Hound of the Baskervilles
Authur Conan Doyle

Part 3 out of 4

"We have to go, Eliza. This is the end of it. You can pack our
things," said the butler.

"Oh, John, John, have I brought you to this? It is my doing, Sir
Henry--all mine. He has done nothing except for my sake and
because I asked him."

"Speak out, then! What does it mean?"

"My unhappy brother is starving on the moor. We cannot let him
perish at our very gates. The light is a signal to him that food
is ready for him, and his light out yonder is to show the spot to
which to bring it."

"Then your brother is --"

"The escaped convict, sir--Selden, the criminal."

"That's the truth, sir," said Barrymore. "I said that it was not
my secret and that I could not tell it to you. But now you have
heard it, and you will see that if there was a plot it was not
against you."

This, then, was the explanation of the stealthy expeditions at
night and the light at the window. Sir Henry and I both stared at
the woman in amazement. Was it possible that this stolidly
respectable person was of the same blood as one of the most
notorious criminals in the country?

"Yes, sir, my name was Selden, and he is my younger brother. We
humoured him too much when he was a lad, and gave him his own way
in everything until he came to think that the world was made for
his pleasure, and that he could do what he liked in it. Then as
he grew older he met wicked companions, and the devil entered
into him until he broke my mother's heart and dragged our name in
the dirt. From crime to crime he sank lower and lower, until it
is only the mercy of God which has snatched him from the
scaffold; but to me, sir, he was always the little curly-headed
boy that I had nursed and played with, as an elder sister would.
That was why he broke prison, sir. He knew that I was here and
that we could not refuse to help him. When he dragged himself
here one night, weary and starving, with the warders hard at his
heels, what could we do? We took him in and fed him and cared for
him. Then you returned, sir, and my brother thought he would be
safer on the moor than anywhere else until the hue and cry was
over, so he lay in hiding there. But every second night we made
sure if he was still there by putting a light in the window, and
if there was an answer my husband took out some bread and meat to
him. Every day we hoped that he was gone, but as long as he was
there we could not desert him. That is the whole truth, as I am
an honest Christian woman, and you will see that if there is
blame in the matter it does not lie with my husband, but with me,
for whose sake he has done all that he has."

The woman's words came with an intense earnestness which carried
conviction with them.

"Is this true, Barrymore?"

"Yes, Sir Henry. Every word of it."

"Well, I cannot blame you for standing by your own wife. Forget
what I have said. Go to your room, you two, and we shall talk
further about this matter in the morning."

When they were gone we looked out of the window again. Sir Henry
had flung it open, and the cold night wind beat in upon our
faces. Far away in the black distance there still glowed that one
tiny point of yellow light.

"I wonder he dares," said Sir Henry.

"It may be so placed as to be only visible from here."

"Very likely. How far do you think it is?"

"Out by the Cleft Tor, I think."

"Not more than a mile or two off."

"Hardly that."

"Well, it cannot be far if Barrymore had to carry out the food to
it. And he is waiting, this villain, beside that candle. By
thunder, Watson, I am going out to take that man!"

The same thought had crossed my own mind. It was not as if the
Barrymores had taken us into their confidence. Their secret had
been forced from them. The man was a danger to the community, an
unmitigated scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse.
We were only doing our duty in taking this chance of putting him
back where he could do no harm. With his brutal and violent
nature, others would have to pay the price if we held our hands.
Any night, for example, our neighbours the Stapletons might be
attacked by him, and it may have been the thought of this which
made Sir Henry so keen upon the adventure.

"I will come," said I.

"Then get your revolver and put on your boots. The sooner we
start the better, as the fellow may put out his light and be

In five minutes we were outside the door, starting upon our
expedition. We hurried through the dark shrubbery, amid the dull
moaning of the autumn wind and the rustle of the falling leaves.
The night air was heavy with the smell of damp and decay. Now and
again the moon peeped out for an instant, but clouds were driving
over the face of the sky, and just as we came out on the moor a
thin rain began to fall. The light still burned steadily in

"Are you armed?" I asked.

"I have a hunting-crop."

"We must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be a
desperate fellow. We shall take him by surprise and have him at
our mercy before he can resist."

"I say, Watson," said the baronet, "what would Holmes say to
this? How about that hour of darkness in which the power of evil
is exalted?"

As if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vast
gloom of the moor that strange cry which I had already heard upon
the borders of the great Grimpen Mire. It came with the wind
through the silence of the night, a long, deep mutter, then a
rising howl, and then the sad moan in which it died away. Again
and again it sounded, the whole air throbbing with it, strident,
wild, and menacing. The baronet caught my sleeve and his face
glimmered white through the darkness.

"My God, what's that, Watson?"

"I don't know. It's a sound they have on the moor. I heard it
once before."

It died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us. We stood
straining our ears, but nothing came.

"Watson," said the baronet, "it was the cry of a hound."

My blood ran cold in my veins, for there was a break in his voice
which told of the sudden horror which had seized him.

"What do they call this sound?" he asked.


"The folk on the country-side."

"Oh, they are ignorant people. Why should you mind what they call

"Tell me, Watson. What do they say of it?"

I hesitated but could not escape the question.

"They say it is the cry of the Hound of the Baskervilles."

He groaned and was silent for a few moments.

"A hound it was," he said, at last, "but it seemed to come from
miles away, over yonder, I think."

"It was hard to say whence it came."

"It rose and fell with the wind. Isn't that the direction of the
great Grimpen Mire?"

"Yes, it is."

"Well, it was up there. Come now, Watson, didn't you think
yourself that it was the cry of a hound? I am not a child. You
need not fear to speak the truth."

"Stapleton was with me when I heard it last. He said that it
might be the calling of a strange bird."

"No, no, it was a hound. My God, can there be some truth in all
these stories? Is it possible that I am really in danger from so
dark a cause? You don't believe it, do you, Watson?"

"No, no."

"And yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it is
another to stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hear
such a cry as that. And my uncle! There was the footprint of the
hound beside him as he lay. It all fits together. I don't think
that I am a coward, Watson, but that sound seemed to freeze my
very blood. Feel my hand!"

It was as cold as a block of marble.

"You'll be all right to-morrow."

"I don't think I'll get that cry out of my head. What do you
advise that we do now?"

"Shall we turn back?"

"No, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will do
it. We after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not,
after us. Come on! We'll see it through if all the fiends of the
pit were loose upon the moor."

We stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom of
the craggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burning
steadily in front. There is nothing so deceptive as the distance
of a light upon a pitch-dark night, and sometimes the glimmer
seemed to be far away upon the horizon and sometimes it might
have been within a few yards of us. But at last we could see
whence it came, and then we knew that we were indeed very close.
A guttering candle was stuck in a crevice of the rocks which
flanked it on each side so as to keep the wind from it and also
to prevent it from being visible, save in the direction of
Baskerville Hall. A boulder of granite concealed our approach,and
crouching behind it we gazed over it at the signal light. It was
strange to see this single candle burning there in the middle of
the moor, with no sign of life near it--just the one straight
yellow flame and the gleam of the rock on each side of it.

"What shall we do now?" whispered Sir Henry.

"Wait here. He must be near his light. Let us see if we can get a
glimpse of him."

The words were hardly out of my mouth when we both saw him. Over
the rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, there was
thrust out an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all
seamed and scored with vile passions. Foul with mire, with a
bristling beard, and hung with matted hair, it might well have
belonged to one of those old savages who dwelt in the burrows on
the hillsides. The light beneath him was reflected in his small,
cunning eyes which peered fiercely to right and left through the
darkness, like a crafty and savage animal who has heard the steps
of the hunters.

Something had evidently aroused his suspicions. It may have been
that Barrymore had some private signal which we had neglected to
give, or the fellow may have had some other reason for thinking
that all was not well, but I could read his fears upon his wicked
face. Any instant he might dash out the light and vanish in the
darkness. I sprang forward therefore, and Sir Henry did the same.
At the same moment the convict screamed out a curse at us and
hurled a rock which splintered up against the boulder which had
sheltered us. I caught one glimpse of his short, squat, strongly-
built figure as he sprang to his feet and turned to run. At the
same moment by a lucky chance the moon broke through the clouds.
We rushed over the brow of the hill, and there was our man
running with great speed down the other side, springing over the
stones in his way with the activity of a mountain goat. A lucky
long shot of my revolver might have crippled him, but I had
brought it only to defend myself if attacked, and not to shoot an
unarmed man who was running away.

We were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we
soon found that we had no chance of over taking him. We saw him
for a long time in the moonlight until he was only a small speck
moving swiftly among the boulders upon the side of a distant
hill. We ran and ran until we were completely blown, but the
space between us grew ever wider. Finally we stopped and sat
panting on two rocks, while we watched him disappearing in the

And it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange and
unexpected thing. We had risen from our rocks and were turning to
go home, having abandoned the hopeless chase. The moon was low
upon the right, and the jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up
against the lower curve of its silver disc. There, outlined as
black as an ebony statue on that shining back-ground, I saw the
figure of a man upon the tor. Do not think that it was a
delusion, Holmes. I assure you that I have never in my life seen
anything more clearly. As far as I could judge, the figure was
that of a tall, thin man. He stood with his legs a little
separated, his arms folded, his head bowed, as if he were
brooding over that enormous wilderness of peat and granite which
lay before him. He might have been the very spirit of that
terrible place. It was not the convict. This man was far from the
place where the latter had disappeared. Besides, he was a much
taller man. With a cry of surprise I pointed him out to the
baronet, but in the instant during which I had turned to grasp
his arm the man was gone. There was the sharp pinnacle of granite
still cutting the lower edge of the moon, but its peak bore no
trace of that silent and motionless figure.

I wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but it
was some distance away. The baronet's nerves were still quivering
from that cry, which recalled the dark story of his family, and
he was not in the mood for fresh adventures. He had not seen this
lonely man upon the tor and could not feel the thrill which his
strange presence and his commanding attitude had given to me. "A
warder, no doubt," said he. "The moor has been thick with them
since this fellow escaped." Well, perhaps his explanation may be
the right one, but I should like to have some further proof of
it. To-day we mean to communicate to the Princetown people where
they should look for their missing man, but it is hard lines that
we have not actually had the triumph of bringing him back as our
own prisoner. Such are the adventures of last night, and you must
acknowledge, my dear Holmes, that I have done you very well in
the matter of a report. Much of what I tell you is no doubt quite
irrelevant, but still I feel that it is best that I should let
you have all the facts and leave you to select for yourself those
which will be of most service to you in helping you to your
conclusions. We are certainly making some progress. So far as the
Barrymores go we have found the motive of their actions, and that
has cleared up the situation very much. But the moor with its
mysteries and its strange inhabitants remains as inscrutable as
ever. Perhaps in my next I may be able to throw some light upon
this also. Best of all would it be if you could come down to us.
In any case you will hear from me again in the course of the next
few days.

Chapter 10
Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson

So far I have been able to quote from the reports which I have
forwarded during these early days to Sherlock Holmes. Now,
however, I have arrived at a point in my narrative where I am
compelled to abandon this method and to trust once more to my
recollections, aided by the diary which I kept at the time. A few
extracts from the latter will carry me on to those scenes which
are indelibly fixed in every detail upon my memory. I proceed,
then, from the morning which followed our abortive chase of the
convict and our other strange experiences upon the moor.

OCTOBER 16TH.--A dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. The
house is banked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then
to show the dreary curves of the moor, with thin, silver veins
upon the sides of the hills, and the distant boulders gleaming
where the light strikes upon their wet faces. It is melancholy
outside and in. The baronet is in a black reaction after the
excitements of the night. I am conscious myself of a weight at my
heart and a feeling of impending danger--ever present danger,
which is the more terrible because I am unable to define it.

And have I not cause for such a feeling? Consider the long
sequence of incidents which have all pointed to some sinister
influence which is at work around us. There is the death of the
last occupant of the Hall, fulfilling so exactly the conditions
of the family legend, and there are the repeated reports from
peasants of the appearance of a strange creature upon the moor.
Twice I have with my own ears heard the sound which resembled the
distant baying of a hound. It is incredible, impossible, that it
should really be outside the ordinary laws of nature. A spectral
hound which leaves material footmarks and fills the air with its
howling is surely not to be thought of. Stapleton may fall in
with such a superstition, and Mortimer also; but if I have one
quality upon earth it is common-sense, and nothing will persuade
me to believe in such a thing. To do so would be to descend to
the level of these poor peasants, who are not content with a mere
fiend dog but must needs describe him with hell-fire shooting
from his mouth and eyes. Holmes would not listen to such fancies,
and I am his agent. But facts are facts, and I have twice heard
this crying upon the moor. Suppose that there were really some
huge hound loose upon it; that would go far to explain
everything. But where could such a hound lie concealed, where did
it get its food, where did it come from, how was it that no one
saw it by day? It must be confessed that the natural explanation
offers almost as many difficulties as the other. And always,
apart from the hound, there is the fact of the human agency in
London, the man in the cab, and the letter which warned Sir Henry
against the moor. This at least was real, but it might have been
the work of a protecting friend as easily as of an enemy. Where
is that friend or enemy now? Has he remained in London, or has he
followed us down here? Could he--could he be the stranger whom I
saw upon the tor?

It is true that I have had only the one glance at him, and yet
there are some things to which I am ready to swear. He is no one
whom I have seen down here, and I have now met all the
neighbours. The figure was far taller than that of Stapleton, far
thinner than that of Frankland. Barrymore it might possibly have
been, but we had left him behind us, and I am certain that he
could not have followed us. A stranger then is still dogging us,
just as a stranger dogged us in London. We have never shaken him
off. If I could lay my hands upon that man, then at last we might
find ourselves at the end of all our difficulties. To this one
purpose I must now devote all my energies.

My first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My second
and wisest one is to play my own game and speak as little as
possible to anyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves have
been strangely shaken by that sound upon the moor. I will say
nothing to add to his anxieties, but I will take my own steps to
attain my own end.

We had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymore
asked leave to speak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted in
his study some little time. Sitting in the billiard-room I more
than once heard the sound of voices raised, and I had a pretty
good idea what the point was which was under discussion. After a
time the baronet opened his door and called for me.

"Barrymore considers that he has a grievance," he said. "He
thinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-law
down when he, of his own free will, had told us the secret."

The butler was standing very pale but very collected before us.

"I may have spoken too warmly, sir," said he, "and if I have, I
am sure that I beg your pardon. At the same time, I was very much
surprised when I heard you two gentlemen come back this morning
and learned that you had been chasing Selden. The poor fellow has
enough to fight against without my putting more upon his track."

"If you had told us of your own free will it would have been a
different thing," said the baronet, "you only told us, or rather
your wife only told us, when it was forced from you and you could
not help yourself."

"I didn't think you would have taken advantage of it, Sir
Henry--indeed I didn't."

"The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses scattered
over the moor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. You
only want to get a glimpse of his face to see that. Look at Mr.
Stapleton's house, for example, with no one but himself to defend
it. There's no safety for anyone until he is under lock and key."

"He'll break into no house, sir. I give you my solemn word upon
that. But he will never trouble anyone in this country again. I
assure you, Sir Henry, that in a very few days the necessary
arrangements will have been made and he will be on his way to
South America. For God's sake, sir, I beg of you not to let the
police know that he is still on the moor. They have given up the
chase there, and he can lie quiet until the ship is ready for
him. You can't tell on him without getting my wife and me into
trouble. I beg you, sir, to say nothing to the police."

"What do you say, Watson?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "If he were safely out of the country it
would relieve the tax-payer of a burden."

"But how about the chance of his holding someone up before he

"He would not do anything so mad, sir. We have provided him with
all that he can want. To commit a crime would be to show where he
was hiding."

"That is true," said Sir Henry. "Well, Barrymore --"

"God bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart! It would have
killed my poor wife had he been taken again."

"I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson? But, after
what we have heard I don't feel as if I could give the man up, so
there is an end of it. All right, Barrymore, you can go."

With a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but he
hesitated and then came back.

"You've been so kind to us, sir, that I should like to do the
best I can for you in return. I know something, Sir Henry, and
perhaps I should have said it before, but it was long after the
inquest that I found it out. I've never breathed a word about it
yet to mortal man. It's about poor Sir Charles's death."

The baronet and I were both upon our feet. "Do you know how he

"No, sir, I don't know that."

"What then?"

"I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet a

"To meet a woman! He?"

"Yes, sir."

"And the woman's name?"

"I can't give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials.
Her initials were L. L."

"How do you know this, Barrymore?"

"Well, Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. He had
usually a great many letters, for he was a public man and well
known for his kind heart, so that everyone who was in trouble was
glad to turn to him. But that morning, as it chanced, there was
only this one letter, so I took the more notice of it. It was
from Coombe Tracey, and it was addressed in a woman's hand."


"Well, sir, I thought no more of the matter, and never would have
done had it not been for my wife. Only a few weeks ago she was
cleaning out Sir Charles's study--it had never been touched since
his death--and she found the ashes of a burned letter in the back
of the grate. The greater part of it was charred to pieces, but
one little slip, the end of a page, hung together, and the
writing could still be read, though it was gray on a black
ground. It seemed to us to be a postscript at the end of the
letter, and it said: 'Please, please, as you are a gentleman,
burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o clock. Beneath it
were signed the initials L. L."

"Have you got that slip?"

"No, sir, it crumbled all to bits after we moved it."

"Had Sir Charles received any other letters in the same writing?"

"Well, sir, I took no particular notice of his letters. I should
not have noticed this one, only it happened to come alone."

"And you have no idea who L. L. is?"

"No, sir. No more than you have. But I expect if we could lay our
hands upon that lady we should know more about Sir Charles's

"I cannot understand, Barrymore, how you came to conceal this
important information."

"Well, sir, it was immediately after that our own trouble came to
us. And then again, sir, we were both of us very fond of Sir
Charles, as we well might be considering all that he has done for
us. To rake this up couldn't help our poor master, and it's well
to go carefully when there's a lady in the case. Even the best of
us ----"

"You thought it might injure his reputation?"

"Well, sir, I thought no good could come of it. But now you have
been kind to us, and I feel as if it would be treating you
unfairly not to tell you all that I know about the matter."

"Very good, Barrymore; you can go." When the butler had left us
Sir Henry turned to me. "Well, Watson, what do you think of this
new light?"

"It seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before."

"So I think. But if we can only trace L. L. it should clear up
the whole business. We have gained that much. We know that there
is someone who has the facts if we can only find her. What do you
think we should do?"

"Let Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him the clue
for which he has been seeking. I am much mistaken if it does not
bring him down."

I went at once to my room and drew up my report of the morning's
conversation for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been
very busy of late, for the notes which I had from Baker Street
were few and short, with no comments upon the information which I
had supplied and hardly any reference to my mission. No doubt his
blackmailing case is absorbing all his faculties. And yet this
new factor must surely arrest his attention and renew his
interest. I wish that he were here.

OCTOBER 17th.--All day to-day the rain poured down, rustling on
the ivy and dripping from the eaves. I thought of the convict out
upon the bleak, cold, shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whatever his
crimes, he has suffered something to atone for them. And then I
thought of that other one--the face in the cab, the figure
against the moon. Was he also out in that deluged--the unseen
watcher, the man of darkness? In the evening I put on my
waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of dark
imaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling
about my ears. God help those who wander into the great mire now,
for even the firm uplands are becoming a morass. I found the
black tor upon which I had seen the solitary watcher, and from
its craggy summit I looked out myself across the melancholy
downs. Rain squalls drifted across their russet face, and the
heavy, slate-coloured clouds hung low over the landscape,
trailing in gray wreaths down the sides of the fantastic hills.
In the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist, the
two thin towers of Baskerville Hall rose above the trees. They
were the only signs of human life which I could see, save only
those prehistoric huts which lay thickly upon the slopes of the
hills. Nowhere was there any trace of that lonely man whom I had
seen on the same spot two nights before.

As I walked back I was overtaken by Dr. Mortimer driving in his
dog-cart over a rough moorland track which led from the outlying
farmhouse of Foulmire. He has been very attentive to us, and
hardly a day has passed that he has not called at the Hall to see
how we were getting on. He insisted upon my climbing into his
dog-cart, and he gave me a lift homeward. I found him much
troubled over the disappearance of his little spaniel. It had
wandered on to the moor and had never come back. I gave him such
consolation as I might, but I thought of the pony on the Grimpen
Mire, and I do not fancy that he will see his little dog again.

"By the way, Mortimer," said I as we jolted along the rough road,
"I suppose there are few people living within driving distance of
this whom you do not know?"

"Hardly any, I think."

"Can you, then, tell me the name of any woman whose initials are
L. L.?"

He thought for a few minutes.

"No," said he. "There are a few gipsies and labouring folk for
whom I can't answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no
one whose initials are those. Wait a bit though," he added after
a pause. "There is Laura Lyons--her initials are L. L.--but she
lives in Coombe Tracey."

"Who is she?" I asked.

"She is Frankland's daughter."

"What! Old Frankland the crank?"

"Exactly. She married an artist named Lyons, who came sketching
on the moor. He proved to be a blackguard and deserted her. The
fault from what I hear may not have been entirely on one side.
Her father refused to have anything to do with her because she
had married without his consent, and perhaps for one or two other
reasons as well. So, between the old sinner and the young one the
girl has had a pretty bad time."

"How does she live?"

"I fancy old Frankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot be
more, for his own affairs are considerably involved. Whatever she
may have deserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to the
bad. Her story got about, and several of the people here did
something to enable her to earn an honest living. Stapleton did
for one, and Sir Charles for another. I gave a trifle myself. It
was to set her up in a typewriting business."

He wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but I managed to
satisfy his curiosity without telling him too much, for there is
no reason why we should take anyone into our confidence.
To-morrow morning I shall find my way to Coombe Tracey, and if I
can see this Mrs. Laura Lyons, of equivocal reputation, a long
step will have been made towards clearing one incident in this
chain of mysteries. I am certainly developing the wisdom of the
serpent, for when Mortimer pressed his questions to an
inconvenient extent I asked him casually to what type Frankland's
skull belonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest
of our drive. I have not lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for

I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous
and melancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore just
now, which gives me one more strong card which I can play in due

Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played
ecarté afterwards. The butler brought me my coffee into the
library, and I took the chance to ask him a few questions.

"Well," said I, "has this precious relation of yours departed, or
is he still lurking out yonder?"

"I don't know, sir. I hope to heaven that he has gone, for he has
brought nothing but trouble here! I've not heard of him since I
left out food for him last, and that was three days ago."

"Did you see him then?"

"No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way."

"Then he was certainly there?"

"So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took

I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at

"You know that there is another man then?"

"Yes, sir; there is another man upon the moor."

"Have you seen him?"

"No, sir."

"How do you know of him then?"

"Selden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. He's in hiding,
too, but he's not a convict as far as I can make out. I don't
like it, Dr. Watson--I tell you straight, sir, that I don't like
it." He spoke with a sudden passion of earnestness.

"Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matter
but that of your master. I have come here with no object except
to help him. Tell me, frankly, what it is that you don't like."

Barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his
outburst, or found it difficult to express his own feelings in

"It's all these goings-on, sir," he cried at last, waving his
hand towards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor."There's
foul play somewhere, and there's black villainy brewing, to that
I'll swear! Very glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his
way back to London again!"

"But what is it that alarms you?"

"Look at Sir Charles's death! That was bad enough, for all that
the coroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night.
There's not a man would cross it after sundown if he was paid for
it. Look at this stranger hiding out yonder, and watching and
waiting! What's he waiting for? What does it mean? It means no
good to anyone of the name of Baskerville, and very glad I shall
be to be quit of it all on the day that Sir Henry's new servants
are ready to take over the Hall."

"But about this stranger," said I. "Can you tell me anything
about him? What did Selden say? Did he find out where he hid, or
what he was doing?"

"He saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one, and gives
nothing away. At first he thought that he was the police, but
soon he found that he had some lay of his own. A kind of
gentleman he was, as far as he could see, but what he was doing
he could not make out."

"And where did he say that he lived?"

"Among the old houses on the hillside--the stone huts where the
old folk used to live."

"But how about his food?"

"Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and
brings him all he needs. I daresay he goes to Coombe Tracey for
what he wants."

"Very good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this some other
time." When the butler had gone I walked over to the black
window, and I looked through a blurred pane at the driving clouds
and at the tossing outline of the wind-swept trees. It is a wild
night indoors, and what must it be in a stone hut upon the moor.
What passion of hatred can it be which leads a man to lurk in
such a place at such a time! And what deep and earnest purpose
can he have which calls for such a trial! There, in that hut upon
the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which has
vexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall not have
passed before I have done all that man can do to reach the heart
of the mystery.

Chapter 11
The Man on the Tor

The extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter
has brought my narrative up to the 18th of October, a time when
these strange events began to move swiftly towards their terrible
conclusion. The incidents of the next few days are indelibly
graven upon my recollection, and I can tell them without
reference to the notes made at the time. I start then from the
day which succeeded that upon which I had established two facts
of great importance, the one that Mrs. Laura Lyons of Coombe
Tracey had written to Sir Charles Baskerville and made an
appointment with him at the very place and hour that he met his
death, the other that the lurking man upon the moor was to be
found among the stone huts upon the hill-side. With these two
facts in my possession I felt that either my intelligence or my
courage must be deficient if I could not throw some further light
upon these dark places.

I had no opportunity to tell the baronet what I had learned about
Mrs. Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer remained
with him at cards until it was very late. At breakfast, however,
I informed him about my discovery, and asked him whether he would
care to accompany me to Coombe Tracey. At first he was very eager
to come, but on second thoughts it seemed to both of us that if I
went alone the results might be better. The more formal we made
the visit the less information we might obtain. I left Sir Henry
behind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, and
drove off upon my new quest.

When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put up the horses,
and I made inquiries for the lady whom I had come to interrogate.
I had no difficulty in finding her rooms, which were central and
well appointed. A maid showed me in without ceremony, and as I
entered the sitting-room a lady, who was sitting before a
Remington typewriter, sprang up with a pleasant smile of welcome.
Her face fell, however, when she saw that I was a stranger, and
she sat down again and asked me the object of my visit.

The first impression left by Mrs. Lyons was one of extreme
beauty. Her eyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, and
her cheeks, though considerably freckled, were flushed with the
exquisite bloom of the brunette, the dainty pink which lurks at
the heart of the sulphur rose. Admiration was, I repeat, the
first impression. But the second was criticism. There was
something subtly wrong with the face, some coarseness of
expression, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some looseness of lip
which marred its perfect beauty. But these, of course, are
after-thoughts. At the moment I was simply conscious that I was
in the presence of a very handsome woman, and that she was asking
me the reasons for my visit. I had not quite understood until
that instant how delicate my mission was.

"I have the pleasure," said I, "of knowing your father." It was a
clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it.

"There is nothing in common between my father and me," she said.
"I owe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it were not
for the late Sir Charles Baskerville and some other kind hearts I
might have starved for all that my father cared."

"It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come
here to see you."

The freckles started out on the lady's face.

"What can I tell you about him?" she asked, and her fingers
played nervously over the stops of her typewriter.

"You knew him, did you not?"

"I have already said that I owe a great deal to his kindness. If
I am able to support myself it is largely due to the interest
which he took in my unhappy situation."

"Did you correspond with him?"

The lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes.

"What is the object of these questions?" she asked sharply.

"The object is to avoid a public scandal. It is better that I
should ask them here than that the matter should pass outside our

She was silent and her face was still very pale. At last she
looked up with something reckless and defiant in her manner.

"Well, I'll answer," she said. "What are your questions?"

"Did you correspond with Sir Charles?"

"I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his
delicacy and his generosity."

"Have you the dates of those letters?"


"Have you ever met him?"

"Yes, once or twice, when he came into Coombe Tracey. He was a
very retiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth."

"But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did he
know enough about your affairs to be able to help you, as you say
that he has done?"

She met my difficulty with the utmost readiness.

"There were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and united
to help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a neighbour and intimate
friend of Sir Charles's. He was exceedingly kind, and it was
through him that Sir Charles learned about my affairs."

I knew already that Sir Charles Baskerville had made Stapleton
his almoner upon several occasions, so the lady's statement bore
the impress of truth upon it.

"Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you?" I

Mrs. Lyons flushed with anger again.

"Really, sir, this is a very extraordinary question."

"I am sorry, madam, but I must repeat it."

"Then I answer, certainly not."

"Not on the very day of Sir Charles's death?"

The flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was before
me. Her dry lips could not speak the "No" which I saw rather than

"Surely your memory deceives you," said I. "I could even quote a
passage of your letter. It ran 'Please, please, as you are a
gentleman, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock.'"

I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a
supreme effort.

"Is there no such thing as a gentleman?" she gasped.

"You do Sir Charles an injustice. He did burn the letter. But
sometimes a letter may be legible even when burned. You
acknowledge now that you wrote it?"

"Yes, I did write it," she cried, pouring out her soul in a
torrent of words. "I did write it. Why should I deny it? I have
no reason to be ashamed of it. I wished him to help me. I
believed that if I had an interview I could gain his help, so I
asked him to meet me."

"But why at such an hour?"

"Because I had only just learned that he was going to London next
day and might be away for months. There were reasons why I could
not get there earlier."

"But why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to the

"Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a bachelor's

"Well, what happened when you did get there?"

"I never went."

"Mrs. Lyons!"

"No, I swear it to you on all I hold sacred. I never went.
Something intervened to prevent my going."

"What was that?"

"That is a private matter. I cannot tell it."

"You acknowledge then that you made an appointment with Sir
Charles at the very hour and place at which he met his death, but
you deny that you kept the appointment."

"That is the truth."

Again and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never get
past that point.

"Mrs. Lyons," said I, as I rose from this long and inconclusive
interview, "you are taking a very great responsibility and
putting yourself in a very false position by not making an
absolutely clean breast of all that you know. If I have to call
in the aid of the police you will find how seriously you are
compromised. If your position is innocent, why did you in the
first instance deny having written to Sir Charles upon that

"Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn from
it and that I might find myself involved in a scandal."

"And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy
your letter?"

"If you have read the letter you will know."

"I did not say that I had read all the letter."

"You quoted some of it."

"I quoted the postscript. The letter had, as I said, been burned
and it was not all legible. I ask you once again why it was that
you were so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letter
which he received on the day of his death."

"The matter is a very private one."

"The more reason why you should avoid a public investigation."

"I will tell you, then. If you have heard anything of my unhappy
history you will know that I made a rash marriage and had reason
to regret it."

"I have heard so much."

"My life has been one incessant persecution from a husband whom I
abhor. The law is upon his side, and every day I am faced by the
possibility that he may force me to live with him. At the time
that I wrote this letter to Sir Charles I had learned that there
was a prospect of my regaining my freedom if certain expenses
could be met. It meant everything to me--peace of mind,
happiness, self-respect--everything. I knew Sir Charles's
generosity, and I thought that if he heard the story from my own
lips he would help me."

"Then how is it that you did not go?"

"Because I received help in the interval from another source."

"Why then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explain this?"

"So I should have done had I not seen his death in the paper next

The woman's story hung coherently together, and all my questions
were unable to shake it. I could only check it by finding if she
had, indeed, instituted divorce proceedings against her husband
at or about the time of the tragedy.

It was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not been
to Baskerville Hall if she really had been, for a trap would be
necessary to take her there, and could not have returned to
Coombe Tracey until the early hours of the morning. Such an
excursion could not be kept secret. The probability was,
therefore, that she was telling the truth, or, at least, a part
of the truth. I came away baffled and disheartened. Once again I
had reached that dead wall which seemed to be built across every
path by which I tried to get at the object of my mission. And yet
the more I thought of the lady's face and of her manner the more
I felt that something was being held back from me. Why should she
turn so pale? Why should she fight against every admission until
it was forced from her? Why should she have been so reticent at
the time of the tragedy? Surely the explanation of all this could
not be as innocent as she would have me believe. For the moment I
could proceed no farther in that direction, but must turn back to
that other clue which was to be sought for among the stone huts
upon the moor.

And that was a most vague direction. I realized it as I drove
back and noted how hill after hill showed traces of the ancient
people. Barrymore's only indication had been that the stranger
lived in one of these abandoned huts, and many hundreds of them
are scattered throughout the length and breadth of the moor. But
I had my own experience for a guide since it had shown me the man
himself standing upon the summit of the Black Tor. That then
should be the centre of my search. From there I should explore
every hut upon the moor until I lighted upon the right one. If
this man were inside it I should find out from his own lips, at
the point of my revolver if necessary, who he was and why he had
dogged us so long. He might slip away from us in the crowd of
Regent Street, but it would puzzle him to do so upon the lonely
moor. On the other hand, if I should find the hut and its tenant
should not be within it I must remain there, however long the
vigil, until he returned. Holmes had missed him in London. It
would indeed be a triumph for me if I could run him to earth,
where my master had failed.

Luck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, but now
at last it came to my aid. And the messenger of good fortune was
none other than Mr. Frankland, who was standing, gray whiskered
and red-faced, outside the gate of his garden, which opened on to
the high road along which I travelled.

"Good-day, Dr. Watson," cried he with unwonted good humour, "you
must really give your horses a rest, and come in to have a glass
of wine and to congratulate me."

My feelings towards him were very far from being friendly after
what I had heard of his treatment of his daughter, but I was
anxious to send Perkins and the wagonette home, and the
opportunity was a good one. I alighted and sent a message to Sir
Henry that I should walk over in time for dinner. Then I followed
Frankland into his dining-room.

"It is a great day for me, sir--one of the red-letter days of my
life," he cried with many chuckles. "I have brought off a double
event. I mean to teach them in these parts that law is law, and
that there is a man here who does not fear to invoke it. I have
established a right of way through the centre of old Middleton's
park, slap across it, sir, within a hundred yards of his own
front door. What do you think of that? We'll teach these magnates
that they cannot ride rough shod over the rights of the
commoners, confound them! And I've closed the wood where the
Fernworthy folk used to picnic. These infernal people seem to
think that there are no rights of property, and that they can
swarm where they like with their papers and their bottles. Both
cases decided, Dr. Watson, and both in my favour. I haven't had
such a day since I had Sir John Morland for trespass, because he
shot in his own warren."

"How on earth did you do that?"

"Look it up in the books, sir. It will repay reading--Frankland
v. Morland, Court of Queen's Bench. It cost me 200 pounds, but I
got my verdict."

"Did it do you any good?"

"None, sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest in the
matter. I act entirely from a sense of public duty. I have no
doubt, for example, that the Fernworthy people will burn me in
effigy to-night. I told the police last time they did it that
they should stop these disgraceful exhibitions. The County
Constabulary is in a scandalous state, sir, and it has not
afforded me the protection to which I am entitled. The case of
Frankland v. Regina will bring the matter before the attention of
the public. I told them that they would have occasion to regret
their treatment of me, and already my words have come true."

"How so?" I asked.

The old man put on a very knowing expression.

"Because I could tell them what they are dying to know; but
nothing would induce me to help the rascals in any way."

I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get
away from his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of it.
I had seen enough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to
understand that any strong sign of interest would be the surest
way to stop his confidences.

"Some poaching case, no doubt?" said I, with an indifferent

"Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that!
What about the convict on the moor?"

I started. "You don't mean that you know where he is?" said I.

"I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that I
could help the police to lay their hands on him. Has it never
struck you that the way to catch that man was to find out where
he got his food, and so trace it to him?"

He certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth.
"No doubt," said I; "but how do you know that he is anywhere upon
the moor?"

"I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messenger who
takes him his food."

My heart sank for Barrymore. It was a serious thing to be in the
power of this spiteful old busybody. But his next remark took a
weight from my mind.

"You'll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a
child. I see him every day through my telescope upon the roof. He
passes along the same path at the same hour, and to whom should
he be going except to the convict?"

Here was luck indeed! And yet I suppressed all appearance of
interest. A child! Barrymore had said that our unknown was
supplied by a boy. It was on his track, and not upon the
convict's, that Frankland had stumbled. If I could get his
knowledge it might save me a long and weary hunt. But incredulity
and indifference were evidently my strongest cards.

"I should say that it was much more likely that it was the son of
one of the moorland shepherds taking out his father's dinner."

The least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the old
autocrat. His eyes looked malignantly at me, and his gray
whiskers bristled like those of an angry cat.

"Indeed, sir!" said he, pointing out over the wide-stretching
moor. "Do you see that Black Tor over yonder? Well, do you see
the low hill beyond with the thornbush upon it? It is the
stoniest part of the whole moor. Is that a place where a shepherd
would be likely to take his station? Your suggestion, sir, is a
most absurd one."

I meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing all the
facts. My submission pleased him and led him to further

"You may be sure, sir, that I have very good grounds before I
come to an opinion. I have seen the boy again and again with his
bundle. Every day, and sometimes twice a day, I have been
able--but wait a moment, Dr. Watson. Do my eyes deceive me, or is
there at the present moment something moving upon that hill-

It was several miles off, but I could distinctly see a small dark
dot against the dull green and gray.

"Come, sir, come!" cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. "You will
see with your own eyes and judge for yourself."

The telescope, a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod,
stood upon the flat leads of the house. Frankland clapped his eye
to it and gave a cry of satisfaction.

"Quick, Dr. Watson, quick, before he passes over the hill!"

There he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle
upon his shoulder, toiling slowly up the hill. When he reached
the crest I saw the ragged uncouth figure outlined for an instant
against the cold blue sky. He looked round him with a furtive and
stealthy air, as one who dreads pursuit. Then he vanished over
the hill.

"Well! Am I right?"

"Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand."

"And what the errand is even a county constable could guess. But
not one word shall they have from me, and I bind you to secrecy
also, Dr. Watson. Not a word! You understand!"

"Just as you wish."

"They have treated me shamefully--shamefully. When the facts come
out in Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill of
indignation will run through the country. Nothing would induce me
to help the police in any way. For all they cared it might have
been me, instead of my effigy, which these rascals burned at the
stake. Surely you are not going! You will help me to empty the
decanter in honour of this great occasion!"

But I resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuading
him from his announced intention of walking home with me. I kept
the road as long as his eye was on me, and then I struck off
across the moor and made for the stony hill over which the boy
had disappeared. Everything was working in my favour, and I swore
that it should not be through lack of energy or perseverance that
I should miss the chance which fortune had thrown in my way.

The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the
hill, and the long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one
side and gray shadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the
farthest sky-line, out of which jutted the fantastic shapes of
Belliver and Vixen Tor. Over the wide expanse there was no sound
and no movement. One great gray bird, a gull or curlew, soared
aloft in the blue Heaven. He and I seemed to be the only living
things between the huge arch of the sky and the desert beneath
it. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery
and urgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy
was nowhere to be seen. But down beneath me in a cleft of the
hills there was a circle of the old stone huts, and in the middle
of them there was one which retained sufficient roof to act as a
screen against the weather. My heart leaped within me as I saw
it. This must be the burrow where the stranger lurked. At last my
foot was on the threshold of his hiding place--his secret was
within my grasp.

As I approached the hut, walking as warily as Stapleton would do
when with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, I
satisfied myself that the place had indeed been used as a
habitation. A vague pathway among the boulders led to the
dilapidated opening which served as a door. All was silent
within. The unknown might be lurking there, or he might be
prowling on the moor. My nerves tingled with the sense of
adventure. Throwing aside my cigarette, I closed my hand upon the
butt of my revolver and, walking swiftly up to the door, I looked
in. The place was empty.

But there were ample signs that I had not come upon a false
scent. This was certainly where the man lived. Some blankets
rolled in a waterproof lay upon that very stone slab upon which
neolithic man had once slumbered. The ashes of a fire were heaped
in a rude grate. Beside it lay some cooking utensils and a bucket
half-full of water. A litter of empty tins showed that the place
had been occupied for some time, and I saw, as my eyes became
accustomed to the checkered light, a pannikin and a half-full
bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of the
hut a flat stone served the purpose of a table, and upon this
stood a small cloth bundle--the same, no doubt, which I had seen
through the telescope upon the shoulder of the boy. It contained
a loaf of bread, a tinned tongue, and two tins of preserved
peaches. As I set it down again, after having examined it, my
heart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet of paper
with writing upon it. I raised it, and this was what I read,
roughly scrawled in pencil:--

Dr. Watson has gone to Coombe Tracey.

For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking
out the meaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not Sir
Henry, who was being dogged by this secret man. He had not
followed me himself, but he had set an agent--the boy,
perhaps--upon my track, and this was his report. Possibly I had
taken no step since I had been upon the moor which had not been
observed and repeated. Always there was this feeling of an unseen
force, a fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and
delicacy, holding us so lightly that it was only at some supreme
moment that one realized that one was indeed entangled in its

If there was one report there might be others, so I looked round
the hut in search of them. There was no trace, however, of
anything of the kind, nor could I discover any sign which might
indicate the character or intentions of the man who lived in this
singular place, save that he must be of Spartan habits and cared
little for the comforts of life. When I thought of the heavy
rains and looked at the gaping roof I understood how strong and
immutable must be the purpose which had kept him in that
inhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy, or was he by
chance our guardian angel? I swore that I would not leave the hut
until I knew.

Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing with
scarlet and gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches
by the distant pools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire. There
were the two towers of Baskerville Hall, and there a distant blur
of smoke which marked the village of Grimpen. Between the two,
behind the hill, was the house of the Stapletons. All was sweet
and mellow and peaceful in the golden evening light, and yet as I
looked at them my soul shared none of the peace of nature but
quivered at the vagueness and the terror of that interview which
every instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nerves, but a
fixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited
with sombre patience for the coming of its tenant.

And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a
boot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming
nearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner, and
cocked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover myself
until I had an opportunity of seeing something of the stranger.
There was a long pause which showed that he had stopped. Then
once more the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the
opening of the hut.

"It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson," said a well-known
voice. "I really think that you will be more comfortable outside
than in."

Chapter 12
Death on the Moor

For a moment or two I sat breathless, hardly able to believe my
ears. Then my senses and my voice came back to me, while a
crushing weight of responsibility seemed in an instant to be
lifted from my soul. That cold, incisive, ironical voice could
belong to but one man in all the world.

"Holmes!" I cried--"Holmes!"

"Come out," said he, "and please be careful with the revolver."

I stooped under the rude lintel, and there he sat upon a stone
outside, his gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell upon
my astonished features. He was thin and worn, but clear and
alert, his keen face bronzed by the sun and roughened by the
wind. In his tweed suit and cloth cap he looked like any other
tourist upon the moor, and he had contrived, with that cat-like
love of personal cleanliness which was one of his
characteristics, that his chin should be as smooth and his linen
as perfect as if he were in Baker Street.

"I never was more glad to see anyone in my life," said I, as I
wrung him by the hand.

"Or more astonished, eh?"

"Well, I must confess to it."

"The surprise was not all on one side, I assure you. I had no
idea that you had found my occasional retreat, still less that
you were inside it, until I was within twenty paces of the door."

"My footprint, I presume?"

"No, Watson; I fear that I could not undertake to recognize your
footprint amid all the footprints of the world. If you seriously
desire to deceive me you must change your tobacconist; for when I
see the stub of a cigarette marked Bradley, Oxford Street, I know
that my friend Watson is in the neighbourhood. You will see it
there beside the path. You threw it down, no doubt, at that
supreme moment when you charged into the empty hut."


"I thought as much--and knowing your admirable tenacity I was
convinced that you were sitting in ambush, a weapon within reach,
waiting for the tenant to return. So you actually thought that I
was the criminal?"

"I did not know who you were, but I was determined to find out."

"Excellent, Watson! And how did you localize me? You saw me,
perhaps, on the night of the convict hunt, when I was so
imprudent as to allow the moon to rise behind me?"

"Yes, I saw you then."

"And have no doubt searched all the huts until you came to this

"No, your boy had been observed, and that gave me a guide where
to look."

"The old gentleman with the telescope, no doubt. I could not make
it out when first I saw the light flashing upon the lens." He
rose and peeped into the hut. "Ha, I see that Cartwright has
brought up some supplies. What's this paper? So you have been to
Coombe Tracey, have you?"


"To see Mrs. Laura Lyons?"


"Well done! Our researches have evidently been running on
parallel lines, and when we unite our results I expect we shall
have a fairly full knowledge of the case."

"Well, I am glad from my heart that you are here, for indeed the
responsibility and the mystery were both becoming too much for my
nerves. But how in the name of wonder did you come here, and what
have you been doing? I thought that you were in Baker Street
working out that case of blackmailing."

"That was what I wished you to think."

"Then you use me, and yet do not trust me!" I cried with some
bitterness. "I think that I have deserved better at your hands,

"My dear fellow, you have been invaluable to me in this as in
many other cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I have
seemed to play a trick upon you. In truth, it was partly for your
own sake that I did it, and it was my appreciation of the danger
which you ran which led me to come down and examine the matter
for myself. Had I been with Sir Henry and you it is confident
that my point of view would have been the same as yours, and my
presence would have warned our very formidable opponents to be on
their guard. As it is, I have been able to get about as I could
not possibly have done had I been living in the Hall, and I
remain an unknown factor in the business, ready to throw in all
my weight at a critical moment."

"But why keep me in the dark?"

"For you to know could not have helped us, and might possibly
have led to my discovery. You would have wished to tell me
something, or in your kindness you would have brought me out some
comfort or other, and so an unnecessary risk would be run. I
brought Cartwright down with me--you remember the little chap at
the express office--and he has seen after my simple wants: a loaf
of bread and a clean collar. What does man want more? He has
given me an extra pair of eyes upon a very active pair of feet,
and both have been invaluable."

"Then my reports have all been wasted!"--My voice trembled as I
recalled the pains and the pride with which I had composed them.

Holmes took a bundle of papers from his pocket.

"Here are your reports, my dear fellow, and very well thumbed, I
assure you. I made excellent arrangements, and they are only
delayed one day upon their way. I must compliment you exceedingly
upon the zeal and the intelligence which you have shown over an
extraordinarily difficult case."

I was still rather raw over the deception which had been
practised upon me, but the warmth of Holmes's praise drove my
anger from my mind. I felt also in my heart that he was right in
what he said and that it was really best for our purpose that I
should not have known that he was upon the moor.

"That's better," said he, seeing the shadow rise from my face.
"And now tell me the result of your visit to Mrs. Laura Lyons--it
was not difficult for me to guess that it was to see her that you
had gone, for I am already aware that she is the one person in
Coombe Tracey who might be of service to us in the matter. In
fact, if you had not gone to-day it is exceedingly probable that
I should have gone to-morrow."

The sun had set and dusk was settling over the moor. The air had
turned chill and we withdrew into the hut for warmth. There,
sitting together in the twilight, I told Holmes of my
conversation with the lady. So interested was he that I had to
repeat some of it twice before he was satisfied.

"This is most important," said he when I had concluded. "It fills
up a gap which I had been unable to bridge, in this most complex
affair. You are aware, perhaps, that a close intimacy exists
between this lady and the man Stapleton?"

"I did not know of a close intimacy."

"There can be no doubt about the matter. They meet, they write,
there is a complete understanding between them. Now, this puts a
very powerful weapon into our hands. If I could only use it to
detach his wife----"

"His wife?"

"I am giving you some information now, in return for all that you
have given me. The lady who has passed here as Miss Stapleton is
in reality his wife."

"Good heavens, Holmes! Are you sure of what you say? How could he
have permitted Sir Henry to fall in love with her?"

"Sir Henry's falling in love could do no harm to anyone except
Sir Henry. He took particular care that Sir Henry did not make
love to her, as you have yourself observed. I repeat that the
lady is his wife and not his sister."

"But why this elaborate deception?"

"Because he foresaw that she would be very much more useful to
him in the character of a free woman."

All my unspoken instincts, my vague suspicions, suddenly took
shape and centred upon the naturalist. In that impassive,
colourless man, with his straw hat and his butterfly-net, I
seemed to see something terrible--a creature of infinite patience
and craft, with a smiling face and a murderous heart.

"It is he, then, who is our enemy--it is he who dogged us in

"So I read the riddle."

"And the warning--it must have come from her!"


The shape of some monstrous villainy, half seen, half guessed,
loomed through the darkness which had girt me so long.

"But are you sure of this, Holmes? How do you know that the woman
is his wife?"

"Because he so far forgot himself as to tell you a true piece of
autobiography upon the occasion when he first met you, and I
daresay he has many a time regretted it since. He was once a
schoolmaster in the north of England. Now, there is no one more
easy to trace than a schoolmaster. There are scholastic agencies
by which one may identify any man who has been in the profession.
A little investigation showed me that a school had come to grief
under atrocious circumstances, and that the man who had owned
it--the name was different--had disappeared with his wife. The
descriptions agreed. When I learned that the missing man was
devoted to entomology the identification was complete."

The darkness was rising, but much was still hidden by the

"If this woman is in truth his wife, where does Mrs. Laura Lyons
come in?" I asked.

"That is one of the points upon which your own researches have
shed a light. Your interview with the lady has cleared the
situation very much. I did not know about a projected divorce
between herself and her husband. In that case, regarding
Stapleton as an unmarried man, she counted no doubt upon becoming
his wife."

"And when she is undeceived?"

"Why, then we may find the lady of service. It must be our first
duty to see her--both of us--to-morrow. Don't you think, Watson,
that you are away from your charge rather long? Your place should
be at Baskerville Hall."

The last red streaks had faded away in the west and night had
settled upon the moor. A few faint stars were gleaming in a
violet sky.

"One last question, Holmes," I said, as I rose. "Surely there is
no need of secrecy between you and me. What is the meaning of it
all? What is he after?"

Holmes's voice sank as he answered:----

"It is murder, Watson--refined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder.
Do not ask me for particulars. My nets are closing upon him, even
as his are upon Sir Henry, and with your help he is already
almost at my mercy. There is but one danger which can threaten
us. It is that he should strike before we are ready to do so.
Another day--two at the most--and I have my case complete, but
until then guard your charge as closely as ever a fond mother
watched her ailing child. Your mission to-day has justified
itself, and yet I could almost wish that you had not left his
side. Hark!"

A terrible scream--a prolonged yell of horror and anguish--burst
out of the silence of the moor. That frightful cry turned the
blood to ice in my veins.

"Oh, my God!" I gasped. "What is it? What does it mean?"

Holmes had sprung to his feet, and I saw his dark, athletic
outline at the door of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his head
thrust forward, his face peering into the darkness.

"Hush!" he whispered. "Hush!"

The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had
pealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. Now it
burst upon our ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before.

"Where is it?" Holmes whispered; and I knew from the thrill of
his voice that he, the man of iron, was shaken to the soul."
Where is it, Watson?"

"There, I think." I pointed into the darkness.

"No, there!"

Again the agonized cry swept through the silent night, louder and
much nearer than ever. And a new sound mingled with it, a deep,
muttered rumble, musical and yet menacing, rising and falling
like the low, constant murmur of the sea.

"The hound!" cried Holmes. "Come, Watson, come! Great heavens, if
we are too late!"

He had started running swiftly over the moor, and I had followed
at his heels. But now from somewhere among the broken ground
immediately in front of us there came one last despairing yell,
and then a dull, heavy thud. We halted and listened. Not another
sound broke the heavy silence of the windless night.

I saw Holmes put his hand to his forehead like a man distracted.
He stamped his feet upon the ground.

"He has beaten us, Watson. We are too late."

"No, no, surely not!"

"Fool that I was to hold my hand. And you, Watson, see what comes
of abandoning your charge! But, by Heaven, if the worst has
happened, we'll avenge him!"

Blindly we ran through the gloom, blundering against boulders,
forcing our way through gorse bushes, panting up hills and
rushing down slopes, heading always in the direction whence those
dreadful sounds had come. At every rise Holmes looked eagerly
round him, but the shadows were thick upon the moor, and nothing
moved upon its dreary face.

"Can you see anything?"


"But, hark, what is that?"

A low moan had fallen upon our ears. There it was again upon our
left! On that side a ridge of rocks ended in a sheer cliff which
overlooked a stone-strewn slope. On its jagged face was
spread-eagled some dark, irregular object. As we ran towards it
the vague outline hardened into a definite shape. It was a
prostrate man face downward upon the ground, the head doubled
under him at a horrible angle, the shoulders rounded and the body
hunched together as if in the act of throwing a somersault. So
grotesque was the attitude that I could not for the instant
realise that that moan had been the passing of his soul. Not a
whisper, not a rustle, rose now from the dark figure over which
we stooped. Holmes laid his hand upon him, and held it up again,
with an exclamation of horror. The gleam of the match which he
struck shone upon his clotted fingers and upon the ghastly pool
which widened slowly from the crushed skull of the victim. And it
shone upon something else which turned our hearts sick and faint
within us--the body of Sir Henry Baskerville!

There was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiar
ruddy tweed suit--the very one which he had worn on the first
morning that we had seen him in Baker Street. We caught the one
clear glimpse of it, and then the match flickered and went out,
even as the hope had gone out of our souls. Holmes groaned, and
his face glimmered white through the darkness.

"The brute! the brute!" I cried with clenched hands. "Oh Holmes,
I shall never forgive myself for having left him to his fate."

"I am more to blame than you, Watson. In order to have my case
well rounded and complete, I have thrown away the life of my
client. It is the greatest blow which has befallen me in my
career. But how could I know--how could l know--that he would
risk his life alone upon the moor in the face of all my

"That we should have heard his screams--my God, those
screams!--and yet have been unable to save him! Where is this
brute of a hound which drove him to his death? It may be lurking
among these rocks at this instant. And Stapleton, where is he? He
shall answer for this deed."

"He shall. I will see to that. Uncle and nephew have been
murdered--the one frightened to death by the very sight of a
beast which he thought to be supernatural, the other driven to
his end in his wild flight to escape from it. But now we have to
prove the connection between the man and the beast. Save from
what we heard, we cannot even swear to the existence of the
latter, since Sir Henry has evidently died from the fall. But, by
heavens, cunning as he is, the fellow shall be in my power before
another day is past!"

We stood with bitter hearts on either side of the mangled body,
overwhelmed by this sudden and irrevocable disaster which had
brought all our long and weary labours to so piteous an end.
Then, as the moon rose we climbed to the top of the rocks over
which our poor friend had fallen, and from the summit we gazed
out over the shadowy moor, half silver and half gloom. Faraway,
miles off, in the direction of Grimpen, a single steady yellow
light was shining. It could only come from the lonely abode of
the Stapletons. With a bitter curse I shook my fist at it as I

"Why should we not seize him at once?"

"Our case is not complete. The fellow is wary and cunning to the
last degree. It is not what we know, but what we can prove. If we
make one false move the villain may escape us yet."

"What can we do?"

"There will be plenty for us to do to-morrow. To-night we can
only perform the last offices to our poor friend."

Together we made our way down the precipitous slope and
approached the body, black and clear against the silvered stones.
The agony of those contorted limbs struck me with a spasm of pain
and blurred my eyes with tears.

"We must send for help, Holmes! We cannot carry him all the way
to the Hall. Good heavens, are you mad?"

He had uttered a cry and bent over the body. Now he was dancing
and laughing and wringing my hand. Could this be my stern,
self-contained friend? These were hidden fires, indeed!

"A beard! A beard! The man has a beard!"

"A beard?"

"It is not the baronet--it is--why, it is my neighbour, the

With feverish haste we had turned the body over, and that
dripping beard was pointing up to the cold, clear moon. There
could be no doubt about the beetling forehead, the sunken animal
eyes. It was indeed the same face which had glared upon me in the
light of the candle from over the rock--the face of Selden, the

Then in an instant it was all clear to me. I remembered how the
baronet had told me that he had handed his old wardrobe to
Barrymore. Barrymore had passed it on in order to help Selden in
his escape. Boots, shirt, cap--it was all Sir Henry's. The
tragedy was still black enough, but this man had at least
deserved death by the laws of his country. I told Holmes how the
matter stood, my heart bubbling over with thankfulness and joy.

"Then the clothes have been the poor devil's death," said he. "It
is clear enough that the hound has been laid on from some article
of Sir Henry's--the boot which was abstracted in the hotel, in
all probability--and so ran this man down. There is one very
singular thing, however: How came Selden, in the darkness, to
know that the hound was on his trail?"

"He heard him."

"To hear a hound upon the moor would not work a hard man like
this convict into such a paroxysm of terror that he would risk
recapture by screaming wildly for help. By his cries he must have
run a long way after he knew the animal was on his track. How did
he know?"

"A greater mystery to me is why this hound, presuming that all
our conjectures are correct --"

"I presume nothing."

"Well, then, why this hound should be loose to-night. I suppose
that it does not always run loose upon the moor. Stapleton would
not let it go unless he had reason to think that Sir Henry would
be there."

"My difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for I think
that we shall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while
mine may remain for ever a mystery. The question now is, what
shall we do with this poor wretch's body? We cannot leave it here
to the foxes and the ravens."

"I suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we can
communicate with the police."

"Exactly. I have no doubt that you and I could carry it so far.
Halloa, Watson, what's this? It's the man himself, by all that's
wonderful and audacious! Not a word to show yow suspicions--not a
word, or my plans crumble to the ground."

A figure was approaching us over the moor, and I saw the dull red
glow of a cigar. The moon shone upon him, and I could distinguish
the dapper shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. He stopped
when he saw us, and then came on again.

"Why, Dr. Watson, that's not you, is it? You are the last man
that I should have expected to see out on the moor at this time
of night. But, dear me, what's this? Somebody hurt? Not--don't
tell me that it is our friend Sir Henry!" He hurried past me and
stooped over the dead man. I heard a sharp intake of his breath
and the cigar fell from his fingers.

"Who--who's this?" he stammered.

"It is Selden, the man who escaped from Princetown."

Stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme effort
he had overcome his amazement and his disappointment. He looked
sharply from Holmes to me.

"Dear me! What a very shocking affair! How did he die?"

"He appears to have broken his neck by falling over these rocks.
My friend and I were strolling on the moor when we heard a cry."

"I heard a cry also. That was what brought me out. I was uneasy
about Sir Henry."

"Why about Sir Henry in particular?" I could not help asking.

"Because I had suggested that he should come over. When he did
not come I was surprised, and I naturally became alarmed for his
safety when I heard cries upon the moor. By the way"--his eyes
darted again from my face to Holmes's--"did you hear anything
else besides a cry?"

"No," said Holmes; "did you?"


"What do you mean, then?"

"Oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantom
hound, and so on. It is said to be heard at night upon the moor.
I was wondering if there were any evidence of such a sound

"We heard nothing of the kind," said I.

"And what is your theory of this poor fellow's death?"

"I have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven him off
his head. He has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and
eventually fallen over here and broken his neck."

"That seems the most reasonable theory," said Stapleton, and he
gave a sigh which I took to indicate his relief. "What do you
think about it, Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

My friend bowed his compliments.

"You are quick at identification," said he.

"We have been expecting you in these parts since Dr. Watson came
down. You are in time to see a tragedy."

"Yes, indeed. I have no doubt that my friend's explanation will
cover the facts. I will take an unpleasant remembrance back to
London with me to-morrow."

"Oh, you return to-morrow?"

"That is my intention."

"I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences
which have puzzled us?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

"One cannot always have the success for which one hopes. An
investigator needs facts, and not legends or rumours. It has not
been a satisfactory case."

My friend spoke in his frankest and most unconcerned manner.
Stapleton still looked hard at him. Then he turned to me.

"I would suggest carrying this poor fellow to my house, but it
would give my sister such a fright that I do not feel justified
in doing it. I think that if we put something over his face he
will be safe until morning."

And so it was arranged. Resisting Stapleton's offer of
hospitality, Holmes and I set off to Baskerville Hall, leaving
the naturalist to return alone. Looking back we saw the figure
moving slowly away over the broad moor, and behind him that one
black smudge on the silvered slope which showed where the man was
lying who had come so horribly to his end.

Chapter 13
Fixing the Nets

"We're at close grips at last," said Holmes as we walked together
across the moor. "What a nerve the fellow has! How he pulled
himself together in the face of what must have been a paralyzing
shock when he found that the wrong man had fallen a victim to his
plot. I told you in London, Watson, and I tell you now again,
that we have never had a foeman more worthy of our steel."

"I am sorry that he has seen you."

"And so was I at first. But there was no getting out of it."

"What effect do you think it will have upon his plans now that he
knows you are here?"

"It may cause him to be more cautious, or it may drive him to
desperate measures at once. Like most clever criminals, he may be
too confident in his own cleverness and imagine that he has
completely deceived us."

"Why should we not arrest him at once?"

"My dear Watson, you were born to be a man of action. Your
instinct is always to do something energetic. But supposing, for
argument's sake, that we had him arrested to-night, what on earth
the better off should we be for that? We could prove nothing
against him. There's the devilish cunning of it! If he were
acting through a human agent we could get some evidence, but if
we were to drag this great dog to the light of day it would not
help us in putting a rope round the neck of its master."

"Surely we have a case."

"Not a shadow of one--only surmise and conjecture. We should be
laughed out of court if we came with such a story and such

"There is Sir Charles's death."

"Found dead without a mark upon him. You and I know that he died
of sheer fright, and we know also what frightened him; but how
are we to get twelve stolid jurymen to know it? What signs are
there of a hound? Where are the marks of its fangs? Of course we
know that a hound does not bite a dead body and that Sir Charles
was dead before ever the brute overtook him. But we have to prove
all this, and we are not in a position to do it."

"Well, then, to-night?"

"We are not much better off to-night. Again, there was no direct
connection between the hound and the man's death. We never saw
the hound. We heard it; but we could not prove that it was
running upon this man's trail. There is a complete absence of
motive. No, my dear fellow; we must reconcile ourselves to the
fact that we have no case at present, and that it is worth our
while to run any risk in order to establish one."

"And how do you propose to do so?"

"I have great hopes of what Mrs. Laura Lyons may do for us when
the position of affairs is made clear to her. And I have my own
plan as well. Sufficient for to-morrow is the evil thereof; but I
hope before the day is past to have the upper hand at last."

I could draw nothing further from him, and he walked, lost in
thought, as far as the Baskerville gates.

"Are you coming up?"

"Yes; I see no reason for further concealment. But one last word,
Watson. Say nothing of the hound to Sir Henry. Let him think that
Selden's death was as Stapleton would have us believe. He will
have a better nerve for the ordeal which he will have to undergo
to-morrow, when he is engaged, if I remember your report aright,
to dine with these people."

"And so am I."

"Then you must excuse yourself and he must go alone. That will be
easily arranged. And now, if we are too late for dinner, I think
that we are both ready for our suppers."

Sir Henry was more pleased than surprised to see Sherlock Holmes,
for he had for some days been expecting that recent events would
bring him down from London. He did raise his eyebrows, however,
when he found that my friend had neither any luggage nor any
explanations for its absence. Between us we soon supplied his
wants, and then over a belated supper we explained to the baronet
as much of our experience as it seemed desirable that he should
know. But first I had the unpleasant duty of breaking the news to
Barrymore and his wife. To him it may have been an unmitigated
relief, but she wept bitterly in her apron. To all the world he
was the man of violence, half animal and half demon; but to her
he always remained the little wilful boy of her own girlhood, the
child who had clung to her hand. Evil indeed is the man who has
not one woman to mourn him.

"I've been moping in the house all day since Watson went off in
the morning," said the baronet. "I guess I should have some
credit, for I have kept my promise. If I hadn't sworn not to go
about alone I might have had a more lively evening, for I had a
message from Stapleton asking me over there."

"I have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening,"
said Holmes drily. "By the way, I don't suppose you appreciate
that we have been mourning over you as having broken your neck?"

Sir Henry opened his eyes. "How was that?"

"This poor wretch was dressed in your clothes. I fear your
servant who gave them to him may get into trouble with the


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