The Hound of the Baskervilles - Chapter 10

Books at Bedtime by Calming anxiety. The Hounds are the Baskervilles, Chapter 10, Extract from the Dairy of Doctor Watson. So far, I have been able to quote from the reports which I have forwarded during these early days to Sherlock Holmes. Now, however, I have arrived at the point in my narrative where I am compelled to abandon this method and to trust once more to my recollections, aided by the Dairy which I kept at the time.

A few extracts from the latter will carry me onto these scenes which are indelibly fixed in every detail upon my memory. I proceed then, from the morning which followed our abortive chase of the convict and our strange experiences upon the more. October the 16th, a dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. The house is banked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then to show the dreary curves of the more within silver veins upon the sides of the hills and the distant boulders gleaming where the light strikes upon their wet faces.

It is melancholy outside and in. The baronette is in a black reaction after the excitements of the night. I am conscious myself of a weight at my heart and a feeling of impending danger, ever present danger, which is the more terrible because I am unable to define it. And have I not caused for such a feeling?

Under the long sequence of incidents which have all pointed to some sinister influence which is at work around us. There is the death of the last occupant of the hall, fulfilling so exactly the conditions of the family legend. There are the repeated reports from peasants of the appearance of a strange creature upon the more. I have with my own ears heard the sound which resembled the distant bay of the hound.

It is incredible, impossible that I should really be outside the ordinary laws of nature, a spectral hound which leaves material footmarks and fills the air with its howling, is surely not to be thought of. The paperpton may fall in with such superstition and Mortimer also. But if I have one quality upon earth, it is common sense and nothing will persuade me to believe in such a thing. To do so would be to descend to the level of these poor peasants who are not content with a mere feigned a dog but must need to describe him with hellfire shooting from his mouth and eyes.

I am his agent, but facts are facts and I have heard this crying upon them all.

Suppose that there really was some huge hound loose upon it that would go far to explain everything but where could such a hound lie concealed? Where did he get its food? Where did it come from? How was it that no one saw it by day?

It must be confessed that the natural explanation offers as much many difficulties as others. And always, apart from the hound, there is the fact of the human agency in London, the man in the cab, and the letter which warns her Henry against them all. This at least was real, but it might have been the work of a protecting friend as easily as of an enemy. Where is that friend or enemy now?

Has he remained in London or has he followed us down here? Could he, could he be the stranger whom I saw upon the tour? It is true that I have only the one glance at him and yet there are some things to which I am already to swear. He is no one who might have seen down here and I have now met all the neighbours.

The figure was far taller than that of Stapleton, far thinner than that of Franklin. Paramore it might possibly have been but we had left him behind us and I am certain that he could not have followed us. A stranger then is still dogging us just as a stranger dog does in London. We have never shaken him off.

If I could lay my hands upon that man then at last we might find ourselves at the end of all our difficulties. But to this one purpose I must now devote all my energies. My first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My second and wisest one is to play my own game and speak as little as possible to anyone.

He is silent and distraight. His nerves have been strangely shaken by that sound upon them all. I will say nothing to add to his anxieties but I will take my own steps to attain my own end. We had a small scene this morning after breakfast.

Paramore asked to leave to speak with Sir Henry and they were closeted in the study some little time. Sitting in the billiard room I more than once heard the sound of voices raided and I had a pretty good idea what the point was which was under discussion. After a time the baronet opened his door and called to me. Paramore considers that he has a grievance he said.

He thinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brother in law down when he on his own free will had told us the secret. The butler was standing very pale but very collected before us. I may have spoken to warmly Sir said he and if I have I am sure that I beg your pardon. At the same time I was very much surprised when I heard that you two gentlemen came back this morning and learned that you had been chasing Seldon.

The poor fellow has enough to fight against without my putting up more upon his track. If you had told us of your own free will it would have been a different thing said the baronet. You only told us or rather your wife only told us when it was forced from you and you could not help yourself. I didn't think you would have taken advantage of it Sir Henry.

Indeed I didn't. The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses scattered over the mall and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. You only want to get a glimpse of his face to see that.

Look at Mr Stapleson's house for example. With no one but himself to defend it. There is no safety for anyone until he is under lock and key. He will break into no house Sir.

I give you my solemn word upon that. But he will never trouble anyone in this country again. I assure you Sir Henry that in a very few days the necessary arrangements will have been made and he will be on his way to South America. For God's sake Sir, I beg of you not to let the police know that he is still on the mall.

They have given up the chase there and he can lie quiet until the ship is ready for him. You can't tell on him without getting my wife and me into trouble. I beg you Sir to say nothing to the police. What do you say Watson?

I shrugged my shoulders. If he were safely out of the country it would relieve the taxpayer of a burden. But how about the chance of his holding summon up before he goes? He would not do anything so mad Sir.

We have provided him with all that we can and want to commit a crime would be to show where he is hiding. That is true said Sir Henry. Well Baramall? God bless you Sir.

Thank you for my heart. It would have killed my poor wife had he been taken again. I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony Watson. But after what I have heard I don't feel as if I could give the man up.

So there is an end of it. All right Baramall, you can go. With a few broken words of gratitude the man left. But he hesitated and then came back.

You have been so kind to us Sir that I should like to do the best I can for you in return. I know something Sir Henry and perhaps I should have said it before. But it was long after the inquest that I found it out. I have never breathed a word about it yet to mortal man.

It is about Paul Sir Henry's death. The barren at an eye were both upon our feet. Do you know how he died? No Sir.

I don't know that. What then? I know why he was at the gate at that hour. He was to meet a woman.

To meet a woman, he, yes Sir. 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 Baramall? Well Sir Henry your uncle had a letter that morning. He had usually a great many letters for he was a public man and well known for his kind heart so that everyone who was in trouble was glad to turn to him. But that morning as it chanced there was only one letter.

So I took the more notice of it. It was from Coon Tracy and it was addressed in a woman's hand. Well? Well Sir, I thought no more of the matter and never would have done had it not been for my wife.

Only a few weeks ago she was cleaning out Sir Charles's study. It had never been touched since his death and she found the ashes of a burned letter in the back of the grade. The greater part of it was charred to pieces but one little slip, the end of a page hung together and the writing could still be read. Though it was grey on a black ground, it seemed to us to be a post script at the end of the letter and it said, "Please, please, as you are a gentleman burn this letter and be at the gate by ten o'clock beneath it was signed the initials LL."

"Have you got that slip?" "No Sir, it crumbled all to bits after we moved it." Had Sir Charles received any other letters in the same writing? "Well Sir, I took no particular notice of his letters.

I should not have noticed this one, only it happened to come alone." "I can't have you no idea who LL is." "No Sir, no more than you have. But I expect if we could lay our hands upon that lady we should know more about Sir Charles's death."

"I cannot understand, Paramore, how you came to conceal this important information." "Well Sir, it was immediately after that that our own trouble came to us." And then again Sir, we were both of this very fond of Sir Charles as we well might be considering all that he had done for us. To rake this up couldn't help our poor master and it's well to go carefully when there's a lady in the case.

Even the best of us you thought it might injure his reputation. "Well Sir, I thought no good could come of it. Now you have been kind to us and I feel as if it would be treating you unfairly not to tell you all that I know about the matter." Very good Paramore, you can go.

"When the badler had left us, Sir Henry turned to me. Well Watson, what do you think of this new light?" It seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before. "Well I think, but if we can only trace LL, it should clear up the whole business.

We have gained that much. We know that there is someone who has the facts if we can only find her. What do you think we should do?" Let Holmes note all about it at once.

It will give him the clue for which he has been seeking. "I am much mistaken if he does not bring him down." I went at once to my room and drew up my report to the morning's conversations for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been very busy of late.

For the notes which I had from Baker Street were few and short, with no comments upon the information which I had supplied and hardly any reference to my mission. No doubt his blackmailing case is absorbing all his faculties. And yet this new factor must surely arrest his attention and renew his interest. I wish that he were here."

October 17th. All day today the rain poured down, rustling on the ivy and dripping from the eaves. I thought of the convict out upon the bleak, cold, shelterless more, poured ever. But ever his crimes he had suffered something to atone for them.

And then I thought of that other one, the face in the cap, the figure against the moon. Was he also out there in that deluge? The unseen watcher, the man of darkness. In the evening I put on my waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden wall, full of dark images, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling about my ears.

God help those who wander into the great mine hour, for even the firm uplands are becoming a morass. I found the black tour upon which I had seen the solitary figure, and from its craggy summit I looked out myself across the melancholy downs. In the windscores, drifted across their russet face, and their heavy, slate-coloured clouds hung low over the landscape, trailing in grey reeds, down the sides of the fantastic hills. In the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist, the two twin-towers of basketball hall rose above the trees.

They were the only signs of human life which I could see, save only those prehistoric huts which lay sickly upon the slopes of the hills. No where, was there any trace of that lonely man whom I had seen on the same spot two nights before? As I walked back, I was overtaken by Dr Mortimer, driving in his dog cart over a rough moorland track which led from the outlying farmhouse of Fulmire. He had been very attentive to us, and hardly a day had passed where he had not called at the hall to see how he were getting on.

He insisted upon my climbing into his dog cart, and he gave me a lift homeward. I found him much troubled over the disappearance of his little spaniel. He did wandered onto the moor, and had never come back. I gave him such consolation as I might, but I thought of the pony on the grand penmire, and I do not fancy that he will see his little dog again.

By the way Mortimer said I, so we cholped along the rough road. I suppose there are few people living within driving distance of this who may do not know. Any I think? Can you then tell me the name of any woman whose initials are LL?

He thought for a few minutes. "No," said he. "There are a few gypsies and laboring folk for whom I can't answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no one who is initials of those." "Wait a bit though," he added after reports.

There is Laura Lyons, her initials at LL, but she lives in Coon Tracey. "Who is she?" I asked. She is Franklin's daughter. "What?"

Old Franklin, the crank. Exactly. She married an artist named Leon's, who came sketching on the moor. He proved to be a black guard and deserted her.

The fault from what I hear may not have been entirely on one side. Her father refused to have anything to do with her because she had married without his consent and perhaps for one or two other reasons as well. So between the old sinner and the young one, the girl had had a pretty bad time. How does she live?

I fancy Old Franklin allows her a pittance, but it cannot be more. The his own affairs are considerably involved. But every she may have deserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to the bad. Her story got about and several of the people here did something to enable her to earn an honest living.

Stapled in did for one and said, "Charles for another. I gave a trifle myself. It was to set her up in a tight-riding business." He wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but I managed to satisfy his curiosity without telling him too much.

There is no reason why he should not take anyone into our confidence. Tomorrow morning I shall find my way to King Tracy, and if I can see this Mrs. Laura Leon's of a quivocal reputation, a long step will have been made towards clearing one instant in this chain of mysteries. I am certainly developing the wisdom of the serpent. For when Mortimer pressed his questions to an inconvenient extent, I asked him casually to what type Franklin's skull belonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest of our drive.

I have not lived for years with sure it came for nothing. I have only one other instant to record upon this time testuous and melancholy day. This was my conversation with Baramore just now, which gives me one more strong card which I can play in due time. Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played a card afterwards.

The butler brought me my coffee into the library, and I took the chance to ask him a few questions. "Well," said I, "has this precious relations of yours departed, or is he still lurking out beyond her?" "I don't know, sir. I hope to heaven that he is gone, but he is brought nothing but trouble here.

I have not heard of him since I left food for him last night, and that was three days ago." "Did you see him then?" "No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went." "Then," he was certainly there.

"So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it." I sat with my coffee cup, half way to my lips, and stared at Baramore. You know that there is another man, then?" "Yes, sir.

There is another man upon the mall." "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 as far as I can make out. I don't like it, Dr. Watson. I tell you straight, sir, that I don't like it." He spoke with a sudden passion of earnestness.

"Now, listen to me, Baramore. I have no interest in this matter, but that of your master. I have come here with no object except to help him. Tell me, frankly, what it is that you don't like."

"Baramore hesitated for a moment. As if he regretted his outburst, or found it difficult to express his own feelings and words." "It's all these goings on, sir." He cried at last, waving his hand towards the rain-lashed window with face to the mall.

"There's foul place somewhere, and there's black villainy brewing. To that I'll swear. Very glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his way back to London again." "But what is it that alarms you?"

Look at Sir Charles's death. That was bad enough. For all that the coroner said, look at the noises on the mall at night. There's not a man who would cross it after sundown if he was paid for it. Look at that stranger hiding out Yonder and watching and waiting.

What's he waiting for? What does it mean? It means no good to anyone of the name of Baskerville, and very glad I shall be, to be quit of it all, on the day that Sir Henry's new servants are ready to take over the hall. "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, but he is a deep one and gives nothing away.

At first he thought that he was the police, but soon he found that he had some lay on his own, a kind of gentleman he was as far as he could see. But what he was doing, he could not make out. And where did he say that he lived? Among the old houses on the hillside, the stone hut's where the old folk used to live.

But how about his food? Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and brings all he needs. I dare say he goes to Kuhn Tracy for what he wants. Very good, Barrymore.

We may talk further of this some other time. When the butler had gone, I walked over to the black window, and I looked through a blurred pain at the driving clouds and let the tossing outline of the wind-swept dreams. This is a wild night indoors. And what must it be in a stone hut upon the more?

What passion of hatred can it be which leads a man to lurk in such a place at such a time? And what deep and earnest purpose can he have which calls for such a trial? There, in that hut upon the more, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which has vexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall not have passed, but I for I have done all that a man can do to reach the heart of this mystery.