Chapter 8

First Report of Dr. Watson

  From this point onward I will follow the course of events by
  transcribing my own letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which lie
  before me on the table. One page is missing, but otherwise they
  are exactly as written and show my feelings and suspicions of the
  moment more accurately than my memory, clear as it is upon these
  tragic events, can possibly do.

  Baskerville Hall, October 13th.

  MY DEAR HOLMES,

  My previous letters and telegrams have kept you pretty well up to
  date as to all that has occurred in this most God-forsaken corner
  of the world. The longer one stays here the more does the spirit
  of the moor sink into one’s soul, its vastness, and also its grim
  charm. When you are once out upon its bosom you have left all
  traces of modern England behind you, but, on the other hand, you
  are conscious everywhere of the homes and the work of the
  prehistoric people. On all sides of you as you walk are the
  houses of these forgotten folk, with their graves and the huge
  monoliths which are supposed to have marked their temples. As you
  look at their grey stone huts against the scarred hillsides you
  leave your own age behind you, and if you were to see a
  skin-clad, hairy man crawl out from the low door fitting a
  flint-tipped arrow on to the string of his bow, you would feel
  that his presence there was more natural than your own. The
  strange thing is that they should have lived so thickly on what
  must always have been most unfruitful soil. I am no antiquarian,
  but I could imagine that they were some unwarlike and harried
  race who were forced to accept that which none other would
  occupy.

  All this, however, is foreign to the mission on which you sent me
  and will probably be very uninteresting to your severely
  practical mind. I can still remember your complete indifference
  as to whether the sun moved round the earth or the earth round
  the sun. Let me, therefore, return to the facts concerning Sir
  Henry Baskerville.

  If you have not had any report within the last few days it is
  because up to today there was nothing of importance to relate.
  Then a very surprising circumstance occurred, which I shall tell
  you in due course. But, first of all, I must keep you in touch
  with some of the other factors in the situation.

  One of these, concerning which I have said little, is the escaped
  convict upon the moor. There is strong reason now to believe that
  he has got right away, which is a considerable relief to the
  lonely householders of this district. A fortnight has passed
  since his flight, during which he has not been seen and nothing
  has been heard of him. It is surely inconceivable that he could
  have held out upon the moor during all that time. Of course, so
  far as his concealment goes there is no difficulty at all. Any
  one of these stone huts would give him a hiding-place. But there
  is nothing to eat unless he were to catch and slaughter one of
  the moor sheep. We think, therefore, that he has gone, and the
  outlying farmers sleep the better in consequence.

  We are four able-bodied men in this household, so that we could
  take good care of ourselves, but I confess that I have had uneasy
  moments when I have thought of the Stapletons. They live miles
  from any help. There are one maid, an old manservant, the sister,
  and the brother, the latter not a very strong man. They would be
  helpless in the hands of a desperate fellow like this Notting
  Hill criminal if he could once effect an entrance. Both Sir Henry
  and I were concerned at their situation, and it was suggested
  that Perkins the groom should go over to sleep there, but
  Stapleton would not hear of it.

  The fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to display a
  considerable interest in our fair neighbour. It is not to be
  wondered at, for time hangs heavily in this lonely spot to an
  active man like him, and she is a very fascinating and beautiful
  woman. There is something tropical and exotic about her which
  forms a singular contrast to her cool and unemotional brother.
  Yet he also gives the idea of hidden fires. He has certainly a
  very marked influence over her, for I have seen her continually
  glance at him as she talked as if seeking approbation for what
  she said. I trust that he is kind to her. There is a dry glitter
  in his eyes and a firm set of his thin lips, which goes with a
  positive and possibly a harsh nature. You would find him an
  interesting study.

  He came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, and the
  very next morning he took us both to show us the spot 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 place which
  is so dismal that it might have suggested the story. We found a
  short valley between rugged tors which led to an open, grassy
  space flecked over with the white cotton grass. In the middle of
  it rose two great stones, worn and sharpened at the upper end
  until they looked like the huge corroding fangs of some monstrous
  beast. In every way it corresponded with the scene of the old
  tragedy. Sir Henry was much interested and asked Stapleton more
  than once whether he did really believe in the possibility of the
  interference of the supernatural in the affairs of men. He spoke
  lightly, but it was evident that he was very much in earnest.
  Stapleton was guarded in his replies, but it was easy to see that
  he said less than he might, and that he would not express his
  whole opinion out of consideration for the feelings of the
  baronet. He told us of similar cases, where families had suffered
  from some evil influence, and he left us with the impression that
  he shared the popular view upon the matter.

  On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and it was
  there that Sir Henry made the acquaintance of Miss Stapleton.
  From the first moment that he saw her he appeared to be strongly
  attracted by her, and I am much mistaken if the feeling was not
  mutual. He referred to her again and again on our walk home, and
  since then hardly a day has passed that we have not seen
  something of the brother and sister. They dine here tonight, and
  there is some talk of our going to them next week. One would
  imagine that such a match would be very welcome to Stapleton, and
  yet I have more than once caught a look of the strongest
  disapprobation in his face when Sir Henry has been paying some
  attention to his sister. He is much attached to her, no doubt,
  and would lead a lonely life without her, but it would seem the
  height of selfishness if he were to stand in the way of her
  making so brilliant a marriage. Yet I am certain that he does not
  wish their intimacy to ripen into love, and I have several times
  observed that he has taken pains to prevent them from being
  _tête-à-tête_. By the way, your instructions to me never to allow
  Sir Henry to go out alone will become very much more onerous if a
  love affair were to be added to our other difficulties. My
  popularity would soon suffer if I were to carry out your orders
  to the letter.

  The other day—Thursday, to be more exact—Dr. Mortimer lunched
  with us. He has been excavating a barrow at Long Down and has got
  a prehistoric skull which fills him with great joy. Never was
  there such a single-minded enthusiast as he! The Stapletons came
  in afterwards, and the good doctor took us all to the yew alley
  at Sir Henry’s request to show us exactly how everything occurred
  upon that fatal night. It is a long, dismal walk, the yew alley,
  between two high walls of clipped hedge, with a narrow band of
  grass upon either side. At the far end is an old tumble-down
  summer-house. Halfway down is the moor-gate, where the old
  gentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a white wooden gate with a
  latch. Beyond it lies the wide moor. I remembered your theory of
  the affair and tried to picture all that had occurred. As the old
  man stood there he saw something coming across the moor,
  something which terrified him so that he lost his wits and ran
  and ran until he died of sheer horror and exhaustion. There was
  the long, gloomy tunnel down which he fled. And from what? A
  sheep-dog of the moor? Or a spectral hound, black, silent, and
  monstrous? Was there a human agency in the matter? Did the pale,
  watchful Barrymore know more than he cared to say? It was all dim
  and vague, but always there is the dark shadow of crime behind
  it.

  One other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr.
  Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the south
  of us. He is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and
  choleric. His passion is for the British law, and he has spent a
  large fortune in litigation. He fights for the mere pleasure of
  fighting and is equally ready to take up either side of a
  question, so that it is no wonder that he has found it a costly
  amusement. Sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy the
  parish to make him open it. At others he will with his own hands
  tear down some other man’s gate and declare that a path has
  existed there from time immemorial, defying the owner to
  prosecute him for trespass. He is learned in old manorial and
  communal rights, and he applies his knowledge sometimes in favour
  of the villagers of Fernworthy and sometimes against them, so
  that he is periodically either carried in triumph down the
  village street or else burned in effigy, according to his latest
  exploit. He is said to have about seven lawsuits upon his hands
  at present, which will probably swallow up the remainder of his
  fortune and so draw his sting and leave him harmless for the
  future. Apart from the law he seems a kindly, good-natured
  person, and I only mention him because you were particular that I
  should send some description of the people who surround us. He is
  curiously employed at present, for, being an amateur astronomer,
  he has an excellent telescope, with which he lies upon the roof
  of his own house and sweeps the moor all day in the hope of
  catching a glimpse of the escaped convict. If he would confine
  his energies to this all would be well, but there are rumours
  that he intends to prosecute Dr. Mortimer for opening a grave
  without the consent of the next of kin because he dug up the
  Neolithic skull in the barrow on Long Down. He helps to keep our
  lives from being monotonous and gives a little comic relief where
  it is badly needed.

  And now, having brought you up to date in the escaped convict,
  the Stapletons, Dr. Mortimer, and Frankland, of Lafter Hall, let
  me end on that which is most important and tell you more about
  the Barrymores, and especially about the surprising development
  of last night.

  First of all about the test telegram, which you sent from London
  in order to make sure that Barrymore was really here. I have
  already explained that the testimony of the postmaster shows that
  the test was worthless and that we have no proof one way or the
  other. I told Sir Henry how the matter stood, and he at once, in
  his downright fashion, had Barrymore up and asked him whether he
  had received the telegram himself. Barrymore said that he had.

  “Did the boy deliver it into your own hands?” asked Sir Henry.

  Barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time.

  “No,” said he, “I was in the box-room 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 went down to write
  it.”

  In the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord.

  “I could not quite understand the object of your questions this
  morning, Sir Henry,” said he. “I trust that they do not mean that
  I have done anything to forfeit your confidence?”

  Sir Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify him by
  giving him a considerable part of his old wardrobe, the London
  outfit having now all arrived.

  Mrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solid
  person, very limited, intensely respectable, and inclined to be
  puritanical. You could hardly conceive a less emotional subject.
  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 upon her face. Some deep sorrow gnaws ever at her
  heart. Sometimes I wonder if she has a guilty memory which haunts
  her, and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being a domestic
  tyrant. I have always felt that there was something singular and
  questionable in this man’s character, but the adventure of last
  night brings all my suspicions to a head.

  And yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are aware that
  I am not a very sound sleeper, and since I have been on guard in
  this house my slumbers have been lighter than ever. Last night,
  about two in the morning, I was aroused by a stealthy step
  passing my room. I rose, opened my door, and peeped out. A long
  black shadow was trailing down the corridor. It was thrown by a
  man who walked softly down the passage with a candle held in his
  hand. He was in shirt and trousers, with no covering to his feet.
  I could merely see the outline, but his height told me that it
  was Barrymore. He walked very slowly and circumspectly, and there
  was something indescribably guilty and furtive in his whole
  appearance.

  I have told you that the corridor is broken by the balcony which
  runs round the hall, but that it is resumed upon the farther
  side. I waited until he had passed out of sight and then I
  followed him. When I came round the balcony he had reached the
  end of the farther corridor, and I could see from the glimmer of
  light through an open door that he had entered one of the rooms.
  Now, all these rooms are unfurnished and unoccupied so that his
  expedition became more mysterious than ever. The light shone
  steadily as if he were standing motionless. I crept down the
  passage as noiselessly as I could and peeped round the corner of
  the door.

  Barrymore was crouching at the window with the candle held
  against the glass. His profile was half turned towards me, and
  his face seemed to be rigid with expectation as he stared out
  into the blackness of the moor. For some minutes he stood
  watching intently. Then he gave a deep groan and with an
  impatient gesture he put out the light. Instantly I made my way
  back to my room, and very shortly came the stealthy steps passing
  once more upon their return journey. Long afterwards when I had
  fallen into a light sleep I heard a key turn somewhere in a lock,
  but I could not tell whence the sound came. What it all means I
  cannot guess, but there is some secret business going on in this
  house of gloom which sooner or later we shall get to the bottom
  of. I do not trouble you with my theories, for you asked me to
  furnish you only with facts. I have had a long talk with Sir
  Henry this morning, and we have made a plan of campaign founded
  upon my observations of last night. I will not speak about it
  just now, but it should make my next report interesting reading.