The Hound of the Baskervilles - Chapter 11

Books at Bedtime by Calming Anxiety. The Hounds of the Baskervilles. Chapter 11. The Man on the Tor.

The extract from my private diary, which forms a last chapter, has brought my narrative up to the 18th of October. A time when these strange events began to move swiftly towards their terrible conclusion. The incidents of the next few days are indelibly graven upon my recollection, and I can tell them without reference to the notes made at the time. I start them from the day which succeeded at upon which I established two facts of great importance.

The one that Miss Laura Leon's of Cune Tracy had written to Sir Charles Baskerville, and made an appointment with him at the very place an hour that he had met his death. And the other, that the lurking man upon the moor was to be found among the stone huts upon the hillside. With these two facts in my possession, I felt that either my intelligence or my courage must be deficient if I could not throw some further light upon these dark places. I had no opportunity to tell the baronet that what I had learnt about Miss Lyons upon the evening before.

For Dr Mortimer remained with him at cards until it was very late. At breakfast, however, I informed him about my discovery and asked him whether he would care to accompany me to Cune Tracy. At first he was very eager to come, but on second thoughts it seemed to both of us that if I were alone the results might be better. The more formal we made the visit, the less information we might obtain.

I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, and drove off upon my new quest. When I reached Cune Tracy, I told Perkins to put up the horses and I made inquiries for the lady who I am come to investigate. I had no difficulty in finding her rooms, which were central and well-appointed, and made showed me in without ceremony, and as I entered the sitting room, a lady who was sitting before a Remington typewriter sprang up with a pleasant smile of welcome. Her face fell, however, when she saw that I was a stranger, and she sat down again and asked me the object of my visit.

The first impression left by Miss Leon's was one of extreme beauty. Her eyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, and her cheeks, though considerably frackled, were flushed with the exquisite bloom of the brunette, the dainty pink which lurks at the heart of the self for rose. Admiration was, I repeat, the first impression, but the second was criticism. There was something subtly wrong with her face, some coarseness of expression, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some looseness of 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 the reasons for my visit. I had not quite understood until that instant how delicate 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. "I owe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it were not for the late Sir Charles Baskerville, and some other kind-harts, I might have starved for all that my father cared."

It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come here to see you. The freckles started out on the lady's face. "What can I tell you about him?" she asked, and her fingers played nervously over the stops of the tight writer. "You knew him, did you not?"

I have already said that I owe great deal to his kindness. If I am able to support myself, it is largely due to the interest which he took in my unhappy 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 ask them here than the matter should pass outside our control. She was silent, and her face was still very pale.

At last she looked up with something reckless and defined in her manner. "Well, I'll answer," she said, "what are your questions?" "Did you correspond with Sir Charles?" I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge the delicacy and his generosity.

Have you the dates of those letters?" "No." "Have you ever met him?" "Yes."

"Once or twice?" When he came into Cune Tracey, he was a very retiring man and he preferred to do good by stealth. But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did he know enough about your affairs to be able to help you? As you say, that he is done.

She met my difficulty with the utmost readiness. There were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and united to help me. One was Mr Stapleton, a neighbour and intimate friend of Sir Charles'. He was exceedingly kind and it was through him that Sir Charles learned about my affairs.

I knew already that Sir Jehald Baskerville had made Stapleton his almanor upon several occasions, where the lady's statement bore the impressive truth upon it. Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you, I continued? Mrs Lyon's 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' death. Sir Flusch had faded in an instant and a deathly face was before me.

Her dry lips could not speak though no, which I saw rather than heard. "Surely, your memory deceives you," said I. "I could even quote a passage of your letter. It ran.

Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn this letter and be at the gate by ten o'clock." I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a supreme effort. Is there no such thing as a gentleman, she gassed? You do Sir Charles an injustice.

He did burn the letter, but sometimes a letter may be legible even when burn. You acknowledge now that you wrote it? "Yes, I did write it," she cried, pouring out her soul in a torrent of words. I did write it, why should I deny it?

I have no reason to be ashamed of it. I wished him to help me. I believed that if I had an indian view, I would gain his help, so I asked him to meet me. But why such an hour?

Because I had only just learned that he was going to London next day and might be away for months. There were reasons why I could not get there earlier. But why are 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's house?

Well, what happened when you did get there? I never went. Mrs. Lyons? No, I swear it to you all on all I hold sacred.

I never went, something intervened 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 the child at the very hour and place at which he met his death, but you deny that you kept the appointment. That is the truth. Again and again. I cross-questioned her, but I could never get past that point.

Mrs. Lyons said, "I, as I rose from the longening and conclusive interview, you are taking a very great responsibility and putting yourself in a very false position by not making an absolutely clear breast of all that you know. If I have to call in the aid of the police, you will find how seriously you are compromised. If your position is innocent, why did you, in the first instance, deny having written to Sir Charles upon that date? Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn from it and that I might find myself involved in a scandal.

And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy your letter? 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 post-cript. The letter had, I said, being burned and it was not all legible. I asked you once again why it was that you were so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letter which he received on the 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 history, you 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 who I abhor.

The law is upon his side and every day I am faced by the possibility that he may force me to live with him. At the time that I wrote this letter to Sir Charles, I had learned that there was a prospect of me regaining my freedom if certain expenses could be met. It meant everything to me. I used Sir Charles's generosity and I thought that if he heard the story from 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 the next morning. The woman's story hung coherently together and all my questions were unable to shake it. I could only check it by finding if she had indeed instituted divorce proceedings against her husband at or about the same time of the tragedy. It was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not been to Baskerville Hall if really she had been, for a trap would be necessary to take her there and could not have returned to Cune Tracy until the early 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 a part of the truth. I came away baffled and disheartened. Once again, I had reached that dead wall which seemed to be built across every path by which I tried to get at the object of my mission.

And yet the more I thought to the lady's face and of her manner, the more I felt that something was being held back from me. Why should she turn so pale? Why should she fight against every admission until it was forced from her? Why should she have been so reticent at the time of the tragedy?

Surely, the explanation of all this could not be as innocent as she would have me believe. For the moment I could proceed no farther in that direction, but must turn back to the other clue which was to be sought for among the stone huts upon them all. And that was a most vague direction. I realized it as I drove back and noted how hill after hill showed traces of ancient people.

Baramore's only addiction had been that the stranger lived in one of these abandoned huts, and many hundreds of them are scattered throughout the length and breadth of them all. But I had my own experience for a guide, since it had shown me the man himself standing upon the summer to the black tour. That then should be the centre of my search. From there I shall explore every hut upon the mull until I lighted upon the right one.

If this man were inside it I should find him from his own lips at the point of my revolver if necessary, who he was and why he had dug this so long. He might slip away from us in a crowd of Regent Street, but he would puzzle him to do so upon the lonely mull. On the other hand if I should find the hut and its tenet should not be within I must remain there, however long the vigil until he returned. Holmes had missed him in London.

It would indeed be a triumph for me if I could run him to earth where my master had failed. Luck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, but now at last it came to my side. And the messenger of good fortune, when as none other than Mr. Franklin, who was standing grey, whiskered and red faced outside the gate of his garden, which opened on to the high road along which I travelled. Good day Dr. Watson, cried he, with unwanted good humour.

You must really give your horses a rest and come in to have a glass of wine and congratulate me. My feelings towards him were very far from being friendly after what I had heard of his treatment of his daughter. But I was anxious to send Perkins and the wagon at home and the opportunity was a good one. I allighted and sent a message to Sir Henry that I should walk over in time for dinner.

Then I followed Franklin into his dining room. It is a great day for me sir. One of the red letter days of my life, he cried with many chakles. I have bought off a double event, I mean to teach them in these parts that law is law and that there is a man here who does not fear to invoke it.

I have established a right of way through the centre of Old Middleton's Park, slap across it sir, within a hundred yards of his own front door. What do you think of that? I will teach these magnets that they cannot ride rush-shot over the rights of the commoners, can found them. And I have closed the woodware, the ferns were the folk used to picnic.

These infernal people seem to think that there are no rights of property and that they can swarm over where they like with their papers and their bottles. Both cases decided Dr Watson and both in my favour. I haven't had such a day since I had Sir John Mauland for trespass because he shot on his own Warren. How on earth did you do that?

Look it up in the book sir. It will repay reading, Franklin vs Mauland, Court of Queens Bench. It cost me £200 but I got my verdict. Did it do you and he could?

None sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest in the matter. But I act entirely from a sense of public duty. I have no doubt for example that the fernworthy people were boomy and effigy tonight.

I told the police last time they did it that they should stop this disgraceful exhibition. The county can stab Rosie. Is a scandalous state sir and it is not afforded me the protection for which I am entitled. The case of Franklin vs Regina will bring the matter before the attention of the public.

I told him 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 that they are dying to know but nothing would induce me to help their assholes in any way. I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get away from his gossip but now I began to wish to hear more of it.

I had seen enough of the country nature of the old sinner to understand that any strong sign of interest would be the surest way to stop his confidence. Some poaching case no doubt said I within different manner. "Ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that. What about the convict on the more?"

I stared. "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 could help the police to lay their hands on him." Has it never struck you that the way to catch the man was to find out where he got his food and so trace it to him? He seemed certainly to be getting uncomfortably near the truth.

No doubt said I. "But how do you know that he is anywhere upon the more?" I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messenger who takes him his food. My heart sank for Barrymore.

It was a serious thing to be in the power of this spiteful old busy body but his next remark took the weight of my mind. "You'll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a child. I see him every day through my telescope upon the roof. He passes along the same path at the same hour and to whom should he be going except to the convict?"

Here was luck indeed and yet I suppressed all appearances of interest, a child. Barrymore had said that her unknown was supplied by a child. It was on this track and not upon the convicts that Franklin had stumbled. If I could get to know his knowledge it might save me a long and weary hunt.

It was a great incredulity and indifference were evidently my strongest cards. I should say that it was very much more that if he were the son of one of the moorland shepherds taking out his father's dinner. The least appearance of opposition soon struck out the fire of the old autocrat. His eyes looked malignantly at me and his grey whiskers brittles like those of an angry cat.

Indeed sir said he, pointing out over the wide stretching moor. Do you see that black torre over your under? Well do you see the low hill beyond where the thornbush is upon it? It is the stonious part of the whole moor.

Is that a place where a shepherd would likely take his station? Your suggestion sir is the most absurd one. I meet Cleansard that I'd spoken without knowing all the facts. I submission pleased him and led him to further confidence.

You may be sure sir that I have a very good grounds before I come to an opinion. I have seen that boy again and again with his bundle every day 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 moment something moving upon that hillside?

I could with several miles off but I could distinctly see a small dark dot against the dull green and grey. Come sir come, cried Franklin rushing upstairs. You will see with your own eyes and judge for yourself. To telescope a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod stood upon the flat leds of the house.

Franklin clapped his eyes to it and gave a cry of satisfaction. Dr Watson quick before he passes over the hill. There he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle upon his shoulders, toiling slowly up the hill. When he reached the crest I saw the ragged uncouth figure outlined for an instant against the cold blue sky.

He looked around him with a furtive and stealthy air as one who treads pursuit. 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 not one 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 come out in the Franklin versus Regina. I venture to think that a thrill of indignation will run through the county. Nothing would induce me to help the police in any way. For all they cared it might have been me instead of my effigy, which these rascals burned at the state.

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 succeed in in dissuading him from his announced intention of walking home with me. I kept the road as long as his eyes were on me and then I struck off across the wall and made for the stony hill over which the boy had disappeared.

Everything was working in my favour and I swore that it should not be through lack of energy or perseverance that I should miss the chance which fortune had thrown in my way. The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the hill and the long slopes beneath me were all golden green on one side and grey shadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the farthest skyline out of which jutted the fantastic shapes of the belliver and vixen tor. Over the wide expanse there were no sound and no movement, one grey, great bird, a gall or curlue, sawd a loft in the blue heaven.

He and I seemed to be the only living things upon this huge arch of the sky and the desert beneath it. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness and the mystery and urgency of my task all stuck a chill in my heart. The boy was nowhere to be seen but down beneath me in a cleft of the hills there was a circle of old stone-hats and in the middle of them there was one rich man mains efficient with a roof to act as a screen against the weather. My heart leaped within me as I saw it.

There must be a barrow where the stranger lurked. But last my foot was on the threshold of his piding place, his secret was within my grasp. As I approached the hut, walking as wearily as staple-ton would do, when with poised net he drew near the settle butterfly. I satisfied myself that the place had had need been used as habitation.

A vague pathway among the boulders led to a dilapidated opening which served as a door. All was silent within. The unknown might be lurking there or he might be prowling up on the wall. My nerves tingled with the sense of adventure.

Throwing aside my cigarette I closed my hands upon the butt of my revolver and walking swiftly up to the door I looked in. The place was empty. But there were ample signs that I'd not come upon a false scent. This was certainly where the man lived.

Some blankets rolled in a waterproof lay upon the very stone slab upon which near-lithic man had once slumbered. The ashes of a fire were heaped in a rude grate. Beside it lay some cooking utensils and a bucket half full of water. A litter of empty tins showed that the place had been occupied for some time.

And I saw as my eyes became accustomed to the checkered light. A panicking and a half full bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of the hut a flat stone served the purpose of a table and upon this stood a small cloth bundle, the same no doubt which I'd seen through the telescope upon the shoulder of the boy. It contained a loaf of bread, a tinned tongue and two tins of preserved peaches.

As I set it down again after having examined it my heart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet of paper with writing upon it. I raised it and this was what I read, roughly scored in pencil. Dr. Watson has gone to King Tracing. For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking out the meaning of this curt message.

It was I then and not Sir Henry who was being dogged by the secret man. He had not followed me himself but had 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 them all which had not been observed and reported. Always there was this feeling of an unseen force.

A fine net drawn around us with infinite skill and delicacy, holding us so lightly that was only at some supreme moment that one realised that one was indeed entangled in its meshes. If there was one report there might be others, so I looked around the hut and searched of them. There was no trace, however of anything of the kind. Or could I discover any sign which might indicate the character or intentions of the man who lived in this singular place.

Save, but he must be of Spartan habits and cared little for the comforts of life. When I thought of the heavy rains and looked at the gaping roof I understood how strong an immutable must be the purpose for which had kept him in this inhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy? Or was he by chance our guide in 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 scarlet and gold. Its reflections were shot back and ruddy patches by the distant pools which lay amed the great Grimpin Maya. There were the two towers of Baskerville Hall and there a distant blur of smoke which marked the village of Grimpin.

Between the two behind the hill was the house of the Stapletons. All was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the golden evening light. And yet as I looked at them my soul shared none of the peace of nature but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of that interview which every instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nerves but a thick purpose I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited with somber patience for the coming of its tenet.

And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a boot striking upon stone, then another and yet another, coming nearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner and cocked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover myself until I had an opportunity of seeing something of this stranger. There was a long pause which showed that he had stopped, then once more the footsteps approached and a shadow fell across the opening of the hut.

It is a lovely evening my dear Watson said a well-known voice. I rarely think that you will be more comfortable outside than in.