Holmes: Hounds of the Baskervilles (in English and Chinese) – 7 Stapletons of Merripit House owner of the Mellippi Mansion Stapletons

<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right">The Stapletons of Merripit House</h1>

< h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" > Stapleton, owner of the Mellippi Mansion</h1>

The fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface from our minds the grim and gray impression which had been left upon both of us by our first experience of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat at breakfast the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows, throwing watery patches of colour from the coats of arms which covered them. The dark panelling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and it was hard to realize that this was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom into our souls upon the evening before.

The fresh beauty of the next morning somewhat erased the horror and gloom that we had when we first saw the Baskerville Manor. By the time Sir Baskerville and I had sat down for breakfast, the sunlight had been scattered through the high ledges, casting a faint and feeble patch of light through the shield-shaped window glass mounted on the window, and the dark parapet panels were illuminated like bronze by the golden sunlight; it is hard to believe that this is the room in which the shadow was cast on our minds last night.

"I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have to blame!" said the baronet. "We were tired with our journey and chilled by our drive, so we took a gray view of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so it is all cheerful once more."

"I guess we can only blame ourselves, not the house!" The baronet said, "At that time, we had an unpleasant impression of this place because of the fatigue of the journey and the coldness of the ride. Now, our body and mind have been refreshed, so we feel very happy again. ”

"And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination," I answered. "Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman I think, sobbing in the night?"

"But it's not just a question of imagination," I replied, "for example, have you heard someone—I think it's a woman,—— crying at night?" ”

"That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that I heard something of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there was no more of it, so I concluded that it was all a dream."

"It's strange that I did hear crying when I was half awake and half asleep. I waited for a long time, but I couldn't hear it anymore, so I was sure it was all a dream. ”

"I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sob of a woman."

"I could hear it clearly, and I'm sure it was a woman's cry."

"We must ask about this right away." He rang the bell and asked Barrymore whether he could account for our experience. It seemed to me that the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler still as he listened to his master's question.

"We've got to ask about it right away." He rang the bell and called Barrymore and asked him if he could explain the cries we heard. It seems to me that the pale face of the butler became even paler after hearing the questions asked by his master.

"There are only two women in the house, Sir Henry," he answered. "One is the scullery-maid, who sleeps in the other wing. The other is my wife, and I can answer for it that the sound could not have come from her."

"Lord Henry, there are only two women in this house," he replied, "one is a maid, who sleeps in the opposite compartment; the other is my wife, but I can assure you that she will never make the cry." ”

And yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that after breakfast I met Mrs. Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy-featured woman with a stern set expression of mouth. But her telltale eyes were red and glanced at me from between swollen lids. It was she, then, who wept in the night, and if she did so her husband must know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery in declaring that it was not so. Why had he done this? And why did she weep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome, black-bearded man there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It was he who had been the first to discover the body of Sir Charles, and we had only his word for all the circumstances which led up to the old man's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore, after all, whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street? The beard might well have been the same. The cabman had described a somewhat shorter man, but such an impression might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the point forever? Obviously the first thing to do was to see the Grimpen postmaster and find whether the test telegram had really been placed in Barrymore's own hands. Be the answer what it might, I should at least have something to report to Sherlock Holmes.

But it turned out that he was lying, because after breakfast I happened to meet Mrs. Barrymore on the promenade, and the sun was shining on her face, a tall, cold-looking, chubby woman with a serious expression on the corner of her mouth. But her eyes were unabashedly red, and she looked at me with her red, swollen eyes. So she was the one who cried at night. If she had indeed cried, her husband would have known why, but he had risked being discovered and denied the truth. Why did he do that? Also, why did she cry so sadly? Around this white-faced, beautiful, black-bearded man, a mysterious and miserable atmosphere had formed. It was he who was the first to find Sir Charles's body, and it was only from him that we received a briefing on the circumstances that led the old man to death. Is it possible? Could it be that the man in the carriage we see on Regent Street is Barrymore? The beard is likely to be the same. The coachman described a man of considerable stature, but this impression is probably wrong. How can I figure this out? Apparently, the first thing to do was to go to the postmaster of GreenPool and find out whether the tentative telegram had actually been handed over to Barrymore in person. Whatever the answer, I should at least have something to report to Sherlock Holmes.

Sir Henry had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that the time was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasant walk of four miles along the edge of the moor, leading me at last to a small gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings, which proved to be the inn and the house of Dr. Mortimer, stood high above the rest. The postmaster, who was also the village grocer, had a clear recollection of the telegram.

After breakfast, Sir Henry had a lot of papers to read, so this was just the right time for me to go out. It was a pleasant walk, and I walked four miles along the edge of the moor until I came to a desolate, monotonous village with two large houses taller than the rest, and it was later learned that one was a hotel, the other was the house of Dr. Mortimer, and the postmaster, who was also the grocer of the village, remembered the telegram well.

"Certainly, sir," said he, "I had the telegram delivered to Mr. Barrymore exactly as directed."

"Yes, sir," he said, "I have asked the person to send the telegram to Monsieur Barrymore exactly as instructed. ”

"Who delivered it?"

"Who sent it?"

"My boy here. James, you delivered that telegram to Mr. Barrymore at the Hall last week, did you not?"

"My kids sent it. James, you sent that telegram to Mr. Barrymore, who lives at the manor, last week, didn't you? ”

"Yes, father, I delivered it."

"Yes, Dad, I sent it."

"Into his own hands?" I asked.

"Did he receive it with his own hands?" I asked.

"Well, he was up in the loft at the time, so that I could not put it into his own hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymore's hands, and she promised to deliver it at once."

"Ah, he was upstairs, so I couldn't hand it over to him myself, but I gave it to Mrs. Barrymore, who promised to send it right away."

"Did you see Mr. Barrymore?"

"Have you seen Mr. Barrymore?"

"No, sir; I tell you he was in the loft."

"No, sir, I told you he was upstairs."

"If you didn't see him, how do you know he was in the loft?"

"If you don't see him, how can you know he's upstairs?"

"Well, surely his own wife ought to know where he is," said the postmaster testily. "Didn't he get the telegram? If there is any mistake it is for Mr. Barrymore himself to complain."

"Oh, of course his own wife should know where he is!" The postmaster said with some irritation, "Did he receive that telegram?" If anything goes wrong, it should be Mr. Barrymore himself questioning. ”

It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it was clear that in spite of Holmes's ruse we had no proof that Barrymore had not been in London all the time. Suppose that it were so -- suppose that the same man had been the last who had seen Sir Charles alive, and the first to dog the new heir when he returned to England. What then? Was he the agent of others or had he some sinister design of his own? What interest could he have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of the strange warning clipped out of the leading article of the Times. Was that his work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent upon counteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive was that which had been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family could be scared away a comfortable and permanent home would be secured for the Barrymores. But surely such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate to account for the deep and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving an invisible net round the young baronet. Holmes himself had said that no more complex case had come to him in all the long series of his sensational investigations. I prayed, as I walked back along the gray, lonely road, that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations and able to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility from my shoulders.

There may be no hope of continuing this investigation, but one thing is clear: despite Holmes's clever tactics, we have not been able to prove that Barrymore never went to London. Suppose that this is the case – suppose he is the last to see Sir Charles alive, the first to track down the new heir who has just returned to England, so what? Was he at the behest of someone else, or was there another personal conspiracy? What good would the people who harmed the Baskervilles do him? I am reminded of a warning letter cut and pasted from a Timer review. Was this what he did, or could someone have done it because they were determined to oppose his plot? The only conceivable thing that could be imagined was the kind of motive that Sir Henry had speculated about, which was that if the owner of the manor could be scared away, then the Barrymores would have a permanent and comfortable home. But such an explanation would be very inappropriate for a far-sighted conspiracy that weaves an invisible net around the young baronet. Holmes himself had said that in his long list of astonishing detective cases there was no more complex case. On my way back along the gray and lonely road, I prayed silently in my heart that my friend would come here from his affairs and take this heavy responsibility off my shoulders.

Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet behind me and by a voice which called me by name. I turned, expecting to see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it was a stranger who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man, flaxen-haired and leanjawed, between thirty and forty years of age, dressed in a gray suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin box for botanical specimens hung over his shoulder and he carried a green butterfly-net in one of his hands.

Suddenly, a sound of running and calling my name interrupted my train of thought, and I turned around, thinking that it must be Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise, it was a stranger who was chasing me. He was a short, thin man with a clean beard and a good face, with long yellowish hair, a sharp chin, and the appearance of about thirty or forty years old, dressed in gray, wearing a straw hat, a thin herbarium box hanging from his shoulder, and a green butterfly net in one hand.

"You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson," said he as he came panting up to where I stood. "Here on the moor we are homely folk and do not wait for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my name from our mutual friend, Mortimer. I am Stapleton, of Merripit House."

"I'm sure you'll forgive me for my rudeness, Dr. Watson," he said as he ran to me gasping for breath, "and in this moor people are like a family, seeing each other without waiting for a formal introduction." I think you may have heard my name from our friend Dr. Mortimer, and I'm Stapleton, who lives in Mellippi. ”

"Your net and box would have told me as much," said I, "for I knew that Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you know me?"

"Your casket and net have told me very clearly," I said, "because I have long known that Mr. Stapleton is a biologist." But how did you know me? ”

"I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out to me from the window of his surgery as you passed. As our road lay the same way I thought that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust that Sir Henry is none the worse for his journey?"

"When I visited Dr. Mortimer, you were walking past his window, and he showed you to me. Because we're on a path, I want to catch up with you to introduce ourselves. I'm sure sir Henry's trip was all right? ”

"He is very well, thank you."

"Thank you, he's fine."

"We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Sir Charles the new baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking much of a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in a place of this kind, but I need not tell you that it means a very great deal to the countryside. Sir Henry has, I suppose, no superstitious fears in the matter?"

"After sir Charles's tragic death, we all feared that the new baronet might not want to live here. It is indeed a bit unreasonable to make a rich man condescending to be buried in such a place. However, I don't need to say more, this point is really of great importance to the countryside. I suppose Sir Henry would not have had any superstitious fear of this? ”

"I do not think that it is likely."

"I guess not."

"Of course you know the legend of the fiend dog which haunts the family?"

"You must have heard the legend about the devilish hounds that haunted this family?"

"I have heard it."

"I've heard of it."

"It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here! Any number of them are ready to swear that they have seen such a creature upon the moor." He spoke with a smile, but I seemed to read in his eyes that he took the matter more seriously. "The story took a great hold upon the imagination of Sir Charles, and I have no doubt that it led to his tragic end."

"The farmers here are so gullible to believe the rumors!" Each of them could swear that they had ever seen such a beast in this moor. "He spoke with a smile, but I seemed to see in his eyes that he was serious about it." This had a great psychological impact on Sir Charles. I firmly believe that it was because of this incident that he ended up in such a tragic end. ”

"But how?"

"How could it be?"

"His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog might have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancy that he really did see something of the kind upon that last night in the yew alley. I feared that some disaster might occur, for I was very fond of the old man, and I knew that his heart was weak."

His nerves were strained to the point where the sight of a dog would have a fatal effect on his sick heart. I reckon that the night he was dying, in the water pine passage, he really saw something similar. In the past, I used to worry about what would happen to disaster, because I liked the old man very much, and I knew that his heart was weak. ”

"How did you know that?"

"How do you know that?"

"My friend Mortimer told me."

"My friend Mortimer told me."

"You think, then, that some dog pursued Sir Charles, and that he died of fright in consequence?"

"So, do you think there was a dog chasing Sir Charles, and he was scared to death?"

"Have you any better explanation?"

"Is there any better explanation for that?"

"I have not come to any conclusion."

"I haven't come to any conclusions yet."

"Has Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

"What about Monsieur Sherlock Holmes?"

The words took away my breath for an instant but a glance at the placid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprise was intended.

This sentence made me hold my breath for a moment, but when I looked again at the gentle and calm face and the calm gaze of my companion, I realized that he did not intend to surprise me.

"It is useless for us to pretend that we do not know you, Dr Watson," said he. "The records of your detective have reached us here, and you could not celebrate him without being known yourself. When Mortimer told me your name he could not deny your identity. If you are here, then it follows that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself in the matter, and I am naturally curious to know what view he may take."

"It's useless for us to pretend we don't know you, Dr. Watson," he said, "we've seen your account of the detective here, and you can't praise your friend without making yourself famous." When Mortimer talked about you to me, he couldn't deny your identity. Now that you have arrived here, it is obvious that Mr. Sherlock Holmes himself is interested in this matter, and I am naturally curious to know what his opinion is on this matter. ”

"I am afraid that I cannot answer that question."

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question."

"May I ask if he is going to honour us with a visit himsel?"

"May I venture to ask, would he like to see the light and come here in person?"

"He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases which engage his attention."

"He can't leave town yet. He was concentrating on other cases. ”

"What a pity! He might throw some light on that which is so dark to us. But as to your own researches, if there is any possible way in which I can be of service to you I trust that you will command me. If I had any indication of the nature of your suspicions or how you propose to investigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you some aid or advice."

"What a pity! He may be able to give us some clues to this difficult matter. While you're doing your research, if I'm going to do my job, it's a good assignment. If I could know your question or how you were going to investigate, I might be able to help or suggest it right away. ”

"I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friend, Sir Henry, and that I need no help of any kind."

"Believe me, I am only here to visit my friend Sir Henry, and I do not need any assistance."

"Excellent!" said Stapleton. "You are perfectly right to be wary and discreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was an unjustifiable intrusion, and I promise you that I will not mention the matter again."

"Okay!" Stapleton said, "You are absolutely right to be so careful. I was reprimanded as a completely deserved one, because my thoughts were just unreasonable nosy. I promise you, never mention it again. ”

We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from the road and wound away across the moor. A steep, boulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry. The face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise there floated a gray plume of smoke.

We walked through a narrow, grassy path that diagonally forked out of the avenue, winding and winding through the moor. To the right is a steep, rocky hill that has been opened as a granite quarry many years ago; on our side is a dark cliff with sheep's tooth plants and thorns growing in the crevices; and on the distant hillside, a trail of gray smoke floats.

"A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to Merripit House," said he. "Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to my sister."

"Take a slow walk down this moor trail and you'll be at Mellippi," he said, "and maybe you'll be able to spare an hour, and I'd love to introduce you to my sister." ”

My first thought was that I should be by Sir Henry's side. But then I remembered the pile of papers and bills with which his study table was littered. It was certain that I could not help with those. And Holmes had expressly said that I should study the neighbours upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, and we turned together down the path.

I thought first of all that I should accompany Sir Henry, but then of the pile of papers and securities piled high on his desk, of course I could not help him in these matters, and that Holmes had specifically said that I should investigate my neighbours on the moor, so I accepted Stapleton's invitation and went on the path together.

"It is a wonderful place, the moor," said he, looking round over the undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged granite foaming up into fantastic surges. "You never tire of the moor. You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast, and so barren, and so mysterious."

"This moor is such a wonderful place," he said, looking around. The undulating hills resemble a rolling green wave, and the jagged granite peaks look like strange splashes of water stirred up by the waves. "You will never get bored with this moor, the wonderful secrets of the moor you can hardly imagine, so vast, so desolate, so mysterious." 」

"You know it well, then?"

"So you must know a lot about the moor?"

"I have only been here two years. The residents would call me a newcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. But my tastes led me to explore every part of the country round, and I should think that there are few men who know it better than I do."

"I've only lived here for two years, and the locals call me a newcomer, and sir Charles has not been here for long when we came. My interest prompted me to observe every part of the country, so I think few people know better than I do here. ”

"Is it hard to know?"

"Is it hard to figure it out?"

"Very hard. You see, for example, this great plain to the north here with the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anything remarkable about that?"

"It's hard. You know, for example, this great plain to the north has a few strange hills in the middle. Can you tell what's special about it? ”

"It would be a rare place for a gallop."

"It's a rare place to gallop on horseback."

"You would naturally think so and the thought has cost several their lives before now. You notice those bright green spots scattered thickly over it?"

"Of course you think so, but so far, this kind of thinking has buried many lives. Can you see the places covered with tender green grass? ”

"Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest."

"Yeah, it looks like that place is more fertile than other places."

Stapleton laughed.

Stapleton burst out laughing.

"That is the great Grimpen Mire," said he. "A false step yonder means death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor ponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quite a long time craning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him down at last. Even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive. By George, there is another of those miserable ponies!"

"That's the Big Green Basin Quagmire," he said, "where if you are not careful, both people and animals will die." Yesterday I also saw a moor pony running in, and it never came out again. After a long time I saw it sticking out of the mud pit, but finally it fell into it. Even in the dry months, it is dangerous to cross there. After a few autumn rains, it was even more frightening. But I could find my way to the center of the quagmire and come back alive. Oh, my God! Another unlucky pony got caught up in it. ”

Something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful cry echoed over the moor. It turned me cold with horror, but my companion's nerves seemed to be stronger than mme.

Then I saw something brown rolling up and down in the green mossy grass, its neck twisting upwards, followed by a long cry of pain, a terrible roar echoing in the moor. It was as if I was cold from the fright, but his nerves seemed to be stronger than mine.

"It's gone!" said he. "The mire has him. Two in two days, and many more, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the dry weather and never know the difference until the mire has them in its clutches. It's a bad place, the great Grimpen Mire."

"It's over!" He said, "The quagmire has engulfed it. Two horses were buried in two days, and in the future, it is possible to know how many more will be trapped; for in dry weather they are accustomed to running there, but they will not know the difference between drought and rain before they are entangled in the mud. The Grimm basin quagmire is a terrible place. ”

"And you say you can penetrate it?"

"But didn't you say you could wear it?"

"Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man can take. I have found them out."

"Yeah, there's a path here that only people with very quick movements can walk through, and I've found it."

"But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?"

"But why do you want to go into such a terrible place?"

"Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cut off on all sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them in the course of years. That is where the rare plants and the butterflies are, if you have the wit to reach them."

"Ah, do you see the hill over there?" It was like a small island surrounded by an impenetrable, old quagmire. If you can get there, that's where rare plants and butterflies grow. ”

"I shall try my luck some day."

"I'll try my luck any day."

He looked at me with a surprised face.

He suddenly looked at me with a look of surprise on his face.

"For God's sake put such an idea out of your mind," said he. "Your blood would be upon my head. I assure you that there would not be the least chance of your coming back alive. It is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am able to do it."

"Don't give up on that," he said, "that would be tantamount to me killing you." I dare say that you will rarely come back alive, and I got there by remembering certain intricate landmarks. ”

"Halloa!" I cried. "What is that?"

"Oh my God!" I shouted, "What's that?" ”

A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It filled the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it came. From a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again. Stapleton looked at me with a curious expression in his face.

A long, low, indescribably miserable groan spread throughout the moor, filling the entire space, but it was impossible to tell where it came from. What began as a vague hum, then into a deep roar, then into a sad and rhythmic hum. Stapleton looked at me with a curious expression.

"Queer place, the moor!" said he.

"The moor is such a strange place!" he said.

"But what is it?"

"What the hell is this?"

"The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles calling for its prey. I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite so loud."

"Farmers said it was baskerville hounds looking for its prey. I've heard it once or twice before, but it's never been louder. ”

I looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the huge swelling plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a tor behind us.

Scared to the point of fighting the Cold War, I looked around at the undulating wilderness dotted with green trees. In the vast wilderness, there was no movement except for a pair of large crows croaking on the rocky hill behind us.

"You are an educated man. You don't believe such nonsense as that?" said I. "What do you think is the cause of so strange a sound?"

"You're an educated man, so you don't believe these nonsense?" I said, "Where do you think this strange sound comes from?" ”

"Bogs make queer noises sometimes. It's the mud settling, or the water rising, or something."

"The quagmire sometimes makes strange noises. The sludge sinks or groundwater rises upwards, or something else. ”

"No, no, that was a living voice."

"No, no, that's the sound of an animal."

"Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?"

"Ah, maybe. Have you ever heard a heron crow? ”

"No, I never did."

"No, never heard of it."

"It's a very rare bird -- practically extinct -- in England now, but all things are possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not be surprised to learn that what we have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns."

"It's a very rare bird in England – almost extinct – but there may still be in the moorlands. Yes, even if what we just heard was the cry of a heron, it was no surprise. ”

"It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my life."

"It's the scariest, strangest sound I've ever heard in my life."

"Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hillside yonder. What do you make of those?"

"Yeah, it's a mysterious and scary place. Look over there at the hill, what do you mean it is? ”

The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of stone, a score of them at least.

The entire steep hillside was a circle of gray stones, at least twenty piles.

"What are they? Sheep-pens?"

"What is it, is it a sheepfold?"

"No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric man lived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived there since, we find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them. These are his wigwams with the roofs off. You can even see his hearth and his couch if you have the curiosity to go inside.

"No, it was the dwelling place of our venerable ancestors, and there were many people who lived on the moor in prehistoric times, for no one has lived there since then, so the tiny arrangements we see are exactly the same as before they left the house. Those are their roofless cabins. If you're curious and take a walk inside, you'll see their stove and bed. ”

"But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?"

"It's a town. When did anyone ever live there? ”

"Neolithic man -- no date."

"About the Neolithic – there is no definite date to date."

"What did he do?"

"What did they do then?"

"He grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to dig for tin when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look at the great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes, you will find some very singular points about the moor, Dr. Watson. Oh, excuse me an instant! It is surely Cyclopides."

"They herded cattle on these hillsides, and when bronze knives began to replace stone axes, they learned to dig tin mines. You look at the trenches on the opposite hill, which are the remains of the excavations. Yes, Dr. Watson, you'll find some very special places in the moor, oh sorry, wait a minute! It must be the Great Moth of Sekropaid. ”

A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an instant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit of it. To my dismay the creature flew straight for the great mire, and my acquaintance never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuft behind it, his green net waving in the air. His gray clothes and jerky, zigzag, irregular progress made him not unlike some huge moth himself. I was standing watching his pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity and fear lest he should lose his footing in the treacherous mire when I heard the sound of steps and, turning round, found a woman near me upon the path. She had come from the direction in which the plume of smoke indicated the position of Merripit House, but the dip of the moor had hid her until she was quite close.

A thing that did not know whether it was a fly or a moth crossed the path and flew over, and in an instant Stapleton pounced on it with rare strength and speed. To my great surprise, the little animal flew all the way to the big quagmire, while my friend waved his green net pocket and kept jumping forward in the middle of a bush of small trees. He was dressed in gray, with a sudden jump and a zigzag forward movement, making him look like a big moth. With mixed feelings of envy for his agile movements and fear that he would stumble in the unfathomable depths of the quagmire, I stood there and watched him chase after him. Hearing footsteps, I turned around and saw a woman on the side of the road not far from me, who had come from the direction where a puff of smoke indicated that it was Mellippi, and had been obscured by a depression in the moor, so I had not been found until she was very close.

I could not doubt that this was the Miss Stapleton of whom I had been told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, and I remembered that I had heard someone describe her as being a beauty. The woman who approached me was certainly that, and of a most uncommon type. There could not have been a greater contrast between brother and sister, for Stapleton was neutral tinted, with light hair and gray eyes, while she was darker than any brunette whom I have seen in England -- slim, elegant, and tall. She had a proud, finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed impassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the beautiful dark, eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress she was, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonely moorland path. Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and then she quickened her pace towards me. I had raised my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark when her own words turned all my thoughts into a new channel.

I believe this is Miss Stapleton, whom I have heard of, for there are very few ladies in the moor, and I remember hearing her described as a beauty. The woman who came to me should indeed be classified as the most extraordinary type. The difference in the appearance of brothers and sisters probably couldn't be more significant. Stapleton had a moderate complexion, with pale hair and gray eyes; and her complexion was deeper than any dark-skinned girl I had ever seen in England, slender and well-mannered. She was born with a proud and beautiful face, with such upright features, that if she were not matched with kind lips and beautiful black and eager eyes, she would have looked cold. She had a perfect figure, and with her noble clothes, she was like a strange ghost on a silent moor path. She was looking at her brother as I turned around, and then she walked quickly toward me. I took off my hat and was about to say a few words of explanation, but her words led me to a new path.

"Go back!" she said. "Go straight back to London, instantly."

"Go back!" She said, "Go back to London at once, go right away." ”

I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed at me, and she tapped the ground impatiently with her foot.

I could only stare at her in amazement. Her eyes glowed like flames to me, and one foot slapped impatiently on the ground.

"Why should I go back?" I asked.

"Why should I go back?" I asked.

"I cannot explain." She spoke in a low, eager voice, with a curious lisp in her utterance. "But for God's sake do what I ask you. Go back and never set foot upon the moor again."

"I can't explain." Her voice was low and earnest, with a strangely large tongue-like voice, "But for God's sake, do as I ask you to do, go back, never come to the moor again." ”

"But I have only just come."

"But I just came!"

"Man, man!" she cried. "Can you not tell when a warning is for your own good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get away from this place at all costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not a word of what I have said. Would you mind getting that orchid for me among the mare's-tails yonder? We are very rich in orchids on the moor, though, of course, you are rather late to see the beauties of the place."

"You man, you man!" She cried out, "Don't you see that this warning is for your own good?" Go back to London! Let's go tonight! Leave this place anyway! Shhh, my brother is here! Not a word about what I have said. Will you give me the orchid on the other side of the cedar leaf algae? There are a lot of orchids on our moor, and you obviously came too late to see the beauty of this place. ”

Stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathing hard and flushed with his exertions.

Stapleton had given up the hunt for the little worm and returned to us, panting heavily from exertion and with a flushed face.

"Halloa, Beryl!" said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of his greeting was not altogether a cordial one.

"Aha, Belleel!" he said. But as far as I could see, his greeting tone was not warm.

"Well, Jack, you are very hot."

"Ah, Jack, you're hot, aren't you?"

"Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. He is very rare and seldom found in the late autumn. What a pity that I should have missed him!" He spoke unconcernedly, but his small light eyes glanced incessantly from the girl to me.

"Well, I just chased a Sycroppard moth, a rare one in late autumn. What a pity, I didn't catch it! He said casually, but his bright little eyes kept looking at me and the woman's face.

"You have introduced yourselves, I can see."

"I can see that you have introduced yourself."

"Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him to see the true beauties of the moor."

"Yes, I was telling Sir Henry that he had come too late to see the true beauty of the moor."

"Why, who do you think this is?"

"What, who do you think this is?"

"I imagine that it must be Sir Henry Baskerville."

"I guess it must be Sir Henry Baskerville."

"No, no," said I. "Only a humble commoner, but his friend. My name is Dr. Watson."

"No, no," I said, "I am nothing more than a humble ordinary man, a friend of Sir's, and I am Dr. Watson. ”

A flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. "We have been talking at cross purposes," said she.

Her expressionative face flushed with chagrin. "We actually talked about the sky in a misunderstanding." She said.

"Why, you had not very much time for talk," her brother remarked with the same questioning eyes.

"Ah, it doesn't matter, you haven't been talking for a long time." Her brother still looked at us with a suspicious look as he spoke.

"I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of being merely a visitor," said she. "It cannot much matter to him whether it is early or late for the orchids. But you will come on, will you not, and see Merripit House?"

"Instead of treating Dr. Watson as a guest, I talked to him as if he were a local resident," she said, "and to him, it doesn't matter much sooner or later for the orchid." But come on, don't you want to see our house in Mellippi? ”

A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it, but the trees, as is usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were admitted by a strange, wizened, rusty-coated old manservant, who seemed in keeping with the house. Inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with an elegance in which I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As I looked from their windows at the interminable granite-flecked moor rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon I could not but marvel at what could have brought this highly educated man and this beautiful woman to live in such a place.

A short walk away is a desolate, lonely house on the moor, a shepherd's farmhouse when it was once prosperous, but now it has been repaired and transformed into a new house. It was surrounded by orchards, but the trees were like the general trees in the moor, all dwarfed and poorly developed, and the whole place showed a gloomy color. A strange, thin old male servant who seemed to match the house well, dressed in old and faded clothes, led us in. The room was large, neatly and elegantly furnished, and it was also clear that the lady's hobbies were. I looked out the window, the endless granite moor, undulating in the direction of the distant horizon. I can't help but wonder, what made this highly educated man and this beautiful lady come to live in such a place?

"Queer spot to choose, is it not?" said he as if in answer to my thought. "And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not, Beryl?"

"Picked a weird place, didn't you?" He said as if answering the question I was thinking, "But we can live very quickly, can't we, Belleel?" ”

"Quite happy," said she, but there was no ring of conviction in her words.

"Live fast." She said. But her tone seemed reluctant.

"I had a school," said Stapleton. "It was in the north country. The work to a man of my temperament was mechanical and uninteresting, but the privilege of living with youth, of helping to mould those young minds, and of impressing them with one's own character and ideals was very dear to me. However, the fates were against us. A serious epidemic broke out in the school and three of the boys died. It never recovered from the blow, and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, if it were not for the loss of the charming companionship of the boys, I could rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with my strong tastes for botany and zoology, I find an unlimited field of work here, and my sister is as devoted to Nature as I am. All this, Dr. Watson, has been brought upon your head by your expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window."

"I used to run a school." "It's in the north, and that kind of work is boring for people of my personality, but it's very valuable for me to be able to live with young people, to help and nurture them, and to influence their hearts with their personal conduct and ideals," Stebton said. However, our bad luck was that there was a serious contagion in the school, three boys died, and after this blow, the school never recovered, and most of my funds were irreparably lost. But if it weren't for the loss of the pleasure of living with those lovely children, I wouldn't have missed this unfortunate event. Because of my strong love of zoology and botany, I found an endless supply of materials for my research, and my sister loved the work of nature as much as I did. All of this, Dr. Watson, has burrowed into your head as he observes the moor outside our window, as you can tell from your expression. ”

"It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dull -- less for you, perhaps, than for your sister."

"I did think that life here might be a little boring for your sister, maybe a little better for you."

"No, no, I am never dull," said she quickly.

"No, no, I've never been bored." She said quickly.

"We have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line. Poor Sir Charles was also an admirable companion. We knew him well and miss him more than I can tell. Do you think that I should intrude if I were to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry?"

"We have books, we have our research work, and we have interesting neighbors. Dr. Mortimer was the most learned man in his profession! Poor Sir Charles was also amiable companion. We know him well and feel unspeakable nostalgia for him. Do you think I should venture to visit Sir Henry this afternoon? ”

"I am sure that he would be delighted."

"I dare say he will be glad to see you."

"Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so. We may in our humble way do something to make things more easy for him until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you come upstairs, Dr. Watson, and inspect my collection of Lepidoptera? I think it is the most complete one in the south-west of England. By the time that you have looked through them lunch will be almost ready."

"Well, it's better to mention it by the way and say that I'm going to do it." Perhaps before he gets used to this new environment, we can make it a little thinner to make it more convenient for him. Dr. Watson, would you like to go upstairs and have a look at the lepidoptera I have collected? I think that's the most complete set that can be collected in the South England. By the time you're done, lunch is almost ready. ”

But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which had been associated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all these things tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of these more or less vague impressions there had come the definite and distinct warning of Miss Stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that I could not doubt that some grave and deep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch, and I set off at once upon my return journey, taking the grass-grown path by which we had come.

But I was anxious to go back to see my client. The gloomy moorlands, the death of the unfortunate ponies and the creepy sounds associated with the terrible legend of the hounds of the Baskervilles all cast a melancholy color over my thoughts. What appeared above these somewhat vague impressions was Miss Stapleton's clear, affirmative warning. The manner in which she had spoken was so sincere that I could no longer doubt that there must be a deep and serious reason behind this warning. I declined all requests to stay for lunch, and immediately set out on my way home, following the weedy path I had come.

It seems, however, that there must have been some short cut for those who knew it, for before I had reached the road I was astounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side of the track. Her face was beautifully flushed with her exertions and she held her hand to her side.

As if someone familiar with the road must have found a shortcut, before I could get on the main road, I was astonished to see Miss Stapleton sitting on a rock next to the path. Due to the strenuous exercise, her face glowed beautifully red, and her hands were crossed at the waist.

"I have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson," said she. "I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop, or my brother may miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am about the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were Sir Henry. Please forget the words I said, which have no application whatever to you."

"I came running in one breath to intercept you, Dr. Watson," she said, "and I didn't even have time to put on my hat." I can't stay here for long, or my brother will feel lonely because I'm not there. I would like to express my deep apologies to you for the stupid mistake I made, and I regard you as Sir Henry. Forget what I said, which have nothing to do with you. ”

"But I can't forget them, Miss Stapleton," said I. "I am Sir Henry's friend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine. Tell me why it was that you were so eager that Sir Henry should return to London."

"But I cannot forget, Miss Stapleton," I said, "I am a friend of Sir Henry, and I care very much for his well-being. Tell me why you are so anxious to think that Sir Henry should return to London? ”

"A woman's whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me better you will understand that I cannot always give reasons for what I say or do."

"It's just a woman's whim, Dr. Watson." When you know me better, you will know that I can't tell you everything I say about myself. ”

"No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remembe the look in your eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, Miss Stapleton, for ever since I have been here I have been conscious of shadows all round me. Life has become like that great Grimpen Mire, with little green patches everywhere into which one may sink and with no guide to point the track. Tell me then what it was that you meant, and I will promise to convey your warning to Sir Henry."

"No, no. I still remember the tone of your trembling voice, and I remember the look in your eyes. Oh, please be honest with me, Miss Stapleton, for from the moment I got here I felt suspicious all around. Life has become like the Grimm basin quagmire, full of small patches of greenery where people will sink into the ground without a guide to show him a way out. Tell me what you mean, and I promise you to convey your warning to Sir Henry. ”

An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her face, but her eyes had hardened again when she answered me.

A hesitant expression flashed on her face, but as she answered me, her eyes immediately became firm again.

"You make too much of it, Dr. Watson," said she. "My brother and I were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles. We knew him very intimately, for his favourite walk was over the moor to our house. He was deeply impressed with the curse which hung over the family, and when this tragedy came I naturally felt that there must be some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I was distressed therefore when another member of the family came down to live here, and I felt that he should be warned of the danger which he will run. That was all which I intended to convey.

"You think too much, Dr. Watson," she said, "my brother and I were shocked to hear sir Charles's bad news. We know this old man very well, because he likes to walk through the moor to our house. He was deeply affected by the doom that hung over his family. In the aftermath of this tragedy, I naturally felt that the fear he was showing was by no means uncaused. Now I am worried when someone from this family comes here to stay again, so I feel that I should warn him of the danger that may befall him again. That's all I want to convey to him. ”

"But what is the danger?"

"But what are you talking about?"

"You know the story of the hound?"

"You know the story of the hound, don't you?"

"I do not believe in such nonsense."

"I don't believe in this nonsense."

"But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him away from a place which has always been fatal to his family. The world is wide. Why should he wish to live at the place of danger?"

"But I believe. If you can still influence Sir Henry, please take him away from what is always fatal to their family. The four seas are big, there is a place to live, why is he willing to live in this dangerous place? ”

"Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry's nature. I fear that unless you can give me some more definite information than this it would be impossible to get him to move."

"It is precisely because it is a dangerous place that he has come here to live, and this is the character of Sir Henry. Unless you can provide me with something more specific than that, it will not be easy to get him out of here. ”

"I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite."

"I can't say anything specific because I don't know anything specific."

"I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If you meant no more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish your brother to overhear what you said? There is nothing to which he, or anyone else, could object."

"I have one more question for you, Miss Stapleton. If that's all you meant when you first told me, why wouldn't you want your brother to hear you? There's nothing worthy of his or anyone's objection. ”

"My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for he thinks it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. He would be very angry if he knew that I have said anything which might induce Sir Henry to go away. But I have done my duty now and I will say no more. I must go back, or he will miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Good-bye!" She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among the scattered boulders, while I, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way to Baskerville Hall.

"My brother was hoping that someone would live in this manor, because he thought it would be good for the poor people on the moor. If he knew what I had said that might get Sir Henry out of here, he might be furious. Now that I have done my duty, I will not say anything more. I have to go back, or he won't see me and will suspect that I'm here to meet you. Goodbye! She turned and walked, and within minutes she had disappeared into the rocks, and I rushed back to the Baskerville manor with inexplicable fear.