, and it was\nthrough him that Sir Charles learned about my affairs.\"\n\nI knew already that Sir Charles Baskerville had made Stapleton\nhis almoner upon several occasions, so the lady's statement bore\nthe impress of truth upon it.\n\n\"Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you?\" I\ncontinued.\n\nMrs. Lyons flushed with anger again.\n\n\"Really, sir, this is a very extraordinary question.\"\n\n\"I am sorry, madam, but I must repeat it.\"\n\n\"Then I answer, certainly not.\"\n\n\"Not on the very day of Sir Charles's death?\"\n\nThe flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was before\nme. Her dry lips could not speak the \"No\" which I saw rather than\nheard.\n\n\"Surely your memory deceives you,\" said I. \"I could even quote a\npassage of your letter. It ran 'Please, please, as you are a\ngentleman, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock.'\"\n\nI thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a\nsupreme effort.\n\n\"Is there no such thing as a gentleman?\" she gasped.\n\n\"You do Sir Charles an injustice. He did burn the letter. But\nsometimes a letter may be legible even when burned. You\nacknowledge now that you wrote it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I did write it,\" she cried, pouring out her soul in a\ntorrent of words. \"I did write it. Why should I deny it? I have\nno reason to be ashamed of it. I wished him to help me. I\nbelieved that if I had an interview I could gain his help, so I\nasked him to meet me.\"\n\n\"But why at such an hour?\"\n\n\"Because I had only just learned that he was going to London next\nday and might be away for months. There were reasons why I could\nnot get there earlier.\"\n\n\"But why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to the\nhouse?\"\n\n\"Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a bachelor's\nhouse?\"\n\n\"Well, what happened when you did get there?\"\n\n\"I never went.\"\n\n\"Mrs. Lyons!\"\n\n\"No, I swear it to you on all I hold sacred. I never went.\nSomething intervened to prevent my going.\"\n\n\"What was that?\"\n\n\"That is a private matter. I cannot tell it.\"\n\n\"You acknowledge then that you made an appointment with Sir\nCharles at the very hour and place at which he met his death, but\nyou deny that you kept the appointment.\"\n\n\"That is the truth.\"\n\nAgain and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never get\npast that point.\n\n\"Mrs. Lyons,\" said I, as I rose from this long and inconclusive\ninterview, \"you are taking a very great responsibility and\nputting yourself in a very false position by not making an\nabsolutely clean breast of all that you know. If I have to call\nin the aid of the police you will find how seriously you are\ncompromised. If your position is innocent, why did you in the\nfirst instance deny having written to Sir Charles upon that\ndate?\"\n\n\"Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn from\nit and that I might find myself involved in a scandal.\"\n\n\"And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy\nyour letter?\"\n\n\"If you have read the letter you will know.\"\n\n\"I did not say that I had read all the letter.\"\n\n\"You quoted some of it.\"\n\n\"I quoted the postscript. The letter had, as I said, been burned\nand it was not all legible. I ask you once again why it was that\nyou were so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letter\nwhich he received on the day of his death.\"\n\n\"The matter is a very private one.\"\n\n\"The more reason why you should avoid a public investigation.\"\n\n\"I will tell you, then. If you have heard anything of my unhappy\nhistory you will know that I made a rash marriage and had reason\nto regret it.\"\n\n\"I have heard so much.\"\n\n\"My life has been one incessant persecution from a husband whom I\nabhor. The law is upon his side, and every day I am faced by the\npossibility that he may force me to live with him. At the time\nthat I wrote this letter to Sir Charles I had learned that there\nwas a prospect of my regaining my freedom if certain expenses\ncould be met. It meant everything to me--peace of mind,\nhappiness, self-respect--everything. I knew Sir Charles's\ngenerosity, and I thought that if he heard the story from my own\nlips he would help me.\"\n\n\"Then how is it that you did not go?\"\n\n\"Because I received help in the interval from another source.\"\n\n\"Why then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explain this?\"\n\n\"So I should have done had I not seen his death in the paper next\nmorning.\"\n\nThe woman's story hung coherently together, and all my questions\nwere unable to shake it. I could only check it by finding if she\nhad, indeed, instituted divorce proceedings against her husband\nat or about the time of the tragedy.\n\nIt was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not been\nto Baskerville Hall if she really had been, for a trap would be\nnecessary to take her there, and could not have returned to\nCoombe Tracey until the early hours of the morning. Such an\nexcursion could not be kept secret. The probability was,\ntherefore, that she was telling the truth, or, at least, a part\nof the truth. I came away baffled and disheartened. Once again I\nhad reached that dead wall which seemed to be built across every\npath by which I tried to get at the object of my mission. And yet\nthe more I thought of the lady's face and of her manner the more\nI felt that something was being held back from me. Why should she\nturn so pale? Why should she fight against every admission until\nit was forced from her? Why should she have been so reticent at\nthe time of the tragedy? Surely the explanation of all this could\nnot be as innocent as she would have me believe. For the moment I\ncould proceed no farther in that direction, but must turn back to\nthat other clue which was to be sought for among the stone huts\nupon the moor.\n\nAnd that was a most vague direction. I realized it as I drove\nback and noted how hill after hill showed traces of the ancient\npeople. Barrymore's only indication had been that the stranger\nlived in one of these abandoned huts, and many hundreds of them\nare scattered throughout the length and breadth of the moor. But\nI had my own experience for a guide since it had shown me the man\nhimself standing upon the summit of the Black Tor. That then\nshould be the centre of my search. From there I should explore\nevery hut upon the moor until I lighted upon the right one. If\nthis man were inside it I should find out from his own lips, at\nthe point of my revolver if necessary, who he was and why he had\ndogged us so long. He might slip away from us in the crowd of\nRegent Street, but it would puzzle him to do so upon the lonely\nmoor. On the other hand, if I should find the hut and its tenant\nshould not be within it I must remain there, however long the\nvigil, until he returned. Holmes had missed him in London. It\nwould indeed be a triumph for me if I could run him to earth,\nwhere my master had failed.\n\nLuck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, but now\nat last it came to my aid. And the messenger of good fortune was\nnone other than Mr. Frankland, who was standing, gray-whiskered\nand red-faced, outside the gate of his garden, which opened on to\nthe high road along which I travelled.\n\n\"Good-day, Dr. Watson,\" cried he with unwonted good humour, \"you\nmust really give your horses a rest, and come in to have a glass\nof wine and to congratulate me.\"\n\nMy feelings towards him were very far from being friendly after\nwhat I had heard of his treatment of his daughter, but I was\nanxious to send Perkins and the wagonette home, and the\nopportunity was a good one. I alighted and sent a message to Sir\nHenry that I should walk over in time for dinner. Then I followed\nFrankland into his dining-room.\n\n\"It is a great day for me, sir--one of the red-letter days of my\nlife,\" he cried with many chuckles. \"I have brought off a double\nevent. I mean to teach them in these parts that law is law, and\nthat there is a man here who does not fear to invoke it. I have\nestablished a right of way through the centre of old Middleton's\npark, slap across it, sir, within a hundred yards of his own\nfront door. What do you think of that? We'll teach these magnates\nthat they cannot ride roughshod over the rights of the\ncommoners, confound them! And I've closed the wood where the\nFernworthy folk used to picnic. These infernal people seem to\nthink that there are no rights of property, and that they can\nswarm where they like with their papers and their bottles. Both\ncases decided, Dr. Watson, and both in my favour. I haven't had\nsuch a day since I had Sir John Morland for trespass, because he\nshot in his own warren.\"\n\n\"How on earth did you do that?\"\n\n\"Look it up in the books, sir. It will repay reading--Frankland\nv. Morland, Court of Queen's Bench. It cost me 200 pounds, but I\ngot my verdict.\"\n\n\"Did it do you any good?\"\n\n\"None, sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest in the\nmatter. I act entirely from a sense of public duty. I have no\ndoubt, for example, that the Fernworthy people will burn me in\neffigy to-night. I told the police last time they did it that\nthey should stop these disgraceful exhibitions. The County\nConstabulary is in a scandalous state, sir, and it has not\nafforded me the protection to which I am entitled. The case of\nFrankland v. Regina will bring the matter before the attention of\nthe public. I told them that they would have occasion to regret\ntheir treatment of me, and already my words have come true.\"\n\n\"How so?\" I asked.\n\nThe old man put on a very knowing expression.\n\n\"Because I could tell them what they are dying to know; but\nnothing would induce me to help the rascals in any way.\"\n\nI had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get\naway from his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of it.\nI had seen enough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to\nunderstand that any strong sign of interest would be the surest\nway to stop his confidences.\n\n\"Some poaching case, no doubt?\" said I, with an indifferent\nmanner.\n\n\"Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that!\nWhat about the convict on the moor?\"\n\nI started. \"You don't mean that you know where he is?\" said I.\n\n\"I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that I\ncould help the police to lay their hands on him. Has it never\nstruck you that the way to catch that man was to find out where\nhe got his food, and so trace it to him?\"\n\nHe certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth.\n\"No doubt,\" said I; \"but how do you know that he is anywhere upon\nthe moor?\"\n\n\"I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messenger who\ntakes him his food.\"\n\nMy heart sank for Barrymore. It was a serious thing to be in the\npower of this spiteful old busybody. But his next remark took a\nweight from my mind.\n\n\"You'll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a\nchild. I see him every day through my telescope upon the roof. He\npasses along the same path at the same hour, and to whom should\nhe be going except to the convict?\"\n\nHere was luck indeed! And yet I suppressed all appearance of\ninterest. A child! Barrymore had said that our unknown was\nsupplied by a boy. It was on his track, and not upon the\nconvict's, that Frankland had stumbled. If I could get his\nknowledge it might save me a long and weary hunt. But incredulity\nand indifference were evidently my strongest cards.\n\n\"I should say that it was much more likely that it was the son of\none of the moorland shepherds taking out his father's dinner.\"\n\nThe least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the old\nautocrat. His eyes looked malignantly at me, and his gray\nwhiskers bristled like those of an angry cat.\n\n\"Indeed, sir!\" said he, pointing out over the wide-stretching\nmoor. \"Do you see that Black Tor over yonder? Well, do you see\nthe low hill beyond with the thornbush upon it? It is the\nstoniest part of the whole moor. Is that a place where a shepherd\nwould be likely to take his station? Your suggestion, sir, is a\nmost absurd one.\"\n\nI meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing all the\nfacts. My submission pleased him and led him to further\nconfidences.\n\n\"You may be sure, sir, that I have very good grounds before I\ncome to an opinion. I have seen the boy again and again with his\nbundle. Every day, and sometimes twice a day, I have been\nable--but wait a moment, Dr. Watson. Do my eyes deceive me, or is\nthere at the present moment something moving upon that hill-\nside?\"\n\nIt was several miles off, but I could distinctly see a small dark\ndot against the dull green and gray.\n\n\"Come, sir, come!\" cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. \"You will\nsee with your own eyes and judge for yourself.\"\n\nThe telescope, a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod,\nstood upon the flat leads of the house. Frankland clapped his eye\nto it and gave a cry of satisfaction.\n\n\"Quick, Dr. Watson, quick, before he passes over the hill!\"\n\nThere he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle\nupon his shoulder, toiling slowly up the hill. When he reached\nthe crest I saw the ragged uncouth figure outlined for an instant\nagainst the cold blue sky. He looked round him with a furtive and\nstealthy air, as one who dreads pursuit. Then he vanished over\nthe hill.\n\n\"Well! Am I right?\"\n\n\"Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand.\"\n\n\"And what the errand is even a county constable could guess. But\nnot one word shall they have from me, and I bind you to secrecy\nalso, Dr. Watson. Not a word! You understand!\"\n\n\"Just as you wish.\"\n\n\"They have treated me shamefully--shamefully. When the facts come\nout in Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill of\nindignation will run through the country. Nothing would induce me\nto help the police in any way. For all they cared it might have\nbeen me, instead of my effigy, which these rascals burned at the\nstake. Surely you are not going! You will help me to empty the\ndecanter in honour of this great occasion!\"\n\nBut I resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuading\nhim from his announced intention of walking home with me. I kept\nthe road as long as his eye was on me, and then I struck off\nacross the moor and made for the stony hill over which the boy\nhad disappeared. Everything was working in my favour, and I swore\nthat it should not be through lack of energy or perseverance that\nI should miss the chance which fortune had thrown in my way.\n\nThe sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the\nhill, and the long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one\nside and gray shadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the\nfarthest sky-line, out of which jutted the fantastic shapes of\nBelliver and Vixen Tor. Over the wide expanse there was no sound\nand no movement. One great gray bird, a gull or curlew, soared\naloft in the blue heaven. He and I seemed to be the only living\nthings between the huge arch of the sky and the desert beneath\nit. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery\nand urgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy\nwas nowhere to be seen. But down beneath me in a cleft of the\nhills there was a circle of the old stone huts, and in the middle\nof them there was one which retained sufficient roof to act as a\nscreen against the weather. My heart leaped within me as I saw\nit. This must be the burrow where the stranger lurked. At last my\nfoot was on the threshold of his hiding place--his secret was\nwithin my grasp.\n\nAs I approached the hut, walking as warily as Stapleton would do\nwhen with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, I\nsatisfied myself that the place had indeed been used as a\nhabitation. A vague pathway among the boulders led to the\ndilapidated opening which served as a door. All was silent\nwithin. The unknown might be lurking there, or he might be\nprowling on the moor. My nerves tingled with the sense of\nadventure. Throwing aside my cigarette, I closed my hand upon the\nbutt of my revolver and, walking swiftly up to the door, I looked\nin. The place was empty.\n\nBut there were ample signs that I had not come upon a false\nscent. This was certainly where the man lived. Some blankets\nrolled in a waterproof lay upon that very stone slab upon which\nNeolithic man had once slumbered. The ashes of a fire were heaped\nin a rude grate. Beside it lay some cooking utensils and a bucket\nhalf-full of water. A litter of empty tins showed that the place\nhad been occupied for some time, and I saw, as my eyes became\naccustomed to the checkered light, a pannikin and a half-full\nbottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of the\nhut a flat stone served the purpose of a table, and upon this\nstood a small cloth bundle--the same, no doubt, which I had seen\nthrough the telescope upon the shoulder of the boy. It contained\na loaf of bread, a tinned tongue, and two tins of preserved\npeaches. As I set it down again, after having examined it, my\nheart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet of paper\nwith writing upon it. I raised it, and this was what I read,\nroughly scrawled in pencil:--\n\nDr. Watson has gone to Coombe Tracey.\n\nFor a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking\nout the meaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not Sir\nHenry, who was being dogged by this secret man. He had not\nfollowed me himself, but he had set an agent--the boy,\nperhaps--upon my track, and this was his report. Possibly I had\ntaken no step since I had been upon the moor which had not been\nobserved and reported. Always there was this feeling of an unseen\nforce, a fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and\ndelicacy, holding us so lightly that it was only at some supreme\nmoment that one realized that one was indeed entangled in its\nmeshes.\n\nIf there was one report there might be others, so I looked round\nthe hut in search of them. There was no trace, however, of\nanything of the kind, nor could I discover any sign which might\nindicate the character or intentions of the man who lived in this\nsingular place, save that he must be of Spartan habits and cared\nlittle for the comforts of life. When I thought of the heavy\nrains and looked at the gaping roof I understood how strong and\nimmutable must be the purpose which had kept him in that\ninhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy, or was he by\nchance our guardian angel? I swore that I would not leave the hut\nuntil I knew.\n\nOutside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing with\nscarlet and gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches\nby the distant pools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire. There\nwere the two towers of Baskerville Hall, and there a distant blur\nof smoke which marked the village of Grimpen. Between the two,\nbehind the hill, was the house of the Stapletons. All was sweet\nand mellow and peaceful in the golden evening light, and yet as I\nlooked at them my soul shared none of the peace of nature but\nquivered at the vagueness and the terror of that interview which\nevery instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nerves, but a\nfixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited\nwith sombre patience for the coming of its tenant.\n\nAnd then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a\nboot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming\nnearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner, and\ncocked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover myself\nuntil I had an opportunity of seeing something of the stranger.\nThere was a long pause which showed that he had stopped. Then\nonce more the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the\nopening of the hut.\n\n\"It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson,\" said a well-known\nvoice. \"I really think that you will be more comfortable outside\nthan in.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter 12\n\nDeath on the Moor\n\n\nFor a moment or two I sat breathless, hardly able to believe my\nears. Then my senses and my voice came back to me, while a\ncrushing weight of responsibility seemed in an instant to be\nlifted from my soul. That cold, incisive, ironical voice could\nbelong to but one man in all the world.\n\n\"Holmes!\" I cried--\"Holmes!\"\n\n\"Come out,\" said he, \"and please be careful with the revolver.\"\n\nI stooped under the rude lintel, and there he sat upon a stone\noutside, his gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell upon\nmy astonished features. He was thin and worn, but clear and\nalert, his keen face bronzed by the sun and roughened by the\nwind. In his tweed suit and cloth cap he looked like any other\ntourist upon the moor, and he had contrived, with that cat-like\nlove of personal cleanliness which was one of his\ncharacteristics, that his chin should be as smooth and his linen\nas perfect as if he were in Baker Street.\n\n\"I never was more glad to see anyone in my life,\" said I, as I\nwrung him by the hand.\n\n\"Or more astonished, eh?\"\n\n\"Well, I must confess to it.\"\n\n\"The surprise was not all on one side, I assure you. I had no\nidea that you had found my occasional retreat, still less that\nyou were inside it, until I was within twenty paces of the door.\"\n\n\"My footprint, I presume?\"\n\n\"No, Watson; I fear that I could not undertake to recognize your\nfootprint amid all the footprints of the world. If you seriously\ndesire to deceive me you must change your tobacconist; for when I\nsee the stub of a cigarette marked Bradley, Oxford Street, I know\nthat my friend Watson is in the neighbourhood. You will see it\nthere beside the path. You threw it down, no doubt, at that\nsupreme moment when you charged into the empty hut.\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"I thought as much--and knowing your admirable tenacity I was\nconvinced that you were sitting in ambush, a weapon within reach,\nwaiting for the tenant to return. So you actually thought that I\nwas the criminal?\"\n\n\"I did not know who you were, but I was determined to find out.\"\n\n\"Excellent, Watson! And how did you localize me? You saw me,\nperhaps, on the night of the convict hunt, when I was so\nimprudent as to allow the moon to rise behind me?\"\n\n\"Yes, I saw you then.\"\n\n\"And have no doubt searched all the huts until you came to this\none?\"\n\n\"No, your boy had been observed, and that gave me a guide where\nto look.\"\n\n\"The old gentleman with the telescope, no doubt. I could not make\nit out when first I saw the light flashing upon the lens.\" He\nrose and peeped into the hut. \"Ha, I see that Cartwright has\nbrought up some supplies. What's this paper? So you have been to\nCoombe Tracey, have you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"To see Mrs. Laura Lyons?\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"Well done! Our researches have evidently been running on\nparallel lines, and when we unite our results I expect we shall\nhave a fairly full knowledge of the case.\"\n\n\"Well, I am glad from my heart that you are here, for indeed the\nresponsibility and the mystery were both becoming too much for my\nnerves. But how in the name of wonder did you come here, and what\nhave you been doing? I thought that you were in Baker Street\nworking out that case of blackmailing.\"\n\n\"That was what I wished you to think.\"\n\n\"Then you use me, and yet do not trust me!\" I cried with some\nbitterness. \"I think that I have deserved better at your hands,\nHolmes.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, you have been invaluable to me in this as in\nmany other cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I have\nseemed to play a trick upon you. In truth, it was partly for your\nown sake that I did it, and it was my appreciation of the danger\nwhich you ran which led me to come down and examine the matter\nfor myself. Had I been with Sir Henry and you it is confident\nthat my point of view would have been the same as yours, and my\npresence would have warned our very formidable opponents to be on\ntheir guard. As it is, I have been able to get about as I could\nnot possibly have done had I been living in the Hall, and I\nremain an unknown factor in the business, ready to throw in all\nmy weight at a critical moment.\"\n\n\"But why keep me in the dark?\"\n\n\"For you to know could not have helped us, and might possibly\nhave led to my discovery. You would have wished to tell me\nsomething, or in your kindness you would have brought me out some\ncomfort or other, and so an unnecessary risk would be run. I\nbrought Cartwright down with me--you remember the little chap at\nthe express office--and he has seen after my simple wants: a loaf\nof bread and a clean collar. What does man want more? He has\ngiven me an extra pair of eyes upon a very active pair of feet,\nand both have been invaluable.\"\n\n\"Then my reports have all been wasted!\"--My voice trembled as I\nrecalled the pains and the pride with which I had composed them.\n\nHolmes took a bundle of papers from his pocket.\n\n\"Here are your reports, my dear fellow, and very well thumbed, I\nassure you. I made excellent arrangements, and they are only\ndelayed one day upon their way. I must compliment you exceedingly\nupon the zeal and the intelligence which you have shown over an\nextraordinarily difficult case.\"\n\nI was still rather raw over the deception which had been\npractised upon me, but the warmth of Holmes's praise drove my\nanger from my mind. I felt also in my heart that he was right in\nwhat he said and that it was really best for our purpose that I\nshould not have known that he was upon the moor.\n\n\"That's better,\" said he, seeing the shadow rise from my face.\n\"And now tell me the result of your visit to Mrs. Laura Lyons--it\nwas not difficult for me to guess that it was to see her that you\nhad gone, for I am already aware that she is the one person in\nCoombe Tracey who might be of service to us in the matter. In\nfact, if you had not gone to-day it is exceedingly probable that\nI should have gone to-morrow.\"\n\nThe sun had set and dusk was settling over the moor. The air had\nturned chill and we withdrew into the hut for warmth. There,\nsitting together in the twilight, I told Holmes of my\nconversation with the lady. So interested was he that I had to\nrepeat some of it twice before he was satisfied.\n\n\"This is most important,\" said he when I had concluded. \"It fills\nup a gap which I had been unable to bridge, in this most complex\naffair. You are aware, perhaps, that a close intimacy exists\nbetween this lady and the man Stapleton?\"\n\n\"I did not know of a close intimacy.\"\n\n\"There can be no doubt about the matter. They meet, they write,\nthere is a complete understanding between them. Now, this puts a\nvery powerful weapon into our hands. If I could only use it to\ndetach his wife----\"\n\n\"His wife?\"\n\n\"I am giving you some information now, in return for all that you\nhave given me. The lady who has passed here as Miss Stapleton is\nin reality his wife.\"\n\n\"Good heavens, Holmes! Are you sure of what you say? How could he\nhave permitted Sir Henry to fall in love with her?\"\n\n\"Sir Henry's falling in love could do no harm to anyone except\nSir Henry. He took particular care that Sir Henry did not make\nlove to her, as you have yourself observed. I repeat that the\nlady is his wife and not his sister.\"\n\n\"But why this elaborate deception?\"\n\n\"Because he foresaw that she would be very much more useful to\nhim in the character of a free woman.\"\n\nAll my unspoken instincts, my vague suspicions, suddenly took\nshape and centred upon the naturalist. In that impassive,\ncolourless man, with his straw hat and his butterfly-net, I\nseemed to see something terrible--a creature of infinite patience\nand craft, with a smiling face and a murderous heart.\n\n\"It is he, then, who is our enemy--it is he who dogged us in\nLondon?\"\n\n\"So I read the riddle.\"\n\n\"And the warning--it must have come from her!\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\nThe shape of some monstrous villainy, half seen, half guessed,\nloomed through the darkness which had girt me so long.\n\n\"But are you sure of this, Holmes? How do you know that the woman\nis his wife?\"\n\n\"Because he so far forgot himself as to tell you a true piece of\nautobiography upon the occasion when he first met you, and I\ndare say he has many a time regretted it since. He was once a\nschoolmaster in the north of England. Now, there is no one more\neasy to trace than a schoolmaster. There are scholastic agencies\nby which one may identify any man who has been in the profession.\nA little investigation showed me that a school had come to grief\nunder atrocious circumstances, and that the man who had owned\nit--the name was different--had disappeared with his wife. The\ndescriptions agreed. When I learned that the missing man was\ndevoted to entomology the identification was complete.\"\n\nThe darkness was rising, but much was still hidden by the\nshadows.\n\n\"If this woman is in truth his wife, where does Mrs. Laura Lyons\ncome in?\" I asked.\n\n\"That is one of the points upon which your own researches have\nshed a light. Your interview with the lady has cleared the\nsituation very much. I did not know about a projected divorce\nbetween herself and her husband. In that case, regarding\nStapleton as an unmarried man, she counted no doubt upon becoming\nhis wife.\"\n\n\"And when she is undeceived?\"\n\n\"Why, then we may find the lady of service. It must be our first\nduty to see her--both of us--to-morrow. Don't you think, Watson,\nthat you are away from your charge rather long? Your place should\nbe at Baskerville Hall.\"\n\nThe last red streaks had faded away in the west and night had\nsettled upon the moor. A few faint stars were gleaming in a\nviolet sky.\n\n\"One last question, Holmes,\" I said, as I rose. \"Surely there is\nno need of secrecy between you and me. What is the meaning of it\nall? What is he after?\"\n\nHolmes's voice sank as he answered:----\n\n\"It is murder, Watson--refined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder.\nDo not ask me for particulars. My nets are closing upon him, even\nas his are upon Sir Henry, and with your help he is already\nalmost at my mercy. There is but one danger which can threaten\nus. It is that he should strike before we are ready to do so.\nAnother day--two at the most--and I have my case complete, but\nuntil then guard your charge as closely as ever a fond mother\nwatched her ailing child. Your mission to-day has justified\nitself, and yet I could almost wish that you had not left his\nside. Hark!\"\n\nA terrible scream--a prolonged yell of horror and anguish--burst\nout of the silence of the moor. That frightful cry turned the\nblood to ice in my veins.\n\n\"Oh, my God!\" I gasped. \"What is it? What does it mean?\"\n\nHolmes had sprung to his feet, and I saw his dark, athletic\noutline at the door of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his head\nthrust forward, his face peering into the darkness.\n\n\"Hush!\" he whispered. \"Hush!\"\n\nThe cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had\npealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. Now it\nburst upon our ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before.\n\n\"Where is it?\" Holmes whispered; and I knew from the thrill of\nhis voice that he, the man of iron, was shaken to the soul.\n\"Where is it, Watson?\"\n\n\"There, I think.\" I pointed into the darkness.\n\n\"No, there!\"\n\nAgain the agonized cry swept through the silent night, louder and\nmuch nearer than ever. And a new sound mingled with it, a deep,\nmuttered rumble, musical and yet menacing, rising and falling\nlike the low, constant murmur of the sea.\n\n\"The hound!\" cried Holmes. \"Come, Watson, come! Great heavens, if\nwe are too late!\"\n\nHe had started running swiftly over the moor, and I had followed\nat his heels. But now from somewhere among the broken ground\nimmediately in front of us there came one last despairing yell,\nand then a dull, heavy thud. We halted and listened. Not another\nsound broke the heavy silence of the windless night.\n\nI saw Holmes put his hand to his forehead like a man distracted.\nHe stamped his feet upon the ground.\n\n\"He has beaten us, Watson. We are too late.\"\n\n\"No, no, surely not!\"\n\n\"Fool that I was to hold my hand. And you, Watson, see what comes\nof abandoning your charge! But, by Heaven, if the worst has\nhappened, we'll avenge him!\"\n\nBlindly we ran through the gloom, blundering against boulders,\nforcing our way through gorse bushes, panting up hills and\nrushing down slopes, heading always in the direction whence those\ndreadful sounds had come. At every rise Holmes looked eagerly\nround him, but the shadows were thick upon the moor, and nothing\nmoved upon its dreary face.\n\n\"Can you see anything?\"\n\n\"Nothing.\"\n\n\"But, hark, what is that?\"\n\nA low moan had fallen upon our ears. There it was again upon our\nleft! On that side a ridge of rocks ended in a sheer cliff which\noverlooked a stone-strewn slope. On its jagged face was\nspread-eagled some dark, irregular object. As we ran towards it\nthe vague outline hardened into a definite shape. It was a\nprostrate man face downward upon the ground, the head doubled\nunder him at a horrible angle, the shoulders rounded and the body\nhunched together as if in the act of throwing a somersault. So\ngrotesque was the attitude that I could not for the instant\nrealize that that moan had been the passing of his soul. Not a\nwhisper, not a rustle, rose now from the dark figure over which\nwe stooped. Holmes laid his hand upon him, and held it up again,\nwith an exclamation of horror. The gleam of the match which he\nstruck shone upon his clotted fingers and upon the ghastly pool\nwhich widened slowly from the crushed skull of the victim. And it\nshone upon something else which turned our hearts sick and faint\nwithin us--the body of Sir Henry Baskerville!\n\nThere was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiar\nruddy tweed suit--the very one which he had worn on the first\nmorning that we had seen him in Baker Street. We caught the one\nclear glimpse of it, and then the match flickered and went out,\neven as the hope had gone out of our souls. Holmes groaned, and\nhis face glimmered white through the darkness.\n\n\"The brute! the brute!\" I cried with clenched hands. \"Oh Holmes,\nI shall never forgive myself for having left him to his fate.\"\n\n\"I am more to blame than you, Watson. In order to have my case\nwell rounded and complete, I have thrown away the life of my\nclient. It is the greatest blow which has befallen me in my\ncareer. But how could I know--how could l know--that he would\nrisk his life alone upon the moor in the face of all my\nwarnings?\"\n\n\"That we should have heard his screams--my God, those\nscreams!--and yet have been unable to save him! Where is this\nbrute of a hound which drove him to his death? It may be lurking\namong these rocks at this instant. And Stapleton, where is he? He\nshall answer for this deed.\"\n\n\"He shall. I will see to that. Uncle and nephew have been\nmurdered--the one frightened to death by the very sight of a\nbeast which he thought to be supernatural, the other driven to\nhis end in his wild flight to escape from it. But now we have to\nprove the connection between the man and the beast. Save from\nwhat we heard, we cannot even swear to the existence of the\nlatter, since Sir Henry has evidently died from the fall. But, by\nheavens, cunning as he is, the fellow shall be in my power before\nanother day is past!\"\n\nWe stood with bitter hearts on either side of the mangled body,\noverwhelmed by this sudden and irrevocable disaster which had\nbrought all our long and weary labours to so piteous an end.\nThen, as the moon rose we climbed to the top of the rocks over\nwhich our poor friend had fallen, and from the summit we gazed\nout over the shadowy moor, half silver and half gloom. Far away,\nmiles off, in the direction of Grimpen, a single steady yellow\nlight was shining. It could only come from the lonely abode of\nthe Stapletons. With a bitter curse I shook my fist at it as I\ngazed.\n\n\"Why should we not seize him at once?\"\n\n\"Our case is not complete. The fellow is wary and cunning to the\nlast degree. It is not what we know, but what we can prove. If we\nmake one false move the villain may escape us yet.\"\n\n\"What can we do?\"\n\n\"There will be plenty for us to do to-morrow. To-night we can\nonly perform the last offices to our poor friend.\"\n\nTogether we made our way down the precipitous slope and\napproached the body, black and clear against the silvered stones.\nThe agony of those contorted limbs struck me with a spasm of pain\nand blurred my eyes with tears.\n\n\"We must send for help, Holmes! We cannot carry him all the way\nto the Hall. Good heavens, are you mad?\"\n\nHe had uttered a cry and bent over the body. Now he was dancing\nand laughing and wringing my hand. Could this be my stern,\nself-contained friend? These were hidden fires, indeed!\n\n\"A beard! A beard! The man has a beard!\"\n\n\"A beard?\"\n\n\"It is not the baronet--it is--why, it is my neighbour, the\nconvict!\"\n\nWith feverish haste we had turned the body over, and that\ndripping beard was pointing up to the cold, clear moon. There\ncould be no doubt about the beetling forehead, the sunken animal\neyes. It was indeed the same face which had glared upon me in the\nlight of the candle from over the rock--the face of Selden, the\ncriminal.\n\nThen in an instant it was all clear to me. I remembered how the\nbaronet had told me that he had handed his old wardrobe to\nBarrymore. Barrymore had passed it on in order to help Selden in\nhis escape. Boots, shirt, cap--it was all Sir Henry's. The\ntragedy was still black enough, but this man had at least\ndeserved death by the laws of his country. I told Holmes how the\nmatter stood, my heart bubbling over with thankfulness and joy.\n\n\"Then the clothes have been the poor devil's death,\" said he. \"It\nis clear enough that the hound has been laid on from some article\nof Sir Henry's--the boot which was abstracted in the hotel, in\nall probability--and so ran this man down. There is one very\nsingular thing, however: How came Selden, in the darkness, to\nknow that the hound was on his trail?\"\n\n\"He heard him.\"\n\n\"To hear a hound upon the moor would not work a hard man like\nthis convict into such a paroxysm of terror that he would risk\nrecapture by screaming wildly for help. By his cries he must have\nrun a long way after he knew the animal was on his track. How did\nhe know?\"\n\n\"A greater mystery to me is why this hound, presuming that all\nour conjectures are correct --\"\n\n\"I presume nothing.\"\n\n\"Well, then, why this hound should be loose to-night. I suppose\nthat it does not always run loose upon the moor. Stapleton would\nnot let it go unless he had reason to think that Sir Henry would\nbe there.\"\n\n\"My difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for I think\nthat we shall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while\nmine may remain forever a mystery. The question now is, what\nshall we do with this poor wretch's body? We cannot leave it here\nto the foxes and the ravens.\"\n\n\"I suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we can\ncommunicate with the police.\"\n\n\"Exactly. I have no doubt that you and I could carry it so far.\nHalloa, Watson, what's this? It's the man himself, by all that's\nwonderful and audacious! Not a word to show your suspicions--not a\nword, or my plans crumble to the ground.\"\n\nA figure was approaching us over the moor, and I saw the dull red\nglow of a cigar. The moon shone upon him, and I could distinguish\nthe dapper shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. He stopped\nwhen he saw us, and then came on again.\n\n\"Why, Dr. Watson, that's not you, is it? You are the last man\nthat I should have expected to see out on the moor at this time\nof night. But, dear me, what's this? Somebody hurt? Not--don't\ntell me that it is our friend Sir Henry!\" He hurried past me and\nstooped over the dead man. I heard a sharp intake of his breath\nand the cigar fell from his fingers.\n\n\"Who--who's this?\" he stammered.\n\n\"It is Selden, the man who escaped from Princetown.\"\n\nStapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme effort\nhe had overcome his amazement and his disappointment. He looked\nsharply from Holmes to me.\n\n\"Dear me! What a very shocking affair! How did he die?\"\n\n\"He appears to have broken his neck by falling over these rocks.\nMy friend and I were strolling on the moor when we heard a cry.\"\n\n\"I heard a cry also. That was what brought me out. I was uneasy\nabout Sir Henry.\"\n\n\"Why about Sir Henry in particular?\" I could not help asking.\n\n\"Because I had suggested that he should come over. When he did\nnot come I was surprised, and I naturally became alarmed for his\nsafety when I heard cries upon the moor. By the way\"--his eyes\ndarted again from my face to Holmes's--\"did you hear anything\nelse besides a cry?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Holmes; \"did you?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, then?\"\n\n\"Oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantom\nhound, and so on. It is said to be heard at night upon the moor.\nI was wondering if there were any evidence of such a sound\nto-night.\"\n\n\"We heard nothing of the kind,\" said I.\n\n\"And what is your theory of this poor fellow's death?\"\n\n\"I have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven him off\nhis head. He has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and\neventually fallen over here and broken his neck.\"\n\n\"That seems the most reasonable theory,\" said Stapleton, and he\ngave a sigh which I took to indicate his relief. \"What do you\nthink about it, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?\"\n\nMy friend bowed his compliments.\n\n\"You are quick at identification,\" said he.\n\n\"We have been expecting you in these parts since Dr. Watson came\ndown. You are in time to see a tragedy.\"\n\n\"Yes, indeed. I have no doubt that my friend's explanation will\ncover the facts. I will take an unpleasant remembrance back to\nLondon with me to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Oh, you return to-morrow?\"\n\n\"That is my intention.\"\n\n\"I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences\nwhich have puzzled us?\"\n\nHolmes shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"One cannot always have the success for which one hopes. An\ninvestigator needs facts, and not legends or rumours. It has not\nbeen a satisfactory case.\"\n\nMy friend spoke in his frankest and most unconcerned manner.\nStapleton still looked hard at him. Then he turned to me.\n\n\"I would suggest carrying this poor fellow to my house, but it\nwould give my sister such a fright that I do not feel justified\nin doing it. I think that if we put something over his face he\nwill be safe until morning.\"\n\nAnd so it was arranged. Resisting Stapleton's offer of\nhospitality, Holmes and I set off to Baskerville Hall, leaving\nthe naturalist to return alone. Looking back we saw the figure\nmoving slowly away over the broad moor, and behind him that one\nblack smudge on the silvered slope which showed where the man was\nlying who had come so horribly to his end.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 13\n\nFixing the Nets\n\n\n\"We're at close grips at last,\" said Holmes as we walked together\nacross the moor. \"What a nerve the fellow has! How he pulled\nhimself together in the face of what must have been a paralyzing\nshock when he found that the wrong man had fallen a victim to his\nplot. I told you in London, Watson, and I tell you now again,\nthat we have never had a foeman more worthy of our steel.\"\n\n\"I am sorry that he has seen you.\"\n\n\"And so was I at first. But there was no getting out of it.\"\n\n\"What effect do you think it will have upon his plans now that he\nknows you are here?\"\n\n\"It may cause him to be more cautious, or it may drive him to\ndesperate measures at once. Like most clever criminals, he may be\ntoo confident in his own cleverness and imagine that he has\ncompletely deceived us.\"\n\n\"Why should we not arrest him at once?\"\n\n\"My dear Watson, you were born to be a man of action. Your\ninstinct is always to do something energetic. But supposing, for\nargument's sake, that we had him arrested to-night, what on earth\nthe better off should we be for that? We could prove nothing\nagainst him. There's the devilish cunning of it! If he were\nacting through a human agent we could get some evidence, but if\nwe were to drag this great dog to the light of day it would not\nhelp us in putting a rope round the neck of its master.\"\n\n\"Surely we have a case.\"\n\n\"Not a shadow of one--only surmise and conjecture. We should be\nlaughed out of court if we came with such a story and such\nevidence.\"\n\n\"There is Sir Charles's death.\"\n\n\"Found dead without a mark upon him. You and I know that he died\nof sheer fright, and we know also what frightened him; but how\nare we to get twelve stolid jurymen to know it? What signs are\nthere of a hound? Where are the marks of its fangs? Of course we\nknow that a hound does not bite a dead body and that Sir Charles\nwas dead before ever the brute overtook him. But we have to prove\nall this, and we are not in a position to do it.\"\n\n\"Well, then, to-night?\"\n\n\"We are not much better off to-night. Again, there was no direct\nconnection between the hound and the man's death. We never saw\nthe hound. We heard it; but we could not prove that it was\nrunning upon this man's trail. There is a complete absence of\nmotive. No, my dear fellow; we must reconcile ourselves to the\nfact that we have no case at present, and that it is worth our\nwhile to run any risk in order to establish one.\"\n\n\"And how do you propose to do so?\"\n\n\"I have great hopes of what Mrs. Laura Lyons may do for us when\nthe position of affairs is made clear to her. And I have my own\nplan as well. Sufficient for to-morrow is the evil thereof; but I\nhope before the day is past to have the upper hand at last.\"\n\nI could draw nothing further from him, and he walked, lost in\nthought, as far as the Baskerville gates.\n\n\"Are you coming up?\"\n\n\"Yes; I see no reason for further concealment. But one last word,\nWatson. Say nothing of the hound to Sir Henry. Let him think that\nSelden's death was as Stapleton would have us believe. He will\nhave a better nerve for the ordeal which he will have to undergo\nto-morrow, when he is engaged, if I remember your report aright,\nto dine with these people.\"\n\n\"And so am I.\"\n\n\"Then you must excuse yourself and he must go alone. That will be\neasily arranged. And now, if we are too late for dinner, I think\nthat we are both ready for our suppers.\"\n\nSir Henry was more pleased than surprised to see Sherlock Holmes,\nfor he had for some days been expecting that recent events would\nbring him down from London. He did raise his eyebrows, however,\nwhen he found that my friend had neither any luggage nor any\nexplanations for its absence. Between us we soon supplied his\nwants, and then over a belated supper we explained to the baronet\nas much of our experience as it seemed desirable that he should\nknow. But first I had the unpleasant duty of breaking the news to\nBarrymore and his wife. To him it may have been an unmitigated\nrelief, but she wept bitterly in her apron. To all the world he\nwas the man of violence, half animal and half demon; but to her\nhe always remained the little wilful boy of her own girlhood, the\nchild who had clung to her hand. Evil indeed is the man who has\nnot one woman to mourn him.\n\n\"I've been moping in the house all day since Watson went off in\nthe morning,\" said the baronet. \"I guess I should have some\ncredit, for I have kept my promise. If I hadn't sworn not to go\nabout alone I might have had a more lively evening, for I had a\nmessage from Stapleton asking me over there.\"\n\n\"I have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening,\"\nsaid Holmes drily. \"By the way, I don't suppose you appreciate\nthat we have been mourning over you as having broken your neck?\"\n\nSir Henry opened his eyes. \"How was that?\"\n\n\"This poor wretch was dressed in your clothes. I fear your\nservant who gave them to him may get into trouble with the\npolice.\"\n\n\"That is unlikely. There was no mark on any of them, as far as I\nknow.\"\n\n\"That's lucky for him--in fact, it's lucky for all of you, since\nyou are all on the wrong side of the law in this matter. I am not\nsure that as a conscientious detective my first duty is not to\narrest the whole household. Watson's reports are most\nincriminating documents.\"\n\n\"But how about the case?\" asked the baronet. \"Have you made\nanything out of the tangle? I don't know that Watson and I are\nmuch the wiser since we came down.\"\n\n\"I think that I shall be in a position to make the situation\nrather more clear to you before long. It has been an exceedingly\ndifficult and most complicated business. There are several points\nupon which we still want light--but it is coming all the same.\"\n\n\"We've had one experience, as Watson has no doubt told you. We\nheard the hound on the moor, so I can swear that it is not all\nempty superstition. I had something to do with dogs when I was\nout West, and I know one when I hear one. If you can muzzle that\none and put him on a chain I'll be ready to swear you are the\ngreatest detective of all time.\"\n\n\"I think I will muzzle him and chain him all right if you will\ngive me your help.\"\n\n\"Whatever you tell me to do I will do.\"\n\n\"Very good; and I will ask you also to do it blindly, without\nalways asking the reason.\"\n\n\"Just as you like.\"\n\n\"If you will do this I think the chances are that our little\nproblem will soon be solved. I have no doubt----\"\n\nHe stopped suddenly and stared fixedly up over my head into the\nair. The lamp beat upon his face, and so intent was it and so\nstill that it might have been that of a clear-cut classical\nstatue, a personification of alertness and expectation.\n\n\"What is it?\" we both cried.\n\nI could see as he looked down that he was repressing some\ninternal emotion. His features were still composed, but his eyes\nshone with amused exultation.\n\n\"Excuse the admiration of a connoisseur,\" said he as he waved his\nhand towards the line of portraits which covered the opposite\nwall. \"Watson won't allow that I know anything of art, but that\nis mere jealousy, because our views upon the subject differ. Now,\nthese are a really very fine series of portraits.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so,\" said Sir Henry, glancing\nwith some surprise at my friend. \"I don't pretend to know much\nabout these things, and I'd be a better judge of a horse or a\nsteer than of a picture. I didn't know that you found time for\nsuch things.\"\n\n\"I know what is good when I see it, and I see it now. That's a\nKneller, I'll swear, that lady in the blue silk over yonder, and\nthe stout gentleman with the wig ought to be a Reynolds. They are\nall family portraits, I presume?\"\n\n\"Every one.\"\n\n\"Do you know the names?\"\n\n\"Barrymore has been coaching me in them, and I think I can say my\nlessons fairly well.\"\n\n\"Who is the gentleman with the telescope?\"\n\n\"That is Rear-Admiral Baskerville, who served under Rodney in the\nWest Indies. The man with the blue coat and the roll of paper is\nSir William Baskerville, who was Chairman of Committees of the\nHouse of Commons under Pitt.\"\n\n\"And this Cavalier opposite to me--the one with the black velvet\nand the lace?\"\n\n\"Ah, you have a right to know about him. That is the cause of all\nthe mischief, the wicked Hugo, who started the Hound of the\nBaskervilles. We're not likely to forget him.\"\n\nI gazed with interest and some surprise upon the portrait.\n\n\"Dear me!\" said Holmes, \"he seems a quiet, meek-mannered man\nenough, but I dare say that there was a lurking devil in his\neyes. I had pictured him as a more robust and ruffianly person.\"\n\n\"There's no doubt about the authenticity, for the name and the\ndate, 1647, are on the back of the canvas.\"\n\nHolmes said little more, but the picture of the old roysterer\nseemed to have a fascination for him, and his eyes were\ncontinually fixed upon it during supper. It was not until later,\nwhen Sir Henry had gone to his room, that I was able to follow\nthe trend of his thoughts. He led me back into the\nbanqueting-hall, his bedroom candle in his hand, and he held it\nup against the time-stained portrait on the wall.\n\n\"Do you see anything there?\"\n\nI looked at the broad plumed hat, the curling love-locks, the\nwhite lace collar, and the straight, severe face which was framed\nbetween them. It was not a brutal countenance, but it was prim,\nhard, and stern, with a firm-set, thin-lipped mouth, and a coldly\nintolerant eye.\n\n\"Is it like anyone you know?\"\n\n\"There is something of Sir Henry about the jaw.\"\n\n\"Just a suggestion, perhaps. But wait an instant!\" He stood upon\na chair, and, holding up the light in his left hand, he curved\nhis right arm over the broad hat and round the long ringlets.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I cried, in amazement.\n\nThe face of Stapleton had sprung out of the canvas.\n\n\"Ha, you see it now. My eyes have been trained to examine faces\nand not their trimmings. It is the first quality of a criminal\ninvestigator that he should see through a disguise.\"\n\n\"But this is marvellous. It might be his portrait.\"\n\n\"Yes, it is an interesting instance of a throwback, which appears\nto be both physical and spiritual. A study of family portraits is\nenough to convert a man to the doctrine of reincarnation. The\nfellow is a Baskerville--that is evident.\"\n\n\"With designs upon the succession.\"\n\n\"Exactly. This chance of the picture has supplied us with one of\nour most obvious missing links. We have him, Watson, we have him,\nand I dare swear that before to-morrow night he will be\nfluttering in our net as helpless as one of his own butterflies.\nA pin, a cork, and a card, and we add him to the Baker Street\ncollection!\" He burst into one of his rare fits of laughter as he\nturned away from the picture. I have not heard him laugh often,\nand it has always boded ill to somebody.\n\nI was up betimes in the morning, but Holmes was afoot earlier\nstill, for I saw him as I dressed, coming up the drive.\n\n\"Yes, we should have a full day to-day,\" he remarked, and he\nrubbed his hands with the joy of action. \"The nets are all in\nplace, and the drag is about to begin. We'll know before the day\nis out whether we have caught our big, lean-jawed pike, or\nwhether he has got through the meshes.\"\n\n\"Have you been on the moor already?\"\n\n\"I have sent a report from Grimpen to Princetown as to the death\nof Selden. I think I can promise that none of you will be\ntroubled in the matter. And I have also communicated with my\nfaithful Cartwright, who would certainly have pined away at the\ndoor of my hut, as a dog does at his master's grave, if I had not\nset his mind at rest about my safety.\"\n\n\"What is the next move?\"\n\n\"To see Sir Henry. Ah, here he is!\"\n\n\"Good morning, Holmes,\" said the baronet. \"You look like a\ngeneral who is planning a battle with his chief of the staff.\"\n\n\"That is the exact situation. Watson was asking for orders.\"\n\n\"And so do I.\"\n\n\"Very good. You are engaged, as I understand, to dine with our\nfriends the Stapletons to-night.\"\n\n\"I hope that you will come also. They are very hospitable people,\nand I am sure that they would be very glad to see you.\"\n\n\"I fear that Watson and I must go to London.\"\n\n\"To London?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think that we should be more useful there at the present\njuncture.\"\n\nThe baronet's face perceptibly lengthened.\n\n\"I hoped that you were going to see me through this business. The\nHall and the moor are not very pleasant places when one is\nalone.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactly what\nI tell you. You can tell your friends that we should have been\nhappy to have come with you, but that urgent business required us\nto be in town. We hope very soon to return to Devonshire. Will\nyou remember to give them that message?\"\n\n\"If you insist upon it.\"\n\n\"There is no alternative, I assure you.\"\n\nI saw by the baronet's clouded brow that he was deeply hurt by\nwhat he regarded as our desertion.\n\n\"When do you desire to go?\" he asked coldly.\n\n\"Immediately after breakfast. We will drive in to Coombe Tracey,\nbut Watson will leave his things as a pledge that he will come\nback to you. Watson, you will send a note to Stapleton to tell\nhim that you regret that you cannot come.\"\n\n\"I have a good mind to go to London with you,\" said the baronet.\n\"Why should I stay here alone?\"\n\n\"Because it is your post of duty. Because you gave me your word\nthat you would do as you were told, and I tell you to stay.\"\n\n\"All right, then, I'll stay.\"\n\n\"One more direction! I wish you to drive to Merripit House. Send\nback your trap, however, and let them know that you intend to\nwalk home.\"\n\n\"To walk across the moor?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"But that is the very thing which you have so often cautioned me\nnot to do.\"\n\n\"This time you may do it with safety. If I had not every\nconfidence in your nerve and courage I would not suggest it, but\nit is essential that you should do it.\"\n\n\"Then I will do it.\"\n\n\"And as you value your life do not go across the moor in any\ndirection save along the straight path which leads from Merripit\nHouse to the Grimpen Road, and is your natural way home.\"\n\n\"I will do just what you say.\"\n\n\"Very good. I should be glad to get away as soon after breakfast\nas possible, so as to reach London in the afternoon.\"\n\nI was much astounded by this programme, though I remembered that\nHolmes had said to Stapleton on the night before that his visit\nwould terminate next day. It had not crossed my mind, however,\nthat he would wish me to go with him, nor could I understand how\nwe could both be absent at a moment which he himself declared to\nbe critical. There was nothing for it, however, but implicit\nobedience; so we bade good-bye to our rueful friend, and a couple\nof hours afterwards we were at the station of Coombe Tracey and\nhad dispatched the trap upon its return journey. A small boy was\nwaiting upon the platform.\n\n\"Any orders, sir?\"\n\n\"You will take this train to town, Cartwright. The moment you\narrive you will send a wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, in my name,\nto say that if he finds the pocket-book which I have dropped he\nis to send it by registered post to Baker Street.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"And ask at the station office if there is a message for me.\"\n\nThe boy returned with a telegram, which Holmes handed to me. It\nran: \"Wire received. Coming down with unsigned warrant. Arrive\nfive-forty.--LESTRADE.\"\n\n\"That is in answer to mine of this morning. He is the best of the\nprofessionals, I think, and we may need his assistance. Now,\nWatson, I think that we cannot employ our time better than by\ncalling upon your acquaintance, Mrs. Laura Lyons.\"\n\nHis plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. He would use\nthe baronet in order to convince the Stapletons that we were\nreally gone, while we should actually return at the instant when\nwe were likely to be needed. That telegram from London, if\nmentioned by Sir Henry to the Stapletons, must remove the last\nsuspicions from their minds. Already I seemed to see our nets\ndrawing closer around that lean-jawed pike.\n\nMrs. Laura Lyons was in her office, and Sherlock Holmes opened\nhis interview with a frankness and directness which considerably\namazed her.\n\n\"I am investigating the circumstances which attended the death of\nthe late Sir Charles Baskerville,\" said he. \"My friend here, Dr.\nWatson, has informed me of what you have communicated, and also\nof what you have withheld in connection with that matter.\"\n\n\"What have I withheld?\" she asked defiantly.\n\n\"You have confessed that you asked Sir Charles to be at the gate\nat ten o'clock. We know that that was the place and hour of his\ndeath. You have withheld what the connection is between these\nevents.\"\n\n\"There is no connection.\"\n\n\"In that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinary\none. But I think that we shall succeed in establishing a\nconnection after all. I wish to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs.\nLyons. We regard this case as one of murder, and the evidence may\nimplicate not only your friend Mr. Stapleton, but his wife as\nwell.\"\n\nThe lady sprang from her chair.\n\n\"His wife!\" she cried.\n\n\"The fact is no longer a secret. The person who has passed for\nhis sister is really his wife.\"\n\nMrs. Lyons had resumed her seat. Her hands were grasping the arms\nof her chair, and I saw that the pink nails had turned white with\nthe pressure of her grip.\n\n\"His wife!\" she said again. \"His wife! He is not a married man.\"\n\nSherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"Prove it to me! Prove it to me! And if you can do so --!\" The\nfierce flash of her eyes said more than any words.\n\n\"I have come prepared to do so,\" said Holmes, drawing several\npapers from his pocket. \"Here is a photograph of the couple taken\nin York four years ago. It is indorsed 'Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur,'\nbut you will have no difficulty in recognizing him, and her also,\nif you know her by sight. Here are three written descriptions by\ntrustworthy witnesses of Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur, who at that time\nkept St. Oliver's private school. Read them and see if you can\ndoubt the identity of these people.\"\n\nShe glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set, rigid\nface of a desperate woman.\n\n\"Mr. Holmes,\" she said, \"this man had offered me marriage on\ncondition that I could get a divorce from my husband. He has lied\nto me, the villain, in every conceivable way. Not one word of\ntruth has he ever told me. And why--why? I imagined that all was\nfor my own sake. But now I see that I was never anything but a\ntool in his hands. Why should I preserve faith with him who never\nkept any with me? Why should I try to shield him from the\nconsequences of his own wicked acts? Ask me what you like, and\nthere is nothing which I shall hold back. One thing I swear to\nyou, and that is that when I wrote the letter I never dreamed of\nany harm to the old gentleman, who had been my kindest friend.\"\n\n\"I entirely believe you, madam,\" said Sherlock Holmes. \"The\nrecital of these events must be very painful to you, and perhaps\nit will make it easier if I tell you what occurred, and you can\ncheck me if I make any material mistake. The sending of this\nletter was suggested to you by Stapleton?\"\n\n\"He dictated it.\"\n\n\"I presume that the reason he gave was that you would receive\nhelp from Sir Charles for the legal expenses connected with your\ndivorce?\"\n\n\"Exactly.\"\n\n\"And then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you from\nkeeping the appointment?\"\n\n\"He told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any other\nman should find the money for such an object, and that though he\nwas a poor man himself he would devote his last penny to removing\nthe obstacles which divided us.\"\n\n\"He appears to be a very consistent character. And then you heard\nnothing until you read the reports of the death in the paper?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And he made you swear to say nothing about your appointment with\nSir Charles?\"\n\n\"He did. He said that the death was a very mysterious one, and\nthat I should certainly be suspected if the facts came out. He\nfrightened me into remaining silent.\"\n\n\"Quite so. But you had your suspicions?\"\n\nShe hesitated and looked down.\n\n\"I knew him,\" she said. \"But if he had kept faith with me I\nshould always have done so with him.\"\n\n\"I think that on the whole you have had a fortunate escape,\" said\nSherlock Holmes. \"You have had him in your power and he knew it,\nand yet you are alive. You have been walking for some months very\nnear to the edge of a precipice. We must wish you good-morning\nnow, Mrs. Lyons, and it is probable that you will very shortly\nhear from us again.\"\n\n\"Our case becomes rounded off, and difficulty after difficulty\nthins away in front of us,\" said Holmes as we stood waiting for\nthe arrival of the express from town. \"I shall soon be in the\nposition of being able to put into a single connected narrative\none of the most singular and sensational crimes of modern times.\nStudents of criminology will remember the analogous incidents in\nGodno, in Little Russia, in the year '66, and of course there are\nthe Anderson murders in North Carolina, but this case possesses\nsome features which are entirely its own. Even now we have no\nclear case against this very wily man. But I shall be very much\nsurprised if it is not clear enough before we go to bed this\nnight.\"\n\nThe London express came roaring into the station, and a small,\nwiry bulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage. We\nall three shook hands, and I saw at once from the reverential way\nin which Lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a\ngood deal since the days when they had first worked together. I\ncould well remember the scorn which the theories of the reasoner\nused then to excite in the practical man.\n\n\"Anything good?\" he asked.\n\n\"The biggest thing for years,\" said Holmes. \"We have two hours\nbefore we need think of starting. I think we might employ it in\ngetting some dinner and then, Lestrade, we will take the London\nfog out of your throat by giving you a breath of the pure night\nair of Dartmoor. Never been there? Ah, well, I don't suppose you\nwill forget your first visit.\"\n\n\n\n\nChapter 14\n\nThe Hound of the Baskervilles\n\n\nOne of Sherlock Holmes's defects--if, indeed, one may call it a\ndefect--was that he was exceedingly loath to communicate his full\nplans to any other person until the instant of their fulfilment.\nPartly it came no doubt from his own masterful nature, which\nloved to dominate and surprise those who were around him. Partly\nalso from his professional caution, which urged him never to take\nany chances. The result, however, was very trying for those who\nwere acting as his agents and assistants. I had often suffered\nunder it, but never more so than during that long drive in the\ndarkness. The great ordeal was in front of us; at last we were\nabout to make our final effort, and yet Holmes had said nothing,\nand I could only surmise what his course of action would be. My\nnerves thrilled with anticipation when at last the cold wind upon\nour faces and the dark, void spaces on either side of the narrow\nroad told me that we were back upon the moor once again. Every\nstride of the horses and every turn of the wheels was taking us\nnearer to our supreme adventure.\n\nOur conversation was hampered by the presence of the driver of\nthe hired wagonette, so that we were forced to talk of trivial\nmatters when our nerves were tense with emotion and anticipation.\nIt was a relief to me, after that unnatural restraint, when we at\nlast passed Frankland's house and knew that we were drawing near\nto the Hall and to the scene of action. We did not drive up to\nthe door but got down near the gate of the avenue. The wagonette\nwas paid off and ordered to return to Coombe Tracey forthwith,\nwhile we started to walk to Merripit House.\n\n\"Are you armed, Lestrade?\"\n\nThe little detective smiled.\n\n\"As long as I have my trousers I have a hip-pocket, and as long\nas I have my hip-pocket I have something in it.\"\n\n\"Good! My friend and I are also ready for emergencies.\"\n\n\"You're mighty close about this affair, Mr. Holmes. What's the\ngame now?\"\n\n\"A waiting game.\"\n\n\"My word, it does not seem a very cheerful place,\" said the\ndetective with a shiver, glancing round him at the gloomy slopes\nof the hill and at the huge lake of fog which lay over the\nGrimpen Mire. \"I see the lights of a house ahead of us.\"\n\n\"That is Merripit House and the end of our journey. I must\nrequest you to walk on tiptoe and not to talk above a whisper.\"\n\nWe moved cautiously along the track as if we were bound for the\nhouse, but Holmes halted us when we were about two hundred yards\nfrom it.\n\n\"This will do,\" said he. \"These rocks upon the right make an\nadmirable screen.\"\n\n\"We are to wait here?\"\n\n\"Yes, we shall make our little ambush here. Get into this hollow,\nLestrade. You have been inside the house, have you not, Watson?\nCan you tell the position of the rooms? What are those latticed\nwindows at this end?\"\n\n\"I think they are the kitchen windows.\"\n\n\"And the one beyond, which shines so brightly?\"\n\n\"That is certainly the dining-room.\"\n\n\"The blinds are up. You know the lie of the land best. Creep\nforward quietly and see what they are doing--but for heaven's\nsake don't let them know that they are watched!\"\n\nI tiptoed down the path and stooped behind the low wall which\nsurrounded the stunted orchard. Creeping in its shadow I reached\na point whence I could look straight through the uncurtained\nwindow.\n\nThere were only two men in the room, Sir Henry and Stapleton.\nThey sat with their profiles towards me on either side of the\nround table. Both of them were smoking cigars, and coffee and\nwine were in front of them. Stapleton was talking with animation,\nbut the baronet looked pale and distrait. Perhaps the thought of\nthat lonely walk across the ill-omened moor was weighing heavily\nupon his mind.\n\nAs I watched them Stapleton rose and left the room, while Sir\nHenry filled his glass again and leaned back in his chair,\npuffing at his cigar. I heard the creak of a door and the crisp\nsound of boots upon gravel. The steps passed along the path on\nthe other side of the wall under which I crouched. Looking over,\nI saw the naturalist pause at the door of an out-house in the\ncorner of the orchard. A key turned in a lock, and as he passed\nin there was a curious scuffling noise from within. He was only a\nminute or so inside, and then I heard the key turn once more and\nhe passed me and re-entered the house. I saw him rejoin his\nguest, and I crept quietly back to where my companions were\nwaiting to tell them what I had seen.\n\n\"You say, Watson, that the lady is not there?\" Holmes asked, when\nI had finished my report.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Where can she be, then, since there is no light in any other\nroom except the kitchen?\"\n\n\"I cannot think where she is.\"\n\nI have said that over the great Grimpen Mire there hung a dense,\nwhite fog. It was drifting slowly in our direction, and banked\nitself up like a wall on that side of us, low, but thick and well\ndefined. The moon shone on it, and it looked like a great\nshimmering ice-field, with the heads of the distant tors as rocks\nborne upon its surface. Holmes's face was turned towards it, and\nhe muttered impatiently as he watched its sluggish drift.\n\n\"It's moving towards us, Watson.\"\n\n\"Is that serious?\"\n\n\"Very serious, indeed--the one thing upon earth which could have\ndisarranged my plans. He can't be very long, now. It is already\nten o'clock. Our success and even his life may depend upon his\ncoming out before the fog is over the path.\"\n\nThe night was clear and fine above us. The stars shone cold and\nbright, while a half-moon bathed the whole scene in a soft,\nuncertain light. Before us lay the dark bulk of the house, its\nserrated roof and bristling chimneys hard outlined against the\nsilver-spangled sky. Broad bars of golden light from the lower\nwindows stretched across the orchard and the moor. One of them\nwas suddenly shut off. The servants had left the kitchen. There\nonly remained the lamp in the dining-room where the two men, the\nmurderous host and the unconscious guest, still chatted over\ntheir cigars.\n\nEvery minute that white woolly plain which covered one half of\nthe moor was drifting closer and closer to the house. Already the\nfirst thin wisps of it were curling across the golden square of\nthe lighted window. The farther wall of the orchard was already\ninvisible, and the trees were standing out of a swirl of white\nvapour. As we watched it the fog-wreaths came crawling round both\ncorners of the house and rolled slowly into one dense bank, on\nwhich the upper floor and the roof floated like a strange ship\nupon a shadowy sea. Holmes struck his hand passionately upon the\nrock in front of us and stamped his feet in his impatience.\n\n\"If he isn't out in a quarter of an hour the path will be\ncovered. In half an hour we won't be able to see our hands in\nfront of us.\"\n\n\"Shall we move farther back upon higher ground?\"\n\n\"Yes, I think it would be as well.\"\n\nSo as the fog-bank flowed onward we fell back before it until we\nwere half a mile from the house, and still that dense white sea,\nwith the moon silvering its upper edge, swept slowly and\ninexorably on.\n\n\"We are going too far,\" said Holmes. \"We dare not take the chance\nof his being overtaken before he can reach us. At all costs we\nmust hold our ground where we are.\" He dropped on his knees and\nclapped his ear to the ground. \"Thank God, I think that I hear\nhim coming.\"\n\nA sound of quick steps broke the silence of the moor. Crouching\namong the stones we stared intently at the silver-tipped bank in\nfront of us. The steps grew louder, and through the fog, as\nthrough a curtain, there stepped the man whom we were awaiting.\nHe looked round him in surprise as he emerged into the clear,\nstarlit night. Then he came swiftly along the path, passed close\nto where we lay, and went on up the long slope behind us. As he\nwalked he glanced continually over either shoulder, like a man\nwho is ill at ease.\n\n\"Hist!\" cried Holmes, and I heard the sharp click of a cocking\npistol. \"Look out! It's coming!\"\n\nThere was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from somewhere in the\nheart of that crawling bank. The cloud was within fifty yards of\nwhere we lay, and we glared at it, all three, uncertain what\nhorror was about to break from the heart of it. I was at Holmes's\nelbow, and I glanced for an instant at his face. It was pale and\nexultant, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. But\nsuddenly they started forward in a rigid, fixed stare, and his\nlips parted in amazement. At the same instant Lestrade gave a\nyell of terror and threw himself face downward upon the ground. I\nsprang to my feet, my inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind\nparalyzed by the dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from\nthe shadows of the fog. A hound it was, an enormous coal-black\nhound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen. Fire\nburst from its open mouth, its eyes glowed with a smouldering\nglare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in\nflickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered\nbrain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish be\nconceived than that dark form and savage face which broke upon us\nout of the wall of fog.\n\nWith long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down the\ntrack, following hard upon the footsteps of our friend. So\nparalyzed were we by the apparition that we allowed him to pass\nbefore we had recovered our nerve. Then Holmes and I both fired\ntogether, and the creature gave a hideous howl, which showed that\none at least had hit him. He did not pause, however, but bounded\nonward. Far away on the path we saw Sir Henry looking back, his\nface white in the moonlight, his hands raised in horror, glaring\nhelplessly at the frightful thing which was hunting him down.\n\nBut that cry of pain from the hound had blown all our fears to\nthe winds. If he was vulnerable he was mortal, and if we could\nwound him we could kill him. Never have I seen a man run as\nHolmes ran that night. I am reckoned fleet of foot, but he\noutpaced me as much as I outpaced the little professional. In\nfront of us as we flew up the track we heard scream after scream\nfrom Sir Henry and the deep roar of the hound. I was in time to\nsee the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground, and\nworry at his throat. But the next instant Holmes had emptied five\nbarrels of his revolver into the creature's flank. With a last\nhowl of agony and a vicious snap in the air, it rolled upon its\nback, four feet pawing furiously, and then fell limp upon its\nside. I stooped, panting, and pressed my pistol to the dreadful,\nshimmering head, but it was useless to press the trigger. The\ngiant hound was dead.\n\nSir Henry lay insensible where he had fallen. We tore away his\ncollar, and Holmes breathed a prayer of gratitude when we saw\nthat there was no sign of a wound and that the rescue had been in\ntime. Already our friend's eyelids shivered and he made a feeble\neffort to move. Lestrade thrust his brandy-flask between the\nbaronet's teeth, and two frightened eyes were looking up at us.\n\n\"My God!\" he whispered. \"What was it? What, in heaven's name, was\nit?\"\n\n\"It's dead, whatever it is,\" said Holmes. \"We've laid the family\nghost once and forever.\"\n\nIn mere size and strength it was a terrible creature which was\nlying stretched before us. It was not a pure bloodhound and it\nwas not a pure mastiff; but it appeared to be a combination of\nthe two--gaunt, savage, and as large as a small lioness. Even\nnow, in the stillness of death, the huge jaws seemed to be\ndripping with a bluish flame and the small, deep-set, cruel eyes\nwere ringed with fire. I placed my hand upon the glowing muzzle,\nand as I held them up my own fingers smouldered and gleamed in\nthe darkness.\n\n\"Phosphorus,\" I said.\n\n\"A cunning preparation of it,\" said Holmes, sniffing at the dead\nanimal. \"There is no smell which might have interfered with his\npower of scent. We owe you a deep apology, Sir Henry, for having\nexposed you to this fright. I was prepared for a hound, but not\nfor such a creature as this. And the fog gave us little time to\nreceive him.\"\n\n\"You have saved my life.\"\n\n\"Having first endangered it. Are you strong enough to stand?\"\n\n\"Give me another mouthful of that brandy and I shall be ready for\nanything. So! Now, if you will help me up. What do you propose to\ndo?\"\n\n\"To leave you here. You are not fit for further adventures\nto-night. If you will wait, one or other of us will go back with\nyou to the Hall.\"\n\nHe tried to stagger to his feet; but he was still ghastly pale\nand trembling in every limb. We helped him to a rock, where he\nsat shivering with his face buried in his hands.\n\n\"We must leave you now,\" said Holmes. \"The rest of our work must\nbe done, and every moment is of importance. We have our case, and\nnow we only want our man.\n\n\"It's a thousand to one against our finding him at the house,\" he\ncontinued as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path. \"Those\nshots must have told him that the game was up.\"\n\n\"We were some distance off, and this fog may have deadened them.\"\n\n\"He followed the hound to call him off--of that you may be\ncertain. No, no, he's gone by this time! But we'll search the\nhouse and make sure.\"\n\nThe front door was open, so we rushed in and hurried from room to\nroom to the amazement of a doddering old manservant, who met us\nin the passage. There was no light save in the dining-room, but\nHolmes caught up the lamp and left no corner of the house\nunexplored. No sign could we see of the man whom we were chasing.\nOn the upper floor, however, one of the bedroom doors was locked.\n\n\"There's someone in here,\" cried Lestrade. \"I can hear a\nmovement. Open this door!\"\n\nA faint moaning and rustling came from within. Holmes struck the\ndoor just over the lock with the flat of his foot and it flew\nopen. Pistol in hand, we all three rushed into the room.\n\nBut there was no sign within it of that desperate and defiant\nvillain whom we expected to see. Instead we were faced by an\nobject so strange and so unexpected that we stood for a moment\nstaring at it in amazement.\n\nThe room had been fashioned into a small museum, and the walls\nwere lined by a number of glass-topped cases full of that\ncollection of butterflies and moths the formation of which had\nbeen the relaxation of this complex and dangerous man. In the\ncentre of this room there was an upright beam, which had been\nplaced at some period as a support for the old worm-eaten baulk\nof timber which spanned the roof. To this post a figure was tied,\nso swathed and muffled in the sheets which had been used to\nsecure it that one could not for the moment tell whether it was\nthat of a man or a woman. One towel passed round the throat and\nwas secured at the back of the pillar. Another covered the lower\npart of the face, and over it two dark eyes--eyes full of grief\nand shame and a dreadful questioning--stared back at us. In a\nminute we had torn off the gag, unswathed the bonds, and Mrs.\nStapleton sank upon the floor in front of us. As her beautiful\nhead fell upon her chest I saw the clear red weal of a whiplash\nacross her neck.\n\n\"The brute!\" cried Holmes. \"Here, Lestrade, your brandy-bottle!\nPut her in the chair! She has fainted from ill-usage and\nexhaustion.\"\n\nShe opened her eyes again.\n\n\"Is he safe?\" she asked. \"Has he escaped?\"\n\n\"He cannot escape us, madam.\"\n\n\"No, no, I did not mean my husband. Sir Henry? Is he safe?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And the hound?\"\n\n\"It is dead.\"\n\nShe gave a long sigh of satisfaction.\n\n\"Thank God! Thank God! Oh, this villain! See how he has treated\nme!\" She shot her arms out from her sleeves, and we saw with\nhorror that they were all mottled with bruises. \"But this is\nnothing--nothing! It is my mind and soul that he has tortured and\ndefiled. I could endure it all, ill-usage, solitude, a life of\ndeception, everything, as long as I could still cling to the hope\nthat I had his love, but now I know that in this also I have been\nhis dupe and his tool.\" She broke into passionate sobbing as she\nspoke.\n\n\"You bear him no good will, madam,\" said Holmes. \"Tell us then\nwhere we shall find him. If you have ever aided him in evil, help\nus now and so atone.\"\n\n\"There is but one place where he can have fled,\" she answered.\n\"There is an old tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire.\nIt was there that he kept his hound and there also he had made\npreparations so that he might have a refuge. That is where he\nwould fly.\"\n\nThe fog-bank lay like white wool against the window. Holmes held\nthe lamp towards it.\n\n\"See,\" said he. \"No one could find his way into the Grimpen Mire\nto-night.\"\n\nShe laughed and clapped her hands. Her eyes and teeth gleamed\nwith fierce merriment.\n\n\"He may find his way in, but never out,\" she cried. \"How can he\nsee the guiding wands to-night? We planted them together, he and\nI, to mark the pathway through the mire. Oh, if I could only have\nplucked them out to-day. Then indeed you would have had him at\nyour mercy!\"\n\nIt was evident to us that all pursuit was in vain until the fog\nhad lifted. Meanwhile we left Lestrade in possession of the house\nwhile Holmes and I went back with the baronet to Baskerville\nHall. The story of the Stapletons could no longer be withheld\nfrom him, but he took the blow bravely when he learned the truth\nabout the woman whom he had loved. But the shock of the night's\nadventures had shattered his nerves, and before morning he lay\ndelirious in a high fever, under the care of Dr. Mortimer. The\ntwo of them were destined to travel together round the world\nbefore Sir Henry had become once more the hale, hearty man that\nhe had been before he became master of that ill-omened estate.\n\nAnd now I come rapidly to the conclusion of this singular\nnarrative, in which I have tried to make the reader share those\ndark fears and vague surmises which clouded our lives so long and\nended in so tragic a manner. On the morning after the death of\nthe hound the fog had lifted and we were guided by Mrs. Stapleton\nto the point where they had found a pathway through the bog. It\nhelped us to realize the horror of this woman's life when we saw\nthe eagerness and joy with which she laid us on her husband's\ntrack. We left her standing upon the thin peninsula of firm,\npeaty soil which tapered out into the widespread bog. From the\nend of it a small wand planted here and there showed where the\npath zigzagged from tuft to tuft of rushes among those\ngreen-scummed pits and foul quagmires which barred the way to the\nstranger. Rank reeds and lush, slimy water-plants sent an odour\nof decay and a heavy miasmatic vapour onto our faces, while a\nfalse step plunged us more than once thigh-deep into the dark,\nquivering mire, which shook for yards in soft undulations around\nour feet. Its tenacious grip plucked at our heels as we walked,\nand when we sank into it it was as if some malignant hand was\ntugging us down into those obscene depths, so grim and purposeful\nwas the clutch in which it held us. Once only we saw a trace that\nsomeone had passed that perilous way before us. From amid a tuft\nof cotton grass which bore it up out of the slime some dark thing\nwas projecting. Holmes sank to his waist as he stepped from the\npath to seize it, and had we not been there to drag him out he\ncould never have set his foot upon firm land again. He held an\nold black boot in the air. \"Meyers, Toronto,\" was printed on the\nleather inside.\n\n\"It is worth a mud bath,\" said he. \"It is our friend Sir Henry's\nmissing boot.\"\n\n\"Thrown there by Stapleton in his flight.\"\n\n\"Exactly. He retained it in his hand after using it to set the\nhound upon the track. He fled when he knew the game was up, still\nclutching it. And he hurled it away at this point of his flight.\nWe know at least that he came so far in safety.\"\n\nBut more than that we were never destined to know, though there\nwas much which we might surmise. There was no chance of finding\nfootsteps in the mire, for the rising mud oozed swiftly in upon\nthem, but as we at last reached firmer ground beyond the morass\nwe all looked eagerly for them. But no slightest sign of them\never met our eyes. If the earth told a true story, then Stapleton\nnever reached that island of refuge towards which he struggled\nthrough the fog upon that last night. Somewhere in the heart of\nthe great Grimpen Mire, down in the foul slime of the huge morass\nwhich had sucked him in, this cold and cruel-hearted man is\nforever buried.\n\nMany traces we found of him in the bog-girt island where he had\nhid his savage ally. A huge driving-wheel and a shaft half-filled\nwith rubbish showed the position of an abandoned mine. Beside it\nwere the crumbling remains of the cottages of the miners, driven\naway no doubt by the foul reek of the surrounding swamp. In one\nof these a staple and chain with a quantity of gnawed bones\nshowed where the animal had been confined. A skeleton with a\ntangle of brown hair adhering to it lay among the debris.\n\n\"A dog!\" said Holmes. \"By Jove, a curly-haired spaniel. Poor\nMortimer will never see his pet again. Well, I do not know that\nthis place contains any secret which we have not already\nfathomed. He could hide his hound, but he could not hush its\nvoice, and hence came those cries which even in daylight were not\npleasant to hear. On an emergency he could keep the hound in the\nout-house at Merripit, but it was always a risk, and it was only\non the supreme day, which he regarded as the end of all his\nefforts, that he dared do it. This paste in the tin is no doubt\nthe luminous mixture with which the creature was daubed. It was\nsuggested, of course, by the story of the family hell-hound, and\nby the desire to frighten old Sir Charles to death. No wonder the\npoor devil of a convict ran and screamed, even as our friend did,\nand as we ourselves might have done, when he saw such a creature\nbounding through the darkness of the moor upon his track. It was\na cunning device, for, apart from the chance of driving your\nvictim to his death, what peasant would venture to inquire too\nclosely into such a creature should he get sight of it, as many\nhave done, upon the moor? I said it in London, Watson, and I say\nit again now, that never yet have we helped to hunt down a more\ndangerous man than he who is lying yonder\"--he swept his long arm\ntowards the huge mottled expanse of green-splotched bog which\nstretched away until it merged into the russet slopes of the\nmoor.\n\n\n\n\nChapter 15\n\nA Retrospection\n\n\nIt was the end of November and Holmes and I sat, upon a raw and\nfoggy night, on either side of a blazing fire in our sitting-room\nin Baker Street. Since the tragic upshot of our visit to\nDevonshire he had been engaged in two affairs of the utmost\nimportance, in the first of which he had exposed the atrocious\nconduct of Colonel Upwood in connection with the famous card\nscandal of the Nonpareil Club, while in the second he had\ndefended the unfortunate Mme. Montpensier from the charge of\nmurder which hung over her in connection with the death of her\nstep-daughter, Mlle. Carére, the young lady who, as it will be\nremembered, was found six months later alive and married in New\nYork. My friend was in excellent spirits over the success which\nhad attended a succession of difficult and important cases, so\nthat I was able to induce him to discuss the details of the\nBaskerville mystery. I had waited patiently for the opportunity,\nfor I was aware that he would never permit cases to overlap, and\nthat his clear and logical mind would not be drawn from its\npresent work to dwell upon memories of the past. Sir Henry and\nDr. Mortimer were, however, in London, on their way to that long\nvoyage which had been recommended for the restoration of his\nshattered nerves. They had called upon us that very afternoon, so\nthat it was natural that the subject should come up for\ndiscussion.\n\n\"The whole course of events,\" said Holmes, \"from the point of\nview of the man who called himself Stapleton was simple and\ndirect, although to us, who had no means in the beginning of\nknowing the motives of his actions and could only learn part of\nthe facts, it all appeared exceedingly complex. I have had the\nadvantage of two conversations with Mrs. Stapleton, and the case\nhas now been so entirely cleared up that I am not aware that\nthere is anything which has remained a secret to us. You will\nfind a few notes upon the matter under the heading B in my\nindexed list of cases.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you would kindly give me a sketch of the course of\nevents from memory.\"\n\n\"Certainly, though I cannot guarantee that I carry all the facts\nin my mind. Intense mental concentration has a curious way of\nblotting out what has passed. The barrister who has his case at\nhis fingers' ends, and is able to argue with an expert upon his\nown subject finds that a week or two of the courts will drive it\nall out of his head once more. So each of my cases displaces the\nlast, and Mlle. Carére has blurred my recollection of Baskerville\nHall. To-morrow some other little problem may be submitted to my\nnotice which will in turn dispossess the fair French lady and the\ninfamous Upwood. So far as the case of the Hound goes, however, I\nwill give you the course of events as nearly as I can, and you\nwill suggest anything which I may have forgotten.\n\n\"My inquiries show beyond all question that the family portrait\ndid not lie, and that this fellow was indeed a Baskerville. He\nwas a son of that Rodger Baskerville, the younger brother of Sir\nCharles, who fled with a sinister reputation to South America,\nwhere he was said to have died unmarried. He did, as a matter of\nfact, marry, and had one child, this fellow, whose real name is\nthe same as his father's. He married Beryl Garcia, one of the\nbeauties of Costa Rica, and, having purloined a considerable sum\nof public money, he changed his name to Vandeleur and fled to\nEngland, where he established a school in the east of Yorkshire.\nHis reason for attempting this special line of business was that\nhe had struck up an acquaintance with a consumptive tutor upon\nthe voyage home, and that he had used this man's ability to make\nthe undertaking a success. Fraser, the tutor, died however, and\nthe school which had begun well sank from disrepute into infamy.\nThe Vandeleurs found it convenient to change their name to\nStapleton, and he brought the remains of his fortune, his schemes\nfor the future, and his taste for entomology to the south of\nEngland. I learned at the British Museum that he was a recognized\nauthority upon the subject, and that the name of Vandeleur has\nbeen permanently attached to a certain moth which he had, in his\nYorkshire days, been the first to describe.\n\n\"We now come to that portion of his life which has proved to be\nof such intense interest to us. The fellow had evidently made\ninquiry and found that only two lives intervened between him and\na valuable estate. When he went to Devonshire his plans were, I\nbelieve, exceedingly hazy, but that he meant mischief from the\nfirst is evident from the way in which he took his wife with him\nin the character of his sister. The idea of using her as a decoy\nwas clearly already in his mind, though he may not have been\ncertain how the details of his plot were to be arranged. He meant\nin the end to have the estate, and he was ready to use any tool\nor run any risk for that end. His first act was to establish\nhimself as near to his ancestral home as he could, and his second\nwas to cultivate a friendship with Sir Charles Baskerville and\nwith the neighbours.\n\n\"The baronet himself told him about the family hound, and so\nprepared the way for his own death. Stapleton, as I will continue\nto call him, knew that the old man's heart was weak and that a\nshock would kill him. So much he had learned from Dr. Mortimer.\nHe had heard also that Sir Charles was superstitious and had\ntaken this grim legend very seriously. His ingenious mind\ninstantly suggested a way by which the baronet could be done to\ndeath, and yet it would be hardly possible to bring home the\nguilt to the real murderer.\n\n\"Having conceived the idea he proceeded to carry it out with\nconsiderable finesse. An ordinary schemer would have been content\nto work with a savage hound. The use of artificial means to make\nthe creature diabolical was a flash of genius upon his part. The\ndog he bought in London from Ross and Mangles, the dealers in\nFulham Road. It was the strongest and most savage in their\npossession. He brought it down by the North Devon line and walked\na great distance over the moor so as to get it home without\nexciting any remarks. He had already on his insect hunts learned\nto penetrate the Grimpen Mire, and so had found a safe\nhiding-place for the creature. Here he kennelled it and waited\nhis chance.\n\n\"But it was some time coming. The old gentleman could not be\ndecoyed outside of his grounds at night. Several times Stapleton\nlurked about with his hound, but without avail. It was during\nthese fruitless quests that he, or rather his ally, was seen by\npeasants, and that the legend of the demon dog received a new\nconfirmation. He had hoped that his wife might lure Sir Charles\nto his ruin, but here she proved unexpectedly independent. She\nwould not endeavour to entangle the old gentleman in a\nsentimental attachment which might deliver him over to his enemy.\nThreats and even, I am sorry to say, blows refused to move her.\nShe would have nothing to do with it, and for a time Stapleton\nwas at a deadlock.\n\n\"He found a way out of his difficulties through the chance that\nSir Charles, who had conceived a friendship for him, made him the\nminister of his charity in the case of this unfortunate woman,\nMrs. Laura Lyons. By representing himself as a single man he\nacquired complete influence over her, and he gave her to\nunderstand that in the event of her obtaining a divorce from her\nhusband he would marry her. His plans were suddenly brought to a\nhead by his knowledge that Sir Charles was about to leave the\nHall on the advice of Dr. Mortimer, with whose opinion he himself\npretended to coincide. He must act at once, or his victim might\nget beyond his power. He therefore put pressure upon Mrs. Lyons\nto write this letter, imploring the old man to give her an\ninterview on the evening before his departure for London. He\nthen, by a specious argument, prevented her from going, and so\nhad the chance for which he had waited.\n\n\"Driving back in the evening from Coombe Tracey he was in time to\nget his hound, to treat it with his infernal paint, and to bring\nthe beast round to the gate at which he had reason to expect that\nhe would find the old gentleman waiting. The dog, incited by its\nmaster, sprang over the wicket-gate and pursued the unfortunate\nbaronet, who fled screaming down the Yew Alley. In that gloomy\ntunnel it must indeed have been a dreadful sight to see that huge\nblack creature, with its flaming jaws and blazing eyes, bounding\nafter its victim. He fell dead at the end of the alley from heart\ndisease and terror. The hound had kept upon the grassy border\nwhile the baronet had run down the path, so that no track but the\nman's was visible. On seeing him lying still the creature had\nprobably approached to sniff at him, but finding him dead had\nturned away again. It was then that it left the print which was\nactually observed by Dr. Mortimer. The hound was called off and\nhurried away to its lair in the Grimpen Mire, and a mystery was\nleft which puzzled the authorities, alarmed the country-side, and\nfinally brought the case within the scope of our observation.\n\n\"So much for the death of Sir Charles Baskerville. You perceive\nthe devilish cunning of it, for really it would be almost\nimpossible to make a case against the real murderer. His only\naccomplice was one who could never give him away, and the\ngrotesque, inconceivable nature of the device only served to make\nit more effective. Both of the women concerned in the case, Mrs.\nStapleton and Mrs. Laura Lyons, were left with a strong suspicion\nagainst Stapleton. Mrs. Stapleton knew that he had designs upon\nthe old man, and also of the existence of the hound. Mrs. Lyons\nknew neither of these things, but had been impressed by the death\noccurring at the time of an uncancelled appointment which was\nonly known to him. However, both of them were under his\ninfluence, and he had nothing to fear from them. The first half\nof his task was successfully accomplished but the more difficult\nstill remained.\n\n\"It is possible that Stapleton did not know of the existence of\nan heir in Canada. In any case he would very soon learn it from\nhis friend Dr. Mortimer, and he was told by the latter all\ndetails about the arrival of Henry Baskerville. Stapleton's first\nidea was that this young stranger from Canada might possibly be\ndone to death in London without coming down to Devonshire at all.\nHe distrusted his wife ever since she had refused to help him in\nlaying a trap for the old man, and he dared not leave her long\nout of his sight for fear he should lose his influence over her.\nIt was for this reason that he took her to London with him. They\nlodged, I find, at the Mexborough Private Hotel, in Craven\nStreet, which was actually one of those called upon by my agent\nin search of evidence. Here he kept his wife imprisoned in her\nroom while he, disguised in a beard, followed Dr. Mortimer to\nBaker Street and afterwards to the station and to the\nNorthumberland Hotel. His wife had some inkling of his plans; but\nshe had such a fear of her husband--a fear founded upon brutal\nill-treatment--that she dare not write to warn the man whom she\nknew to be in danger. If the letter should fall into Stapleton's\nhands her own life would not be safe. Eventually, as we know, she\nadopted the expedient of cutting out the words which would form\nthe message, and addressing the letter in a disguised hand. It\nreached the baronet, and gave him the first warning of his\ndanger.\n\n\"It was very essential for Stapleton to get some article of Sir\nHenry's attire so that, in case he was driven to use the dog, he\nmight always have the means of setting him upon his track. With\ncharacteristic promptness and audacity he set about this at once,\nand we cannot doubt that the boots or chamber-maid of the hotel\nwas well bribed to help him in his design. By chance, however,\nthe first boot which was procured for him was a new one and,\ntherefore, useless for his purpose. He then had it returned and\nobtained another--a most instructive incident, since it proved\nconclusively to my mind that we were dealing with a real hound,\nas no other supposition could explain this anxiety to obtain an\nold boot and this indifference to a new one. The more outre and\ngrotesque an incident is the more carefully it deserves to be\nexamined, and the very point which appears to complicate a case\nis, when duly considered and scientifically handled, the one\nwhich is most likely to elucidate it.\n\n\"Then we had the visit from our friends next morning, shadowed\nalways by Stapleton in the cab. From his knowledge of our rooms\nand of my appearance, as well as from his general conduct, I am\ninclined to think that Stapleton's career of crime has been by no\nmeans limited to this single Baskerville affair. It is suggestive\nthat during the last three years there have been four\nconsiderable burglaries in the West Country, for none of which\nwas any criminal ever arrested. The last of these, at Folkestone\nCourt, in May, was remarkable for the cold-blooded pistoling of\nthe page, who surprised the masked and solitary burglar. I cannot\ndoubt that Stapleton recruited his waning resources in this\nfashion, and that for years he has been a desperate and dangerous\nman.\n\n\"We had an example of his readiness of resource that morning when\nhe got away from us so successfully, and also of his audacity in\nsending back my own name to me through the cabman. From that\nmoment he understood that I had taken over the case in London,\nand that therefore there was no chance for him there. He returned\nto Dartmoor and awaited the arrival of the baronet.\"\n\n\"One moment!\" said I. \"You have, no doubt, described the sequence\nof events correctly, but there is one point which you have left\nunexplained. What became of the hound when its master was in\nLondon?\"\n\n\"I have given some attention to this matter and it is undoubtedly\nof importance. There can be no question that Stapleton had a\nconfidant, though it is unlikely that he ever placed himself in\nhis power by sharing all his plans with him. There was an old\nmanservant at Merripit House, whose name was Anthony. His\nconnection with the Stapletons can be traced for several years,\nas far back as the schoolmastering days, so that he must have\nbeen aware that his master and mistress were really husband and\nwife. This man has disappeared and has escaped from the country.\nIt is suggestive that Anthony is not a common name in England,\nwhile Antonio is so in all Spanish or Spanish-American countries.\nThe man, like Mrs. Stapleton herself, spoke good English, but\nwith a curious lisping accent. I have myself seen this old man\ncross the Grimpen Mire by the path which Stapleton had marked\nout. It is very probable, therefore, that in the absence of his\nmaster it was he who cared for the hound, though he may never\nhave known the purpose for which the beast was used.\n\n\"The Stapletons then went down to Devonshire, whither they were\nsoon followed by Sir Henry and you. One word now as to how I\nstood myself at that time. It may possibly recur to your memory\nthat when I examined the paper upon which the printed words were\nfastened I made a close inspection for the water-mark. In doing\nso I held it within a few inches of my eyes, and was conscious of\na faint smell of the scent known as white jessamine. There are\nseventy-five perfumes, which it is very necessary that a criminal\nexpert should be able to distinguish from each other, and cases\nhave more than once within my own experience depended upon their\nprompt recognition. The scent suggested the presence of a lady,\nand already my thoughts began to turn towards the Stapletons.\nThus I had made certain of the hound, and had guessed at the\ncriminal before ever we went to the west country.\n\n\"It was my game to watch Stapleton. It was evident, however, that\nI could not do this if I were with you, since he would be keenly\non his guard. I deceived everybody, therefore, yourself included,\nand I came down secretly when I was supposed to be in London. My\nhardships were not so great as you imagined, though such trifling\ndetails must never interfere with the investigation of a case. I\nstayed for the most part at Coombe Tracey, and only used the hut\nupon the moor when it was necessary to be near the scene of\naction. Cartwright had come down with me, and in his disguise as\na country boy he was of great assistance to me. I was dependent\nupon him for food and clean linen. When I was watching Stapleton,\nCartwright was frequently watching you, so that I was able to\nkeep my hand upon all the strings.\n\n\"I have already told you that your reports reached me rapidly,\nbeing forwarded instantly from Baker Street to Coombe Tracey.\nThey were of great service to me, and especially that one\nincidentally truthful piece of biography of Stapleton's. I was\nable to establish the identity of the man and the woman and knew\nat last exactly how I stood. The case had been considerably\ncomplicated through the incident of the escaped convict and the\nrelations between him and the Barrymores. This also you cleared\nup in a very effective way, though I had already come to the same\nconclusions from my own observations.\n\n\"By the time that you discovered me upon the moor I had a\ncomplete knowledge of the whole business, but I had not a case\nwhich could go to a jury. Even Stapleton's attempt upon Sir Henry\nthat night which ended in the death of the unfortunate convict\ndid not help us much in proving murder against our man. There\nseemed to be no alternative but to catch him red-handed, and to\ndo so we had to use Sir Henry, alone and apparently unprotected,\nas a bait. We did so, and at the cost of a severe shock to our\nclient we succeeded in completing our case and driving Stapleton\nto his destruction. That Sir Henry should have been exposed to\nthis is, I must confess, a reproach to my management of the case,\nbut we had no means of foreseeing the terrible and paralyzing\nspectacle which the beast presented, nor could we predict the fog\nwhich enabled him to burst upon us at such short notice. We\nsucceeded in our object at a cost which both the specialist and\nDr. Mortimer assure me will be a temporary one. A long journey\nmay enable our friend to recover not only from his shattered\nnerves but also from his wounded feelings. His love for the lady\nwas deep and sincere, and to him the saddest part of all this\nblack business was that he should have been deceived by her.\n\n\"It only remains to indicate the part which she had played\nthroughout. There can be no doubt that Stapleton exercised an\ninfluence over her which may have been love or may have been\nfear, or very possibly both, since they are by no means\nincompatible emotions. It was, at least, absolutely effective. At\nhis command she consented to pass as his sister, though he found\nthe limits of his power over her when he endeavoured to make her\nthe direct accessory to murder. She was ready to warn Sir Henry\nso far as she could without implicating her husband, and again\nand again she tried to do so. Stapleton himself seems to have\nbeen capable of jealousy, and when he saw the baronet paying\ncourt to the lady, even though it was part of his own plan, still\nhe could not help interrupting with a passionate outburst which\nrevealed the fiery soul which his self-contained manner so\ncleverly concealed. By encouraging the intimacy he made it\ncertain that Sir Henry would frequently come to Merripit House\nand that he would sooner or later get the opportunity which he\ndesired. On the day of the crisis, however, his wife turned\nsuddenly against him. She had learned something of the death of\nthe convict, and she knew that the hound was being kept in the\nout-house on the evening that Sir Henry was coming to dinner. She\ntaxed her husband with his intended crime, and a furious scene\nfollowed, in which he showed her for the first time that she had\na rival in his love. Her fidelity turned in an instant to bitter\nhatred and he saw that she would betray him. He tied her up,\ntherefore, that she might have no chance of warning Sir Henry,\nand he hoped, no doubt, that when the whole country-side put down\nthe baronet's death to the curse of his family, as they certainly\nwould do, he could win his wife back to accept an accomplished\nfact and to keep silent upon what she knew. In this I fancy that\nin any case he made a miscalculation, and that, if we had not\nbeen there, his doom would none the less have been sealed. A\nwoman of Spanish blood does not condone such an injury so\nlightly. And now, my dear Watson, without referring to my notes,\nI cannot give you a more detailed account of this curious case. I\ndo not know that anything essential has been left unexplained.\"\n\n\"He could not hope to frighten Sir Henry to death as he had done\nthe old uncle with his bogie hound.\"\n\n\"The beast was savage and half-starved. If its appearance did not\nfrighten its victim to death, at least it would paralyze the\nresistance which might be offered.\"\n\n\"No doubt. There only remains one difficulty. If Stapleton came\ninto the succession, how could he explain the fact that he, the\nheir, had been living unannounced under another name so close to\nthe property? How could he claim it without causing suspicion and\ninquiry?\"\n\n\"It is a formidable difficulty, and I fear that you ask too much\nwhen you expect me to solve it. The past and the present are\nwithin the field of my inquiry, but what a man may do in the\nfuture is a hard question to answer. Mrs. Stapleton has heard her\nhusband discuss the problem on several occasions. There were\nthree possible courses. He might claim the property from South\nAmerica, establish his identity before the British authorities\nthere and so obtain the fortune without ever coming to England at\nall; or he might adopt an elaborate disguise during the short\ntime that he need be in London; or, again, he might furnish an\naccomplice with the proofs and papers, putting him in as heir,\nand retaining a claim upon some proportion of his income. We\ncannot doubt from what we know of him that he would have found\nsome way out of the difficulty. And now, my dear Watson, we have\nhad some weeks of severe work, and for one evening, I think, we\nmay turn our thoughts into more pleasant channels. I have a box\nfor 'Les Huguenots.' Have you heard the De Reszkes? Might I\ntrouble you then to be ready in half an hour, and we can stop at\nMarcini's for a little dinner on the way?\""