Sherlock Holmes complete collection by sir arthur conan doyle

The Hound of the Baskervilles Chapter 11 THE MAN ON THE TOR

THE extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter hasbrought my narrative up to the eighteenth of October, a time when thesestrange events began to move swiftly towards their terrible conclusion.The incidents of the next few days are indelibly graven upon myrecollection, and I can tell them without reference to the notes made at thetime. I start them from the day which succeeded that upon which I hadestablished two facts of great importance, the one that Mrs. Laura Lyonsof Coombe Tracey had written to Sir Charles Baskerville and made anappointment with him at the very place and hour that he met his death, theother that the lurking man upon the moor was to be found among thestone huts upon the hillside. With these two facts in my [733] possession Ifelt that either my intelligence or my courage must be deficient if I couldnot throw some further light upon these dark places.I had no opportunity to tell the baronet what I had learned about Mrs.Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer remained with him atcards until it was very late. At breakfast, however, I informed him aboutmy discovery and asked him whether he would care to accompany me toCoombe Tracey. At first he was very eager to come, but on secondthoughts it seemed to both of us that if I went alone the results might bebetter. The more formal we made the visit the less information we mightobtain. I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without some prickings ofconscience, and drove off upon my new quest.When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put up the horses, andI made inquiries for the lady whom I had come to interrogate. I had nodifficulty in finding her rooms, which were central and well appointed. Amaid showed me in without ceremony, and as I entered the sitting-room alady, who was sitting before a Remington typewriter, sprang up with apleasant smile of welcome. Her face fell, however, when she saw that Iwas a stranger, and she sat down again and asked me the object of myvisit.The first impression left by Mrs. Lyons was one of extreme beauty. Hereyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, and her cheeks, thoughconsiderably freckled, were flushed with the exquisite bloom of thebrunette, the dainty pink which lurks at the heart of the sulphur rose.Admiration was, I repeat, the first impression. But the second wascriticism. There was something subtly wrong with the face, somecoarseness of expression, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some loosenessof lip which marred its perfect beauty. But these, of course, are afterthoughts. At the moment I was simply conscious that I was in the presence of a very handsome woman, and that she was asking me thereasons for my visit. I had not quite understood until that instant howdelicate my mission was."I have the pleasure," said I, "of knowing your father."It was a clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it."There is nothing in common between my father and me," she said. "Iowe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it were not for the lateSir Charles Baskerville and some other kind hearts I might have starvedfor all that my father cared.""It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come here tosee you."The freckles started out on the lady's face."What can I tell you about him?" she asked, and her fingers playednervously over the stops of her typewriter."You knew him, did you not?""I have already said that I owe a great deal to his kindness. If I am ableto support myself it is largely due to the interest which he took in myunhappy situation.""Did you correspond with him?"The lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes."What is the object of these questions?" she asked sharply."The object is to avoid a public scandal. It is better that I should askthem here than that the matter should pass outside our control."She was silent and her face was still very pale. At last she looked upwith something reckless and defiant in her manner."Well, I'll answer," she said. "What are your questions?" [734] "Did you correspond with Sir Charles?""I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his delicacy andhis generosity.""Have you the dates of those letters?""No.""Have you ever met him?""Yes, once or twice, when he came into Coombe Tracey. He was a veryretiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth.""But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did he knowenough about your affairs to be able to help you, as you say that he hasdone?"She met my difficulty with the utmost readiness."There were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and united tohelp me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a neighbour and intimate friend of SirCharles's. He was exceedingly kind, and it was through him that SirCharles learned about my affairs."I knew already that Sir Charles Baskerville had made Stapleton hisalmoner upon several occasions, so the lady's statement bore the impressof truth upon it."Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you?" Icontinued.Mrs. Lyon flushed with anger again."Really, sir, this is a very extraordinary question.""I am sorry, madam, but I must repeat it.""Then I answer, certainly not.""Not on the very day of Sir Charles's death?"The flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was before me.Her dry lips could not speak the "No" which I saw rather than heard."Surely your memory deceives you," said I. "I could even quote apassage of your letter. It ran 'Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burnthis letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock.'"I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a supremeeffort."Is there no such thing as a gentleman?" she gasped."You do Sir Charles an injustice. He did burn the letter. But sometimesa letter may be legible even when burned. You acknowledge now that youwrote it?""Yes, I did write it," she cried, pouring out her soul in a torrent ofwords. "I did write it. Why should I deny it? I have no reason to beashamed of it. I wished him to help me. I believed that if I had aninterview I could gain his help, so I asked him to meet me.""But why at such an hour?""Because I had only just learned that he was going to London next dayand might be away for months. There were reasons why I could not getthere earlier.""But why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to the house?""Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a bachelor'shouse?""Well, what happened when you did get there?" "I never went.""Mrs. Lyons!""No, I swear it to you on all I hold sacred. I never went. Somethingintervened to prevent my going.""What was that?""That is a private matter. I cannot tell it.""You acknowledge then that you made an appointment with Sir Charlesat the very hour [735] and place at which he met his death, but you denythat you kept the appointment.""That is the truth."Again and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never get past thatpoint."Mrs. Lyons," said I as I rose from this long and inconclusiveinterview, "you are taking a very great responsibility and putting yourselfin a very false position by not making an absolutely clean breast of allthat you know. If I have to call in the aid of the police you will find howseriously you are compromised. If your position is innocent, why did youin the first instance deny having written to Sir Charles upon that date?""Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn from itand that I might find myself involved in a scandal.""And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy yourletter?""If you have read the letter you will know.""I did not say that I had read all the letter.""You quoted some of it.""I quoted the postscript. The letter had, as I said, been burned and itwas not all legible. I ask you once again why it was that you were sopressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letter which he received onthe day of his death.""The matter is a very private one.""The more reason why you should avoid a public investigation.""I will tell you, then. If you have heard anything of my unhappy historyyou will know that I made a rash marriage and had reason to regret it.""I have heard so much.""My life has been one incessant persecution from a husband whom Iabhor. The law is upon his side, and every day I am faced by thepossibility that he may force me to live with him. At the time that I wrotethis letter to Sir Charles I had learned that there was a prospect of myregaining my freedom if certain expenses could be met. It meanteverything to me-peace of mind, happiness, self-respect-everything. Iknew Sir Charles's generosity, and I thought that if he heard the storyfrom my own lips he would help me.""Then how is it that you did not go?""Because I received help in the interval from another source.""Why, then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explain this?""So I should have done had I not seen his death in the paper nextmorning."The woman's story hung coherently together, and all my questionswere unable to shake it. I could only check it by finding if she had, indeed, instituted divorce proceedings against her husband at or about thetime of the tragedy.It was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not been toBaskerville Hall if she really had been, for a trap would be necessary totake her there, and could not have returned to Coombe Tracey until theearly hours of the morning. Such an excursion could not be kept secret.The probability was, therefore, that she was telling the truth, or, at least, apart of the truth. I came away baffled and disheartened. Once again I hadreached that dead wall which seemed to be built across every path bywhich I tried to get at the object of my mission. And yet the more Ithought of the lady's face and of her manner the more I felt thatsomething was being held back from me. Why should she turn so pale?Why should she fight against every admission until it was forced fromher? Why should she have been so reticent at the time of the tragedy?Surely the explanation of all this could not [736] be as innocent as shewould have me believe. For the moment I could proceed no farther in thatdirection, but must turn back to that other clue which was to be sought foramong the stone huts upon the moor.And that was a most vague direction. I realized it as I drove back andnoted how hill after hill showed traces of the ancient people. Barrymore'sonly indication had been that the stranger lived in one of these abandonedhuts, and many hundreds of them are scattered throughout the length andbreadth of the moor. But I had my own experience for a guide since it hadshown me the man himself standing upon the summit of the Black Tor.That, then, should be the centre of my search. From there I should exploreevery hut upon the moor until I lighted upon the right one. If this manwere inside it I should find out from his own lips, at the point of myrevolver if necessary, who he was and why he had dogged us so long. Hemight slip away from us in the crowd of Regent Street, but it wouldpuzzle him to do so upon the lonely moor. On the other hand, if I shouldfind the hut and its tenant should not be within it I must remain there,however long the vigil, until he returned. Holmes had missed him inLondon. It would indeed be a triumph for me if I could run him to earthwhere my master had failed.Luck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, but now atlast it came to my aid. And the messenger of good fortune was none otherthan Mr. Frankland, who was standing, gray-whiskered and red-faced,outside the gate of his garden, which opened on to the highroad alongwhich I travelled. "Good-day, Dr. Watson," cried he with unwonted good humour, "youmust really give your horses a rest and come in to have a glass of wineand to congratulate me."My feelings towards him were very far from being friendly after what Ihad heard of his treatment of his daughter, but I was anxious to sendPerkins and the wagonette home, and the opportunity was a good one. Ialighted and sent a message to Sir Henry that I should walk over in timefor dinner. Then I followed Frankland into his dining-room."It is a great day for me, sir-one of the red-letter days of my life," hecried with many chuckles. "I have brought off a double event. I mean toteach them in these parts that law is law, and that there is a man here whodoes not fear to invoke it. I have established a right of way through thecentre of old Middleton's park, slap across it, sir, within a hundred yardsof his own front door. What do you think of that? We'll teach thesemagnates that they cannot ride roughshod over the rights of thecommoners, confound them! And I've closed the wood where theFernworthy folk used to picnic. These infernal people seem to think thatthere are no rights of property, and that they can swarm where they likewith their papers and their bottles. Both cases decided, Dr. Watson, andboth in my favour. I haven't had such a day since I had Sir John Morlandfor trespass because he shot in his own warren.""How on earth did you do that?""Look it up in the books, sir. It will repay reading-Frankland v.Morland, Court of Queen's Bench. It cost me £200, but I got my verdict." "Did it do you any good?""None, sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest in the matter. Iact entirely from a sense of public duty. I have no doubt, for example, thatthe Fernworthy people will burn me in effigy to-night. I told the policelast time they did it that they should stop these disgraceful exhibitions.The County Constabulary is in a scandalous state, sir, and it has notafforded me the protection to which I am entitled. The case of Franklandv. Regina will bring the matter before the [737] attention of the public. Itold them that they would have occasion to regret their treatment of me,and already my words have come true.""How so?" I asked.The old man put on a very knowing expression."Because I could tell them what they are dying to know; but nothingwould induce me to help the rascals in any way."I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get awayfrom his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of it. I had seenenough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to understand that anystrong sign of interest would be the surest way to stop his confidences."Some poaching case, no doubt?" said I with an indifferent manner."Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that! Whatabout the convict on the moor?"I started. "You don't mean that you know where he is?" said I."I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that I couldhelp the police to lay their hands on him. Has it never struck you that theway to catch that man was to find out where he got his food and so trace itto him?"He certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth. "Nodoubt," said I; "but how do you know that he is anywhere upon themoor?""I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messenger whotakes him his food."My heart sank for Barrymore. It was a serious thing to be in the powerof this spiteful old busybody. But his next remark took a weight from mymind."You'll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a child. Isee him every day through my telescope upon the roof. He passes alongthe same path at the same hour, and to whom should he be going exceptto the convict?"Here was luck indeed! And yet I suppressed all appearance of interest.A child! Barrymore had said that our unknown was supplied by a boy. Itwas on his track, and not upon the convict's, that Frankland had stumbled.If I could get his knowledge it might save me a long and weary hunt. Butincredulity and indifference were evidently my strongest cards."I should say that it was much more likely that it was the son of one ofthe moorland shepherds taking out his father's dinner."The least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the old autocrat.His eyes looked malignantly at me, and his gray whiskers bristled likethose of an angry cat."Indeed, sir!" said he, pointing out over the wide-stretching moor. "Do you see that Black Tor over yonder? Well, do you see the low hill beyondwith the thornbush upon it? It is the stoniest part of the whole moor. Isthat a place where a shepherd would be likely to take his station? Yoursuggestion, sir, is a most absurd one."I meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing all the facts. Mysubmission pleased him and led him to further confidences."You may be sure, sir, that I have very good grounds before I come toan opinion. I have seen the boy again and again with his bundle. Everyday, and sometimes twice a day, I have been able-but wait a moment, Dr.Watson. Do my eyes deceive me, or is there at the present momentsomething moving upon that hillside?"It was several miles off, but I could distinctly see a small dark dotagainst the dull green and gray."Come, sir, come!" cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. "You will seewith your own eyes and judge for yourself."[738] The telescope, a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod,stood upon the flat leads of the house. Frankland clapped his eye to it andgave a cry of satisfaction."Quick, Dr. Watson, quick, before he passes over the hill!"There he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle upon hisshoulder, toiling slowly up the hill. When he reached the crest I saw theragged uncouth figure outlined for an instant against the cold blue sky. Helooked round him with a furtive and stealthy air, as one who dreadspursuit. Then he vanished over the hill."Well! Am I right?" "Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand.""And what the errand is even a county constable could guess. But notone word shall they have from me, and I bind you to secrecy also, Dr.Watson. Not a word! You understand!""Just as you wish.""They have treated me shamefully-shamefully. When the facts comeout in Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill of indignationwill run through the country. Nothing would induce me to help the policein any way. For all they cared it might have been me, instead of myeffigy, which these rascals burned at the stake. Surely you are not going!You will help me to empty the decanter in honour of this great occasion!"But I resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuading him fromhis announced intention of walking home with me. I kept the road as longas his eye was on me, and then I struck off across the moor and made forthe stony hill over which the boy had disappeared. Everything wasworking in my favour, and I swore that it should not be through lack ofenergy or perseverance that I should miss the chance which fortune hadthrown in my way.The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the hill, andthe long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one side and grayshadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the farthest sky-line, out ofwhich jutted the fantastic shapes of Belliver and Vixen Tor. Over thewide expanse there was no sound and no movement. One great gray bird,a gull or curlew, soared aloft in the blue heaven. He and I seemed to bethe only living things between the huge arch of the sky and the desertbeneath it. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery andurgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy was nowhereto be seen. But down beneath me in a cleft of the hills there was a circleof the old stone huts, and in the middle of them there was one whichretained sufficient roof to act as a screen against the weather. My heartleaped within me as I saw it. This must be the burrow where the strangerlurked. At last my foot was on the threshold of his hiding place-his secretwas within my grasp.As I approached the hut, walking as warily as Stapleton would do whenwith poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, I satisfied myself thatthe place had indeed been used as a habitation. A vague pathway amongthe boulders led to the dilapidated opening which served as a door. Allwas silent within. The unknown might be lurking there, or he might beprowling on the moor. My nerves tingled with the sense of adventure.Throwing aside my cigarette, I closed my hand upon the butt of myrevolver and, walking swiftly up to the door, I looked in. The place wasempty.But there were ample signs that I had not come upon a false scent. Thiswas certainly where the man lived. Some blankets rolled in a waterprooflay upon that [739] very stone slab upon which neolithic man had onceslumbered. The ashes of a fire were heaped in a rude grate. Beside it laysome cooking utensils and a bucket half-full of water. A litter of emptytins showed that the place had been occupied for some time, and I saw, asmy eyes became accustomed to the checkered light, a pannikin and a half-full bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of the hut a flatstone served the purpose of a table, and upon this stood a small clothbundle-the same, no doubt, which I had seen through the telescope uponthe shoulder of the boy. It contained a loaf of bread, a tinned tongue, andtwo tins of preserved peaches. As I set it down again, after havingexamined it, my heart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet ofpaper with writing upon it. I raised it, and this was what I read, roughlyscrawled in pencil: "Dr. Watson has gone to Coombe Tracey."For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking out themeaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not Sir Henry, who wasbeing dogged by this secret man. He had not followed me himself, but hehad set an agent-the boy, perhaps-upon my track, and this was his report.Possibly I had taken no step since I had been upon the moor which hadnot been observed and reported. Always there was this feeling of anunseen force, a fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and delicacy,holding us so lightly that it was only at some supreme moment that onerealized that one was indeed entangled in its meshes.If there was one report there might be others, so I looked round the hutin search of them. There was no trace, however, of anything of the kind,nor could I discover any sign which might indicate the character orintentions of the man who lived in this singular place, save that he mustbe of Spartan habits and cared little for the comforts of life. When Ithought of the heavy rains and looked at the gaping roof I understood howstrong and immutable must be the purpose which had kept him in thatinhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy, or was he by chanceour guardian angel? I swore that I would not leave the hut until I knew.Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing with scarletand gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches by the distantpools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire. There were the two towersof Baskerville Hall, and there a distant blur of smoke which marked thevillage of Grimpen. Between the two, behind the hill, was the house ofthe Stapletons. All was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the goldenevening light, and yet as I looked at them my soul shared none of thepeace of Nature but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of thatinterview which every instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nervesbut a fixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited withsombre patience for the coming of its tenant.And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a bootstriking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming nearer andnearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner and cocked the pistol in mypocket, determined not to discover myself until I had an opportunity ofseeing something of the stranger. There was a long pause which showedthat he had stopped. Then once more the footsteps approached and ashadow fell across the opening of the hut."It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson," said a well-known voice. "Ireally think that you will be more comfortable outside than in."