The Hound of the Baskervilles - Chapter 13

Books at bedtime by Calming Anxiety, the Hounds of the Baskervilles, Chapter 13. Fixing the Nets. Sir Henry was more pleased than surprised to see Sherlock Holmes, for he had for some days been expecting that recent events would bring him down from London. He did raise his eyebrows, however, when he found out that my friend had neither any luggage nor any explanations for his absence.

Between us, we soon supplied his wants, and then over a belated supper we explained to the Baronette as much of our experience as it seemed desirable that he should know. But first, I had the unpleasant duty of breaking the news to Baramore and his wife. To him, it may have been an unmitigated relief, but she wept bitterly into her apron. To all the world he was the man of violence, half animal and half demon.

But to her, he always reminded her of the little willful boy of her own gilfhead, the child who had clung to her hand. Evil indeed is the man who is not one woman to mourn him. I have been moping in the house all day since once and went off this morning said the Baronette. I guess I should have some credit for I have kept my promise.

If I hadn't sworn not to go out alone tonight, I might have been more lively this evening, for I had a message from Stae Ponte and asking me over there. I have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening said Holmes' driving. By the way, I don't suppose you appreciate that we have been mourning over you as having broken your neck. So Henry opened his eyes.

How was that? This poor wretch was dressed in your clothes. I fear your servant who gave them to him may get into trouble with the police. That is unlikely.

There is no mark on any of them as far as I know. It's lucky for him, in fact, it's lucky for all of you, since you are all in the wrong side of the law in this matter. I am not sure that as a conscientious detective, my first duty is not to arrest the whole household. Watson's reports are most incriminating documents.

But how about the case? Ask the Baronette. How have you made anything out of the tangle? I don't know what Watson and I are much the wiser since we came down.

I think that I shall be in a position to make the situation rather more clear to you before long. It has been an exceedingly difficult and most complicated business, that as several points upon which we still want light, but it is coming all the same. We've had one experience as Watson has no doubt told you. We heard the hound on the mall, so I can swear that it is not all empty superstition.

I had something to do with dogs when I was out west, and I know one when I hear one. If you can muzzle that one and put him on a chain, I'll be ready to swear that you are the greatest detective of all time. I think I will muzzle him and chain him all night if you will give me your help. Whatever you tell me to do, I will do it.

Very good, and I will also ask that you do it blindly, without asking the reason. Just as you like. If you will do this, I think the chances are that our little problem will soon be solved. I have no doubt he stopped suddenly, and stared fixately, up over my head in into the air.

The lamp beat upon his face, and so intent was it, and so still that it might have been that of a clear-cut classical statue, a personification of alertness and expectation. What is it we both cried? I could see as he looked down that he was repressing some internal emotion. His features were still composed, but his eyes shone with amused exaltation.

As the admiration of a connoisseur said he, as he waxed his hands towards the line of portraits which covered the opposite wall. What some won't allow that I know anything of art, but that is merely jealousy, because our views upon the subject differ. Now, these are really very fine portraits. "Well, I'm glad to hear you say so," said Sir Henry, glancing with some surprise at my friend.

"I don't pretend to know much about these things, and I'd be a better judge of a horse or a steer than a picture. I don't know what that you found time for such things." I know what is good when I see it, and I see it now. "That's a nela, I swear.

That lady in the blue silk over yonder, with the stout gentleman, with the wig ought to be a Reynolds. They are all family portraits, I presume." "Do you know the names?" Baramore has been coaching me in them then, and I think I can say my lessons fairly well.

Who is the gentleman with the telescope? That is Rhea Admiral Baskerville, who served under Rodney in the West Indies. The man with a blue coat and the role of paper is the William Baskerville, who is chairman of the committees of the House of Commons under Pitt. And this Cavalier opposite to me, the one with the black velvet and the lace?

"Ah, you have a right to know about him. That is the case of all this mischief, the wicked Hugo, who started the hound to the Baskerville, we're not likely to get him." I gazed with interest, and some surprised upon the portrait. "Dear me," said Holmes.

He seems a quite meek-managed man enough, but I dare say there was a lurking evil in his eyes. I'd pictured him as a more robust and roughen-ly person. There's no doubt about the authenticity for the name and the date 1647 are on the back of the canvases. Holmes said little more.

But the picture of the old Roysterer seemed to have a fascination for him, and his eyes were continually fixed upon it during supper. It was not until later, when Sir Henry had gone to his room, that I was able to follow the trend of his thoughts. He led me back into the bank-witting hall, his bedroom candle in his hand, and he held it up against the time-stained portrait on the wall. "Do you see anything there?"

I looked at the broad-plumed hat, the curling love-locks, the white lace collar, and the straight, severe face which was framed between them. It was not a brutal countenance, but it was a prim, hard, and stern, with a firm set, thin-lipped mouth, and a coldly and tolerant eye. Is it like anyone you know? There is something of Sir Henry about the jaw.

Just a suggestion, perhaps, but wait an instant. He stood upon the chair, and holding up the light in his left hand. He curved his right arm over the broad hat, and around the long ringlets. Good heavens, a crystall in amazement.

The face of Stapleton had sprung out of the canvas. "Hm, you see it now. My eyes have been trained to examine faces, and not their trimmings. It is the first quality of a criminal investigator that he should see through a disguise."

This is marvelous. It might be his portrait. Yes, it is an interesting instance of a throwback which appears to be both physical and spiritual. A study of family portraits is enough to convert a man to the doctrine of reincarnation.

This fellow is a basketball, that is evident. With designs upon succession. Exactly. This chance of a picture has supplied us with one of the most obvious missing links.

We have him Watson, we have him, and I dare swear that before tomorrow night he will be flustering in our net as helpless as one of his own butterflies. A pin, a cork, and a card, and we add him to the Baker Street collection. He burst into one of his rare fits of laughter, as he turned away from the picture. "I have not heard him laugh often, and it was always bowed at ill to somebody.

I was up the times in the morning, but Holmes was a foot earlier still. For I saw him as I dressed, coming up the drive. Yes, we should have a full day," he remarked, and he rubbed his hands with the joy of action. The net are all in a place, and the drag is about to begin.

"We'll know before the day is out whether we have caught our big, lean, jawed pike, or whether he has got through the meshes." "I've been on the more already." "I've sent a report from Grimpin to Prince Town, as to the death of Selden. I think I can promise that none of you will be troubled in the matter."

And I have also communicated with my faithful Carthrite, who had certainly pined away at the door of my hut, as a dog does at its master's grave, if I had not set his mind at rest about my safety. What is the next move? To see Sir Henry. "Ah, here he is."

"Good morning, Holmes," said the Baronette. "You look like a general who is planning a battle with his chief of staff." "That is exactly the situation. Watson was asking for orders."

And so do I. Very good. You are engaged, as I understand, to dine with our friends the Stapletons tonight. I hope that you will come also.

They are very hospitable people, and I am sure that they would be very glad to see you. I fear that Watson and I must go to London. To London? Yes.

I think that we should be more useful there at the present juncture. The Baronette's face perceptibly lengthened. I hoped that you were going to see me through this business. The hall and the more are not very pleasant places when one is alone.

My dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactly what I tell you. You can tell your friends that we should have been happy to have come with you, but that urgent business required us to be in town. We hope very soon to return to Devonshire. Will you remember to give them that message?

If you insist upon it, there is no alternative. I assure you. I saw by the Baronette's clouded brow that he was deeply hurt by what he regarded as his our own desertion. When do you desire to go, he asked Colton?

Immediately, after breakfast, we will drive into Cune Tracey, but Watson will leave his things as a pledge that we will come back to you. Watson? We send a note to Stapleton to tell him that you regret that you cannot come. I have a good mind to go to London with you, Sir, the Baronette.

Why should I stay here alone? Because it is your post of duty, because you gave me your word that you would do as you were told, and I tell you to stay. All right then, I'll stay. One more direction.

I wish you to drive to Mary Pitt House. Then back your trap, however, and let them know that you intend to walk home. To walk across the mall? Yes.

But that is the very thing with which you so often cautioned me not to do. This time, you may do it with safety. If I had not every confidence in your nerve and courage, I would not suggest it, but it is essential that you should do it. Then, I will do it.

And as you value your life, do not go across the mall in any other directions, save along the straight path which leads from Mary Pitt House to the Grimpton Road, and is your natural way home. I will do just what you say. Very good. I should be glad to get away as soon after breakfast as possible, so as to reach London in the afternoon.

I was very much astounded by this programme. Though I remembered that Holmes had said to Stapleton on the night before that his visit would terminate next day. It did not cross my mind, however, that he would wish me to go with him, nor could I understand how we could both be absent at a moment which he himself declared to be critical. There was nothing for it, however, but implicit obedience.

So we bid goodbye to our roofful friend, and a couple of hours afterwards. We were at the station at Cune Tracey, and he had dispatched the trap upon its return. A small boy was waiting upon the platform. Any orders, sir?

You will take this train to town, can't right? The moment you arrive, you will send a wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, in my name, to say that if he finds a pocket book which I have dropped, he is to send it by registered post to Baker Street. Yes, sir. And ask at the station office if there is a message for me.

The boy returned with a telegram, which Holmes handed to me, it ran. Wire received, coming down with unsigned warrant, arrive 540, this stride. That is an answer to mine of this morning. He is the best of all professionals.

I think, and we may need his assistance. Now Watson. I think that we cannot employ our time better than by calling upon the acquaintance Mrs. Laura Learns.

His plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. He would use the baronette in order to convince the Stapletons that we were really gone, while we should actually return the instant when we were likely to be needed. That telegram from London, if mentioned by Sir Henry to the Stapletons, must remove the last suspicions from their minds. Already I seem to see our nets drawing closer around the lean, drawn pike.

Mrs. Laura Learns was in her office, and Sherlock Holmes opened his interview with the frankness and directness which considerably amazed her. I am investigating the circumstances which attended the death of the late Sir Charles Basque of Ols said he. My friend here, Dr Watson, has informed me of what you have communicated, and also of what you have withheld in connection with the matter. What a vibe withheld, she asked, to find me.

You have confessed that you asked the Charles to be at the gate at 10 o'clock. We know that that was the place an hour of his death. You have withheld though, what the connection is between these events. There is no connection.

In that case, the co-instance must indeed be an extraordinary one. But I think that we shall succeed in establishing a connection after all. I wish to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Lyons. We regard this case as one of murder, and the evidence may implicate not only your friend Mr Stapleton, but his wife as well.

The lady sprang from the chair. His wife, she cried? The fact is no longer a secret. The person who passed for his sister is really his wife.

Mrs. Lyons had resumed her seat. Her hands were grasping the arms of the chair, and I saw the pink nails had turned white with the pressure of her grip. His wife, she began. His wife, he is not a married man.

Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "Prove it to me. Prove it to me, and if you can do so, the fierce flash of their eyes said more than any words." "I have come prepared to do so," said Holmes, drawing several papers from his pocket. "Here is a photograph of the couple taken in York four years ago.

It is endorsed, Mr. and Mrs. Van De Lure. But you will have no difficulty in recognising him, and her also, if you know her by sight, here are three written descriptions by trustworthy witnesses of Mr. and Mrs. Van De Lure. Who? At the time, Kepsah, all of his private school, read them, and see if you can doubt the identity of these people.

She glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set, rigid face of a desperate woman. Mr. Holmes, she said, "This man had offered me marriage on condition that I could get a divorce from my husband. He is lied to me, the villain, in every conceivable way. Not one word of the truth has he ever told me, and why? Why?" I imagined that all was for my own sake.

But now I see that I was never anything but a tool in his hands. Why should I preserve faith with him, who never kept any with me? Why should I try to shield him from the consequences of his own wicked acts? Ask me what you like, and there is nothing which I shall not hold back.

One thing I swear to you, and that is, that when I wrote the letter, I never dreamed of any harm to the old gentleman, who had been my kindest friend. "I entirely believe you, Madam," said Sherlock Holmes. "The recital of these events must be very painful to you. And perhaps it will make it easier if I tell you what occurred, and then you can check me if I make a material mistake.

The sending of this letter was suggested to you by Stapleton." He dictated it. "I presume that the reason he gave was that you could receive help from Sir Charles for the legal expenses connected with your divorce." Exactly.

And then, after you had sent the letter, he dissuaded you from keeping the appointment. He told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any man should find the money for such an object, and that though he was a poor man himself, he would devote his last penny to removing the obstacles which divided us. He appears to be a very consistent character, and then you heard nothing until you read the reports of the death in the paper. No.

And he made you swear to say nothing about your appointment with Sir Charles. He did. He said that the death was a very mysterious one, and that I should certainly be suspected if the facts came out. You frightened me into a remaining silent.

Quite so. But you had your suspicions. She hesitated and looked down. I knew him, she said.

But if he had kept faith with me, I should always have done so with him. I think that on the whole you have had the fortunate escape, Sir Sherlock Holmes. You have had him in your power and he knew it, and yet you are alive. You have been walking for some months, very near to the edge of a precipice.

We must wish you good morning now, Mrs. Lions, and it is probable that you will very shortly hear from us again. Our case becomes rounded off, and difficulty after difficulty, things away in the front of us said Holmes, as we stood waiting for the arrival of the express from town. I shall soon be in the position of being able to put into a single connected narrative, one of the most singular and sensational crimes of modern times. Once a criminology will remember the analogous instance in Gondo, in Little Russia, in the year 66, and of course, Sir the Anderson murders in North Carolina.

But this case possesses some features which are entirely at its own. Even now, we have no clear case against this very wily man. But I shall be very much surprised if it is not clear enough before we go to bed tonight. The London Express came roaring into the station, and a small, wily bulldog of a man had sprung from the first-class carriage.

We all three shook hands, and I saw it once from the reverential way in which Lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a good deal since the days when they had first worked together. I could well remember the scorn which the theories of the reason are used then to excite in the practical man. "Anything good," he asked. The biggest thing of the years said Holmes.

We have two hours before we need to think of starting. I think we might employ it in getting some dinner, and then Lestrade, we will take the London fog out of your throat by giving you a breath of pure night air of Dartmore. Never been before? "Ah well, I don't suppose you will forget your first visit."