Sherlock Holmes: Hounds of the Baskervilles – 10Chapter 10 - Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson

<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right">Chapter 10 - Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson</h1>

<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" > excerpt from Dr. Watson's diary</h1>

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.

I have been quoting previous reports sent to Sherlock Holmes. But at this point, I had to abandon this method again, relying again on my memories, on my diary at that time. A few short diaries remind me of scenes that are exhaustive and deeply imprinted in my memory. Well, I'll start with the morning we hunted down fugitives in vain in the moor and experienced that adventure.

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.

October 16 – Today is a dark, foggy, drizzling day. The house was surrounded by a billowing fog, but the thick fog rose from time to time, revealing the undulating moorland of the desert, the slender streams of water like wisps of silver on the hillside, and the wet surface of the rocks protruding in the distance, shimmering with sunlight, and immersed in a gloomy atmosphere from the surface and inside. The horror of the previous night had had a bad effect on the Baron; I felt a heavy heart, a sense of imminent danger—and an ever-present danger, which seemed particularly frightening because I could not describe 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?

Is there no reason for me to feel this way? One need only consider this long series of unexpected events that have occurred in succession to show that a planned and evil activity is taking place all around us. The death of the previous owner of the manor fulfilled the legends of the family, as well as the monsters that the farmers repeatedly claimed to have appeared in the moor. Twice I heard what sounded like a hound howling in the distance, but could this be a truly unnatural thing? It is simply neither credible nor possible. A magic dog, but it has left paw prints, and it can scream into the sky, which is really unimaginable. Stapleton might believe this nonsense, and Mortimer might, too; but if I could be a little more common sense, I wouldn't believe it anyway. If I believed it myself, it would be tantamount to willingly reducing myself to the level of these poor croppers. It wasn't enough that they described the dog as a demon, and even described it as a mouth and eyes spewing hellish fire outwards. Holmes would never listen to these whimsical claims, and I am his agent. I've heard this twice in the moor. But the facts are facts after all, and if there are really any big hounds running up to the moor, then everything is explained. But where could such a hound hide? Where does it go to find food? Where did it come from? Why doesn't anyone see it during the day? It is undeniable that both the explanations that conform to the laws of nature and the explanations that do not conform to the laws of nature are now equally difficult to make sense. Leaving aside this hound for the time being, then the "man" found in London is always the truth! The man in the carriage, and the letter warning Sir Henry not to come to the moor, were at least true. It could be something to protect his friend, but it could also be something an enemy could do. Where is that friend or enemy now? Is he still in London, or has he followed us here? Will he... Could it be the stranger I saw standing on the rocky hill?

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.

It is true that I only saw him once, but there are a few points I am sure of. He is by no means the man I have ever met here, and I have met all my neighbors now. He was much taller than Stapleton and much thinner than Frankland. Maybe it might be Barrymore, but we've left him at home, and I'm sure he won't follow us. With that said, there must be someone else following us, just as a stranger followed us in London, and we have not been able to get rid of him. If we can catch that person, then all our difficulties will be solved. In order to achieve this, I now have to go all out.

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 ta 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.

My first thought was to tell Sir Henry my whole plan; the second, and I think the wisest, was to do it myself, and try not to talk to anyone. He seemed silent and dazed, the sound of the moor had shocked his nerves in disbelief, and I was unwilling to deepen his anxiety with anything more, and in order to achieve my intended purpose, I had to take separate action.

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.

After breakfast this morning, we had another small incident. Barrymore asked to speak alone with Sir Henry, and they stayed in Sir Henry's study behind closed doors for a while. I sat in the marbles room more than once and heard the conversation grow louder, and I knew exactly what was being discussed. After a while, the baronet opened the door and told me to come in.

"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."

"Barrymore thinks he's a little dissatisfied," he said, "and he thinks it's unfair for us to go after his brother-in-law after he's voluntarily told us the secret." ”

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

The butler stood in front of us, very pale, but very calm.

"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."

"Maybe I've gone too far, sir," he said, "and if that's the case, I'll beg your forgiveness." But I was really surprised when I heard the two of you come back this morning and learn that you were going after Serdan. This poor fellow, without me bothering him any more, is enough for him to fight for a while. ”

"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."

"If you had told us on your own initiative, perhaps this would not have happened," said the baronet," said the baronet, "but the reality is that you, or rather, when your wife was forced to say it." ”

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

"I really didn't expect you to take advantage of this, Sir Henry... I really didn't expect that. ”

"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 untill he is under lock and key."

"This man is a danger to society. There are lonely people everywhere in the moor, and he is a lawless man, just look at him and you will understand this. For example, if you look at Mr. Stapleton's house, he is the only one who protects it. No one will feel safe unless Serdan is put back in jail. ”

"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."

"He will never break into anyone's house, sir, I can assure you of that. He will not harass anyone here anyway, and I assure you, Sir Henry, that in a few days the necessary arrangements will be made, and he will be going to South America. For God's sake, Sir, I beg you not to let the police know he is still in the moor. There they had given up their pursuit of him, and he could hide quietly until the ship was ready. If you report him, you will surely trouble me and my wife. I beg you, sir, not to say anything to the police. ”

"What do you say, Watson?"

"What do you think, Watson?"

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

I shrugged. "If he can get out of the country safely, it will be a burden on taxpayers."

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

"But will he attack anyone before he leaves?"

"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."

"He's not going to go crazy like that, sir, and we've got everything he needs ready for him." If he sinned again, he would reveal his hiding place. ”

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

"That's 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."

"God bless you, Sir, I thank you from the bottom of my heart! If he were to be arrested again, my poor wife would not be able to survive. ”

"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."

"I suppose we're instigating a major crime, Watson?" But after listening to what he had just said, I felt as if I could no longer report the man, forget it! Well, Barrymore, you can go. ”

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

The man turned around while intermittently saying words of thanks, but he hesitated and then turned 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."

"You have been so kind to us, sir, and I will do everything in my power to repay you. I know one thing, Sir Henry, that I may have said it a long time ago, but it was only long after the autopsy that I discovered it. I have not mentioned this to anyone yet, but it is something related to sir Charles's death. ”

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

The Baronet and I both stood up. "Do you know how he died?"

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

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

"What then?"

"So, what do you know?"

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

"I know why he was standing by that door, it was to meet a woman."

"To meet a woman! He?"

"Go meet a woman!" he?! ”

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"And the woman's name?"

"What's that woman's name?"

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

"I can't tell you her name, sir, but I can tell you the prefix of that name." The prefix of her name is L.L."

"How do you know this, Barrymore?"

"How do you know that, 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 Henry, your uncle received a letter that morning. He often received many letters, because he was a well-known figure, and he was also known for his kindness, so whoever was in trouble liked to turn to him for help. But that morning, there happened to be only that one letter, so it caught my special attention. The letter had been sent from Qom Tracy and was in the woman's handwriting. ”

"Well?"

"Huh?"

"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."

"Ah, sir, if it were not for my wife's relationship, I would never have thought of it, and perhaps I would never have remembered it." Just a few weeks ago, as she was cleaning Up Sir Charles's study—which had not been touched since his death—she found the ashes of a burned letter behind the furnace lattice. Most of the letter had been charred and broken into small pieces, and only a small note at the end of the letter was still intact, and the handwriting appeared gray on the black ground, which could still be seen. It looks like an epigraph at the end of the letter, which reads: 'You are a gentleman, please burn this letter and go to the gate at ten o'clock.' Here's the name signed with the word L.L. ”

"Have you got that slip?"

"Is that note still with you?"

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

"No, sir, as soon as we move, it shatters."

"Had Sir Charles received any other lettefs in the same writting?"

"Has Sir Charles ever received a letter in the same handwriting?"

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

"Oh, sir, I didn't pay special attention to his letters. It was only because the letter was sent separately that I noticed it. ”

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

"Don't you know who L.L. is?"

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

"I don't know, sir, I don't know much more than you do. But I think that if we could find the lady, we would know more about Sir Charles's death. ”

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

"I'm really baffled, Barrymore, how could you keep such an important situation secret?"

"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 --"

"Oh, sir, that's just after our own troubles arrived. And then there is, Sir, we both love Sir Charles, and we cannot fail to take into account his kindness to us. We do not think it would do any good for our poor master to bring it out, and that the question also involves a lady, and of course it is even more important to proceed with it. Even the best of us..."

"You thought it might injure his reputation?"

"Do you think this will hurt 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."

"Well, sir, I don't think there's going to be any good going on. But you are so kind to us now that I feel that if I don't tell you the whole story about this, then I'm so sorry for you. ”

"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?"

"Great, Barrymore, you can go." When the butler was gone, Sir Henry turned to me and said, "Hey, Watson, what do you think of this new discovery?" ”

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

"It seems to be another difficult problem, making it even more inexplicable 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?"

"I think so too, but as long as we can identify L.L. as a person, we may be able to figure out the whole problem." That's all we can get, and we already know that someone knows the truth of the matter, as long as they can find her. Where do you think we should start? ”

"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."

"Tell Holmes all the way through it at once, so that he can provide him with the clues he has been looking for." If that doesn't attract him here, that's a strange thing. ”

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.

I went back to my room at once and wrote to Holmes a report on the conversation this morning. It was clear to me that he had been busy lately because of the very few letters sent from Baker Street. It was also short, and there was no comment on the news I had provided him, and it was even more rare to mention my task. There is no doubt that his spirit is fully focused on the case of the anonymous threatening letter. However, this new development of events is sure to attract his attention and restore his interest in the case. How nice it would be if he were here now.

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.

October 17 – Today's heavy rain is all day long, pouring ivy and dripping with water from the eaves. I thought of the fugitive in the desolate, cold and uncovered moorland. Poor man! No matter what sin he had committed, the suffering he was suffering now had finally atonement for his sins. I thought of another man -- the face in the carriage, the figure under the moon, the hidden watcher and the incomprehensible man -- was he also in the pouring rain? In the evening, I put on my raincoat and rain boots and walked far out in the wet and soft moor, my heart full of terrible imagination, the rain hitting my face and the wind whistled in my ears. But ask God to help those who are wandering in the quagmire, for even the hard heights have become quagmire. I finally found the black rock hill, and it was on this rock hill that I saw the lonely watchman, and from its saga peak, I glanced at the gloomy highlands near and far without trees. The storm mixed with heavy rain brushed the russet ground, thick bluestone-like clouds, suspended low above the earth, and there were wisps of gray residual clouds dragging on the strangely shaped mountainside. In the distant ravine on the left, the two slender towers of the Baskerville Estate, through the mist, stood half-hidden high in the woods. Aside from the small prehistoric houses that were crammed up the hillside, this was the only sign of human life I could see. There was no trace of the lonely man I had seen in the same place two nights earlier.

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.

As I walked back, Dr. Mortimer came up, and he rode his two-wheeled carriage on a bumpy moor path leading to the outlying Farmhouse of Foomere. He had always cared deeply about us, and hardly a day had he gone out of the manor to see if we were doing well. He made sure I got into his carriage, so I took his car home. I knew that he had been very troubled lately by the disappearance of the little long-eared steak; the puppy had not returned since he had once run around into the moor. I comforted him as best I could, but as soon as I thought of the ponies in the quagmire of Green Basin, I no longer had any illusions that he would see his puppy 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?"

"I said, Mortimer," I said as we jolted and tossed the rough road, "I suppose that there are very few people here who can be reached by horse-drawn carriage, and you have very few people who do not know." ”

"Hardly any, I think."

"I think, not at all."

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

"So, can you tell me which women have names with L.L.?"

He thought for a few minutes.

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."

"No," he said, "I don't know how many Gypsies and hard laborers there are, and none of the peasants or squires has the name of that." "Oh, wait a minute," he paused for a moment and then said, "there's a Laura Lyons—her name is L.L.—but she lives in Combe Tracy. ”

"Who is she?" I asked.

"Who is she?" I asked.

"She is Frankland's daughter."

"She's Frankland's daughter."

"What! Old Frankland the crank?"

"What! Is that old nerve Frankland? ”

"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."

It was she who married a painter surnamed Lyons who had come to the moor to draw sketches. But he was a vulgar villain, and he abandoned her. Judging by what I have heard, the fault may not be entirely on one side. Anything about her, her father decided to leave it alone, because she got married without his consent, and perhaps for other reasons. Because of the discord between this debauched old fellow and his daughter, the woman was in an embarrassing situation. ”

"How does she live?"

"Then 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."

"I suppose old Frankland will give her some financial support, but it can't be much, because his own mess has dragged him down quite enough." No matter how sinful she deserves, she cannot be saved from falling. After word got out of her story, some people here tried to help her so that she could live a proper life. Stapleton and Charlz both helped, and I gave her a little money to start typing. ”

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

He wanted to know what the purpose of my questions was, but I couldn't satisfy his curiosity and didn't tell him much, because I had no reason to trust anyone. I'm going to Combe Tracy tomorrow morning. If I could meet the ambiguous Mrs. Laura Lyons, I would have taken the investigation done to clarify this mysterious sequence of mysteries a step further. I must have developed to be as clever as a snake, for when Mortimer asked him what type of skull Frankland belonged to when it was very difficult to answer. In this way, until you reach your destination, you will hear nothing but skull science. I finally didn't spend so many years with Sherlock Holmes.

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

In this stormy and gloomy weather, there is only one thing worth documenting. That was the conversation I had with Barrymore just now, and he gave me a powerful card that could be used at the right time.

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

Mortimer stayed behind for dinner, after which he and the baronet-to-be played cards. The housekeeper came to the study to bring me coffee, and I took the opportunity to ask him a few questions.

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

"Ah," I said, "your good relatives are gone?" Or is it still hidden there? ”

"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."

"I don't know, sir. Hopefully he's gone, because he's only going to cause trouble here. I haven't heard anything about him since the last time I brought him food, and that was three days ago. ”

"Did you see him then?"

"Did you see him that time?"

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

"No, sir, but when I go there again, the food is gone."

"Then he was certainly there?"

"So he must still be there?"

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

"Sir, unless he was taken by someone else, you must think he's still there."

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

I sat there, and before the coffee was even to my mouth, I stared at him again and asked:

"You know that there is another man then?"

"So, do you know there's another person?"

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

"Yes, sir, there is another man in the moor."

"Have you seen him?"

"Did you see him?"

"No, sir."

"No, sir."

"How do you know of him then?"

"Then how do you know?"

"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.

"It was Seldan who told me, sir, a week ago or earlier. He was hiding too, but I reckon he wasn't a fugitive. I'm really nerve-wracking about these things, Dr. Watson—I'll be honest with you, sir, these things really hurt my head. He said suddenly with sincere and fervent emotion.

"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."

"Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I'm just for your master, otherwise I wouldn't be interested in anything like this. I came here for no purpose other than to help him. Tell me frankly, what makes you so upset? ”

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

Barry mo hesitated for a moment, as if regretting that he should not have spoken out loud or felt that it was difficult to express his feelings in words.

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

"It's all that keeps happening, sir," he shouted at last, waving his hand at the rain-washed window toward the moor, "I'm sure there's an assassination going on there, a terrible conspiracy brewing!" Sir, I wish Sir Henry could go back to London. ”

"But what is it that alarms you?"

"But what is the factual basis for what has frightened you like this?"

"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."

"Look at sir Charles's death! Take what the coroner said, it's bad enough. If you look at the strange noises in the moor at night, after sunset, no one will walk through the moor no matter how much money you give. And the man hiding there, who was there peeping and waiting! What was he waiting for? What is the intention? All this, for anyone in the Baskervilles, is in no way a good sign. By the day sir Henry's new servants come to take over the manor, I will be happy to leave it all. ”

"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?"

"But about this stranger on the moor," I said, "can you tell me anything?" What did Seldan say? Did he find his hiding place or discover 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."

"Seldan had seen him once or twice, but he was a very sinister fellow who wouldn't reveal anything. At first he thought the man was a policeman, but soon he discovered that the man had other plans. To him, the man looked like an upper-class man, but he couldn't figure out what he was doing. ”

"And where did he say that he lived?"

"Did he say where the man lived?"

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

"In the old house on the hillside—the little stone house where the ancient man lived."

"But how about his food?"

"But what about his meal?"

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

"Seldan found a small child at his service and gave him what he needed. I dare say that the boy went to Qom Tracy to get what he needed. ”

"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.

"Excellent, Barrymore. Let's talk about this issue in depth another day. After the butler was gone, I looked through the blurred window panes at the clouds galloping outside, and the contours of the trees that were swept away by the wind. Such a night would be sinister enough indoors, let alone smell in a stone house on the moor. What a strong hatred can make a person lurk in such a place at such a time! What kind of far-reaching and impatient purpose made him work so hard! The center of the problem that seems to bother me is in the house on the moor. I vow to do everything possible tomorrow to discover the mysterious core.