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The
baronet has been in communication with the architect who prepared the plans
for Sir Charles, and with a contractor from London, so that we may expect
great changes to begin here soon. There have been decorators and furnishers
up from Plymouth, and it is evident that our friend has large ideas and
means to spare no pains or expense to restore the grandeur of his family.
When the house is renovated and refurnished, all that he will need will be a
wife to make it complete. Between ourselves there are pretty clear signs
that this will not be wanting if the lady is willing, for I have seldom seen
a man more infatuated with a woman than he is with our beautiful neighbour,
Miss Stapleton. And yet the course of true love does not run quite as
smoothly as one would under the circumstances expect. To-day, for example,
its surface was broken by a very unexpected ripple, which has caused our
friend considerable perplexity and annoyance.
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.
I
hurried along the road at the top of my speed without seeing anything of Sir
Henry, until I came to the point where the moor path branches off. There,
fearing that perhaps I had come in the wrong direction after all, I mounted
a hill from which I could command a view - the same hill which is cut into
the dark quarry. Thence I saw him at once. He was on the moor path about a
quarter of a mile off, and a lady was by his side who could only be Miss
Stapleton. It was clear that there was already an understanding between them
and that they had met by appointment. They were walking slowly along in deep
conversation, and I saw her making quick little movements of her hands as if
she were very earnest in what she was saying, while he listened intently,
and once or twice shook his head in strong dissent. I stood among the rocks
watching them, very much puzzled as to what I should do next. To follow them
and break into their intimate conversation seemed to be an outrage, and yet
my clear duty was never for an instant to let him out of my sight. To act
the spy upon a friend was a hateful task. Still, I could see no better
course than to observe him from the hill, and to clear my conscience by
confessing to him afterwards what I had done. It is true that if any sudden
danger had threatened him I was too far away to be of use, and yet I am sure
that you will agree with me that the position was very difficult, and that
there was nothing more which I could do.
Our
friend, Sir Henry, and the lady had halted on the path and were standing
deeply absorbed in their conversation, when I was suddenly aware that I was
not the only witness of their interview. A wisp of green floating in the air
caught my eye, and another glance showed me that it was carried on a stick
by a man who was moving among the broken ground. It was Stapleton with his
butterfly-net. He was very much 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 vwere 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 had followed him, and how I had witnessed all that had occurred. For
an instant his eyes blazed at me, but my frankness disarmed his anger, and
he broke at last into a rather rueful laugh.
`You
would have thought the middle of that prairie a fairly safe place for a man
to be private,' said he, `but, by thunder, the whole countryside seems to
have been out to see me do my wooing - and a mighty poor wooing at that!
Where had you engaged a seat?'
`I
was on that hill.'
`Quite
in the back row, eh? But her brother was well up to the front. Did you see
him come out on us?'
`Yes,
I did.'
`Did
he ever strike you as being crazy - this brother of hers?'
`I
can't say that he ever did.'
`I
dare say not. I always thought him sane enough until to-day, but you can
take it from me that either he or I ought to be in a straitjacket. What's
the matter with me, anyhow? You've lived near me for some weeks, Watson.
Tell me straight, now! Is there anything that would prevent me from making a
good husband to a woman that I loved?'
`I
should say not.'
`He
can't object to my worldly position, so it must be myself that he has this
down on. What has he against me? I never hurt man or woman in my life that I
know of. And yet he would not so much as let me touch the tips of her
fingers.'
`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.'
I
tried one or two explanations, but, indeed, I was completely puzzled myself.
Our friend's title, his fortune, his age, his character, and his appearance
are all in his favour, and I know nothing against him unless it be this dark
fate which runs in his family. That his advances should be rejected so
brusquely without any reference to the lady's own wishes and that the lady
should accept the situation without protest is very amazing. However, our
conjectures were set at rest by a visit from Stapleton himself that very
afternoon. He had come to offer apologies for his rudeness of the morning,
and after a long private interview with Sir Henry in his study the upshot of
their conversation was that the breach is quite healed, and that we are to
dine at Merripit House next Friday as a sign of it.
`I
don't say now that he isn't a crazy man,' said Sir Henry `I can't forget the
look in his eyes when he ran at me this morning, but I must allow that no
man could make a more handsome apology than he has done.'
`Did
he give any explanation of his conduct?'
`His
sister is everything in his life, he says. That is natural enough, and I am
glad that he should understand her value. They have always been together,
and according to his account he has been a very lonely man with only her as
a companion, so that the thought of losing her was really terrible to him.
He had not understood, he said, that I was becoming attached to her, but
when he saw with his own eyes that it was really so, and that she might be
taken away from him, it gave him such a shock that for a time he was not
responsible for what he said or did. He was very sorry for all that had
passed, and he recognized how foolish and how selfish it was that he should
imagine that he could hold a beautiful woman like his sister 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 helped through it by the same sort of patient interest which the hunter
must feel as he watches the trap into which he hopes the game may wander.
One struck, and two, and we had almost for the second time given it up in
despair when in an instant we both sat bolt upright in our chairs with all
our weary senses keenly on the alert once more. We had heard the creak of a
step in the passage.
Very
stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in the distance. Then
the baronet gently opened his door and we set out in pursuit. Already our
man had gone round the gallery and the corridor was all in darkness. Softly
we stole along until we had come into the other wing. We were just in time
to catch a glimpse of the tall, black-bearded figure, his shoulders rounded
as he tiptoed down the passage. Then he passed through the same door as
before, and the light of the candle framed it in the darkness and shot one
single yellow beam across the gloom of the corridor. We shuffled cautiously
towards it, trying every plank before we dared to put our whole weight upon
it. We had taken the precaution of leaving our boots behind us, but, even
so, the old boards snapped and creaked beneath our tread. Sometimes it
seemed impossible that he should fail to hear our approach. However, the man
is fortunately rather deaf, and he was entirely preoccupied in that which he
was doing. When at last we reached the door and peeped through we found him
crouching at the window, candle in hand, his white, intent face pressed
against the pane, exactly as I had seen him two nights before.
We
had arranged no plan of campaign, but the baronet is a man to whom the most
direct way is always the most natural. He walked into the room, and as he
did so Barrymore sprang up from the window with a sharp hiss of his breath
and stood, livid 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.
`He
must have been holding it as a signal,' said I. `Let us see if there is any
answer.' I held it as he had done, and stared out into the darkness of the
night. Vaguely I could discern the black bank of the trees and the lighter
expanse of the moor, for the moon was behind the clouds. And then I gave a
cry of exultation, for a tiny pin-point of yellow light had suddenly
transfixed the dark veil, and glowed steadily in the centre of the black
square framed by the window.
`There
it is!' I cried.
`No,
no, sir, it is nothing - nothing at all!' the butler broke in; `I assure
you, sir - '
`Move
your light across the window, Watson!' cried the baronet. `See, the other
moves also! Now, you rascal, do you deny that it is a signal? Come, speak
up! Who is your confederate out yonder, and what is this conspiracy that is
going on?'
The
man's face became openly defiant.
`It
is my business, and not yours. I will not tell.'
`Then
you leave my employment right away.'
`Very
good, sir. If I must I must.'
`And
you go in disgrace. By thunder, you may well be ashamed of yourself. Your
family has lived with mine for over a hundred years under this roof, and
here I find you deep in some dark plot against me.'
`No,
no, sir; no, not against you!' It was a woman's voice, and Mrs. Barrymore,
paler and more horror-struck than her husband, was standing at the door. Her
bulky figure in a shawl and skirt might have been comic 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 until he broke my mother's heart and dragged our name
in the dirt. From crime to crime he sank lower and lower until it is only
the mercy of God which has snatched him from the scaffold; but to me, sir,
he was always the little curly-headed boy that I had nursed and played with
as an elder sister would. That was why he broke prison, sir. He knew that I
was here and that we could not refuse to help him. When he dragged himself
here one night, weary and starving, with the warders hard at his heels, what
could we do? We took him in and fed him and cared for him. Then you
returned, sir, and my brother thought he would be safer on the moor than
anywhere else until the hue and cry was over, so he lay in hiding there. But
every second night we made sure if he was still there by putting a light in
the window, and if there was an answer my husband took out some bread and
meat to him. Every day we hoped that he was gone, but as long as he was
there we could not desert him. That is the whole truth, as I am an honest
Christian woman and you will see that if there is blame in the matter it
does not lie with my husband but with me, for whose sake he has done all
that he has.'
The
woman's words came with an intense earnestness which carried conviction with
them.
`Is
this true, Barrymore?'
`Yes,
Sir Henry. Every word of it.'
`Well,
I cannot blame you for standing by your own wife. Forget what I have said.
Go to your room, you two, and we shall talk further about this matter in the
morning.'
When
they were gone we looked out of the window again. Sir Henry had flung it
open, and the cold night wind beat in upon our faces. Far away in the black
distance there 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 of the falling leaves. The night air was heavy with the smell
of damp and decay. Now and again the moon peeped out for an instant, but
clouds were driving over the face of the sky, and just as we came out on the
moor a thin rain began to fall. The light still burned steadily in front.
`Are
you armed?' I asked.
`I
have a hunting-crop.'
`We
must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be a desperate fellow. We
shall take him by surprise and have him at our mercy before he can resist.'
`I
say, Watson,' said the baronet, `what would Holmes say to this? How about
that hour of darkness in which the power of evil is exalted?'
As
if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vast gloom of the
moor that strange cry which I had already heard upon the borders of the
great Grimpen Mire. It came with the wind through the silence of the night,
a long, deep mutter then a rising howl, and then the sad moan in which it
died away. Again and again it sounded, the whole air throbbing with it,
strident, wild, and menacing. The baronet caught my sleeve and his face
glimmered white through the darkness.
`My
God, what's that, Watson?'
`I
don't know. It's a sound they have on the moor. I heard it once before.'
It
died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us. We stood straining our
ears, but nothing came.
`Watson,'
said the baronet, `it was the cry of a hound.'
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 possible that I am really in danger from so dark a cause? You don't
believe it, do you, Watson?'
`No,
no.'
`And
yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it is another to stand
out here in the darkness of the moor and to hear such a cry as that. And my
uncle! There was the footprint of the hound beside him as he lay. It all
fits together. I don't think that I am a coward, Watson, but that sound
seemed to freeze my very blood. Feel my hand!'
It
was as cold as a block of marble.
`You'll
be all right to-morrow.'
`I
don't think I'll get that cry out of my head. What do you advise that we do
now?'
`Shall
we turn back?'
`No,
by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will do it. We after the
convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not, after us. Come on! We'll see it
through if all the fiends of the pit were loose upon the moor.'
We
stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom of the craggy
hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burning steadily in front.
There is nothing so deceptive as the distance of a light upon a pitch-dark
night, and sometimes the glimmer seemed to be far away upon the horizon and
sometimes it might have been within a few yards of us. But at last we could
see whence it came, and then we knew that we were indeed very close. A
guttering candle was stuck in a crevice of the rocks which flanked it on
each side so as to keep the wind from it and also to prevent it from being
visible, save in the direction of 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 lucky chance the moon
broke through the clouds. We rushed over the brow of the hill, and there was
our man running with great speed down the other side, springing over the
stones in his way with the activity of a mountain goat. A lucky long shot of
my revolver might have crippled him, but I had brought it only to defend
myself if attacked and not to shoot an unarmed man who was running away.
We
were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we soon found that
we had no chance of overtaking him. We saw him for a long time in the
moonlight until he was only a small speck moving swiftly among the boulders
upon the side of a distant hill. We ran and ran until we were completely
blown, but the space between us grew ever wider. Finally we stopped and sat
panting on two rocks, while we watched him disappearing in the distance.
And
it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange and unexpected
thing. We had risen from our rocks and were turning to go home, having
abandoned the hopeless chase. The moon was low upon the right, and the
jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up against the lower curve of its
silver disc. There, outlined as black as an ebony statue on that shining
background, I saw the figure of a man upon the tor.
Do
not think that it was a delusion, Holmes. I assure you that I have never in
my life seen anything more clearly. As far as I could judge, the figure was
that of a tall, thin man. He stood with his legs a little separated, his
arms folded, his head bowed, as if he were brooding over that enormous
wilderness of peat and granite which lay before him. He might have been the
very spirit of that terrible place. It was not the convict. This man was far
from the place where the latter had disappeared. Besides, he was a much
taller man. With a cry of surprise I pointed 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 doubt,' 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 conclusions. 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.
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