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The Hound of the

Chapter XI
The Man on the Tor

  The extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter
has brought my narrative up to the eighteenth of October, a time
when these strange events began to move swiftly towards their
terrible conclusion. The incidents of the next few days are
indelibly graven upon my recollection, and I can tell them
without reference to the notes made at the time. I start them from
the day which succeeded that upon which I had established two
facts of great importance, the one that Mrs. Laura Lyons of
Coombe Tracey had written to Sir Charles Baskerville and made
an appointment with him at the very place and hour that he met
his death, the other that the lurking man upon the moor was to be
found among the stone huts upon the hillside. With these two
facts in my possession I felt that either my intelligence or my
courage must be deficient if I could not throw some further light
upon these dark places.
  I had no opportunity to tell the baronet what I had learned
about Mrs. Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer
remained with him at cards until it was very late. At breakfast,
however, I informed him about my discovery and asked him
whether he would care to accompany me to Coombe Tracey. At
first he was very eager to come, but on second thoughts it
seemed to both of us that if I went alone the results might be
better. The more formal we made the visit the less information
we might obtain. I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without
some prickings of conscience, and drove off upon my new quest.
  When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put up the
horses, and I made inquiries for the lady whom I had come to
interrogate. I had no difficulty in finding her rooms, which were
central and well appointed. A maid showed me in without cere-
mony, and as I entered the sitting-room a lady, who was sitting
before a Remington typewriter, sprang up with a pleasant smile
of welcome. Her face fell, however, when she saw that I was a
stranger, and she sat down again and asked me the object of my
  The first impression left by Mrs. Lyons was one of extreme
beauty. Her eyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour,
and her cheeks, though considerably freckled, were flushed with
the exquisite bloom of the brunette, the dainty pink which lurks
at the heart of the sulphur rose. Admiration was, I repeat, the
first impression. But the second was criticism. There was some-
thing subtly wrong with the face, some coarseness of expres-
sion, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some looseness of lip
which marred its perfect beauty. But these, of course, are after-
thoughts. At the moment I was simply conscious that I was in
the presence of a very handsome woman, and that she was
asking me the reasons for my visit. I had not quite understood
until that instant how delicate my mission was.
  "I have the pleasure," said I, "of knowing your father."
It was a clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it.
  "There is nothing in common between my father and me,"
she said. "I owe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it
were not for the late Sir Charles Baskerville and some other kind
hearts I might have starved for all that my father cared."
  "It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come
here to see you."
  The freckles started out on the lady's face.
  "What can I tell you about him?" she asked, and her fingers
played nervously over the stops of her typewriter.
  "You knew him, did you not?"
  "I have already said that I owe a great deal to his kindness. If
I am able to support myself it is largely due to the interest which
he took in my unhappy situation."
  "Did you correspond with him?"
  The lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel
  "What is the object of these questions?" she asked sharply.
  "The object is to avoid a public scandal. It is better that I
should ask them here than that the matter should pass outside our
  She was silent and her face was still very pale. At last she
looked up with something reckless and defiant in her manner.
  "Well, I'll answer," she said. "What are your questions?"
  "Did you correspond with Sir Charles?"
  "I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his
delicacy and his generosity."
  "Have you the dates of those letters?"
  "Have you ever met him?"
  "Yes, once or twice, when he came into Coombe Tracey. He
was a very retiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth."
  "But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did
he know enough about your affairs to be able to help you, as you
say that he has done?"
  She met my difficulty with the utmost readiness.
  "There were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and
united to help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a neighbour and
intimate friend of Sir Charles's. He was exceedingly kind, and it
was through him that Sir Charles learned about my affairs."
  I knew already that Sir Charles Baskerville had made Stapleton
his almoner upon several occasions, so the lady's statement bore
the impress of truth upon it.
  "Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you?"
I continued.
  Mrs. Lyons flushed with anger again.
  "Really, sir, this is a very extraordinary question."
  "I am sorry, madam, but I must repeat it."
  "Then I answer, certainly not."
  "Not on the very day of Sir Charles's death?"
  The flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was
before me. Her dry lips could not speak the "No" which I saw
rather than heard.
  "Surely your memory deceives you," said I. "I could even
quote a passage of your letter. It ran 'Please, please, as you are a
gentleman, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock.' "
  I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a
supreme effort.
  "Is there no such thing as a gentleman?" she gasped.
  "You do Sir Charles an injustice. He did burn the letter. But
sometimes a letter may be legible even when burned. You
acknowledge now that you wrote it?"
  "Yes, I did write it," she cried, pouring out her soul in a
torrent of words. "I did write it. Why should I deny it? I have no
reason to be ashamed of it. I wished him to help me. I believed
that if I had an interview I could gain his help, so I asked him to
meet me."
  "But why at such an hour?"
  "Because I had only just learned that he was going to London
next day and might be away for months. There were reasons why
I could not get there earlier."
  "But why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to the
  "Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a
bachelor's house?"
  "Well, what happened when you did get there?"
  "I never went."
  "Mrs. Lyons!"
  "No, I swear it to you on all I hold sacred. I never went.
Something intervened to prevent my going."
  "What was that?"
  "That is a private matter. I cannot tell it."
  "You acknowledge then that you made an appointment with
Sir Charles at the very hour and place at which he met his death,
but you deny that you kept the appointment."
  "That is the truth."
  Again and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never get
past that point.
  "Mrs. Lyons," said I as I rose from this long and inconclu-
sive interview, "you are taking a very great responsibility and
putting yourself in a very false position by not making an
absolutely clean breast of all that you know. If I have to call in
the aid of the police you will find how seriously you are compro-
mised. If your position is innocent, why did you in the first
instance deny having written to Sir Charles upon that date?"
  "Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn
from it and that I might find myself involved in a scandal."
  "And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should
destroy your letter?"
  "If you have read the letter you will know."
  "I did not say that I had read all the letter."
  "You quoted some of it."
  "I quoted the postscript. The letter had, as I said, been burned
and it was not all legible. I ask you once again why it was that
you were so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letter
which he received on the day of his death."
  "The matter is a very private one."
  "The more reason why you should avoid a public investigation."
  "I will tell you, then. If you have heard anything of my
unhappy history you will know that I made a rash marriage and
had reason to regret it."
  "I have heard so much."
  "My life has been one incessant persecution from a husband
whom I abhor. The law is upon his side, and every day I
am faced by the possibility that he may force me to live with him.
At the time that I wrote this letter to Sir Charles I had learned
that there was a prospect of my regaining my freedom if certain
expenses could be met. It meant everything to me -- peace of
mind, happiness, self-respect -- everything. I knew Sir Charles's
generosity, and I thought that if he heard the story from my own
lips he would help me."
  "Then how is it that you did not go?"
  "Because I received help in the interval from another source."
  "Why then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explain
  "So I should have done had I not seen his death in the paper
next morning."
  The woman's story hung coherently together, and all my
questions were unable to shake it. I could only check it by
finding if she had, indeed, instituted divorce proceedings against
her husband at or about the time of the tragedy.
  It was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not
been to Baskerville Hall if she really had been, for a trap would
be necessary to take her there, and could not have returned to
Coombe Tracey until the early hours of the morning. Such an
excursion could not be kept secret. The probability was, there-
fore, that she was telling the truth, or, at least, a part of the
truth. I came away baffled and disheartened. Once again I had
reached that dead wall which seemed to be built across every
path by which I tried to get at the object of my mission. And yet
the more I thought of the lady's face and of her manner the more
I felt that something was being held back from me. Why should
she turn so pale? Why should she fight against every admission
until it was forced from her? Why should she have been so
reticent at the time of the tragedy? Surely the explanation of all
this could not be as innocent as she would have me believe. For
the moment I could proceed no farther in that direction, but must
turn back to that other clue which was to be sought for among
the stone huts upon the moor.
  And that was a most vague direction. I realized it as I drove
back and noted how hill after hill showed traces of the ancient
people. Barrymore's only indication had been that the stranger
lived in one of these abandoned huts, and many hundreds of
them are scattered throughout the length and breadth of the
moor. But I had my own experience for a guide since it had
shown me the man himself standing upon the summit of the
Black Tor. That, then, should be the centre of my search. From
there I should explore every hut upon the moor until I lighted
upon the right one. If this man were inside it I should find out
from his own lips, at the point of my revolver if necessary, who
he was and why he had dogged us so long. He might slip away
from us in the crowd of Regent Street, but it would puzzle him
to do so upon the lonely moor. On the other hand, if I should
find the hut and its tenant should not be within it I must remain
there, however long the vigil, until he returned. Holmes had
missed him in London. It would indeed be a triumph for me if I
could run him to earth where my master had failed.
  Luck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, but
now at last it came to my aid. And the messenger of good
fortune was none other than Mr. Frankland, who was standing,
gray-whiskered and red-faced, outside the gate of bis garden,
which opened on to the highroad along which I travelled.
  "Good-day, Dr. Watson," cried he with unwonted good
humour, "you must really give your horses a rest and come in to
have a glass of wine and to congratulate me."
  My feelings towards him were very far from being friendly
after what I had heard of his treatment of his daughter, but I was
anxious to send Perkins and the wagonette home, and the oppor-
tunity was a good one. I alighted and sent a message to Sir
Henry that I should walk over in time for dinner. Then I fol-
lowed Frankland into his dining-room.
  "It is a great day for me, sir -- one of the red-letter days of my
life," he cried with many chuckles. "I have brought off a double
event. I mean to teach them in these parts that law is law, and
that there is a man here who does not fear to invoke it. I have
established a right of way through the centre of old Middleton's
park, slap across it, sir, within a hundred yards of his own front
door. What do you think of that? We'll teach these magnates that
they cannot ride roughshod over the rights of the commoners,
confound them! And I've closed the wood where the Fernworthy
folk used to picnic. These infernal people seem to think that
there are no rights of property, and that they can swarm where
they like with their papers and their bottles. Both cases decided
Dr. Watson, and both in my favour. I haven't had such a day
since I had Sir John Morland for trespass because he shot in his
own warren."
  "How on earth did you do that?"
  "Look it up in the books, sir. It will repay reading -- Frankland
v. Morland, Court of Queen's Bench. It cost me 200 pounds, but I got
my verdict."
  "Did it do you any good?"
  "None, sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest in
the matter. I act entirely from a sense of public duty. I have no
doubt, for example, that the Fernworthy people will burn me in
effigy to-night. I told the police last time they did it that they
should stop these disgraceful exhibitions. The County Constabu-
lary is in a scandalous state, sir, and it has not afforded me the
protection to which I am entitled. The case of Frankland v.
Regina will bring the matter before the attention of the public. I
told them that they would have occasion to regret their treatment
of me, and already my words have come true."
  "How so?" I asked.
  The oId man put on a very knowing expression.
  "Because I could tell them what they are dying to know; but
nothing would induce me to help the rascals in any way."
  I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get
away from his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of
it. I had seen enough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to
understand that any strong sign of interest would be the surest way
to stop his confidences.
  "Some poaching case, no doubt?" said I with an indifferent
  "Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than
that! What about the convict on the moor?"
  I stared. "You don't mean that you know where he is?" said
  "I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that
I could help the police to lay their hands on him. Has it never
struck you that the way to catch that man was to find out where
he got his food and so trace it to him?"
  He certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the
truth. "No doubt," said I; "but how do you know that he is
anywhere upon the moor?"
  "I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the
messenger who takes him his food."
  My heart sank for Barrymore. It was a serious thing to be in
the power of this spiteful old busybody. But his next remark took
a weight from my mind.
  "You'll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a
child. I see him every day through my telescope upon the roof.
He passes along the same path at the same hour, and to whom
should he be going except to the convict?"
  Here was luck indeed! And yet I suppressed all appearance of
interest. A child! Barrymore had said that our unknown was
supplied by a boy. It was on his track, and not upon the
convict's, that Frankland had stumbled. If I could get his knowl-
edge it might save me a long and weary hunt. But incredulity
and indifference were evidently my strongest cards.
  "I should say that it was much more likely that it was the son
of one of the moorland shepherds taking out his father's dinner."
  The least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the old
autocrat. His eyes looked malignantly at me, and his gray whis-
kers bristled like those of an angry cat.
  "Indeed, sir!" said he, pointing out over the wide-stretching
moor. "Do you see that Black Tor over yonder? Well, do you
see the low hill beyond with the thornbush upon it? It is the
stoniest part of the whole moor. Is that a place where a shepherd
would be likely to take his station? Your suggestion, sir, is a
most absurd one."
  I meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing all the
facts. My submission pleased him and led him to further
  "You may be sure, sir, that I have very good grounds before I
come to an opinion. I have seen the boy again and again with his
bundle. Every day, and sometimes twice a day, I have been
able -- but wait a moment, Dr. Watson. Do my eyes deceive me,
or is there at the present moment something moving upon that
  It was several miles off, but I could distinctly see a small dark
dot against the dull green and gray.
  "Come, sir, come!" cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. "You
will see with your own eyes and judge for yourself."
  The telescope, a formidable instrument mounted upon a tri-
pod, stood upon the flat leads of the house. Frankland clapped
his eye to it and gave a cry of satisfaction.
  "Quick, Dr. Watson, quick, before he passes over the hill!"
  There he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle
upon his shoulder, toiling slowly up the hill. When he reached
the crest I saw the ragged uncouth figure outlined for an instant
against the cold blue sky. He looked round him with a furtive
and stealthy air, as one who dreads pursuit. Then he vanished
over the hill.
  "Well! Am I right?"
  "Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret
  "And what the errand is even a county constable could guess.
But not one word shall they have from me, and I bind you to
secrecy also, Dr. Watson. Not a word! You understand!"
  "Just as you wish."
  "They have treated me shamefully -- shamefully. When the facts
come out in Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill of
indignation will run through the country. Nothing would induce
me to help the police in any way. For all they cared it might
have been me, instead of my effigy, which these rascals burned
at the stake. Surely you are not going! You will help me to
empty the decanter in honour of this great occasion!"
  But I resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuading
him from his announced intention of walking home with me. I
kept the road as long as his eye was on me, and then I struck off
across the moor and made for the stony hill over which the boy
had disappeared. Everything was working in my favour, and I
swore that it should not be through lack of energy or persever-
ance that I should miss the chance which fortune had thrown in
my way.
  The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the
hill, and the long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one
side and gray shadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the
farthest sky-line, out of which jutted the fantastic shapes of
Belliver and Vixen Tor. Over the wide expanse there was no
sound and no movement. One great gray bird, a gull or curlew,
soared aloft in the blue heaven. He and I seemed to be the only
living things between the huge arch of the sky and the desert
beneath it. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the
mystery and urgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart.
The boy was nowhere to be seen. But down beneath me in a cleft
of the hills there was a circle of the old stone huts, and in the
middle of them there was one which retained sufficient roof to
act as a screen against the weather. My heart leaped within me as
I saw it. This must be the burrow where the stranger lurked. At
last my foot was on the threshold of his hiding place -- his secret
was within my grasp.
  As I approached the hut, walking as warily as Stapleton would
do when with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, I
satisfied myself that the place had indeed been used as a habita-
tion. A vague pathway among the boulders led to the dilapidated
opening which served as a door. All was silent within. The
unknown might be lurking there, or he might be prowling on the
moor. My nerves tingled with the sense of adventure. Throwing
aside my cigarette, I closed my hand upon the butt of my
revolver and, walking swiftly up to the door, I looked in. The
place was empty.
  But there were ample signs that I had not come upon a false
scent. This was certainly where the man lived. Some blankets
rolled in a waterproof lay upon that very stone slab upon which
neolithic man had once slumbered. The ashes of a fire were
heaped in a rude grate. Beside it lay some cooking utensils and a
bucket half-full of water. A litter of empty tins showed that the
place had been occupied for some time, and I saw, as my eyes
became accustomed to the checkered light, a pannikin and a
half-full bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of
the hut a flat stone served the purpose of a table, and upon this
stood a small cloth bundle -- the same, no doubt, which I had
seen through the telescope upon the shoulder of the boy. It
contained a loaf of bread, a tinned tongue, and two tins of
preserved peaches. As I set it down again, after having examined
it, my heart leaped to see that beneath it there lay a sheet of
paper with writing upon it. I raised it, and this was what I read,
roughly scrawled in pencil: "Dr. Watson has gone to Coombe
  For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking
out the meaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not Sir
Henry, who was being aogged by this secret man. He had not
followed me himself, but he had set an agent -- the boy, perhaps -- 
upon my track, and this was his report. Possibly I had taken no
step since I had been upon the moor which had not been observed
and reported. Always there was this feeling of an unseen force, a
fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and delicacy, holding
us so lightly that it was only at some supreme moment that one
realized that one was indeed-entangled in its meshes.
  If there was one report there might be others, so I looked
round the hut in search of them. There was no trace, however, of
anything of the kind, nor could I discover any sign which might
indicate the character or intentions of the man who lived in this
singular place, save that he must be of Spartan habits and cared
little for the comforts of life. When I thought of the heavy rains
and looked at the gaping roof I understood how strong and
immutable must be the purpose which had kept him in that
inhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy, or was he by
chance our guardian angel? I swore that I would not leave the hut
until I knew.
  Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing
with scarlet and gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy
patches by the distant pools which lay amid the great Grimpen
Mire. There were the two towers of Baskerville Hall, and there a
distant blur of smoke which marked the village of Grimpen.
Between the two, behind the hill, was the house of the Stapletons.
All was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the golden evening
light, and yet as I looked at them my soul shared none of the
peace of Nature but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of
that interview which every instant was bringing nearer. With
tingling nerves but a fixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the
hut and waited with sombre patience for the coming of its tenant.
  And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of
a boot striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another,
coming nearer and nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner
and cocked the pistol in my pocket, determined not to discover
myself until I had an opportunity of seeing something of the
stranger. There was a long pause which showed that he had
stopped. Then once more the footsteps approached and a shadow
fell across the opening of the hut.
  "It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson," said a well-known
voice. "I really think that you will be more comfortable outside
than in."
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