Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Hound of the Baskervilles Chapter 7 THE STAPLETONS OF MERRIPIT HOUSE

THE fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface fromour minds the grim and gray impression which had been left upon both ofus by our first experience of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat atbreakfast the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows,throwing watery patches of colour from the coats of arms which coveredthem. The dark panelling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and itwas hard to realize that this was indeed the chamber which had strucksuch a gloom into our souls upon the evening before."I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have to blame!" saidthe baronet. "We were tired with our journey and chilled by our drive, sowe took a gray view of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so it is allcheerful once more.""And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination," I answered."Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman I think,sobbing in the night?""That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that I heardsomething of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there was no more of it,so I concluded that it was all a dream.""I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sob of awoman.""We must ask about this right away." He rang the bell and askedBarrymore whether he could account for our experience. It seemed to methat the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler still as he listenedto 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 mywife, and I can answer for it that the sound could not have come fromher."And yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that after breakfast I metMrs. Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon her face. Shewas a large, impassive, heavy-featured woman with a stern set expressionof mouth. But her telltale eyes were red and glanced at me from betweenswollen lids. It was she, then, who wept in the night, and if she did so herhusband must know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery indeclaring that it was not so. Why had he done this? And why did sheweep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome, black-beardedman there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It washe who had been the first to discover the body of Sir Charles, and we hadonly 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 seenin the [705] cab in Regent Street? The beard might well have been thesame. The cabman had described a somewhat shorter man, but such animpression might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the pointforever? Obviously the first thing to do was to see the Grimpenpostmaster and find whether the test telegram had really been placed inBarrymore's own hands. Be the answer what it might, I should at leasthave something to report to Sherlock Holmes.Sir Henry had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that thetime was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasant walk of four milesalong the edge of the moor, leading me at last to a small gray hamlet, inwhich two larger buildings, which proved to be the inn and the house ofDr. Mortimer, stood high above the rest. The postmaster, who was alsothe village grocer, had a clear recollection of the telegram."Certainly, sir," said he, "I had the telegram delivered to Mr.Barrymore exactly as directed.""Who delivered it?""My boy here. James, you delivered that telegram to Mr. Barrymore atthe Hall last week, did you not?""Yes, father, I delivered it.""Into his own hands?" I asked."Well, he was up in the loft at the time, so that I could not put it into hisown hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymore's hands, and she promisedto deliver it at once.""Did you see Mr. Barrymore?""No, sir; I tell you he was in the loft.""If you didn't see him, how do you know he was in the loft?""Well, surely his own wife ought to know where he is," said thepostmaster testily. "Didn't he get the telegram? If there is any mistake itis for Mr. Barrymore himself to complain."It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it was clearthat in spite of Holmes's ruse we had no proof that Barrymore had notbeen in London all the time. Suppose that it were so-suppose that thesame man had been the last who had seen Sir Charles alive, and the firstto dog the new heir when he returned to England. What then? Was he theagent of others or had he some sinister design of his own? What interestcould he have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of thestrange warning clipped out of the leading article of the Times. Was thathis work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent uponcounteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive was that whichhad been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family could be scared awaya comfortable and permanent home would be secured for the Barrymores.But surely such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate toaccount for the deep and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving aninvisible net round the young baronet. Holmes himself had said that nomore complex case had come to him in all the long series of hissensational investigations. I prayed, as I walked back along the gray,lonely road, that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupationsand able to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility from my shoulders.Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feetbehind me and by a voice which called me by name. I turned, expectingto see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it was a stranger who waspursuing me. He was a small, [706] slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man,flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between thirty and forty years of age,dressed in a gray suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin box for botanicalspecimens hung over his shoulder and he carried a green butterfly-net inone of his hands."You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson," said he ashe came panting up to where I stood. "Here on the moor we are homelyfolk and do not wait for formal introductions. You may possibly haveheard my name from our mutual friend, Mortimer. I am Stapleton, ofMerripit House.""Your net and box would have told me as much," said I, "for I knewthat Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you know me?""I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out to me fromthe window of his surgery as you passed. As our road lay the same way Ithought that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust that SirHenry is none the worse for his journey?""He is very well, thank you.""We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Sir Charles thenew baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking much of a wealthy manto come down and bury himself in a place of this kind, but I need not tellyou that it means a very great deal to the countryside. Sir Henry has, I suppose, no superstitious fears in the matter?""I do not think that it is likely.""Of course you know the legend of the fiend dog which haunts thefamily?""I have heard it.""It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here! Anynumber of them are ready to swear that they have seen such a creatureupon the moor." He spoke with a smile, but I seemed to read in his eyesthat he took the matter more seriously. "The story took a great hold uponthe imagination of Sir Charles, and I have no doubt that it led to his tragicend.""But how?""His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog mighthave had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancy that he really didsee something of the kind upon that last night in the yew alley. I fearedthat some disaster might occur, for I was very fond of the old man, and Iknew 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 diedof 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 theplacid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprisewas 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 youcould not celebrate him without being known yourself. When Mortimertold me your name he could not deny your identity. If you are here, then itfollows that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself in the matter, andI am naturally curious to know what view he may take.""I am afraid that I cannot answer that question."[707] "May I ask if he is going to honour us with a visit himself?""He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases which engage hisattention.""What a pity! He might throw some light on that which is so dark to us.But as to your own researches, if there is any possible way in which I canbe of service to you I trust that you will command me. If I had anyindication of the nature of your suspicions or how you propose toinvestigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you some aid oradvice.""I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friend, Sir Henry,and that I need no help of any kind.""Excellent!" said Stapleton. "You are perfectly right to be wary anddiscreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was an unjustifiableintrusion, and I promise you that I will not mention the matter again."We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from the road and wound away across the moor. A steep, boulder-sprinkled hill layupon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry.The face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns andbrambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise there floated agray plume of smoke."A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to Merripit House,"said he. "Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have the pleasure ofintroducing you to my sister."My first thought was that I should be by Sir Henry's side. But then Iremembered the pile of papers and bills with which his study table waslittered. It was certain that I could not help with those. And Holmes hadexpressly said that I should study the neighbours upon the moor. Iaccepted Stapleton's invitation, and we turned together down the path."It is a wonderful place, the moor," said he, looking round over theundulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged granitefoaming up into fantastic surges. "You never tire of the moor. You cannotthink 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 anewcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. But my tastes ledme to explore every part of the country round, and I should think thatthere 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 herewith the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anythingremarkable about that?""It would be a rare place for a gallop.""You would naturally think so and the thought has cost several theirlives before now. You notice those bright green spots scattered thicklyover it?""Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest."Stapleton laughed. "That is the great Grimpen Mire," said he. "A false step yonder meansdeath to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor ponieswander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quite a long timecraning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him down at last. Even in dryseasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awfulplace. And yet I can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive.By George, there is another of those miserable ponies!"[708] Something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges.Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful cryechoed over the moor. It turned me cold with horror, but my companion'snerves seemed to be stronger than mine."It's gone!" said he. "The mire has him. Two in two days, and manymore, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the dry weatherand never know the difference until the mire has them in its clutches. It'sa bad place, the great Grimpen Mire.""And you say you can penetrate it?""Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man can take. Ihave found them out.""But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?""Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cut off on allsides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them in the courseof years. That is where the rare plants and the butterflies are, if you havethe wit to reach them.""I shall try my luck some day." He looked at me with a surprised face."For God's sake put such an idea out of your mind," said he. "Yourblood would be upon my head. I assure you that there would not be theleast chance of your coming back alive. It is only by remembering certaincomplex 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 thewhole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it came. From a dullmurmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy,throbbing murmur once again. Stapleton looked at me with a curiousexpression 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 itsprey. 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 swellingplain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over thevast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a torbehind 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 waterrising, or something.""No, no, that was a living voice.""Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?""No, I never did.""It's a very rare bird-practically extinct-in England now, but all thingsare possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not be surprised to learn thatwhat we have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns.""It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my life.""Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hillsideyonder. What do you make of those?"The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of stone, ascore of them at least."What are they? Sheep-pens?"[709] "No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric manlived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived theresince, we find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them. These arehis wigwams with the roofs off. You can even see his hearth and hiscouch if you have the curiosity to go inside.""But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?""Neolithic man-no date.""What did he do?""He grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to dig for tin whenthe bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look at the greattrench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes, you will find some verysingular points about the moor, Dr. Watson. Oh, excuse me an instant! Itis surely Cyclopides."A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an instant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit ofit. To my dismay the creature flew straight for the great mire, and myacquaintance never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuftbehind it, his green net waving in the air. His gray clothes and jerky,zigzag, irregular progress made him not unlike some huge moth himself. Iwas standing watching his pursuit with a mixture of admiration for hisextraordinary activity and fear lest he should lose his footing in thetreacherous mire when I heard the sound of steps and, turning round,found a woman near me upon the path. She had come from the directionin which the plume of smoke indicated the position of Merripit House, butthe 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 beentold, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, and Iremembered that I had heard someone describe her as being a beauty. Thewoman who approached me was certainly that, and of a most uncommontype. There could not have been a greater contrast between brother andsister, for Stapleton was neutral tinted, with light hair and gray eyes,while she was darker than any brunette whom I have seen inEngland-slim, elegant, and tall. She had a proud, finely cut face, soregular that it might have seemed impassive were it not for the sensitivemouth and the beautiful dark, eager eyes. With her perfect figure andelegant dress she was, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonelymoorland path. Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and then shequickened her pace towards me. I had raised my hat and was about tomake some explanatory remark when her own words turned all mythoughts into a new channel."Go back!" she said. "Go straight back to London, instantly."I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed at me, andshe tapped the ground impatiently with her foot."Why should I go back?" I asked."I cannot explain." She spoke in a low, eager voice, with a curious lispin her utterance. "But for God's sake do what I ask you. Go back andnever set foot upon the moor again.""But I have only just come.""Man, man!" she cried. "Can you not tell when a warning is for yourown good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get away from this placeat all costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not a word of what I have said.Would you mind getting that orchid for me among the mare's-tailsyonder? We are very rich in orchids on the moor, though, of course, youare rather late to see the beauties of the place."[710] Stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathinghard and flushed with his exertions."Halloa, Beryl!" said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of hisgreeting was not altogether a cordial one."Well, Jack, you are very hot.""Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. He is very rare and seldom found inthe late autumn. What a pity that I should have missed him!" He spokeunconcernedly, but his small light eyes glanced incessantly from the girlto me."You have introduced yourselves, I can see.""Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him to see thetrue 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 isDr. Watson."A flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. "We have beentalking at cross purposes," said she."Why, you had not very much time for talk," her brother remarked withthe same questioning eyes."I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of being merely avisitor," said she. "It cannot much matter to him whether it is early or latefor the orchids. But you will come on, will you not, and see MerripitHouse?"A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the farm ofsome grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair andturned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it, but the trees, asis usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect of thewhole place was mean and melancholy. We were admitted by a strange,wizened, rusty-coated old manservant, who seemed in keeping with thehouse. Inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with anelegance in which I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As I lookedfrom their windows at the interminable granite-flecked moor rollingunbroken to the farthest horizon I could not but marvel at what could havebrought this highly educated man and this beautiful woman to live in sucha place."Queer spot to choose, is it not?" said he as if in answer to my thought."And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not, Beryl?""Quite happy," said she, but there was no ring of conviction in herwords."I had a school," said Stapleton. "It was in the north country. The workto a man of my temperament was mechanical and uninteresting, but theprivilege of living with youth, of helping to mould those young minds,and of impressing them with one's own character and ideals was verydear to me. However, the fates were against us. A serious epidemic brokeout in the school and three of the boys died. It never recovered from theblow, and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, ifit were not for the loss of the charming companionship of the boys, Icould rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with my strong tastes forbotany and zoology, I find an unlimited field of work here, and my sisteris as devoted to Nature as I am. All this, Dr. Watson, has been broughtupon your head by your expression as you surveyed the moor out of ourwindow.""It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dull-less for you,perhaps, than for your sister.""No, no, I am never dull," said she quickly.[711] "We have books, we have our studies, and we have interestingneighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line. Poor SirCharles was also an admirable companion. We knew him well and misshim more than I can tell. Do you think that I should intrude if I were tocall this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry?" "I am sure that he would be delighted.""Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so. We may inour humble way do something to make things more easy for him until hebecomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you come upstairs,Dr. Watson, and inspect my collection of Lepidoptera? I think it is themost complete one in the south-west of England. By the time that youhave 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 beenassociated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all these things tingedmy thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of these more or less vagueimpressions there had come the definite and distinct warning of MissStapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that I could not doubtthat some grave and deep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure tostay for lunch, and I set off at once upon my return journey, taking thegrass-grown path by which we had come.It seems, however, that there must have been some short cut for thosewho knew it, for before I had reached the road I was astounded to seeMiss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side of the track. Her face wasbeautifully 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. "Ihad not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop, or my brother maymiss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am about the stupid mistake Imade in thinking that you were Sir Henry. Please forget the words I said,which have no application whatever to you.""But I can't forget them, Miss Stapleton," said I. "I am Sir Henry'sfriend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine. Tell me why itwas that you were so eager that Sir Henry should return to London.""A woman's whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me better you willunderstand that I cannot always give reasons for what I say or do.""No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the look inyour eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, Miss Stapleton, for ever sinceI have been here I have been conscious of shadows all round me. Life hasbecome like that great Grimpen Mire, with little green patcheseverywhere into which one may sink and with no guide to point the track.Tell me then what it was that you meant, and I will promise to conveyyour warning to Sir Henry."An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her face, buther eyes had hardened again when she answered me."You make too much of it, Dr. Watson," said she. "My brother and Iwere very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles. We knew him veryintimately, for his favourite walk was over the moor to our house. He wasdeeply impressed with the curse which hung over his family, and whenthis tragedy came I naturally felt that there must be some grounds for thefears which he had expressed. I was distressed therefore when anothermember of the family came down to live here, [712] and I felt that heshould be warned of the danger which he will run. That was all which Iintended to convey.""But what is the danger?" "You know the story of the hound?""I do not believe in such nonsense.""But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him awayfrom a place which has always been fatal to his family. The world iswide. 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 thatunless you can give me some more definite information than this it wouldbe 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 nomore than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish yourbrother to overhear what you said? There is nothing to which he, oranyone else, could object.""My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for he thinksthat it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. He would be veryangry if he knew that I had said anything which might induce Sir Henryto go away. But I have done my duty now and I will say no more. I mustget 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 scatteredboulders, while I, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way toBaskerville Hall.