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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 at, for time hangs
heavily in this lonely spot to an active man like him, and she is a very
fascinating and beautiful woman. There is something tropical and exotic
about her which forms a singular contrast to her cool and unemotional
brother. Yet he also gives the idea of hidden fires. He has certainly a very
marked influence over her, for I have seen her continually glance at him as
she talked as if seeking approbation for what she said. I trust that he is
kind to her. There is a dry glitter in his eyes and a firm set of his thin
lips, which goes with a positive and possibly a harsh nature. You would find
him an interesting study.
He
came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, and the very next
morning he took us both to show us the spot where the legend of the wicked
Hugo is supposed to have had its origin. It was an excursion of some miles
across the moor to a place which is so dismal that it might have suggested
the story. We found a short valley between rugged tors which led to an open,
grassy space flecked over with the white cotton grass. In the middle of it
rose two great stones, worn and sharpened at the upper end until they looked
like the huge corroding fangs of some monstrous beast. In every way it
corresponded with the scene of the old tragedy. Sir Henry was much
interested and asked Stapleton more than once whether he did really believe
in the possibility of the interference of the supernatural in the affairs of
men. He spoke lightly, but it was evident that he was very much in earnest.
Stapleton was guarded in his replies, but it was easy to see that he said
less than he might, and that he would not express his whole opinion out of
consideration for the feelings of the baronet. He told us of similar cases,
where families had suffered from some evil influence, and he left us with
the impression that he shared the popular view upon the 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 tête-à-tête. 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 high walls of clipped
hedge, with a narrow band of grass upon either side. At the far end is an
old tumble-down summer-house. Halfway down is the moor-gate, where the old
gentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a white wooden gate with a latch. Beyond
it lies the wide moor. I remembered your theory of the affair and tried to
picture all that had occurred. As the old man stood there he saw something
coming across the moor, something which terrified him so that he lost his
wits and ran and ran until he died of sheer horror and exhaustion. There was
the long, gloomy tunnel down which he fled. And from what? A sheep-dog of
the moor? Or a spectral hound, black, silent, and monstrous? Was there a
human agency in the matter? Did the pale, watchful Barrymore know more than
he cared to say? It was all dim and vague, but always there is the dark
shadow of crime behind it.
One
other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr. Frankland, of
Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the south of us. He is an elderly
man, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric. His passion is for the British
law, and he has spent a large fortune in litigation. He fights for the mere
pleasure of fighting and is equally ready to take up either side of a
question, so that it is no wonder that he has found it a costly amusement.
Sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy the parish to make him
open it. At others he will with his own hands tear down some other man's
gate and declare that a path has existed there from time immemorial, defying
the owner to prosecute him for trespass. He is learned in old manorial and
communal rights, and he applies his knowledge sometimes in favour of the
villagers of Fernworthy and sometimes against them, so that he is
periodically either carried in triumph down the village street or else
burned in effigy, according to his latest exploit. He is said to 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?' asked Sir Henry.
Barrymore
looked surprised, and considered for a little time.
`No,'
said he, `I was in the box-room at the time, and my wife brought it up to
me.'
`Did
you answer it yourself?'
`No;
I told my wife what to answer and she went down to write it.'
In
the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord.
`I
could not quite understand the object of your questions this morning, Sir
Henry,' said he. `I trust that they do not mean that I have done anything to
forfeit your confidence?'
Sir
Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify him by giving him a
considerable part of his old wardrobe, the London outfit having now all
arrived.
Mrs.
Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solid person, very limited,
intensely respectable, and inclined to be puritanical. You could hardly
conceive a less emotional subject. Yet I have told you how, on the first
night here, I heard her sobbing bitterly, and since then I have more than
once observed traces of tears upon her face. Some deep sorrow gnaws ever at
her heart. Sometimes I wonder if she has a guilty memory which haunts her,
and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being a domestic tyrant. I have always
felt that there was something singular and questionable in this man's
character, but the adventure of last night brings all my suspicions to a
head.
And
yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are aware that I am not a very
sound 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 somewhere in a lock, but I could not tell whence the sound
came. What it all means I cannot guess, but there is some secret business
going on in this house of gloom which sooner or later we shall get to the
bottom of. I do not trouble you with my theories, for you asked me to
furnish you only with facts. I have had a long talk with Sir Henry this
morning, and we have made a plan of campaign founded upon my observations of
last night. I will not speak about it just now, but it should make my next
report interesting reading.
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