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 gray 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 wouid 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
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 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
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 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 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
tete-a-tete. 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 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 moorgate, 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
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
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.