Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Hound of the Baskervilles Chapter 6 BASKERVILLE HALL

SIR HENRY BASKERVILLE and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon theappointed day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr. SherlockHolmes drove with me to the station and gave me his last partinginjunctions and advice."I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions,Watson, " said he; "I wish you simply to report facts in the fullestpossible manner to me, and you can leave me to do the theorizing.""What sort of facts?" I asked."Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect uponthe case, and especially the relations between young Baskerville and hisneighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death of Sir Charles. Ihave made some inquiries myself in the last few days, but the resultshave, I fear, been negative. One thing [699] only appears to be certain, andthat is that Mr. James Desmond, who is the next heir, is an elderlygentleman of a very amiable disposition, so that this persecution does notarise from him. I really think that we may eliminate him entirely from ourcalculations. There remain the people who will actually surround SirHenry Baskerville upon the moor.""Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of this Barrymorecouple?""By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If they areinnocent it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty we should begiving up all chance of bringing it home to them. No, no, we will preservethem upon our list of suspects. Then there is a groom at the Hall, if Iremember right. There are two moorland farmers. There is our friend Dr.Mortimer, whom I believe to be entirely honest, and there is his wife, ofwhom we know nothing. There is this naturalist, Stapleton, and there ishis 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 areone or two other neighbours. These are the folk who must be your veryspecial 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 neverrelax your precautions."Our friends had already secured a first-class carriage and were waitingfor us upon the platform."No, we have no news of any kind," said Dr. Mortimer in answer to myfriend's questions. "I can swear to one thing, and that is that we have notbeen shadowed during the last two days. We have never gone out withoutkeeping a sharp watch, and no one could have escaped our notice.""You have always kept together, I presume?""Except yesterday afternoon. I usually give up one day to pureamusement when I come to town, so I spent it at the Museum of theCollege of Surgeons.""And I went to look at the folk in the park," said Baskerville. "But wehad no trouble of any kind.""It was imprudent, all the same," said Holmes, shaking his head andlooking very grave. "I beg, Sir Henry, that you will not go about alone.Some great misfortune will befall you if you do. Did you get your otherboot?""No, sir, it is gone forever.""Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye," he added as the trainbegan to glide down the platform. "Bear in mind, Sir Henry, one of thephrases in that queer old legend which Dr. Mortimer has read to us andavoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil areexalted."I looked back at the platform when we had left it far behind and saw thetall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionless and gazing after us. The journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it in making themore intimate acquaintance of my two companions and in playing withDr. Mortimer's spaniel. In a very few hours the brown earth had becomeruddy, the brick had changed to granite, and red cows grazed in wellhedged fields where the lush grasses and more luxuriant vegetation spokeof a richer, if a damper, climate. Young Baskerville stared eagerly out ofthe window and cried aloud with delight as he recognized the familiarfeatures of the Devon scenery.[700] "I've been over a good part of the world since I left it, Dr.Watson," said he; "but I have never seen a place to compare with it.""I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county," Iremarked."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 headof the Celt, which carries inside it the Celtic enthusiasm and power ofattachment. Poor Sir Charles's head was of a very rare type, half Gaelic,half Ivernian in its characteristics. But you were very young when youlast saw Baskerville Hall, were you not?""I was a boy in my teens at the time of my father's death and had neverseen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on the South Coast. Thence Iwent straight to a friend in America. I tell you it is all as new to me as it isto 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 sightof 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 thererose 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 hiseager face how much it meant to him, this first sight of that strange spotwhere the men of his blood had held sway so long and left their mark sodeep. There he sat, with his tweed suit and his American accent, in thecorner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as I looked at his dark andexpressive face I felt more than ever how true a descendant he was of thatlong line of high-blooded, fiery, and masterful men. There were pride,valour, and strength in his thick brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his largehazel eyes. If on that forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous questshould lie before us, this was at least a comrade for whom one mightventure to take a risk with the certainty that he would bravely share it.The train pulled up at a small wayside station and we all descended.Outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette with a pair of cobs waswaiting. Our coming was evidently a great event, for station-master andporters clustered round us to carry out our luggage. It was a sweet, simplecountry spot, but I was surprised to observe that by the gate there stoodtwo soldierly men in dark uniforms who leaned upon their short rifles andglanced keenly at us as we passed. The coachman, a hard-faced, gnarledlittle fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in a few minutes we wereflying swiftly down the broad, white road. Rolling pasture lands curvedupward on either side of us, and old gabled houses peeped out from amidthe thick green foliage, but behind the peaceful and sunlit countryside there rose ever, dark against the evening sky, the long, gloomy curve ofthe moor, broken by the jagged and sinister hills.The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upwardthrough deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on eitherside, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart's-tongue ferns. Bronzingbracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. Stillsteadily rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge and skirted a noisystream which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the grayboulders. Both road and stream wound up through a valley dense withscrub oak and fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation ofdelight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions. To hiseyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon thecountryside, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year. Yellowleaves carpeted the [701] lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed.The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rottingvegetation-sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before thecarriage 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 infront of us. On the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue uponits pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle poised readyover 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 threedays now, and the warders watch every road and every station, butthey'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 giveinformation.""Yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is but a poor thing compared tothe chance of having your throat cut. You see, it isn't like any ordinaryconvict. This is a man that would stick at nothing.""Who is he, then?""It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer."I remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmes had takenan interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of the crime and the wantonbrutality which had marked all the actions of the assassin. Thecommutation of his death sentence had been due to some doubts as to hiscomplete sanity, so atrocious was his conduct. Our wagonette had toppeda rise and in front of us rose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled withgnarled and craggy cairns and tors. A cold wind swept down from it andset us shivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurking thisfiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his heart full ofmalignancy against the whole race which had cast him out. It needed butthis to complete the grim suggestiveness of the barren waste, the chillingwind, and the darkling sky. Even Baskerville fell silent and pulled hisovercoat more closely around him.We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We looked back on it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads ofgold and glowing on the red earth new turned by the plough and the broadtangle of the woodlands. The road in front of us grew bleaker and wilderover huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now andthen we passed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone, with nocreeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into acuplike depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs which had beentwisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Two high, narrow towersrose over the trees. The driver pointed with his whip."Baskerville Hall," said he.Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shiningeyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, a maze offantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on eitherside, blotched with lichens, and surmounted by the boars' heads of theBaskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs ofrafters, but facing it was a new building, half constructed, the first fruit ofSir Charles's South African gold.Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheelswere again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their branchesin a sombre tunnel [702] over our heads. Baskerville shuddered as helooked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghostat 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 sucha place as this," said he. "It's enough to scare any man. I'll have a row ofelectric 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 thehall door."The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house laybefore us. In the fading light I could see that the centre was a heavy blockof building from which a porch projected. The whole front was draped inivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there where a window or a coat ofarms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the twintowers, ancient, crenellated, and pierced with many loopholes. To rightand left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dulllight shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the highchimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang asingle black column of smoke."Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!"A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open the doorof the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouetted against theyellow light of the hall. She came out and helped the man to hand downour bags."You don't mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry?" said Dr.Mortimer. "My wife is expecting me.""Surely you will stay and have some dinner?""No, I must go. I shall probably find some work awaiting me. I wouldstay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be a better guidethan I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day to send for me if I can be of service."The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned intothe hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine apartmentin which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with hugebaulks of age-blackened oak. In the great old-fashioned fireplace behindthe high iron dogs a log-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I heldout our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazedround us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak panelling,the stags' heads, the coats of arms upon the walls, all dim and sombre inthe subdued light of the central lamp."It's just as I imagined it," said Sir Henry. "Is it not the very picture ofan old family home? To think that this should be the same hall in whichfor five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me solemn to thinkof it."I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazed abouthim. The light beat upon him where he stood, but long shadows traileddown the walls and hung like a black canopy above him. Barrymore hadreturned from taking our luggage to our rooms. He stood in front of usnow with the subdued manner of a well-trained servant. He was aremarkable-looking man, tall, handsome, with a square black beard andpale, 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. Mywife and I will be happy, Sir Henry, to stay with you until you have madeyour fresh [703] arrangements, but you will understand that under the newconditions this house will require a considerable staff.""What new conditions?""I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very retired life, and we wereable to look after his wants. You would, naturally, wish to have morecompany, 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 theynot? I should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking an old familyconnection."I seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler's white face."I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell the truth, sir, wewere both very much attached to Sir Charles and his death gave us ashock and made these surroundings very painful to us. I fear that we shallnever again be easy in our minds at Baskerville Hall.""But what do you intend to do?""I have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishing ourselves insome business. Sir Charles's generosity has given us the means to do so.And now, sir, perhaps I had best show you to your rooms."A square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall,approached by a double stair. From this central point two long corridorsextended the whole length of the building, from which all the bedroomsopened. My own was in the same wing as Baskerville's and almost next door to it. These rooms appeared to be much more modern than thecentral part of the house, and the bright paper and numerous candles didsomething to remove the sombre impression which our arrival had leftupon my mind.But the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place ofshadow and gloom. It was a long chamber with a step separating the daiswhere the family sat from the lower portion reserved for their dependents.At one end a minstrel's gallery overlooked it. Black beams shot acrossabove our heads, with a smoke-darkened ceiling beyond them. With rowsof flaring torches to light it up, and the colour and rude hilarity of an oldtime banquet, it might have softened; but now, when two black-clothedgentlemen sat in the little circle of light thrown by a shaded lamp, one'svoice became hushed and one's spirit subdued. A dim line of ancestors, inevery variety of dress, from the Elizabethan knight to the buck of theRegency, 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 wewere 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 supposeone can tone down to it, but I feel a bit out of the picture at present. Idon't wonder that my uncle got a little jumpy if he lived all alone in sucha house as this. However, if it suits you, we will retire early to-night, andperhaps things may seem more cheerful in the morning."I drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked out from mywindow. It opened upon the grassy space which lay in front of the halldoor. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in a rising wind. Ahalf moon broke through the rifts of racing clouds. In its cold light I sawbeyond the trees a broken fringe of rocks, and the long, low curve of the melancholy moor. I closed the curtain, feeling that my last impressionwas in keeping with the rest.[704] And yet it was not quite the last. I found myself weary and yetwakeful, tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for the sleep whichwould not come. Far away a chiming clock struck out the quarters of thehours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon the old house. And thensuddenly, 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 inbed and listened intently. The noise could not have been far away and wascertainly in the house. For half an hour I waited with every nerve on thealert, but there came no other sound save the chiming clock and the rustleof the ivy on the wall.