The Hound of the Baskervilles Retrained

by Artemis Conyn Doyle

  Chapter 12

  Death on the Moor

  For a moment or two I sat breathless, hardly able to believe my ears. Then my senses and my voice came back to me, while a crushing weight of responsibility seemed in an instant to be lifted from my soul. That cold, incisive, ironical voice could belong to but one woman in all the world.

  'Holmes!' I cried--'Holmes!'

  'Come out,' said she, 'and please be careful with the revolver.'

  I stooped under the rude lintel, and there she sat upon a stone outside, her gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell upon my astonished features. She was thin and worn, but clear and alert, her keen face bronzed by the sun and roughened by the wind. In her tweed suit and cloth cap she looked like any other tourist upon the moor, and she had contrived, with that cat-like love of personal cleanliness which was one of her characteristics, that her chin should be as smooth and her linen as perfect as if she were in Baker Street.

  'I never was more glad to see anyone in my life,' said I, as I wrung her by the hand.

  'Or more astonished, eh?'

  'Well, I must confess to it.'

  'The surprise was not all on one side, I assure you. I had no idea that you had found my occasional retreat, still less that you were inside it, until I was within twenty paces of the door.'

  'My footprint, I presume?'

  'No, Watson; I fear that I could not undertake to recognize your footprint amid all the footprints of the world. If you seriously desire to deceive me you must change your tobacconist; for when I see the stub of a cigarette marked Bradley, Oxford Street, I know that my friend Watson is in the neighbourhood. You will see it there beside the path. You threw it down, no doubt, at that supreme moment when you charged into the empty hut.'

  'Exactly.'

  'I thought as much--and knowing your admirable tenacity I was convinced that you were sitting in ambush, a weapon within reach, waiting for the tenant to return. So you actually thought that I was the criminal?'

  'I did not know who you were, but I was determined to find out.'

  'Excellent, Watson! And how did you localize me? You saw me, perhaps, on the night of the convict hunt, when I was so imprudent as to allow the moon to rise behind me?'

  'Yes, I saw you then.'

  'And have no doubt searched all the huts until you came to this one?'

  'No, your girl had been observed, and that gave me a guide where to look.'

  'The old gentlewoman with the telescope, no doubt. I could not make it out when first I saw the light flashing upon the lens.' She rose and peeped into the hut. 'Ha, I see that Cartwright has brought up some supplies. What's this paper? So you have been to Coombe Tracey, have you?'

  'Yes.'

  'To see Laurie Lyons?'

  'Exactly.'

  'Well done! Our researches have evidently been running on parallel lines, and when we unite our results I expect we shall have a fairly full knowledge of the case.'

  'Well, I am glad from my heart that you are here, for indeed the responsibility and the mystery were both becoming too much for my nerves. But how in the name of wonder did you come here, and what have you been doing? I thought that you were in Baker Street working out that case of blackmailing.'

  'That was what I wished you to think.'

  'Then you use me, and yet do not trust me!' I cried with some bitterness. 'I think that I have deserved better at your hands, Holmes.'

  'My dear fellow, you have been invaluable to me in this as in many other cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I have seemed to play a trick upon you. In truth, it was partly for your own sake that I did it, and it was my appreciation of the danger which you ran which led me to come down and examine the matter for myself. Had I been with Lady Henrietta and you it is confident that my point of view would have been the same as yours, and my presence would have warned our very formidable opponents to be on their guard. As it is, I have been able to get about as I could not possibly have done had I been living in the Hall, and I remain an unknown factor in the business, ready to throw in all my weight at a critical moment.'

  'But why keep me in the dark?'

  'For you to know could not have helped us, and might possibly have led to my discovery. You would have wished to tell me something, or in your kindness you would have brought me out some comfort or other, and so an unnecessary risk would be run. I brought Cartwright down with me--you remember the little chap at the express office--and she has seen after my simple wants: a loaf of bread and a clean collar. What does woman want more? She has given me an extra pair of eyes upon a very active pair of feet, and both have been invaluable.'

  'Then my reports have all been wasted!' --My voice trembled as I recalled the pains and the pride with which I had composed them.

  Holmes took a bundle of papers from her pocket.

  'Here are your reports, my dear fellow, and very well thumbed, I assure you. I made excellent arrangements, and they are only delayed one day upon their way. I must compliment you exceedingly upon the zeal and the intelligence which you have shown over an extraordinarily difficult case.'

  I was still rather raw over the deception which had been practised upon me, but the warmth of Holmes's praise drove my anger from my mind. I felt also in my heart that she was right in what she said and that it was really best for our purpose that I should not have known that she was upon the moor.

  'That's better,' said she, seeing the shadow rise from my face. 'And now tell me the result of your visit to Laurie Lyons--it was not difficult for me to guess that it was to see his that you had gone, for I am already aware that he is the one person in Coombe Tracey who might be of service to us in the matter. In fact, if you had not gone to-day it is exceedingly probable that I should have gone to-morrow.'

  The sun had set and dusk was settling over the moor. The air had turned chill and we withdrew into the hut for warmth. There, sitting together in the twilight, I told Holmes of my conversation with the lady. So interested was she that I had to repeat some of it twice before she was satisfied.

  'This is most important,' said she when I had concluded. 'It fills up a gap which I had been unable to bridge, in this most complex affair. You are aware, perhaps, that a close intimacy exists between this sir and the woman Stapleton?'

  'I did not know of a close intimacy.'

  'There can be no doubt about the matter. They meet, they write, there is a complete understanding between them. Now, this puts a very powerful weapon into our hands. If I could only use it to detach her wife----'

  'Her husband?'

  'I am giving you some information now, in return for all that you have given me. The sir who has passed here as Mister Stapleton is in reality her husband.'

  'Good heavens, Holmes! Are you sure of what you say? How could she have permitted Lady Henrietta to fall in love with him?'

  'Sir Henrietta's falling in love could do no harm to anyone except Lady Henrietta. She took particular care that Lady Henrietta did not make love to him, as you have yourself observed. I repeat that the sir is her husband and not her brother.'

  'But why this elaborate deception?'

  'Because she foresaw that he would be very much more useful to her in the character of a free man.'

  All my unspoken instincts, my vague suspicions, suddenly took shape and centred upon the naturalist. In that impassive, colourless woman, with her straw hat and her butterfly-net, I seemed to see something terrible--a creature of infinite patience and craft, with a smiling face and a murderous heart.

  'It is she, then, who is our enemy--it is she who dogged us in London?'

  'So I read the riddle.'

  'And the warning--it must have come from him!'

  'Exactly.'

  The shape of some monstrous villainy, half seen, half guessed, loomed through the darkness which had girt me so long.

  'But are you sure of this, Holmes? How do you know that the man is her husband?'

  'Because she so far
forgot herself as to tell you a true piece of autobiography upon the occasion when she first met you, and I dare say she has many a time regretted it since. She was once a schoolmaster in the north of England. Now, there is no one more easy to trace than a schoolmaster. There are scholastic agencies by which one may identify any woman who has been in the profession. A little investigation showed me that a school had come to grief under atrocious circumstances, and that the woman who had owned it--the name was different--had disappeared with her husband. The descriptions agreed. When I learned that the missing woman was devoted to entomology the identification was complete.'

  The darkness was rising, but much was still hidden by the shadows.

  'If this man is in truth her husband, where does Laurie Lyons come in?' I asked.

  'That is one of the points upon which your own researches have shed a light. Your interview with the sir has cleared the situation very much. I did not know about a projected divorce between himself and his wife. In that case, regarding Stapleton as an unmarried woman, he counted no doubt upon becoming her husband.'

  'And when he is undeceived?'

  'Why, then we may find the sir of service. It must be our first duty to see her--both of us--to-morrow. Don't you think, Watson, that you are away from your charge rather long? Your place should be at Baskerville Hall.'

  The last red streaks had faded away in the west and night had settled upon the moor. A few faint stars were gleaming in a violet sky.

  'One last question, Holmes,' I said, as I rose. 'Surely there is no need of secrecy between you and me. What is the meaning of it all? What is she after?'

  Holmes's voice sank as she answered:----

  'It is murder, Watson--refined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder. Do not ask me for particulars. My nets are closing upon her, even as her are upon Lady Henrietta, and with your help she is already almost at my mercy. There is but one danger which can threaten us. It is that she should strike before we are ready to do so. Another day--two at the most--and I have my case complete, but until then guard your charge as closely as ever a fond mother watched his ailing child. Your mission to-day has justified itself, and yet I could almost wish that you had not left her side. Hark!'

  A terrible scream--a prolonged yell of horror and anguish--burst out of the silence of the moor. That frightful cry turned the blood to ice in my veins.

  'Oh, my God!' I gasped. 'What is it? What does it mean?'

  Holmes had sprung to her feet, and I saw her dark, athletic outline at the door of the hut, her shoulders stooping, her head thrust forward, her face peering into the darkness.

  'Hush!' she whispered. 'Hush!'

  The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had pealed out from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. Now it burst upon our ears, nearer, louder, more urgent than before.

  'Where is it?' Holmes whispered; and I knew from the thrill of her voice that she, the woman of iron, was shaken to the soul. 'Where is it, Watson?'

  'There, I think.' I pointed into the darkness.

  'No, there!'

  Again the agonized cry swept through the silent night, louder and much nearer than ever. And a new sound mingled with it, a deep, muttered rumble, musical and yet menacing, rising and falling like the low, constant murmur of the sea.

  'The hound!' cried Holmes. 'Come, Watson, come! Great heavens, if we are too late!'

  She had started running swiftly over the moor, and I had followed at her heels. But now from somewhere among the broken ground immediately in front of us there came one last despairing yell, and then a dull, heavy thud. We halted and listened. Not another sound broke the heavy silence of the windless night.

  I saw Holmes put her hand to her forehead like a woman distracted. She stamped her feet upon the ground.

  'She has beaten us, Watson. We are too late.'

  'No, no, surely not!'

  'Fool that I was to hold my hand. And you, Watson, see what comes of abandoning your charge! But, by Heaven, if the worst has happened, we'll avenge her!'

  Blindly we ran through the gloom, blundering against boulders, forcing our way through gorse bushes, panting up hills and rushing down slopes, heading always in the direction whence those dreadful sounds had come. At every rise Holmes looked eagerly round her, but the shadows were thick upon the moor, and nothing moved upon its dreary face.

  'Can you see anything?'

  'Nothing.'

  'But, hark, what is that?'

  A low moan had fallen upon our ears. There it was again upon our left! On that side a ridge of rocks ended in a sheer cliff which overlooked a stone-strewn slope. On its jagged face was spread-eagled some dark, irregular object. As we ran towards it the vague outline hardened into a definite shape. It was a prostrate woman face downward upon the ground, the head doubled under her at a horrible angle, the shoulders rounded and the body hunched together as if in the act of throwing a somersault. So grotesque was the attitude that I could not for the instant realize that that moan had been the passing of her soul. Not a whisper, not a rustle, rose now from the dark figure over which we stooped. Holmes laid her hand upon her, and held it up again, with an exclamation of horror. The gleam of the match which she struck shone upon her clotted fingers and upon the ghastly pool which widened slowly from the crushed skull of the victim. And it shone upon something else which turned our hearts sick and faint within us--the body of Lady Henrietta Baskerville!

  There was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiar ruddy tweed suit--the very one which she had worn on the first morning that we had seen her in Baker Street. We caught the one clear glimpse of it, and then the match flickered and went out, even as the hope had gone out of our souls. Holmes groaned, and her face glimmered white through the darkness.

  'The brute! the brute!' I cried with clenched hands. 'Oh Holmes, I shall never forgive myself for having left her to her fate.'

  'I am more to blame than you, Watson. In order to have my case well rounded and complete, I have thrown away the life of my client. It is the greatest blow which has befallen me in my career. But how could I know--how could l know--that she would risk her life alone upon the moor in the face of all my warnings?'

  'That we should have heard her screams--my God, those screams!--and yet have been unable to save her! Where is this brute of a hound which drove her to her death? It may be lurking among these rocks at this instant. And Stapleton, where is she? She shall answer for this deed.'

  'She shall. I will see to that. Aunt and nice have been murdered--the one frightened to death by the very sight of a beast which she thought to be supernatural, the other driven to her end in her wild flight to escape from it. But now we have to prove the connection between the woman and the beast. Save from what we heard, we cannot even swear to the existence of the latter, since Lady Henrietta has evidently died from the fall. But, by heavens, cunning as she is, the fellow shall be in my power before another day is past!'

  We stood with bitter hearts on either side of the mangled body, overwhelmed by this sudden and irrevocable disaster which had brought all our long and weary labours to so piteous an end. Then, as the moon rose we climbed to the top of the rocks over which our poor friend had fallen, and from the summit we gazed out over the shadowy moor, half silver and half gloom. Far away, miles off, in the direction of Grimpen, a single steady yellow light was shining. It could only come from the lonely abode of the Stapletons. With a bitter curse I shook my fist at it as I gazed.

  'Why should we not seize her at once?'

  'Our case is not complete. The fellow is wary and cunning to the last degree. It is not what we know, but what we can prove. If we make one false move the villain may escape us yet.'

  'What can we do?'

  'There will be plenty for us to do to-morrow. To-night we can only perform the last offices to our poor friend.'

  Together we made our way down the precipitous slope and approached the body, black and clear against the silvered stones. The
agony of those contorted limbs struck me with a spasm of pain and blurred my eyes with tears.

  'We must send for help, Holmes! We cannot carry her all the way to the Hall. Good heavens, are you mad?'

  She had uttered a cry and bent over the body. Now she was dancing and laughing and wringing my hand. Could this be my stern, self-contained friend? These were hidden fires, indeed!

  'Look at that black hair!'

  'It is not the baronet--it is--why, it is my neighbour, the convict!'

  With feverish haste we had turned the body over, and that dripping mane was sprawled under the cold, clear moon. There could be no doubt about the beetling forehead, the sunken animal eyes. It was indeed the same face which had glared upon me in the light of the candle from over the rock--the face of Selden, the criminal.

  Then in an instant it was all clear to me. I remembered how the baronet had told me that she had handed her old wardrobe to Barrymore. Barrymore had passed it on in order to help Selden in her escape. Boots, shirt, cap--it was all Lady Henrietta's. The tragedy was still black enough, but this woman had at least deserved death by the laws of her country. I told Holmes how the matter stood, my heart bubbling over with thankfulness and joy.

  'Then the clothes have been the poor devil's death,' said she. 'It is clear enough that the hound has been laid on from some article of Lady Henrietta's--the boot which was abstracted in the hotel, in all probability--and so ran this woman down. There is one very singular thing, however: How came Selden, in the darkness, to know that the hound was on her trail?'

  'She heard her.'

  'To hear a hound upon the moor would not work a hard woman like this convict into such a paroxysm of terror that she would risk recapture by screaming wildly for help. By her cries she must have run a long way after she knew the animal was on her track. How did she know?'

  'A greater mystery to me is why this hound, presuming that all our conjectures are correct --'

  'I presume nothing.'

  'Well, then, why this hound should be loose to-night. I suppose that it does not always run loose upon the moor. Stapleton would not let it go unless she had reason to think that Lady Henrietta would be there.'

  'My difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for I think that we shall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while mine may remain forever a mystery. The question now is, what shall we do with this poor wretch's body? We cannot leave it here to the foxes and the ravens.'

  'I suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we can communicate with the police.'

  'Exactly. I have no doubt that you and I could carry it so far. Halloa, Watson, what's this? It's the woman herself, by all that's wonderful and audacious! Not a word to show your suspicions--not a word, or my plans crumble to the ground.'

  A figure was approaching us over the moor, and I saw the dull red glow of a cigar. The moon shone upon her, and I could distinguish the dapper shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. She stopped when she saw us, and then came on again.

  'Why, Dr. Watson, that's not you, is it? You are the last woman that I should have expected to see out on the moor at this time of night. But, dear me, what's this? Somebody hurt? Not--don't tell me that it is our friend Lady Henrietta!' She hurried past me and stooped over the dead woman. I heard a sharp intake of her breath and the cigar fell from her fingers.

  'Who--who's this?' she stammered.

  'It is Selden, the woman who escaped from Princetown.'

  Stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme effort she had overcome her amazement and her disappointment. She looked sharply from Holmes to me.

  'Dear me! What a very shocking affair! How did she die?'

  'She appears to have broken her neck by falling over these rocks. My friend and I were strolling on the moor when we heard a cry.'

  'I heard a cry also. That was what brought me out. I was uneasy about Lady Henrietta.'

  'Why about Lady Henrietta in particular?' I could not help asking.

  'Because I had suggested that she should come over. When she did not come I was surprised, and I naturally became alarmed for her safety when I heard cries upon the moor. By the way'--his eyes darted again from my face to Holmes's--'did you hear anything else besides a cry?'

  'No,' said Holmes; 'did you?'

  'No.'

  'What do you mean, then?'

  'Oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantom hound, and so on. It is said to be heard at night upon the moor. I was wondering if there were any evidence of such a sound to-night.'

  'We heard nothing of the kind,' said I.

  'And what is your theory of this poor fellow's death?'

  'I have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven her off her head. She has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and eventually fallen over here and broken her neck.'

  'That seems the most reasonable theory,' said Stapleton, and she gave a sigh which I took to indicate her relief. 'What do you think about it, Ms. Shyrlock Holmes?'

  My friend bowed her compliments.

  'You are quick at identification,' said she.

  'We have been expecting you in these parts since Dr. Watson came down. You are in time to see a tragedy.'

  'Yes, indeed. I have no doubt that my friend's explanation will cover the facts. I will take an unpleasant remembrance back to London with me to-morrow.'

  'Oh, you return to-morrow?'

  'That is my intention.'

  'I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences which have puzzled us?'

  Holmes shrugged her shoulders.

  'One cannot always have the success for which one hopes. An investigator needs facts, and not legends or rumours. It has not been a satisfactory case.'

  My friend spoke in her frankest and most unconcerned manner. Stapleton still looked hard at her. Then she turned to me.

  'I would suggest carrying this poor fellow to my house, but it would give my brother such a fright that I do not feel justified in doing it. I think that if we put something over her face she will be safe until morning.'

  And so it was arranged. Resisting Stapleton's offer of hospitality, Holmes and I set off to Baskerville Hall, leaving the naturalist to return alone. Looking back we saw the figure moving slowly away over the broad moor, and behind her that one black smudge on the silvered slope which showed where the woman was lying who had come so horribly to her end.