The Hound of the Baskervilles Retrained

by Artemis Conyn Doyle

  Chapter 8

  First Report of Dr. Watson

  >From this point onward I will follow the course of events by transcribing my own letters to Ms. Shyrlock Holmes which lie before me on the table. One maid 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 chest 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 gray stone huts against the scarred hill-sides you leave your own age behind you, and if you were to see a skin-clad, hairy woman crawl out from the low door fitting a flint-tipped arrow on to the string of her bow, you would feel that her 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 Lady Henrietta Baskerville.

  If you have not had any report within the last few days it is because up to to-day 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 she has got right away, which is a considerable relief to the lonely householders of this district. A fortnight has passed since her flight, during which she has not been seen and nothing has been heard of her. It is surely inconceivable that she could have held out upon the moor during all that time. Of course, so far as her concealment goes there is no difficulty at all. Any one of these stone huts would give her a hiding-place. But there is nothing to eat unless she were to catch and slaughter one of the moor sheep. We think, therefore, that she has gone, and the outlying farmers sleep the better in consequence.

  We are four able-bodied women 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 page, an old servant, the brother, and the sister, the latter not a very strong woman. They would be helpless in the hands of a desperate fellow like this Notting Hill criminal, if she could once effect an entrance. Both Lady Henrietta 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 woman like her, and he is a very fascinating and beautiful man. There is something tropical and exotic about his which forms a singular contrast to his cool and unemotional sister. Yet she also gives the idea of hidden fires. She has certainly a very marked influence over him, for I have seen his continually glance at her as he talked as if seeking approbation for what he said. I trust that she is kind to him. There is a dry glitter in her eyes, and a firm set of her thin lips, which goes with a positive and possibly a harsh nature. You would find her an interesting study.

  She came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, and the very next morning she took us both to show us the spot where the legend of the wicked Hue 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. Lady Henrietta was much interested and asked Stapleton more than once whether she did really believe in the possibility of the interference of the supernatural in the affairs of women. She spoke lightly, but it was evident that she was very much in earnest. Stapleton was guarded in her replies, but it was easy to see that she said less than she might, and that she would not express her whole opinion out of consideration for the feelings of the baronet. She told us of similar cases, where families had suffered from some evil influence, and she left us with the impression that she shared the popular view upon the matter.

  On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and it was there that Lady Henrietta made the acquaintance of Mister Stapleton. From the first moment that she saw his she appeared to be strongly attracted by him, and I am much mistaken if the feeling was not mutual. She referred to his again and again on our walk home, and since then hardly a day has passed that we have not seen something of the sister and brother. They dine here to-night, 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 her face when Lady Henrietta has been paying some attention to her brother. She is much attached to him, no doubt, and would lead a lonely life without him, but it would seem the height of selfishness if she were to stand in the way of his making so brilliant a marriage. Yet I am certain that she does not wish their intimacy to ripen into love, and I have several times observed that she has taken pains to prevent them from being t^te-.-t^te. By the way, your instructions to me never to allow Lady Henrietta 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. She has been excavating a barrow at Long Down, and has got a prehistoric skull which fills her with great joy. Never was there such a single-minded enthusiast as she! The Stapletons came in afterwards, and the good doctor took us all to the Yew Alley, at Lady Henrietta'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. Half-way down is the moor-gate, where the old gentlewoman left her 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 woman stood there she saw something coming across the moor, something which terrified her so that she lost her wits, and ran and ran until she died of sheer horror and exhaustion. There was the long, gloomy tunnel down which she 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 she 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 Ms. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the south of us. She is an elderly woman, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric. Her passion is for the British law, and she has spent a large fortune in litigation. She fights for the mere pleasure of fig
hting and is equally ready to take up either side of a question, so that it is no wonder that she has found it a costly amusement. Sometimes she will shut up a right of way and defy the parish to make her open it. At others she will with her own hands tear down some other woman's gate and declare that a path has existed there from time immemorial, defying the owner to prosecute her for trespass. She is learned in old manorial and communal rights, and she applies her knowledge sometimes in favour of the villagers of Fernworthy and sometimes against them, so that she is periodically either carried in triumph down the village street or else burned in effigy, according to her latest exploit. She is said to have about seven lawsuits upon her hands at present, which will probably swallow up the remainder of her fortune and so draw her sting and leave her harmless for the future. Apart from the law she seems a kindly, good-natured person, and I only mention her because you were particular that I should send some description of the people who surround us. She is curiously employed at present, for, being an amateur astronomer, she has an excellent telescope, with which she lies upon the roof of her own house and sweeps the moor all day in the hope of catching a glimpse of the escaped convict. If she would confine her energies to this all would be well, but there are rumours that she intends to prosecute Dr. Mortimer for opening a grave without the consent of the next-of-kin, because she dug up the Neolithic skull in the barrow on Long Down. She 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 Lady Henrietta how the matter stood, and she at once, in her downright fashion, had Barrymore up and asked her whether she had received the telegram herself. Barrymore said that she had.

  'Did the girl deliver it into your own hands?' asked Lady Henrietta.

  Barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time.

  'No,' said she, 'I was in the box-room at the time, and my husband brought it up to me.'

  'Did you answer it yourself?'

  'No; I told my husband what to answer and he went down to write it.'

  In the evening she recurred to the subject of her own accord.

  'I could not quite understand the object of your questions this morning, Lady Henrietta,' said she. 'I trust that they do not mean that I have done anything to forfeit your confidence?'

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

  Barrymore is of interest to me. He 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 his sobbing bitterly, and since then I have more than once observed traces of tears upon his face. Some deep sorrow gnaws ever at his heart. Sometimes I wonder if he has a guilty memory which haunts him, and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being a domestic tyrant. I have always felt that there was something singular and questionable in this woman'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 woman who walked softly down the passage with a candle held in her hand. She was in shirt and trousers, with no covering to her feet. I could merely see the outline, but her height told me that it was Barrymore. She walked very slowly and circumspectly, and there was something indescribably guilty and furtive in her 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 she had passed out of sight and then I followed her. When I came round the balcony she had reached the end of the farther corridor, and I could see from the glimmer of light through an open door that she had entered one of the rooms. Now, all these rooms are unfurnished and unoccupied, so that her expedition became more mysterious than ever. The light shone steadily as if she 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. Her profile was half turned towards me, and her face seemed to be rigid with expectation as she stared out into the blackness of the moor. For some minutes she stood watching intently. Then she gave a deep groan and with an impatient gesture she 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 Lady Henrietta 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.