"Because this stick, though originally a very
handsome one has been so knocked about
that I can hardly imagine a town practitioner
carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn
down, so it is evident that he has done a
great amount of walking with it."

"Perfectly sound!" said Holmes.

"And then again, there is the 'friends of the
C.C.H.' I should guess that to be the
Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose
members he has possibly given some
surgical assistance, and which has made
him a small presentation in return."

"Really, Watson, you excel yourself," said
Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting
a cigarette. "I am bound to say that in all the
accounts which you have been so good as
to give of my own small achievements you
have habitually underrated your own
abilities. It may be that you are not yourself
luminous, but you are a conductor of light.
Some people without possessing genius
have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I
confess, my dear fellow, that I am very much
in your debt."

He had never said as much before, and I
must admit that his words gave me keen
pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his
indifference to my admiration and to the
attempts which I had made to give publicity
to his methods. I was proud, too, to think
that I had so far mastered his system as to
apply it in a way which earned his approval.
He now took the stick from my hands and
examined it for a few minutes with his
naked eyes. Then with an expression of
interest he laid down his cigarette, and
carrying the cane to the window, he looked
over it again with a convex lens.

"Interesting, though elementary," said he as
he returned to his favourite corner of the

"I can only think of the obvious conclusion
that the man has practised in town before
going to the country."

"I think that we might venture a little farther
than this. Look at it in this light. On what
occasion would it be most probable that
such a presentation would be made? When
would his friends unite to give him a pledge
of their good will? Obviously at the moment
when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the
service of the hospital in order to start in
practice for himself. We know there has
been a presentation. We believe there has
been a change from a town hospital to a
country practice. Is it, then, stretching our
inference too far to say that the presentation
was on the occasion of the change?"

"It certainly seems probable."

"Now, you will observe that he could not
have been on the staff of ohe hospital, since
only a man well-established in a London
practice could hold such a position, and
such a one would not drift into the country.
What was he, then? If he was in the hospital
and yet not on the staff he could only have
been a house-surpeon or a house-
physician little more than a senior student.
And he left five years ago the date is on the
stick. So your grave, middle-aged family
practitioner vanishes into thin air, my dear
Watson, and there emerges a young fellow
under thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-
minded, and the possessor of a favourite
dog, which I should describe roughly as
being larger than a terrier and smaller than a
mastiff."

I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes
leaned back in his settee and blew little
wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling.

"As to the latter part, I have no means of
checking you," said I, "but at least it is not

He had risen and paced the room as he
spoke. Now he halted in the recess of the
window. There was such a ring of
conviction in his voice that I glanced up in
surprise.

"My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so
sure of that?"

"For the very simple reason that I see the
dog himself on our very door-step, and
there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I
beg you, Watson. He is a professional
brother of yours, and your presence may be
of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic
moment of fate, Watson, when you hear a
step upon the stair which is walking into
your life, and you know not whether for good
or ill. What does Dr. James Mortimer, the
man of science, ask of Sherlock Holmes,
the specialist in crime? Come in!"

The appearance of our visitor was a
surprise to me, since I had expected a
typical country practitioner. He was a very
tall, thin man, with a long nose like a beak,
which jutted out between two keen, gray
eyes, set closely together and sparkling
brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmed
glasses. He was clad in a professional but
rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat
was dingy and his trousers frayed. Though
young, his long back was already bowed,
and he walked with a forward thrust of his
head and a general air of peering
benevolence. As he entered his eyes fell
upon the stick in Holmes's hand, and he ran
towards it with an exclamation of joy. "I am
so very glad," said he. "I was not sure
whether I had left it here or in the Shipping
Office. I would not lose that stick for the
world."

"A presentation, I see," said Holmes.

"Yes, sir."

an ornament to any anthropological
museum. It is not my intention to be fulsome,
but I confess that I covet your skull."

Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor
into a chair. "You are an enthusiast in your
line of thought, I perceive, sir, as I am in
mine," said he. "I observe from your
forefinger that you make your own
cigarettes. Have no hesitation in lighting
one."

The man drew out paper and tobacco and
twirled the one up in the other with
surprising dexterity. He had long, quivering
fingers as agile and restless as the
antennae of an insect.

Holmes was silent, but his little darting
glances showed me the interest which he
took in our curious companion.

"I presume, sir," said he at last, "that it was
not merely for the purpose of examining my
skull that you have done me the honour to
call here last night and again to-day?"

"No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had
the opportunity of doing that as well. I came
to you, Mr. Holmes, because I recognized
that I am myself an unpractical man and
because I am suddenly confronted with a
most serious and extraordinary problem.
Recognizing, as I do, that you are the
second highest expert in Europe --"

"Indeed, sir! May I inquire who has the
honour to be the first?" asked Holmes with
some asperity.

"To the man of precisely scientific mind the
work of Monsieur Bertillon must always
appeal strongly."

"Then had you not better consult him?"

eventually overtake him."

Holmes stretched out his hand for the
manuscript and flattened it upon his knee.

"You will observe, Watson, the alternative
use of the long s and the short. It is one of
several indications which enabled me to fix
the date."

I looked over his shoulder at the yellow
paper and the faded script. At the head was
written: "Baskerville Hall," and below in
large, scrawling figures: "1742."

"It appears to be a statement of some sort."

"Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend
which runs in the Baskerville family."

"But I understand that it is something more
modern and practical upon which you wish
to consult me?"

"Most modern. A most practical, pressing
matter, which must be decided within
twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is
short and is intimately connected with the
affair. With your permission I will read it to
you."

Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his
finger-tips together, and closed his eyes,
with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer
turned the manuscript to the light and read in
a high, cracking voice the following curious,
old-world narrative:

"Of the origin of the Hound of the
Baskervilles there have been many
statements, yet as I come in a direct line
from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the
story from my father, who also had it from
his, I have set it down with all belief that it
occurred even as is here set forth. And I
would have you believe, my sons, that the

of ivy which covered (and still covers) the
south wall she came down from under the
eaves, and so homeward across the moor,
there being three leagues betwixt the Hall
and her father's farm. "It chanced that some
little time later Hugo left his guests to carry
food and drink with other worse things,
perchance to his captive, and so found the
cage empty and the bird escaped. Then, as
it would seem, he became as one that hath
a devil, for, rushing down the stairs into the
dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table,
flagons and trenchers flying before him, and
he cried aloud before all the company that
he would that very night render his body and
soul to the Powers of Evil if he might but
overtake the wench. And while the revellers
stood aghast at the fury of the man, one
more wicked or, it may be, more drunken
than the rest, cried out that they should put
the hounds upon her Whereat Hugo ran from
the house, crying to his grooms that they
should saddle his mare and unkennel the
pack, and giving the hounds a kerchief of
the maid's, he swung them to the line, and
so off full cry in the moonlight over the moor.
"Now, for some space the revellers stood
agape, unable to understand all that had
been done in such haste. But anon their
bemused wits awoke to the nature of the
deed which was like to be done upon the
moorlands. Everything was now in an
uproar, some calling for their pistols, some
for their horses, and some for another flask
of wine. But at length some sense came
back to their crazed minds, and the whole of
them, thirteen in number, took horse and
started in pursuit. The moon shone clear
above them, and they rode swiftly abreast,
taking that course which the maid must
needs have taken if she were to reach her
own home. "They had gone a mile or two
when they passed one of the night
shepherds upon the moorlands, and they
cried to him to know if he had seen the hunt.
And the man, as the story goes, was so

hound, yet larger than any hound that ever
mortal eye has rested upon. And even as
they looked the thing tore the throat out of
Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it turned its
blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them,
the three shrieked with fear and rode for
dear life, still screaming, across the moor.
One, it is said, died that very night of what
he had seen, and the other twain were but
broken men for the rest of their days. "Such
is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the
hound which is said to have plagued the
family so sorely ever since. If I have set it
down it is because that which is clearly
known hath less terror than that which is but
hinted at and guessed. Nor can it be denied
that many of the family have been unhappy
in their deaths, which have been sudden,
bloody, and mysterious. Yet may we shelter
ourselves in the infinite goodness of
Providence, which would not forever punish
the innocent beyond that third or fourth
generation which is threatened in Holy Writ.
To that Providence, my sons, I hereby
commend you, and I counsel you by way of
caution to forbear from crossing the moor in
those dark hours when the powers of evil
are exalted.

"[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons
Rodger and John, with instructions that they
say nothing thereof to their sister
Elizabeth.]"

When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this
singular narrative he pushed his spectacles
up on his forehead and stared across at Mr.
Sherlock Holmes. The latter yawned and
tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire.

"Well?" said he.

"Do you not find it interesting?"

"To a collector of fairy tales."

untimely end. His generous donations to
local and county charities have been
frequently chronicled in these columns. "The
circumstances connected with the death of
Sir Charles cannot be said to have been
entirely cleared up by the inquest, but at
least enough has been done to dispose of
those rumours to which local superstition
has given rise. There is no reason whatever
to suspect foul play, or to imagine that death
could be from any but natural causes. Sir
Charles was a widower, and a man who
may be said to have been in some ways of
an eccentric habit of mind. In spite of his
considerable wealth he was simple in his
personal tastes, and bis indoor servants at
Baskerville Hall consisted of a married
couple named Barrymore, the husband
acting as butler and the wife as
housekeeper. Their evidence, corroborated
by that of several friends, tends to show that
Sir Charles's health has for some time been
impaired, and points especially to some
affection of the heart, manifesting itself in
changes of colour, breathlessness, and
acute attacks of nervous depression. Dr.
James Mortimer, the friend and medical
attendant of the deceased, has given
evidence to the same effect. "The facts of
the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville
was in the habit every night before going to
bed of walking down the famous yew alley
of Baskerville Hall. The evidence of the
Barrymores shows that this had been his
custom. On the fourth of May Sir Charles
had declared his intention of starting next
day for London, and had ordered
Barrymore to prepare his luggage. That
night he went out as usual for his nocturnal
walk, in the course of which he was in the
habit of smoking a cigar. He never returned.
At twelve o'clock Barrymore, finding the hall
door still open, became alarmed, and,
lighting a lantern, went in search of his
master. The day had been wet, and Sir
Charles's footmarks were easily traced

instituted with a view to informing him of his
good fortune."

Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and
replaced it in his pocket.

"Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in
connection with the death of Sir Charles
Baskerville."

"I must thank you," said Sherlock Holmes,
"for calling my attention to a case which
certainly presents some features of interest.
I had observed some newspaper comment
at the time, but I was exceedingly
preoccupied by that little affair of the
Vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige
the Pope I lost touch with several interesting
English cases. This article, you say,
contains all the public facts?"

"It does."

"Then let me have the private ones." He
leaned back, put his finger-tips together,
and assumed his most impassive and
judicial expression.

"In doing so," said Dr. Mortimer, who had
begun to show signs of some strong
emotion, "I am telling that which I have not
confided to anyone. My motive for
withholding it from the coroner's inquiry is
that a man of science shrinks from placing
himself in the public position of seeming to
indorse a popular superstition. I had the
further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the
paper says, would certainly remain
untenanted if anything were done to
increase its already rather grim reputation.
For both these reasons I thought that I was
justified in telling rather less than I knew,
since no practical good could result from it,
but with you there is no reason why I should
not be perfectly frank.

dreadful horror. I whisked round and had
just time to catch a glimpse of something
which I took to be a large black calf passing
at the head of the drive. So excited and
alarmed was he that I was compelled to go
down to the spot where the animal had been
and look around for it. It was gone,
however, and the incident appeared to
make the worst impression upon his mind. I
stayed with him all the evening, and it was
on that occasion, to explain the emotion
which he had shown, that he confided to my
keeping that narrative which I read to you
when first I came. I mention this small
episode because it assumes some
importance in view of the tragedy which
followed, but I was convinced at the time
that the matter was entirely trivial and that
his excitement had no justification.

"It was at my advice that Sir Charles was
about to go to London. His heart was, I
knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in
which he lived, however chimerical the
cause of it might be, was evidently having a
serious effect upon his health. I thought that
a few months among the distractions of
town would send him back a new man. Mr.
Stapleton, a mutual friend who was much
concerned at his state of health, was of the
same opinion. At the last instant came this
terrible catastrophe.

"On the night of Sir Charles's death
Barrymore the butler who made the
discovery, sent Perkins the groom on
horseback to me, and as I was sitting up
late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall
within an hour of the event. I checked and
corroborated all the facts which were
mentioned at the inquest. I followed the
footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the spot
at the moor-gate where he seemed to have
waited, I remarked the change in the shape
of the prints after that point, I noted that
there were no other footsteps save those of

"How was it that no one else saw it?"

"The marks were some twenty yards from
the body and no one gave them a thought. I
don't suppose I should have done so had I
not known this legend."

"There are many sheep-dogs on the moor?"

"No doubt, but this was no sheep-dog."

"You say it was large?"

"Enormous. "

"But it had not approached the body?"

"No."

"What sort of night was it?'

"Damp and raw."

"But not actually raining?"

"No."

"What is the alley like?"

"There are two lines of old yew hedge,
twelve feet high and

impenetrable. The walk in the centre is
about eight feet across."

"Is there anything between the hedges and
the walk?"

"Yes, there is a strip of grass about six feet
broad on either side."

"I understand that the yew hedge is
penetrated at one point by a gate?"

"Yes, the wicket-gate which leads on to the
moor."

"Good heaven! Did no one examine?"

"Yes, I examined, myself."

"And found nothing?"

"It was all very confused. Sir Charles had
evidently stood there for five or ten minutes."

"How do you know that?"

"Because the ash had twice dropped from
his cigar."

"Excellent! This is a colleague, Watson,
after our own heart. But the marks?"

"He had left his own marks all over that small
patch of gravel. I could discern no others."

Sherlock Holmes struck his hand against
his knee with an impatient gesture.

"If I had only been there!" he cried. "It is
evidently a case of extraordinary interest,
and one which presented immense
opportunities to the scientific expert. That
gravel page upon which I might have read
so much has been long ere this smudged by
the rain and defaced by the clogs of curious
peasants. Oh, Dr. Mortimer, Dr. Mortimer,
to think that you should not have called me
in! You have indeed much to answer for."

"I could not call you in, Mr. Holmes, without
disclosing these facts to the world, and I
have already given my reasons for not
wishing to do so. Besides, besides --"

"Why do you hesitate?"

"There is a realm in which the most acute
and most experienced of detectives is
helpless."

"You mean that the thing is supernatural?"

supernaturalists. But now, Dr. Mortimer, tell
me this. If you hold these views why have
you come to consult me at all? You tell me in
the same breath that it is useless to
investigate Sir Charles's death, and that
you desire me to do it."

"I did not say that I desired you to do it."

"Then, how can I assist you?"

"By advising me as to what I should do with
Sir Henry Baskerville, who arrives at
Waterloo Station" Dr. Mortimer looked at his
watch "in exactly one hour and a quarter."

"He being the heir?"

"Yes. On the death of Sir Charles we
inquired for this young gentleman and found
that he had been farming in Canada. From
the accounts which have reached us he is
an excellent fellow in every way. I speak
now not as a medical man but as a trustee
and executor of Sir Charles's will."

"There is no other claimant, I presume?"

"None. The only other kinsman whom we
have been able to trace was Rodger
Baskerville, the youngest of three brothers
of whom poor Sir Charles was the elder.
The second brother, who died young, is the
father of this lad Henry. The third, Rodger,
was the black sheep of the family. He came
of the old masterful Baskerville strain and
was the very image, they tell me, of the
family picture of old Hugo. He made
England too hot to hold him, fled to Central
America, and died there in 1876 of yellow
fever. Henry is the last of the Baskervilles. In
one hour and five minutes I meet him at
Waterloo Station. I have had a wire that he
arrived at Southampton this morning. Now,
Mr. Holmes, what would you advise me to
do with him?"

recommend?"

"I recommend, sir, that you take a cab, call
off your spaniel who is scratching at my
front door, and proceed to Waterloo to meet
Sir Henry Baskerville."

"And then?"

"And then you will say nothing to him at all
until I have made up my mind about the
matter."

"How long will it take you to make up your
mind?"

"Twenty-four hours. At ten o'clock to-
morrow, Dr. Mortimer, I will be much
obliged to you if you will call upon me here,
and it will be of help to me in my plans for the
future if you will bring Sir Henry Baskerville
with you."

"I will do so, Mr. Holmes." He scribbled the
appointment on his shirt-cuff and hurried off
in his strange, peering, absentminded
fashion. Holmes stopped him at the head of
the stair.

"Only one more question, Dr. Mortimer. You
say that before Sir Charles Baskerville's
death several people saw this apparition
upon the moor?"

"Three people did."

"Did any see it after?"

"I have not heard of any."

"Thank you. Good-morning."

Holmes returned to his seat with that quiet
look of inward satisfaction which meant that
he had a congenial task before him.

"I suppose it is pretty thick, now that you
mention it."

"Thick! It is intolerable."

"Open the window, then! You have been at
your club all day, I perceive."

"My dear Holmes!"

"Am I right?"

"Certainly, but how?"

He laughed at my bewildered expression.

"There is a delightful freshness about you,
Watson, which makes it a pleasure to
exercise any small powers which I possess
at your expense. A gentleman goes forth on
a showery and miry day. He returns
immaculate in the evening with the gloss still
on his hat and his boots. He has been a
fixture therefore all day. He is not a man with
intimate friends. Where, then, could he have
been? Is it not obvious?"

"Well, it is rather obvious."

"The world is full of obvious things which
nobody by any chance ever observes.
Where do you think that I have been?"

"A fixture also."

"On the contrary, I have been to
Devonshire."

"In spirit?"

"Exactly. My body has remained in this
armchair and has, I regret to observe,
consumed in my absence two large pots of
coffee and an incredible amount of
tobacco. After you left I sent down to
Stamford's for the Ordnance map of this

questions waiting for us at the outset. The
one is whether any crime has been
committed at all; the second is, what is the
crime and how was it committed? Of
course, if Dr. Mortimer's surmise should be
correct, and we are dealing with forces
outside the ordinary laws of Nature, there is
an end of our investigation. But we are
bound to exhaust all other hypotheses
before falling back upon this one. I think
we'll shut that window again, if you don't
mind. It is a singular thing, but I find that a
concentrated atmosphere helps a
concentration of thought. I have not pushed
it to the length of getting into a box to think,
but that is the logical outcome of my
convictions. Have you turned the case over
in your mind?"

"Yes, I have thought a good deal of it in the
course of the day."

"What do you make of it?"

"It is very bewildering."

"It has certainly a character of its own. There
are points of distinction about it. That
change in the footprints, for example. What
do you make of that?"

"Mortimer said that the man had walked on
tiptoe down that portion of the alley."

"He only repeated what some fool had said
at the inquest Why should a man walk on
tiptoe down the alley?"

"What then?"

"He was running, Watson running
desperately, running for his life, running until
he burst his heart-and fell dead upon his
face."

"Running from what?"

Our breakfast table was cleared early, and
Holmes waited in his dressing-gown for the
promised interview. Our clients were
punctual to their appointment, for the clock
had just struck ten when Dr. Mortimer was
shown up, followed by the young baronet.
The latter was a small, alert, dark-eyed
man about thirty years of age, very sturdily
built, with thick black eyebrows and a
strong, pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-
tinted tweed suit and had the weather-
beaten appearance of one who has spent
most of his time in the open air, and yet
there was something in his steady eye and
the quiet assurance of his bearing which
indicated the gentleman.

"This is Sir Henry Baskerville," said Dr.
Mortimer.

"Why, yes," said he, "and the strange thing
is, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, that if my friend
here had not proposed coming round to you
this morning I should have come on my own
account. I understand that you think out little
puzzles, and I've had one this morning
which wants more thinking out than I am
able to give it."

"Pray take a seat, Sir Henry. Do I
understand you to say that you have yourself
had some remarkable experience since you
arrived in London?"

"Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes.
Only a joke, as like as not. It was this letter,
if you can call it a letter, which reached me
this morning."

He laid an envelope upon the table, and we
all bent over it. It was of common quality,
grayish in colour. The address, "Sir Henry
Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel," was
printed in rough characters; the post-mark
"Charing Cross," and the date of posting the
preceding evening.

"You shall share our knowledge before you
leave this room, Sir Henry. I promise you
that," said Sherlock Holmes. "We will
confine ourselves for the present with your
permission to this very interesting
document, which must have been put
together and posted yesterday evening.
Have you yesterday's Times, Watson?"

"It is here in the corner."

"Might I trouble you for it the inside page,
please, with the leading articles?" He
glanced swiftly over it, running his eyes up
and down the columns. "Capital article this
on free trade. Permit me to give you an
extract from it.

"You may be cajoled into imagining that
your own special trade or your own industry
will be encouraged by a protective tariff, but
it stands to reason that such legislation must
in the long run keep away wealth from the
country, diminish the value of our imports,
and lower the general conditions of life in
this island.

"What do you think of that, Watson?" cried
Holmes in high glee, rubbing his hands
together with satisfaction. "Don't you think
that is an admirable sentiment?"

Dr. Mortimer looked at Holmes with an air of
professional interest, and Sir Henry
Baskerville turned a pair of puzzled dark
eyes upon me.

"I don't know much about the tariff and
things of that kind," said he, "but it seems to
me we've got a bit off the trail so far as that
note is concerned."

"On the contrary, I think we are particularly
hot upon the trail, Sir Henry. Watson here
knows more about my methods than you do,
but I fear that even he has not quite grasped

leaded bourgeois type of a Times article
and the slovenly print of an evening half-
penny paper as there could be between
your negro and your Esquimau. The
detection of types is one of the most
elementary branches of knowledge to the
special expert in crime, though I confess
that once when I was very young I confused
the Leeds Mercury with the Western Morning
News. But a Times leader is entirely
distinctive, and these words could have
been taken from nothing else. As it was
done yesterday the strong probability was
that we should find the words in yesterday's
issue."

"So far as I can follow you, then, Mr.
Holmes," said Sir Henry Baskerville,
"someone cut out this message with a
scissors --"

"Nail-scissors," said Holmes. "You can see
that it was a very short-bladed scissors,
since the cutter had to take two snips over
'keep away.' "

"That is so. Someone, then, cut out the
message with a pair of short-bladed
scissors, pasted it with paste --"

"Gum," said Holmes.

"With gum on to the paper. But I want to know
why the word 'moor' should have been
written?"

"Because he could not find it in print. The
other words were all simple and might be
found in any issue, but 'moor' would be less
common."

"Why, of course, that would explain it. Have
you read anything else in this message, Mr.
Holmes?"

"There are one or two indications, and yet

in a short address, showing that there was
very little ink in the bottle. Now, a private pen
or ink-bottle is seldom allowed to be in such
a state, and the combination of the two must
be quite rare. But you know the hotel ink and
the hotel pen, where it is rare to get anything
else. Yes, I have very little hesitation in
saying that could we examine the waste-
paper baskets of the hotels around Charing
Cross until we found the remains of the
mutilated Times leader we could lay our
hands straight upon the person who sent
this singular message. Halloa! Halloa!
What's this?"

He was carefully examining the foolscap,
upon which the words were pasted, holding
it only an inch or two from his eyes.

"Well?"

"Nothing," said he, throwing it down. "It is a
blank halfsheet of paper, without even a
water-mark upon it. I think we have drawn
as much as we can from this curious letter;
and now, Sir Henry, has anything else of
interest happened to you since you have
been in London?"

"Why, no, Mr. Holmes. I think not."

"You have not observed anyone follow or
watch you?"

"I seem to have walked right into the thick of
a dime novel," said our visitor. "Why in
thunder should anyone follow or watch me?"

"We are coming to that. You have nothing
else to report to us before we go into this
matter?"

"Well, it depends upon what you think worth
reporting."

"I think anything out of the ordinary routine of

bought these brown boots gave six dollars
for them and had one stolen before ever I
had them on my feet."

"It seems a singularly useless thing to steal,"
said Sherlock Holmes. "I confess that I
share Dr. Mortimer's belief that it will not be
long before the missing boot is found."

"And, now, gentlemen," said the baronet
with decision, "it seems to me that I have
spoken quite enough about the little that I
know. It is time that you kept your promise
and gave me a full account of what we are
all driving at."

"Your request is a very reasonable one,"
Holmes answered. "Dr. Mortimer, I think you
could not do better than to tell your story as
you told it to us."

Thus encouraged, our scientific friend drew
his papers from his pocket and presented
the whole case as he had done upon the
morning before. Sir Henry Baskerville
listened with the deepest attention and with
an occasional exclamation of surprise.

"Well, I seem to have come into an
inheritance with a vengeance," said he
when the long narrative was finished. "Of
course, I've heard of the hound ever since I
was in the nursery. It's the pet story of the
family, though I never thought of taking it
seriously before. But as to my uncle's death
well, it all seems boiling up in my head, and I
can't get it clear yet. You don't seem quite to
have made up your mind whether it's a case
for a policeman or a clergyman."

"Precisely."

"And now there's this affair of the letter to
me at the hotel. I suppose that fits into its
place."

you and your friend, Dr. Watson, come
round and lunch with us at two. I'll be able to
tell you more clearly then how this thing
strikes me."

"Is that convenient to you, Watson?"

"Perfectly."

"Then you may expect us. Shall I have a cab
called?"

"I'd prefer to walk, for this affair has flurried
me rather."

"I'll join you in a walk, with pleasure," said
his companion.

"Then we meet again at two o'clock. Au
revoir, and good-morning!"

We heard the steps of our visitors descend
the stair and the bang of the front door. In an
instant Holmes had changed from the
languid dreamer to the man of action.

"Your hat and boots, Watson, quick! Not a
moment to lose!" He rushed into his room in
his dressing-gown and was back again in a
few seconds in a frock-coat. We hurried
together down the stairs and into the street.
Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were still
visible about two hundred yards ahead of us
in the direction of Oxford Street.

"Shall I run on and stop them?"

"Not for the world, my dear Watson. I am
perfectly satisfied with your company if you
will tolerate mine. Our friends are wise, for it
is certainly a very fine morning for a walk."

He quickened his pace until we had
decreased the distance which divided us by
about half. Then, still keeping a hundred
yards behind, we followed into Oxford

him the first day I argued that they would
follow him also the second. You may have
observed that I twice strolled over to the
window while Dr. Mortimer was reading his
legend."

"Yes, I remember."

"I was looking out for loiterers in the street,
but I saw none. We are dealing with a clever
man, Watson. This matter cuts very deep,
and though I have not finally made up my
mind whether it is a benevolent or a
malevolent agency which is in touch with us,
I am conscious always of power and
design. When our friends left I at once
followed them in the hopes of marking
down their invisible attendant. So wily was
he that he had not trusted himself upon foot,
but he had availed himself of a cab so that
he could loiter behind or dash past them and
so escape their notice. His method had the
additional advantage that if they were to
take a cab he was all ready to follow them. It
has, however, one obvious disadvantage."

"It puts him in the power of the cabman."

"Exactly."

"What a pity we did not get the number!"

"My dear Watson, clumsy as I have been,
you surely do not seriously imagine that I
neglected to get the number? No. 2704 is our
man. But that is no use to us for the
moment."

"I fail to see how you could have done
more."

"On observing the cab I should have instantly
turned and walked in the other direction. I
should then at my leisure have hired a
second cab and followed the first at a
respectful distance, or, better still, have

investigation."

"Yes, sir, he is still with us."

"Could you ring him up? thank you! And I
should be glad to have change of this five-
pound note."

A lad of fourteen, with a bright, keen face,
had obeyed the summons of the manager.
He stood now gazing with great reverence
at the famous detective.

"Let me have the Hotel Directory," said
Holmes. "Thank you! Now, Cartwright, there
are the names of twenty-three hotels here,
all in the immediate neighbourhood of
Charing Cross. Do you see?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will visit each of these in turn."

"Yes, sir."

"You will begin in each case by giving the
outside porter one shilling. Here are twenty-
three shillings."

"Yes, sir."

"You will tell him that you want to see the
waste-paper of yesterday. You will say that
an important telegram has miscarried and
that you are looking for it. You understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"But what you are really looking for is the
centre page of the Times with some holes
cut in it with scissors. Here is a copy of the
Times. It is this page. You could easily
recognize it, could you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Surely that must be the same Johnson
whom I used to know," said Holmes to the
porter. "A lawyer, is he not, grayheaded,
and walks with a limp?"

"No, sir, this is Mr. Johnson, the coal-
owner, a very active gentleman, not older
than yourself."

"Surely you are mistaken about his trade?"

"No, sir! he has used this hotel for many
years, and he is very well known to us."

"Ah, that settles it. Mrs. Oldmore, too; I
seem to remember the name. Excuse my
curiosity, but often in calling upon one friend
one finds another."

"She is an invalid lady, sir. Her husband was
once mayor of Gloucester. She always
comes to us when she is in town."

"Thank you; I am afraid I cannot claim her
acquaintance. We have established a most
important fact by these questions, Watson,"
he continued in a low voice as we went
upstairs together. "We know now that the
people who are so interested in our friend
have not settled down in his own hotel. That
means that while they are, as we have
seen, very anxious to watch him, they are
equally anxious that he should not see them.
Now, this is a most suggestive fact."

"What does it suggest?"

"It suggests halloa, my dear fellow, what on
earth is the matter?"

As we came round the top of the stairs we
had run up against Sir Henry Baskerville
himself. His face was flushed with anger,
and he held an old and dusty boot in one of
his hands. So furious was he that he was
hardly articulate, and when he did speak it

"Mind it is, for it's the last thing of mine that
I'll lose in this den of thieves. Well, well, Mr.
Holmes, you'll excuse my troubling you
about such a trifle --"

"I think it's well worth troubling about."

"Why, you look very serious over it."

"How do you explain it?"

"I just don't attempt to explain it. It seems the
very maddest, queerest thing that ever
happened to me."

"The queerest perhaps --" said Holmes
thoughtfully.

"What do you make of it yourself?"

"Well, I don't profess to understand it yet.
This case of yours is very complex, Sir
Henry. When taken in conjunction with your
uncle's death I am not sure that of all the five
hundred cases of capital importance which I
have handled there is one which cuts so
deep. But we hold several threads in our
hands, and the odds are that one or other of
them guides us to the truth. We may waste
time in following the wrong one, but sooner
or later we must come upon the right."

We had a pleasant luncheon in which little
was said of the business which had brought
us together. It was in the private sitting-
room to which we afterwards repaired that
Holmes asked Baskerville what were his
intentions.

"To go to Baskerville Hall."

"And when?"

"At the end of the week."

"On the whole," said Holmes, "I think that

"That's so," said Baskerville. "By the way,
Dr. Mortimer, who is this Barrymore,
anyhow?"

"He is the son of the old caretaker, who is
dead. They have looked after the Hall for
four generations now. So far as I know, he
and his wife are as respectable a couple as
any in the county."

"At the same time," said Baskerville, "it's
clear enough that so long as there are none
of the family at the Hall these people have a
mighty fine home and nothing to do."

"That is true."

"Did Barrymore profit at all by Sir Charles's
will?" asked Holmes.

"He and his wife had five hundred pounds
each."

"Ha! Did they know that they would receive
this?"

"Yes; Sir Charles was very fond of talking
about the provisions of his wlll."

"That is very interesting."

"I hope," said Dr. Mortimer, "that you do not
look with suspicious eyes upon everyone
who received a legacy from Sir Charles, for
I also had a thousand pounds left to me."

"Indeed! And anyone else?"

"There were many insignificant sums to
individuals, and a large number of public
charities. The residue all went to Sir Henry."

"And how much was the residue?"

"Seven hundred and forty thousand
pounds."

time, for it was only yesterday that I learned
how matters stood. But in any case I feel
that the money should go with the title and
estate. That was my poor uncle's idea. How
is the owner going to restore the glories of
the Baskervilles if he has not money enough
to keep up the property? House, land, and
dollars must go together."

"Quite so. Well, Sir Henry, I am of one mind
with you as to the advisability of your going
down to Devonshire without delay. There is
only one provision which I must make. You
certainly must not go alone."

"Dr. Mortimer returns with me."

"But Dr. Mortimer has his practice to attend
to, and his house is miles away from yours.
With all the good will in the world he may be
unable to help you. No, Sir Henry, you must
take with you someone, a trusty man, who
will be always by your side."

"Is it possible that you could come yourself,
Mr. Holmes?"

"If matters came to a crisis I should
endeavour to be present in person; but you
can understand that, with my extensive
consulting practice and with the constant
appeals which reach me from many
quarters, it is impossible for me to be
absent from London for an indefinite time.
At the present instant one of the most
revered names in England is being
besmirched by a blackmailer, and only I can
stop a disastrous scandal. You will see how
impossible it is for me to go to Dartmoor."

"Whom would you recommend, then?"

Holmes laid his hand upon my arm.

"If my friend would undertake it there is no
man who is better worth having at your side

"But it is a very, singular thing," Dr. Mortimer
remarked. "I searched this room carefully
before lunch."

"And so did I," said Baskerville. "Every, inch
of it."

"There was certainly no boot in it then."

"In that case the waiter must have placed it
there while we were lunching."

The German was sent for but professed to
know nothing of the matter, nor could any
inquiry, clear it up. Another item had been
added to that constant and apparently
purposeless series of small mysteries
which had succeeded each other so rapidly.
Setting aside the whole grim story, of Sir
Charles's death, we had a line of
inexplicable incidents all within the limits of
two days, which included the receipt of the
printed letter, the black-bearded spy in the
hansom, the loss of the new brown boot, the
loss of the old black boot, and now the
return of the new brown boot. Holmes sat in
silence in the cab as we drove back to
Baker Street, and I knew from his drawn
brows and keen face that his mind, like my
own, was busy in endeavouring to frame
some scheme into which all these strange
and apparently disconnected episodes
could be fitted. All afternoon and late into
the evening he sat lost in tobacco and
thought.

Just before dinner two telegrams were
handed in. The first ran:

Have just heard that Barrymore is at the
Hall.

BASKERVILLE. The second:

Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but
sorry, to report

Sherlock Holmes made a note of it.

"Now, Clayton, tell me all about the fare who
came and watched this house at ten o'clock
this morning and afterwards followed the
two gentlemen down Regent Street."

The man looked surprised and a little
embarrassed. "Why there's no good my
telling you things, for you seem to know as
much as I do already," said he. "The truth is
that the gentleman told me that he was a
detective and that I was to say nothing about
him to anyone."

"My good fellow; this is a very serious
business, and you may find yourself in a
pretty bad position if you try to hide anything
from me. You say that your fare told you that
he was a detective?"

"Yes, he did."

"When did he say this?"

"When he left me."

"Did he say anything more?"

"He mentioned his name."

Holmes cast a swift glance of triumph at
me. "Oh, he mentioned his name, did he?
That was imprudent. What was the name
that he mentioned?"

"His name," said the cabman, "was Mr.
Sherlock Holmes."

Never have I seen my friend more
completely taken aback than by the
cabman's reply. For an instant he sat in
silent amazement. Then he burst into a
hearty laugh.

"A touch, Watson an undeniable touch!" said

"Not after he went into the station."

"And how would you describe Mr. Sherlock
Holmes?"

The cabman scratched his head. "Well, he
wasn't altogether such an easy gentleman
to describe. I'd put him at forty years of age,
and he was of a middle height, two or three
inches shorter than you, sir. He was
dressed like a toff, and he had a black
beard, cut square at the end, and a pale
face. I don't know as I could say more than
that."

"Colour of his eyes?"

"No, I can't say that."

"Nothing more that you can remember?"

"No, sir; nothing."

"Well, then, here is your half-sovereign.
There's another one waiting for you if you
can bring any more information. Good-
night!"

"Good-night, sir, and thank you!"

John Clayton departed chuckling, and
Holmes turned to me with a shrug of his
shoulders and a rueful smile.

"Snap goes our third thread, and we end
where we began," said he. "The cunning
rascal! He knew our number, knew that Sir
Henry Baskerville had consulted me,
spotted who I was in Regent Street,
conjectured that I had got the number of the
cab and would lay my hands on the driver,
and so sent back this audacious message. I
tell you, Watson, this time we have got a
foeman who is worthy of our steel. I've been
checkmated in London. I can only wish you
better luck in Devonshire. But I'm not easy in

"Would it not be well in the first place to get
rid ofl this Barrymore couple?"

"By no means. You could not make a greater
mistake. If they are innocent it would be a
cruel injustice, and if they are guilty we
should be giving up all chance of bringing it
home to them. No, no, we will preserve
them upon our list of suspects. Then there is
a groom at the Hall, if I remember right.
There are two moorland farmers. There is
our friend Dr. Mortimer, whom I believe to
be entirely honest, and there is his wife, of
whom we know nothing. There is this
naturalist, Stapleton, and there is his sister,
who is said to be a young lady of attractions.
There is Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who
is also an unknown factor. and there are one
or two other neighbours. These are the folk
who must be your very special study."

"I will do my best."

"You have arms, I suppose?"

"Yes, I thought it as well to take them."

"Most certainly. Keep your revolver near you
night and day, and never relax your
precautions."

Our friends had already secured a first-
class carriage and were waiting for us upon
the platform.

"No, we have no news of any kind," said Dr.
Mortimer in answer to my friend's
questions. "I can swear to one thing, and
that is that we have not been shadowed
during the last two days. We have never
gone out without keeping a sharp watch,
and no one could have escaped our notice."

"You have always kept together, I
presume?"

since I left it, Dr. Watson," said he; "but I
have never seen a place to compare with it."

"l never saw a Devonshire man who did not
swear by his county," I remarked.

"It depends upon the breed of men quite as
much as on the county," said Dr. Mortimer.
"A glance at our friend here reveals the
rounded head of the Celt, which carries
inside it the Celtic enthusiasm and power of
attachment. Poor Sir Charles's head was of
a very rare type, half Gaelic, half Ivernian in
its characteristics. But you were very young
when you last saw Baskerville Hall, were
you not?"

"I was a boy in my teens at the time of my
father's death and had never seen the Hall,
for he lived in a little cottage on the South
Coast. Thence I went straight to a friend in
America. I tell you it is all as new to me as it
is to Dr. Watson, and I'm as keen as
possible to see the moor."

"Are you? Then your wish is easily granted,
for there is your first sight of the moor," said
Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of the carriage
window.

Over the green squares of the fields and the
low curve of a wood there rose in the
distance a gray, melancholy hill, with a
strange jagged summit, dim and vague in
the distance, like some fantastic landscape
in a dream. Baskerville sat for a long time
his eyes fixed upon it, and I read upon his
eager face how much it meant to him, this
first sight of that strange spot where the
men of his blood had held sway so long and
left their mark so deep. There he sat, with
his tweed suit and his American accent, in
the corner of a prosaic railway-carriage,
and yet as I looked at his dark and
expressive face I felt more than ever how
true a descendant he was of that long line of

Baskerville gave an exclamation of delight,
looking eagerly about him and asking
countless questions. To his eyes all seemed
beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay
upon the countryside, which bore so clearly
the mark of the waning year. Yellow leaves
carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon
us as we passed. The rattle of our wheels
died away as we drove through drifts of
rotting vegetation sad gifts, as it seemed to
me, for Nature to throw before the carriage
of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.

"Halloa!" cried Dr. Mortimer, "what is this?"

A steep curve of heath-clad land, an
outlying spur of the moor, lay in front of us.
On the summit, hard and clear like an
equestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a
mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle
poised ready over his forearm. He was
watching the road along which we travelled.

"What is this, Perkins?" asked Dr. Mortimer.

Our driver half turned in his seat.

"There's a convict escaped from
Princetown, sir. He's been out three days
now, and the warders watch every road and
every station, but they've had no sight of him
yet. The farmers about here don't like it, sir,
and that's a fact."

"Well, I understand that they get five pounds
if they can give information."

"Yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is
but a poor thing compared to the chance of
having your throat cut. You see, it isn't like
any ordinary convict. This is a man that
would stick at nothing."

"Who is he, then?"

"It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer."

lodgegates, a maze of fantastic tracery in
wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on
either side, blotched with lichens, and
summounted by the boars' heads of the
Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black
granite and bared ribs of rafters, but facing
it was a new building, half constructed, the
first fruit of Sir Charles's South African
gold.

Through the gateway we passed into the
avenue, where the wheels were again
hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees
shot their branches in a sombre tunnel.over
our heads. Baskerville shuddered as he
looked up the long, dark drive to where the
house glimmered like a ghost at the farther
end.

"Was it here?" he asked in a low voice.

"No, no, the yew alley is on the other side."

The young heir glanced round with a gloomy
face.

"It's no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble
were coming on him in such a place as this,"
said he. "It's enough to scare any man. I'll
have a row of electric lamps up here inside
of six months, and you won't know it again,
with a thousand candle-power Swan and
Edison right here in front of the hall door."

The avenue opened into a broad expanse
of turf, and the house lay before us. In the
fading light I could see that the centre was a
heavy block of building from which a porch
projected. The whole front was draped in
ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there
where a window or a coat of arms broke
through the dark veil. From this central block
rose the twin towers, ancient, crenellated,
and pierced with many loopholes. To right
and left of the turrets were more modern
wings of black granite. A dull light shone

it not the very picture of an old family home?
To think that this should be the same hall in
which for five hundred years my people
have lived. It strikes me solemn to think of it."

I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish
enthusiasm as he gazed about him. The
light beat upon him where he stood, but long
shadows trailed down the walls and hung
like a black canopy above him. Barrymore
had returned from taking our luggage to our
rooms. He stood in front of us now with the
subdued manner of a well-trained servant.
He was a remarkable-looking man, tall,
handsome, with a square black beard and
pale, distinguished features.

"Would you wish dinner to be served at
once, sir?"

"Is it ready?"

"In a very few minutes, sir. You will find hot
water in your rooms. My wife and I will be
happy, Sir Henry, to stay with you until you
have made your fresh arrangements, but
you will understand that under the new
conditions this house will require a
considerable staff."

"What new conditions?"

"I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very
retired life, and we were able to look after
his wants. You would, naturally, wish to have
more company, and so you will need
changes in your household."

"Do you mean that your wife and you wish to
leave?"

"Only when it is quite convenient to you, sir."

"But your family have been with us for
several generations, have they not? I should
be sorry to begin my life here by breaking an

now, when two blackclothed gentlemen sat
in the little circle of light thrown by a shaded
lamp, one's voice became hushed and
one's spirit subdued. A dim line of
ancestors, in every variety of dress, from
the Elizabethan knight to the buck of the
Regency, stared down upon us and
daunted us by their silent company. We
talked little, and I for one was glad when the
meal was over and we were able to retire
into the modern billiard-room and smoke a
cigarette.

"My word, it isn't a very cheerful place," said
Sir Henry. "I suppose one can tone down to
it, but I feel a bit out of the picture at present.
I don't wonder that my uncle got a little
jumpy if he lived all alone in such a house as
this. However, if it suits you, we will retire
early to-night, and perhaps things may
seem more cheerful in the morning."

I drew aside my curtains before I went to
bed and looked out from my window. It
opened upon the grassy space which lay in
front of the hall door. Beyond, two copses of
trees moaned and swung in a rising wind. A
half moon broke through the rifts of racing
clouds. In its cold light I saw beyond the
trees a broken fringe of rocks, and the long,
low curve of the melancholy moor. I closed
the curtain, feeling that my last impression
was in keeping with the rest.

And yet it was not quite the last. I found
myself weary and yet wakeful, tossing
restlessly from side to side, seeking for the
sleep which would not come. Far away a
chiming clock struck out the quarters of the
hours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay
upon the old house. And then suddenly, in
the very dead of the night, there came a
sound to my ears, clear, resonant, and
unmistakable. It was the sob of a woman,
the muffled, strangling gasp of one who is
torn by an uncontrollable sorrow. I sat up in

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.

"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."

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.

Sir Henry had numerous papers to examine
after breakfast, so that the time was

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.

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.

"You will, I am sure, excuse my
presumption, Dr. Watson," said he as he

"But how?"

"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."

"How did you know that?"

"My friend Mortimer told me."

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

"Have you any better explanation?"

"I have not come to any conclusion."

"Has Mr. 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.

"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."

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

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

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.

"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."

"You know it well, then?"

"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."

"Is it hard to know?"

"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 would be a rare place for a gallop."

"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?"

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

Stapleton laughed.

"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

chance of your coming back alive. It is only
by remembering certain complex
landmarks that I am able to do it."

"Halloa!" I cried. "What is 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.

"Queer place, the moor!" said he.

"But what is it?"

"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."

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.

"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?"

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

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

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

"No, I never did."

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.

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.

"Go back!" she said. "Go straight back to

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

"Why, who do you think this is?"

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

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

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

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

"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?"

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.

"I am sure that he would be delighted."

"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."

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.

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.

"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 do not believe in such 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?"

"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."

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

"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."

"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.

Chapter 8 First Report of Dr. Watson

From this point onward I will follow the
course of events by transcribing my own
letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which lie
before me on the table. One page is
missing, but otherwise they are exactly as
written and show my feelings and
suspicions of the moment more accurately

If you have not had any report within the last
few days it is because up to to-day there
was nothing of importance to relate. Then a
very surprising circumstance occurred,
which I shall tell you in due course. But, first
of all, I must keep you in touch with some of
the other factors in the situation.

One of these, concerning which I have said
little, is the escaped convict upon the moor.
There is strong reason now to believe that
he has got right away, which is a
considerable relief to the lonely
householders of this district. A fortnight has
passed since his flight, during which he has
not been seen and nothing has been heard
of him. It is surely inconceivable that he
could have held out upon the moor during all
that time. Of course, so far as his
concealment goes there is no difficulty at all.
Any one of these stone huts would give him
a hiding-place. But there is nothing to eat
unless he were to catch and slaughter one
of the moor sheep. We think, therefore, that
he has gone, and the outlying farmers sleep
the better in consequence.

We are four able-bodied men in this
household, so that we could take good care
of ourselves, but I confess that I have had
uneasy moments when I have thought of the
Stapletons. They live miles from any help.
There are one maid, an old manservant, the
sister, and the brother, the latter not a very
strong man. They would be helpless in the
hands of a desperate fellow like this Notting
Hill criminal if he could once effect an
entrance. Both Sir Henry and I were
concerned at their situation, and it was
suggested that Perkins the groom should
go over to sleep there, but Stapleton would
not hear of it.

The fact is that our friend, the baronet,
begins to display a considerable interest in
our fair neighbour. It is not to be wondered

matter.

On our way back we stayed for lunch at
Merripit House, and it was there that Sir
Henry made the acquaintance of Miss
Stapleton. From the first moment that he
saw her he appeared to be strongly
attracted by her, and I am much mistaken if
the feeling was not mutual. He referred to
her again and again on our walk home, and
since then hardly a day has passed that we
have not seen something of the brother and
sister. They dine here to-night, and there is
some talk of our going to them next week.
One would imagine that such a match would
be very welcome to Stapleton, and yet I
have more than once caught a look of the
strongest disapprobation in his face when
Sir Henry has been paying some attention
to his sister. He is much attached to her, no
doubt, and would lead a lonely life without
her, but it would seem the height of
selfishness if he were to stand in the way of
her making so brilliant a marriage. Yet I am
certain that he does not wish their intimacy
to ripen into love, and I have several times
observed that he has taken pains to prevent
them from being tete-a-tete. By the way,
your instructions to me never to allow Sir
Henry to go out alone will become very
much more onerous if a love affair were to
be added to our other difficulties. My
popularity would soon suffer if I were to
carry out your orders to the letter.

The other day Thursday, to be more exact
Dr. Mortimer lunched with us. He has been
excavating a barrow at Long Down and has
got a prehistoric skull which fills him with
great joy. Never was there such a single-
minded enthusiast as he! The Stapletons
came in afterwards, and the good doctor
took us all to the yew alley at Sir Henry's
request to show us exactly how everything
occurred upon that fatal night. It is a long,
dismal walk, the yew alley, between two

have about seven lawsuits upon his hands
at present, which will probably swallow up
the remainder of his fortune and so draw his
sting and leave him harmless for the future.
Apart from the law he seems a kindly, good-
natured person, and I only mention him
because you were particular that I should
send some description of the people who
surround us. He is curiously employed at
present, for, being an amateur astronomer,
he has an excellent telescope, with which
he lies upon the roof of his own house and
sweeps the moor all day in the hope of
catching a glimpse of the escaped convict.
If he would confine his energies to this all
would be well, but there are rumours that he
intends to prosecute Dr. Mortimer for
opening a grave without the consent of the
next of kin because he dug up the neolithic
skull in the barrow on Long Down. He helps
to keep our lives from being monotonous
and gives a little comic relief where it is
badly needed.

And now, having brought you up to date in
the escaped convict, the Stapletons, Dr.
Mortimer, and Frankland, of Lafter Hall, let
me end on that which is most important and
tell you more about the Barrymores, and
especially about the surprising
development of last night.

First of all about the test telegram, which
you sent from London in order to make sure
that Barrymore was really here. I have
already explained that the testimony of the
postmaster shows that the test was
worthless and that we have no proof one
way or the other. I told Sir Henry how the
matter stood, and he at once, in his
downright fashion, had Barrymore up and
asked him whether he had received the
telegram himself. Barrymore said that he
had.

"Did the boy deliver it into your own hands?"

sleeper, and since I have been on guard in
this house my slumbers have been lighter
than ever. Last night, about two in the
morning, I was aroused by a stealthy step
passing my room. I rose, opened my door,
and peeped out. A long black shadow was
trailing down the corridor. It was thrown by a
man who walked softly down the passage
with a candle held in his hand. He was in
shirt and trousers, with no covering to his
feet. I could merely see the outline, but his
height told me that it was Barrymore. He
walked very slowly and circumspectly, and
there was something indescribably guilty
and furtive in his whole appearance.

I have told you that the corridor is broken by
the balcony which runs round the hall, but
that it is resumed upon the farther side. I
waited until he had passed out of sight and
then I followed him. When I came round the
balcony he had reached the end of the
farther corridor, and I could see from the
glimmer of light through an open door that
he had entered one of the rooms. Now, all
these rooms are unfurnished and
unoccupied so that his expedition became
more mysterious than ever. The light shone
steadily as if he were standing motionless. I
crept down the passage as noiselessly as I
could and peeped round the corner of the
door.

Barrymore was crouching at the window
with the candle held against the glass. His
profile was half turned towards me, and his
face seemed to be rigid with expectation as
he stared out into the blackness of the moor.
For some minutes he stood watching
intently. Then he gave a deep groan and
with an impatient gesture he put out the light.
Instantly I made my way back to my room,
and very shortly came the stealthy steps
passing once more upon their return
journey. Long afterwards when I had fallen
into a light sleep I heard a key turn

the nearest outlook on to the moor. There is
an opening between two trees which
enables one from this point of view to look
right down upon it, while from all the other
windows it is only a distant glimpse which
can be obtained. It follows, therefore, that
Barrymore, since only this window would
serve the purpose, must have been looking
out for something or somebody upon the
moor. The night was very dark, so that I can
hardly imagine how he could have hoped to
see anyone. It had struck me that it was
possible that some love intrigue was on
foot. That would have accounted for his
stealthy movements and also for the
uneasiness of his wife. The man is a
striking-looking fellow, very well equipped
to steal the heart of a country girl, so that this
theory seemed to have something to
support it. That opening of the door whlch I
had heard after I had returned to my room
might mean that he had gone out to keep
some clandestine appointment. So I
reasoned with myself in the morning, and I
tell you the direction of my suspicions,
however much the result may have shown
that they were unfounded.

But whatever the true explanation of
Barrymore's movements might be, I felt that
the responsibility of keeping them to myself
until I could explain them was more than I
could bear. I had an interview with the
baronet in his study after breakfast, and I
told him all that I had seen. He was less
surprised than I had expected.

"I knew that Barrymore walked about nights,
and I had a mind to speak to him about it,"
said he. "Two or three times I have heard hls
steps in the passage, coming and going,
just about the hour you name."

"Perhaps then he pays a visit every night to
that particular window," I suggested.

After the conversation which I have quoted
about Barrymore, Sir Henry put on his hat
and prepared to go out. As a matter of
course I did the same.

"What, are you coming, Watson?" he asked,
looking at me in a curious way.

"That depends on whether you are going on
the moor," said I.

"Yes, I am."

"Well, you know what my instructions are. I
am sorry to intrude, but you heard how
earnestly Holmes insisted that I should not
leave you, and especially that you should not
go alone upon the moor."

Sir Henry put his hand upon my shoulder
with a pleasant smile.

"My dear fellow," said he, "Holmes, with all
his wisdom, did not foresee some things
which have happened since I have been on
the moor. You understand me? I am sure
that you are the last man in the world who
would wish to be a spoil-sport. I must go out
alone."

It put me in a most awkward position. I was
at a loss what to say or what to do, and
before I had made up my mind he picked up
his cane and was gone.

But when I came to think the matter over my
conscience reproached me bitterly for
having on any pretext allowed him to go out
of my sight. I imagined what my feelings
would be if I had to return to you and to
confess that some misfortune had occurred
through my disregard for your instructions. I
assure you my cheeks flushed at the very
thought. It might not even now be too late to
overtake him, so I set off at once in the
direction of Merripit House.

closer to the pair than I was, and he
appeared to be moving in their direction. At
this instant Sir Henry suddenly drew Miss
Stapleton to his side. His arm was round
her, but it seemed to me that she was
straining away from him with her face
averted. He stooped his head to hers, and
she raised one hand as if in protest. Next
moment I saw them spring apart and turn
hurriedly round. Stapleton was the cause of
the interruption. He was running wildly
towards them, his absurd net dangling
behind him. He gesticulated and almost
danced with excitement in front of the
lovers. What the scene meant I could not
imagine, but it seemed to me that Stapleton
was abusing Sir Henry, who offered
explanations, which became more angry as
the other refused to accept them. The lady
stood by in haughty silence. Finally
Stapleton turned upon his heel and
beckoned in a peremptory way to his sister,
who, after an irresolute glance at Sir Henry,
walked off by the side of her brother. The
naturalist's angry gestures showed that the
lady was included in his displeasure. The
baronet stood for a minute looking after
them, and then he walked slowly back the
way that he had come, his head hanging,
the very picture of dejection.

What all this meant I could not imagine, but I
was deeply ashamed to have witnessed so
intimate a scene without my friend's
knowledge. I ran down the hill therefore and
met the baronet at the bottom. His face was
flushed with anger and his brows were
wrinkled, like one who is at his wit's ends
what to do.

"Halloa, Watson! Where have you dropped
from?" said he. "You don't mean to say that
you came after me in spite of all?"

I explained everything to him: how I had
found it impossible to remain behind, how I

"Did he say so?"

"That, and a deal more. I tell you, Watson,
I've only known her these few weeks, but
from the first I just felt that she was made for
me, and she, too she was happy when she
was with me, and that I'll swear. There's a
light in a woman's eyes that speaks louder
than words. But he has never let us get
together and it was only to-day for the first
time that I saw a chance of having a few
words with her alone. She was glad to meet
me, but when she did it was not love that
she would talk about, and she wouldn't have
let me talk about it either if she could have
stopped it. She kept coming back to it that
this was a place of danger, and that she
would never be happy until I had left it. I told
her that since I had seen her I was in no hurry
to leave it, and that if she really wanted me
to go, the only way to work it was for her to
arrange to go with me. With that I offered in
as many words to marry her, but before she
could answer, down came this brother of
hers, running at us with a face on him like a
madman. He was just white with rage, and
those light eyes of his were blazing with
fury. What was I doing with the lady? How
dared I offer her attentions which were
distasteful to her? Did I think that because I
was a baronet I could do what I liked? If he
had not been her brother I should have
known better how to answer him. As it was I
told him that my feelings towards his sister
were such as I was not ashamed of, and
that I hoped that she might honour me by
becoming my wife. That seemed to make
the matter no better, so then I lost my temper
too, and I answered him rather more hotly
than I should perhaps, considering that she
was standing by. So it ended by his going
off with her, as you saw, and here am I as
badly puzzled a man as any in this county.
Just tell me what it all means, Watson, and
I'll owe you more than ever I can hope to
pay."

to himself for her whole life. If she had to
leave him he had rather it was to a
neighbour like myself than to anyone else.
But in any case it was a blow to him and it
would take him some time before he could
prepare himself to meet it. He would
withdraw all opposition upon his part if I
would promise for three months to let the
matter rest and to be content with cultivating
the lady's friendship during that time without
claiming her love. This I promised, and so
the matter rests."

So there is one of our small mysteries
cleared up. It is something to have touched
bottom anywhere in this bog in which we
are floundering. We know now why
Stapleton looked with disfavour upon his
sister's suitor even when that suitor was so
eligible a one as Sir Henry. And now I pass
on to another thread which I have extricated
out of the tangled skein, the mystery of the
sobs in the night, of the tear-stained face of
Mrs. Barrymore, of the secret journey of the
butler to the western lattice window.
Congratulate me, my dear Holmes, and tell
me that I have not disappointed you as an
agent that you do not regret the confidence
which you showed in me when you sent me
down. All these things have by one night's
work been thoroughly cleared.

I have said "by one night's work," but, in
truth, it was by two nights' work, for on the
first we drew entirely blank. I sat up with Sir
Henry in his rooms until nearly three o'clock
in the morning, but no sound of any sort did
we hear except the chiming clock upon the
stairs. It was a most melancholy vigil and
ended by each of us falling asleep in our
chairs. Fortunately we were not
discouraged, and we determined to try
again. The next night we lowered the lamp
and sat smoking cigarettes without making
the least sound. It was incredible how slowly
the hours crawled by, and yet we were

and trembling, before us. His dark eyes,
glaring out of the white mask of his face,
were full of horror and astonishment as he
gazed from Sir Henry to me.

"What are you doing here, Barrymore?"

"Nothing, sir." His agitation was so great
that he could hardly speak, and the
shadows sprang up and down from the
shaking of his candle. "It was the window,
sir. I go round at night to see that they are
fastened."

"On the second floor?"

"Yes, sir, all the windows."

"Look here, Barrymore," said Sir Henry
sternly, "we have made up our minds to
have the truth out of you, so it will save you
trouble to tell it sooner rather than later.
Come, now! No lies! What were you doing
at that window??'

The fellow looked at us in a helpless way,
and he wrung his hands together like one
who is in the last extremity of doubt and
misery.

"I was doing no harm, sir. I was holding a
candle to the window."

"And why were you holding a candle to the
window?"

"Don't ask me, Sir Henry don't ask me! I
give you my word, sir, that it is not my
secret, and that I cannot tell it. If it concerned
no one but myself I would not try to keep it
from you."

A sudden idea occurred to me, and I took
the candle from the trembling hand of the
butler.

were it not for the intensity of feeling upon
her face.

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

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

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

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

"Then your brother is --"

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

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

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

"Yes, sir, my name was Selden, and he is
my younger brother. We humoured him too
much when he was a lad and gave him his
own way in everything until he came to think
that the world was made for his pleasure,
and that he could do what he liked in it. Then
as he grew older he met wicked
companions, and the devil entered into him

still glowed that one tiny point of yellow light.

"I wonder he dares," said Sir Henry.

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

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

"Out by the Cleft Tor, I think."

"Not more than a mile or two off."

"Hardly that."

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

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

"I will come," said I.

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

In five minutes we were outside the door,
starting upon our expedition. We hurried
through the dark shrubbery, amid the dull
moaning of the autumn wind and the rustle

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

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

"Who?"

"The folk on the countryside."

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

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

I hesitated but could not escape the
question.

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

He groaned and was silent for a few
moments.

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

"It was hard to say whence it came."

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

"Yes, it is."

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

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

"No, no, it was a hound. My God, can there
be some truth in all these stories? Is it

Baskerville Hall. A boulder of granite
concealed our approach, and crouching
behind it we gazed over it at the signal light.
It was strange to see this single candle
burning there in the middle of the moor, with
no sign of life near it just the one straight
yellow flame and the gleam of the rock on
each side of it.

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

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

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

Something had evidently aroused his
suspicions. It may have been that
Barrymore had some private signal which
we had neglected to give, or the fellow may
have had some other reason for thinking
that all was not well, but I could read his
fears upon his wicked face. Any instant he
might dash out the light and vanish in the
darkness. I sprang forward therefore, and
Sir Henry did the same. At the same
moment the convict screamed out a curse at
us and hurled a rock which splintered up
against the boulder which had sheltered us.
I caught one glimpse of his short, squat,
strongly built figure as he sprang to his feet
and turned to run. At the same moment by a

him out to the baronet, but in the instant
during which I had turned to grasp his arm
the man was gone. There was the sharp
pinnacle of granite still cutting the lower
edge of the moon, but its peak bore no
trace of that silent and motionless figure.

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

material footmarks and fills the air with its
howling is surely not to be thought of.
Stapleton may fall in with such a
superstition, and Mortimer also, but if I have
one quality upon earth it is common sense,
and nothing will persuade me to believe in
such a thing. To do so would be to descend
to the level of these poor peasants, who are
not content with a mere fiend dog but must
needs describe him with hell-fire shooting
from his mouth and eyes. Holmes would not
listen to such fancies, and I am his agent.
But facts are facts, and I have twice heard
this crying upon the moor. Suppose that
there were really some huge hound loose
upon it; that would go far to explain
everything. But where could such a hound lie
concealed, where did it get its food, where
did it come from, how was it that no one
saw it by day? It must be confessed that the
natural explanation offers almost as many
difficulties as the other. And always, apart
from the hound, there is the fact of the
human agency in London, the man in the
cab, and the letter which warned Sir Henry
against the moor. This at least was real, but
it might have been the work of a protecting
friend as easily as of an enemy. Where is
that friend or enemy now? Has he remained
in London, or has he followed us down
here? Could he could he be the stranger
whom I saw upon the tor?

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

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

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

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

"What do you say, Watson?"

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

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

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

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

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

of it. It was from Coombe Tracey, and it was
addressed in a woman's hand."

"Well?"

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

"Have you got that slip?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, sir, it was immediately after that our
own trouble came to us. And then again, sir,
we were both of us very fond of Sir Charles,

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

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

hopelessly to the bad. Her story got about,
and several of the people here did
something to enable her to earn an honest
living. Stapleton did for one, and Sir
Charles for another. I gave a trifle myself. It
was to set her up in a typewriting business."

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

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.

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.

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

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

"There's foul play somewhere, and there's
black villainy brewing, to that I'll swear! Very
glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his
way back to London again!"

"But what is it that alarms you?"

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

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

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

"And where did he say that he lived?"

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

"But how about his food?"

"Selden found out that he has got a lad who
works for him and brings all 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

my discovery and asked him whether he
would care to accompany me to Coombe
Tracey. At first he was very eager to come,
but on second thoughts it seemed to both of
us that if I went alone the results might be
better. The more formal we made the visit
the less information we might obtain. I left
Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without
some prickings of conscience, and drove
off upon my new quest.

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

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

"I have the pleasure," said I, "of knowing

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

"Have you the dates of those letters?"

"No."

"Have you ever met him?"

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

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

She met my difficulty with the utmost
readiness.

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

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

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

Mrs. Lyons flushed with anger again.

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

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

"Then I answer, certainly not."

there?"

"I never went."

"Mrs. Lyons!"

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

"What was that?"

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

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

"That is the truth."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was a most vague direction. I
realized it as I drove back and noted how hill
after hill showed traces of the ancient
people. Barrymore's only indication had
been that the stranger lived in one of these
abandoned huts, and many hundreds of
them are scattered throughout the length
and breadth of the moor. But I had my own
experience for a guide since it had shown
me the man himself standing upon the
summit of the Black Tor. That, then, should

a right of way through the centre of old
Middleton's park, slap across it, sir, within
a hundred yards of his own front door. What
do you think of that? We'll teach these
magnates that they cannot ride roughshod
over the rights of the commoners, confound
them! And I've closed the wood where the
Fernworthy folk used to picnic. These
infernal people seem to think that there are
no rights of property, and that they can
swarm where they like with their papers and
their bottles. Both cases decided Dr.
Watson, and both in my favour. I haven't had
such a day since I had Sir John Morland for
trespass because he shot in his own
warren."

"How on earth did you do that?"

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

"Did it do you any good?"

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

"How so?" I asked.

The oId man put on a very knowing
expression.

passes along the same path at the same
hour, and to whom should he be going
except to the convict?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely you are not going! You will help me to
empty the decanter in honour of this great
occasion!"

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

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

As I approached the hut, walking as warily
as Stapleton would do when with poised net
he drew near the settled butterfly, I satisfied
myself that the place had indeed been used
as a habitation. A vague pathway among

been observed and reported. Always there
was this feeling of an unseen force, a fine
net drawn round us with infinite skill and
delicacy, holding us so lightly that it was only
at some supreme moment that one realized
that one was indeed-entangled in its
meshes.

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

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

And then at last I heard him. Far away came
the sharp clink of a boot striking upon a

"Or more astonished, eh?"

"Well, I must confess to it."

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

"My footprint, I presume?"

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

"Exactly."

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

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

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

"Yes, I saw you then."

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

Henry and you it is confident that my point of
view would have been the same as yours,
and my presence would have warned our
very formidable opponents to be on their
guard. As it is, I have been able to get about
as I could not possibly have done had I been
living in the Hall, and I remain an unknown
factor in the business, ready to throw in all
my weight at a critical moment."

"But why keep me in the dark?"

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

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

Holmes took a bundle of papers from his
pocket.

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

I was still rather raw over the deception
which had been practised upon me, but the
warmth of Holmes's praise drove my anger
from my mind. I felt also in my heart that he
was right in what he said and that it was