|
It
is true that I have had only the one glance at him, and yet there are some
things to which I am ready to swear. He is no one whom I have seen down
here, and I have now met all the neighbours. The figure was far taller than
that of Stapleton, far thinner than that of Frankland. Barrymore it might
possibly have been, but we had left him behind us, and I am certain that he
could not have followed us. A stranger then is still dogging us, just as a
stranger dogged us in London. We have never shaken him off. If I could lay
my hands upon that man, then at last we might find ourselves at the end of
all our difficulties. To this one purpose I must now devote all my energies.
My
first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My second and wisest one
is to play my own game and speak as little as possible to anyone. He is
silent and distrait. His nerves have been strangely shaken by that sound
upon the moor. I will say nothing to add to his anxieties, but I will take
my own steps to attain my own end.
We
had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymore asked leave to
speak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted in his study some little time.
Sitting in the billiard-room I more than once heard the sound of voices
raised, and I had a pretty good idea what the point was which was under
discussion. After a time the baronet opened his door and called for me.
`Barrymore
considers that he has a grievance,' he said. `He thinks that it was unfair
on our part to hunt his brother-in-law down when he, of his own free will,
had told us the secret.'
The
butler was standing very pale but very collected before us.
`I
may have spoken too warmly, sir,' said he, `and if I have, I am sure that I
beg your pardon. At the same time, I was very much surprised when I heard
you two gentlemen come back this morning and learned that you had been
chasing Selden. The poor fellow has enough to fight against without my
putting more upon his track.'
`If
you had told us of your own free will it would have been a different thing,'
said the baronet, `you only told us, or rather your wife only told us, when
it was forced from you and you could not help yourself.'
`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 until 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.'
`I
guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson? But, after what we have
heard I don't feel as if I could give the man up, so there is an end of it.
All right, Barrymore, you can go.'
With
a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but he hesitated and then
came back.
`You've
been so kind to us, sir, that I should like to do the best I can for you in
return. I know something, Sir Henry, and perhaps I should have said it
before, but it was long after the inquest that I found it out. I've never
breathed a word about it yet to mortal man. It's about poor Sir Charles's
death.'
The
baronet and I were both upon our feet. `Do you know how he died?'
`No,
sir, I don't know that.'
`What
then?'
`I
know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet a woman.'
`To
meet a woman! He?'
`Yes,
sir.'
`And
the woman's name?'
`I
can't give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials. Her initials
were L. L.'
`How
do you know this, Barrymore?'
`Well,
Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. He had usually a great many
letters, for he was a public man and well known for his kind heart, so that
everyone who was in trouble was glad to turn to him. But that morning, as it
chanced, there was only this one letter, so I took the more notice of it. It
was from Coombe Tracey, and it was addressed in a woman's hand.'
`Well?'
`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 letters in the same writing?'
`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, as we well might be
considering all that he has done for us. To rake this up couldn't help our
poor master, and it's well to go carefully when there's a lady in the case.
Even the best of us - '
`You
thought it might injure his reputation?'
`Well,
sir, I thought no good could come of it. But now you have been kind to us,
and I feel as if it would be treating you unfairly not to tell you all that
I know about the matter.'
`Very
good, Barrymore; you can go.' When the butler had left us Sir Henry turned
to me. `Well, Watson, what do you think of this new light?'
`It
seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before.'
`So
I think. But if we can only trace L. L. it should clear up the whole
business. We have gained that much. We know that there is someone who has
the facts if we can only find her. What do you think we should do?'
`Let
Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him the clue for which he has
been seeking. I am much mistaken if it does not bring him down.'
I
went at once to my room and drew up my report of the morning's conversation
for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been very busy of late, for the
notes which I had from Baker Street were few and short, with no comments
upon the information which I had supplied and hardly any reference to my
mission. No doubt his blackmailing case is absorbing all his faculties. And
yet this new factor must surely arrest his attention and renew his interest.
I wish that he were here.
October
17th. All day to-day the rain poured down, rustling on the ivy and dripping
from the eaves. I thought of the convict out upon the bleak, cold,
shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whatever his crimes, he has suffered something
to atone for them. And then I thought of that other one - the face in the
cab, the figure against the moon. Was he also out in that deluged - the
unseen watcher, the man of darkness?
In
the evening I put on my waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor,
full of dark imaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind
whistling about my ears. God help those who wander into the great mire now,
for even the firm uplands are becoming a morass. I found the black tor upon
which I had seen the solitary watcher, and from its craggy summit I looked
out myself across the melancholy downs.
Rain
squalls drifted across their russet face, and the heavy, slate-coloured
clouds hung low over the landscape, trailing in gray wreaths down the sides
of the fantastic hills. In the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by
the mist, the two thin towers of Baskerville Hall rose above the trees. They
were the only signs of human life which I could see, save only those
prehistoric huts which lay thickly upon the slopes of the hills. Nowhere was
there any trace of that lonely man whom I had seen on the same spot two
nights before.
As
I walked back I was overtaken by Dr. Mortimer driving in his dog-cart over a
rough moorland track which led from the outlying farmhouse of Foulmire. He
has been very attentive to us, and hardly a day has passed that he has not
called at the Hall to see how we were getting on. He insisted upon my
climbing into his dog-cart, and he gave me a lift homeward. I found him much
troubled over the disappearance of his little spaniel. It had wandered on to
the moor and had never come back. I gave him such consolation as I might,
but I thought of the pony on the Grimpen Mire, and I do not fancy that he
will see his little dog again.
`By
the way, Mortimer,' said I as we jolted along the rough road, `I suppose
there are few people living within driving distance of this whom you do not
know?'
`Hardly
any, I think.'
`Can
you, then, tell me the name of any woman whose initials are L. L.?'
He
thought for a few minutes.
`No,'
said he. `There are a few gipsies and labouring folk for whom I can't
answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no one whose initials are
those. Wait a bit though,' he added after a pause. `There is Laura Lyons -
her initials are L. L. - but she lives in Coombe Tracey.'
`Who
is she?' I asked.
`She
is Frankland's daughter.'
`What!
Old Frankland the crank?'
`Exactly.
She married an artist named Lyons, who came sketching on the moor. He proved
to be a blackguard and deserted her. The fault from what I hear may not have
been entirely on one side. Her father refused to have anything to do with
her because she had married without his consent and perhaps for one or two
other reasons as well. So, between the old sinner and the young one the girl
has had a pretty bad time.'
`How
does she live?'
`I
fancy old Frankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot be more, for his
own affairs are considerably involved. Whatever she may have deserved one
could not allow her to go hopelessly to the bad. Her story got about, and
several of the people here did something to enable her to earn an honest
living. Stapleton did for one, and Sir Charles for another. I gave a trifle
myself. It was to set her up in a typewriting business.'
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 écarté 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 days ago.'
`Did
you see him then?'
`No,
sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way.'
`Then
he was certainly there?'
`So
you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it.'
I
sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at Barrymore.
`You
know that there is another man then?'
`Yes,
sir; there is another man upon the moor.'
`Have
you seen him?'
`No,
sir.'
`How
do you know of him then?'
`Selden
told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. He's in hiding, too, but he's not a
convict as far as I can make out. I don't like it, Dr. Watson - I tell you
straight, sir, that I don't like it.' He spoke with a sudden passion of
earnestness.
`Now,
listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matter but that of your
master. I have come here with no object except to help him. Tell me,
frankly, what it is that you don't like.'
Barrymore
hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst or found it
difficult to express his own feelings in words.
`It's
all these goings-on, sir,' he cried at last, waving his hand towards the
rain-lashed window which faced the moor. `There's foul play somewhere, and
there's black villainy brewing, to that I'll swear! Very glad I should be,
sir, to see Sir Henry on his way back to London again!'
`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 gone I walked over to the black window, and I looked through a
blurred pane at the driving clouds and at the tossing outline of the
wind-swept trees. It is a wild night indoors, and what must it be in a stone
hut upon the moor. What passion of hatred can it be which leads a man to
lurk in such a place at such a time! And what deep and earnest purpose can
he have which calls for such a trial!
There,
in that hut upon the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem
which has vexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall not have passed
before I have done all that man can do to reach the heart of the mystery.
|
Table of Contents
