Chapter 13

The Unexpected Problem

October 16th.

This morning after breakfast. Barrymore said it was unfair of us to hunt Selden down when he had told us the secret.

“You only told us when it was forced from you,” said the baronet. “The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses on the moor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. Look at Mr. Stapleton’s house, for example, there is no one but himself to defend it.”

“He will never trouble anyone in this country again, Sir Henry, in a few days he will be on his way to South America. Do not let the police know that he is still on the moor. He can wait quietly until his papers are ready. You can get my wife and me into trouble.”

In the end Sir Henry promised to wait a few days.

“Sir, thank you from my heart! You’ve been so kind to us, that I should like to do my best for you. I know something about Sir Charles’s death.”

“What is it?”

“I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet a woman.”

“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?”

“Your uncle had a letter that morning. It was written in a woman’s hand. Only a few weeks ago my wife was cleaning Sir Charles’s study—it had never been touched since his death—and she found the ashes of a burnt letter in the fireplace. The greater part of it was burnt, but the end of a page remained, and it said: ‘Please, as you are a gentleman, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o’ clock. L. L.’”

“Have you got that paper?”

“No, sir, it crumbled all to bits after we moved it.”

“And you have no idea who L. L. is?”

“No, sir.”

“Barrymore, why did you not tell the police about it?”

“Well, sir, it was immediately after Selden escaped. And we were very fond of Sir Charles, and it’s well to go carefully when there’s a lady in the case.”

“You thought it might injure his reputation?”

“Yes, sir. But now I feel I must tell you all that I know about the matter.”

When the butler had left us Sir Henry turned to me. “Well, Watson, what do you think we should do?”

“Let Holmes know all about it at once.”

As I was writing my report to Holmes, I saw from the window Sir Henry speaking to the groom outside. The baronet was prepared for a walk. I hurried out.

“What, are you coming, Watson?” Sir Henry asked.

“Yes, I am. Holmes said that I should not leave you alone.”

“My dear fellow,” said he, “Holmes, did not foresee some things which have happened since I have come here. You understand me? I must go out alone.”

I was at a loss what to say or what to do, and before I had made up my mind he was gone.

Since his arrival at the Hall the baronet has seen the architect who prepared the plans for Sir Charles, so great changes may begin here soon. He has large ideas and is going to spend a lot of money to restore his family estate. When the house is renovated, he will need a wife. And it is clear that he is strongly attracted by our beautiful neighbour, Miss Stapleton. And here Sir Henry has some unexpected problem.

I imagined that some trouble might occur because I did not follow the baronet, so I set off at once for Merripit House.

I hurried along the road and reached the top of a hill from which I saw him at once. He was on the moor path about a quarter of a mile off, and a lady was with him. It could only be Miss Stapleton. They were walking slowly, she was talking, while he was listening attentively, and once or twice shook his head. I stood watching them, not knowing what I should do next.

Then I suddenly saw that I was not the only witness of their meeting. Stapleton was running wildly towards them. He gesticulated and almost danced with excitement in front of them. What the scene meant I did not know, but it seemed to me that Stapleton was very angry with Sir Henry. The lady stood in silence. At last Stapleton turned to his sister, and they walked off. The naturalist’s gestures showed that he was angry with his sister, too. The baronet stood for a minute, and then he walked slowly back looking unhappy.

What all this meant I did not know, but I was deeply ashamed that I had witnessed such a scene without my friend’s knowledge. I ran down the hill and met the baronet. His face was flushed with anger.

“Watson! You don’t mean to say that you came after me in spite of all?” said he.

I explained everything to him: how I had found it impossible to remain behind, how I had followed him, and how I had seen all that had occurred. For a moment he looked angry, but then laughed unhappily.

“Did you see him attack us?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What’s the matter with me? Is there anything that would prevent me from being a good husband to a woman that I loved?”

“Well, no.”

“What has he against me? I’ve never hurt a man or woman in my life. I’ve only known her these few weeks, but from the first I just felt that she was made for me, and she, too—she was happy when she was with me. But he has never let us be together and only today I saw a chance of having a few words with her alone for the first time. She was glad to meet me, but when we met she kept saying that this was a place of danger, and that she would never be happy until I left it. I told her that since I had seen her I did not wish to leave, and that if she really wanted me to go, she had to go with me. I offered to marry her, but before she could answer, down came her brother, running at us like a madman. He was just white with fury. I told him that I hoped that she would become my wife. That did not make the matter any better, so I answered him more hotly than I should perhaps, because she was standing near. So he went off with her, as you saw, Watson.”

I was completely puzzled myself. Our friend’s title, his fortune, his age, his character, and his appearance are all in his favour, and I know nothing against him.

However, that very afternoon Stapleton himself came to apologize, and after a long talk with Sir Henry he invited us to dinner at Merripit House next Friday.

“I must say that he was very polite to me now,” said Sir Henry.

“Did he give any explanation of his behaviour?”

“His sister is everything in his life, he says. They have always been together, so the thought of losing her was really terrible to him. He was very sorry for all that had occurred. If she had to leave him he had rather it was to a neighbour like myself than to anyone else. But it would take him some time to get used to the idea of his sister’s marriage. He asked me to wait for three months, and I promised.”

Chapter 14

Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson

October 17th.

A dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. It is melancholy outside and in the house. The baronet is in a black reaction after the two meetings with Stapleton on the day before. I have a very vague feeling of danger.

There are the reports from farmers of the appearance of a strange creature on the moor. Twice I have with my own ears heard the sound like the barking of a hound. But nothing will make me believe in an apparition of a hound. But facts are facts. If there is really some huge hound on the moor, that can explain everything. But where can such a hound be kept, where does it get its food, where did it come from, why does no one see it by day? And the man in the cab in London, and the letter which warned Sir Henry against the moor. This was real. It might be a friend or an enemy. Where is that friend or enemy now? Has he remained in London, or has he followed us down here? Can he be the stranger whom I saw on the rock?

I thought of the convict out on the cold, damp moor. Poor devil! In the afternoon I put on my waterproof and I walked far on the moor. I found the black rock on which I had seen the stranger, and from its top I looked at the melancholy landscape. The two towers of Baskerville Hall rose above the trees. They were the only signs of human life which I could see, besides the prehistoric huts on the slopes of the hills.

As I walked back I met Dr. Mortimer driving in his dog-cart. He gave me a lift home. He was much troubled over the disappearance of his little spaniel. It had run away on to the moor and had never come back. I thought of the pony on the Grimpen Mire, and I do not think that he will see his little dog again.

“By the way, Mortimer,” said I, “I suppose there are few people living here 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.

“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. She married an artist named Lyons, but he deserted her. Her father refused to have anything to do with her because she had married without his consent. So, the girl has had a bad time.”

“How does she live?”

“I believe old Frankland might give her something, but it cannot be much, for his own affairs are very bad. Her story is well known here, and several people did something to let her earn an honest living, among them Stapleton, Sir Charles and me. We have helped her to start a small typewriting business.”

He wanted to know why I asked about Laura Lyons, but I did not tell him too much.

I have only one other incident to record on this melancholy day. In the evening I asked Barrymore, if his relative had gone or was still hiding on the moor.

“I don’t know, sir. I hope that he has gone, for he has brought nothing but trouble here! I’ve not heard of him since I left food for him 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?”

“It might be the other man who took it.”

I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and looked at Barrymore.

“You know that there is another man?”

“Yes, sir; there is another man on 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, Selden thinks. I don’t like it, Dr. Watson—I tell you straight, sir, that I don’t like it.” He spoke with a sudden passion.

“Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have come here to help your master. Tell me what you don’t like.”

Barrymore hesitated for a moment. “There’s foul play somewhere, sir,” he cried at last, waving his hand towards the window which faced the moor. “I should be very glad, sir, to see Sir Henry on his way back to London again!”

“But what alarms you?”

“Look at Sir Charles’s death! Look at the noises on the moor at night. Look at this stranger hiding out there, and watching and waiting! What’s he waiting for? What does it mean? It means no good to anyone of the name of Baskerville.”

“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. At first he thought that he was the police, but then he thought that he wasn’t. A gentleman he was, as far as he could see, but what he was doing he did not know.”

“And where did he say he lived?”

“Among the old houses on the hillside—the stone huts.”

“But how about his food?”

“Selden found out that a boy works for him and brings all he needs. I think he goes to Coombe Tracey for what he wants.”

When the butler had gone I walked over to the black window, and I looked through it. It is a wild night indoors, and what must it be in a stone hut upon the moor!