Chapter 11

First Report of Dr. Watson

Baskerville Hall, October 13th.

My dear Holmes:

My letters and telegrams have kept you up to date as to what has occurred here. But I must tell you about some other factors in the situation.

One of them is the escaped convict on the moor. He escaped from prison two weeks ago, and he has not been seen and nothing has been heard of him. No doubt he could not stay on the moor during all that time. Of course, he can hide in primitive huts of which I have written you. But there is nothing to eat there. We think, therefore, that he has gone, and the moor farmers sleep better now.

Another fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to show a considerable interest in Miss Stapleton. She is a very beautiful woman, there is something tropical and exotic about her which is a contrast to her cool and unemotional brother. Yet he has certainly a very great influence over her, for I have seen her continually glance at him as she talked.

I hope that he is kind to her. There is something in his eyes and his thin lips, which may mean a harsh nature.

He came to call on Baskerville on the first day, and the next morning he took us both to show us the place where the legend of the wicked Hugo is supposed to have had its origin. It was an excursion of some miles across the moor to a very unpleasant place. We found a short valley between rocks which led to an open, grassy space. In the middle of it rose two great stones. Sir Henry was much interested and asked Stapleton whether he really believed in the power of the supernatural. It was evident that he was very much impressed. Stapleton told us of some cases, where families were cursed. I think he believes in the supernatural hound.

On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and there Sir Henry met Miss Stapleton. From the first moment that he saw her he was strongly attracted by her. He spoke of her again and again on our walk home, and since then we have seen the brother and sister every day. It seems Stapleton must welcome Sir Henry’s attention, and yet I have more than once caught a look of the strongest dislike in his face when Sir Henry was talking to his sister. She is his only sister, and he would have a lonely life without her, but I don’t see how he can stand in the way of her making so brilliant a marriage. Yet I am certain that he does not wish their relation to develop into love, and I have several times observed that he has done his best to prevent them from being alone. By the way, your instructions to me never to allow Sir Henry to go out alone will make me very unpopular if there is a love affair.

I have met one other neighbour since I wrote last. This is Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives four miles to the south of us. He is an elderly man, redfaced, white-haired, and choleric. His passion is for the British law, and he has spent a large fortune in courts. He fights for the pleasure of fighting. He is said to have about seven lawsuits upon his hands at present, and it will probably cost him the rest of his fortune. To me he seems a kind, good-natured person, and I only mention him because you wished to know everything about people on the moor. Being fond of astronomy, he has an excellent telescope, with which he lies on the roof of his house and examines the moor all day in the hope of seeing the escaped convict.

And now, let me tell you more about the Barrymores.

First of all about the test telegram, which you sent from London to make sure that Barrymore was really here. I told Sir Henry what the postmaster had told me, and he at once asked Barrymore whether he had received the telegram himself.

“No,” said he, “I was in the loft at the time, and my wife brought it up to me.”

“Did you answer it yourself?”

“No; I told my wife what to answer and she wrote it. Have I done anything wrong?”

Sir Henry said that it was not so and to show that he was not angry gave him a lot of his old clothes, some of them very good.

Mrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. You can hardly imagine a less emotional person. Yet I have told you how, on the first night here, I heard her sobbing bitterly, and since then I have more than once observed traces of tears on her face. She has some deep sorrow at her heart. Sometimes I suspect Barrymore of beating her. He has always seemed suspicious to me, but the adventure of last night makes all my suspicions even stronger.

You know that I do not sleep very well. Last night, about two in the morning, I was woken by quiet steps in the corridor. I opened my door, and looked out. A man was walking down the corridor with a candle. It was Barrymore. He walked very slowly and quietly.

I waited until he had passed out of sight and then I followed him. I saw him enter one of the empty rooms, so his expedition seemed mysterious. I walked as noiselessly as I could and looked into the room.

Barrymore was standing at the window with the candle in his hand. He was looking out into the blackness of the moor. For some minutes he stood watching. Then he put out the light. I made my way back to my room, and very soon I heard his steps passing my door. What it all means I cannot guess, but there is some secret business going on in this house. I have had a long talk with Sir Henry this morning, and we have made a plan. I will not speak about it now, but it will make my next report interesting reading.

Chapter 12

Second Report of Dr. Watson

Baskerville Hall, Oct. 15th.

My dear Holmes:

In my last report I ended with Barrymore at the window. Things have within the last forty-eight hours become much clearer and in some ways they have become more complicated.

On the morning after my adventure I went down the corridor and examined the room in which Barrymore had been on the night before. You could have a good view of the moor from it. There is an opening between two trees which allows you to look right down on it, while from all the other windows only a small part of the moor is seen. Therefore, Barrymore must have been looking out for something or somebody on the moor. The night was very dark, so he could hardly see anyone.

I had a talk with the baronet in his study after breakfast, and I told him all that I had seen. He was less surprised than I had expected.

“I knew that Barrymore walked about nights, and I was going to speak to him about it,” said he. “Two or three times I have heard his steps in the corridor, coming and going, just about the hour you name.” “Perhaps he pays a visit every night to that window,” I suggested.

“Perhaps he does. If so, we should follow him and see what he is doing. We’ll sit up in my room tonight and wait until he passes,” Sir Henry said with pleasure.

I sat up with Sir Henry in his room until three o’clock in the morning, when we heard steps in the corridor.

We heard a man pass along. Then the baronet opened his door and we found ourselves in the corridor. We saw Barrymore enter the same room as before. When we looked in we found him standing at the window, candle in hand.

The baronet walked into the room, and as he did so Barrymore sprang up from the window and stood, pale and trembling, before us.

“What are you doing here, Barrymore?”

“Nothing, sir.” He was so excited that he could hardly speak. “It was the window, sir. I go round at night to see that they are blocked.”

“No lies!” said Sir Henry, “What were you doing at that window?”

“Don’t ask me, Sir Henry! I give you my word, sir, that it is not my secret, and that I cannot tell it.”

A sudden idea occurred to me, and I took the candle from the trembling hand of the butler.

“It must be a signal,” said I. “Let us see if there is any answer.” I held it as he had done, and looked out into the darkness. And then I suddenly saw a small light on the moor.

“There it is!” I cried.

“So it is a signal, Watson!” cried the baronet. “Speak up! What plot is that?”

The man’s face flushed.

“It is my business, and not yours. I will not tell.”

“Then you leave my house right away. You must be ashamed of yourself. Your family has lived with mine for over a hundred years in this house, and here I find you in some plot against me.”

“No, sir; no, not against you!” It was a woman’s voice, and Mrs. Barrymore was standing at the door. “He has done what I asked him.”

“Speak out! What does it mean?”

“My unhappy brother is on the moor. The light is a signal to him that food is ready for him, and his light is to show the place to which to bring it.”

“Then your brother is—”

“The escaped convict, sir—Selden, the criminal.”

“That’s true, sir,” said Barrymore. “I said that it was not my secret and that I could not tell it to you.”

“Yes, sir, my name was Selden, and he is my younger brother. When he was small, we gave him his own way in everything until he decided that the world was made for his pleasure, and that he could do what he liked. Then as he grew older he met wicked companions, and he broke my mother’s heart and dragged our name in the dirt. From crime to crime he sank lower and lower. But to me, sir, he was always the little boy that I had loved and played with.

That was why he escaped from prison, sir. He knew that I was here and that we would help him.”

“Is this true, Barrymore?”

“Yes, Sir Henry. Every word of it.”

“Go to your room, you two, and we shall talk about this matter in the morning.”

When they were gone we looked out of the window again. Far away we could see a yellow light. “How far do you think it is?” said Sir Henry. “Not more than a mile or two off.”

“And he is waiting beside that candle. Watson, I am going out to take that man!”

The same thought had occurred to me. The man was a danger to everybody, a scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse. It was our duty to put him back to prison. Any night our neighbours the Stapletons might be attacked by him.

“I will come,” said I.

In five minutes we were outside the door. The light was still seen in front.

We walked slowly along in the darkness. At last we could see where the light came from. A candle was stuck between the rocks. It was strange to see this candle burning there in the middle of the moor, with no one near it.

“What shall we do now?” whispered Sir Henry. “Wait here. He must be near his light.”

At that moment we both saw him. Over the candle there appeared an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, with a beard. The light below him was reflected in his small, cunning eyes.

Something had evidently aroused his suspicions. I could read his fears upon his wicked face. I sprang forward, and Sir Henry did the same. At the same moment the convict screamed out a curse and threw a rock at us. He sprang to his feet and turned to run. At the same moment the moon broke through the clouds. We saw our man running, springing over the stones.

We were both swift runners and in good training, but we soon found that we had no chance of catching him. We saw him for a long time in the moonlight. We ran and ran until we were completely exhausted, then we stopped and watched him disappearing in the distance.

And at this moment a strange and unexpected thing occurred. We were turning to go home, when I saw the figure of a man on a rock. As far as I could see, that of a tall, thin man. He stood with his arms folded and his head bowed. It was not the convict. This man was far from the place where he had disappeared. Besides, he was a much taller man. With a cry of surprise I pointed him out to the baronet, but in a moment the man was gone.

“A soldier, no doubt, looking for Selden,” said the baronet.

Such are the adventures of last night, my dear Holmes. We are certainly making some progress. We have found the motive of the Barrymores’ actions. But the moor has its mysteries. I wish you could come down to us.