Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Hound of the Baskervilles Chapter 10 EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF DR. WATSON

SO FAR I have been able to quote from the reports which I haveforwarded during these early days to Sherlock Holmes. Now, however, Ihave arrived at a point in my narrative where I am compelled to abandonthis method and to trust [727] once more to my recollections, aided by thediary which I kept at the time. A few extracts from the latter will carry meon to those scenes which are indelibly fixed in every detail upon mymemory. I proceed, then, from the morning which followed our abortivechase 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 isbanked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then to show the drearycurves of the moor, with thin, silver veins upon the sides of the hills, andthe 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 theexcitements of the night. I am conscious myself of a weight at my heartand a feeling of impending danger-ever present danger, which is the moreterrible because I am unable to define it.And have I not cause for such a feeling? Consider the long sequence ofincidents which have all pointed to some sinister influence which is atwork 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 therepeated reports from peasants of the appearance of a strange creatureupon the moor. Twice I have with my own ears heard the sound whichresembled the distant baying of a hound. It is incredible, impossible, thatit should really be outside the ordinary laws of nature. A spectral houndwhich leaves material footmarks and fills the air with its howling is surelynot to be thought of. Stapleton may fall in with such a superstition, andMortimer 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 wouldbe to descend to the level of these poor peasants, who are not content witha mere fiend dog but must needs describe him with hell-fire shootingfrom his mouth and eyes. Holmes would not listen to such fancies, and Iam his agent. But facts are facts, and I have twice heard this crying uponthe 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 lieconcealed, where did it get its food, where did it come from, how was itthat no one saw it by day? It must be confessed that the naturalexplanation 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 themoor. This at least was real, but it might have been the work of aprotecting friend as easily as of an enemy. Where is that friend or enemynow? 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 aresome things to which I am ready to swear. He is no one whom I have seendown here, and I have now met all the neighbours. The figure was fartaller than that of Stapleton, far thinner than that of Frankland. Barrymoreit might possibly have been, but we had left him behind us, and I amcertain that he could not have followed us. A stranger then is still doggingus, just as a stranger dogged us in London. We have never shaken himoff. If I could lay my hands upon that man, then at last we might findourselves at the end of all our difficulties. To this one purpose I must nowdevote all my energies.My first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My second andwisest one is to play my own game and speak as little as possible toanyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves have been strangely shakenby that sound upon the moor. I [728] will say nothing to add to hisanxieties, but I will take my own steps to attain my own end.We had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymore askedleave to speak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted in his study somelittle time. Sitting in the billiard-room I more than once heard the soundof voices raised, and I had a pretty good idea what the point was whichwas under discussion. After a time the baronet opened his door and calledfor me."Barrymore considers that he has a grievance," he said. "He thinks thatit was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-law down when he, of hisown 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 surethat I beg your pardon. At the same time, I was very much surprised whenI heard you two gentlemen come back this morning and learned that youhad been chasing Selden. The poor fellow has enough to fight againstwithout my putting more upon his track.""If you had told us of your own free will it would have been a differentthing," said the baronet, "you only told us, or rather your wife only toldus, 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-indeedI didn't.""The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses scattered over themoor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. You only want to geta glimpse of his face to see that. Look at Mr. Stapleton's house, forexample, with no one but himself to defend it. There's no safety foranyone 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, SirHenry, that in a very few days the necessary arrangements will have beenmade and he will be on his way to South America. For God's sake, sir, Ibeg of you not to let the police know that he is still on the moor. Theyhave given up the chase there, and he can lie quiet until the ship is readyfor him. You can't tell on him without getting my wife and me intotrouble. 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 wouldrelieve the tax-payer of a burden." "But how about the chance of his holding someone up before he goes?""He would not do anything so mad, sir. We have provided him with allthat he can want. To commit a crime would be to show where he washiding.""That is true," said Sir Henry. "Well, Barrymore- -""God bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart! It would have killedmy poor wife had he been taken again.""I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson? But, after whatwe have heard, I don't feel as if I could give the man up, so there is anend of it. All right, Barrymore, you can go."With a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but he hesitatedand then came back."You've been so kind to us, sir, that I should like to do the best I canfor you in return. I know something, Sir Henry, and perhaps I should havesaid it before, but [729] 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 SirCharles's death."The baronet and I were both upon our feet. "Do you know how hedied?""No, sir, I don't know that.""What then?""I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet a woman.""To meet a woman! He?""Yes, sir.""And the woman's name?""I can't give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials. Herinitials were L. L.""How do you know this, Barrymore?""Well, Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. He had usuallya great many letters, for he was a public man and well known for his kindheart, so that everyone who was in trouble was glad to turn to him. Butthat morning, as it chanced, there was only this one letter, so I took themore notice of it. It was from Coombe Tracey, and it was addressed in awoman's hand.""Well?""Well, sir, I thought no more of the matter, and never would have donehad it not been for my wife. Only a few weeks ago she was cleaning outSir Charles's study-it had never been touched since his death-and shefound the ashes of a burned letter in the back of the grate. The greater partof it was charred to pieces, but one little slip, the end of a page, hungtogether, and the writing could still be read, though it was gray on a blackground. It seemed to us to be a postscript at the end of the letter, and itsaid: 'Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn this letter, and be at thegate 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 havenoticed 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 ourhands upon that lady we should know more about Sir Charles's death.""I cannot understand, Barrymore, how you came to conceal thisimportant 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 wewell might be considering all that he has done for us. To rake this upcouldn't help our poor master, and it's well to go carefully when there's alady 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 beenkind to us, and I feel as if it would be treating you unfairly not to tell youall that I know about the matter.""Very good, Barrymore; you can go." When the butler had left us SirHenry 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 wholebusiness. [730] We have gained that much. We know that there is someonewho has the facts if we can only find her. What do you think we shoulddo?""Let Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him the clue forwhich he has been seeking. I am much mistaken if it does not bring himdown."I went at once to my room and drew up my report of the morning'sconversation for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been very busyof 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 hardlyany reference to my mission. No doubt his blackmailing case is absorbingall his faculties. And yet this new factor must surely arrest his attentionand renew his interest. I wish that he were here.October 17th. All day to-day the rain poured down, rustling on the ivyand dripping from the eaves. I thought of the convict out upon the bleak,cold, shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whatever his crimes, he has sufferedsomething to atone for them. And then I thought of that other one-theface in the cab, the figure against the moon. Was he also out in thatdeluge-the unseen watcher, the man of darkness? In the evening I put onmy waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of darkimaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling aboutmy ears. God help those who wander into the great mire now, for even thefirm uplands are becoming a morass. I found the black tor upon which Ihad seen the solitary watcher, and from its craggy summit I looked outmyself across the melancholy downs. Rain squalls drifted across theirrusset face, and the heavy, slate-coloured clouds hung low over thelandscape, trailing in gray wreaths down the sides of the fantastic hills. Inthe distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist, the two thin towersof Baskerville Hall rose above the trees. They were the only signs ofhuman life which I could see, save only those prehistoric huts which laythickly 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 dogcart over a rough moorland track which led from the outlying farmhouseof Foulmire. He has been very attentive to us, and hardly a day has passedthat he has not called at the Hall to see how we were getting on. Heinsisted upon my climbing into his dog-cart, and he gave me a lifthomeward. I found him much troubled over the disappearance of his littlespaniel. It had wandered on to the moor and had never come back. I gavehim such consolation as I might, but I thought of the pony on the GrimpenMire, 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, "Isuppose there are few people living within driving distance of this whomyou 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 Ican't answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no one whoseinitials are those. Wait a bit though," he added after a pause. "There isLaura 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 onthe moor. He proved to be a blackguard and deserted her. The fault fromwhat I hear may [731] not have been entirely on one side. Her fatherrefused to have anything to do with her because she had married withouthis consent and perhaps for one or two other reasons as well. So, betweenthe 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, forhis own affairs are considerably involved. Whatever she may havedeserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to the bad. Her storygot about, and several of the people here did something to enable her toearn an honest living. Stapleton did for one, and Sir Charles for another. Igave 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 satisfyhis curiosity without telling him too much, for there is no reason why weshould take anyone into our confidence. To-morrow morning I shall findmy way to Coombe Tracey, and if I can see this Mrs. Laura Lyons, ofequivocal reputation, a long step will have been made towards clearingone incident in this chain of mysteries. I am certainly developing thewisdom of the serpent, for when Mortimer pressed his questions to aninconvenient extent I asked him casually to what type Frankland's skullbelonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest of our drive. Ihave not lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing.I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous andmelancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore just now,which gives me one more strong card which I can play in due time.Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played écartéafterwards. The butler brought me my coffee into the library, and I tookthe chance to ask him a few questions."Well," said I, "has this precious relation of yours departed, or is hestill lurking out yonder?""I don't know, sir. I hope to Heaven that he has gone, for he hasbrought nothing but trouble here! I've not heard of him since I left outfood for him last, and that was three days ago.""Did you see him then?""No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way.""Then he was certainly there?""So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it."I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at Barrymore."You know that there is another man then?""Yes, sir; there is another man upon the moor.""Have you seen him?""No, sir.""How do you know of him then?""Selden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. He's in hiding, too,but he's not a convict as far as I can make out. I don't like it, Dr.Watson-I tell you straight, sir, that I don't like it." He spoke with asudden passion of earnestness."Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matter but thatof your master. I have come here with no object except to help him. Tellme, frankly, what it is that you don't like."Barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst orfound it difficult to express his own feelings in words.[732] "It's all these goings-on, sir," he cried at last, waving his handtowards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor. "There's foul play somewhere, and there's black villainy brewing, to that I'll swear! Veryglad 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 thecoroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night. There's not a manwould cross it after sundown if he was paid for it. Look at this strangerhiding out yonder, and watching and waiting! What's he waiting for?What does it mean? It means no good to anyone of the name ofBaskerville, and very glad I shall be to be quit of it all on the day that SirHenry'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 wasdoing?""He saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one and gives nothingaway. At first he thought that he was the police, but soon he found that hehad some lay of his own. A kind of gentleman he was, as far as he couldsee, 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 oldfolk used to live.""But how about his food?""Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and bringsall he needs. I dare say he goes to Coombe Tracey for what he wants.""Very good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this some other time."When the butler had gone I walked over to the black window, and Ilooked through a blurred pane at the driving clouds and at the tossingoutline of the wind-swept trees. It is a wild night indoors, and what mustit be in a stone hut upon the moor. What passion of hatred can it be whichleads a man to lurk in such a place at such a time! And what deep andearnest purpose can he have which calls for such a trial! There, in that hutupon the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which hasvexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall not have passed beforeI have done all that man can do to reach the heart of the mystery