The Hound of the Baskervilles: Part Four

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In the last episode, Holmes dispatched Watson to Baskerville Hall, along with his trusty revolver. He and Sahenry arrived to find the already gloomy house in mourning. And headbuttler Barrymore on the point of quitting his job for a cheerier position elsewhere. After a somber dinner, the two newer rivals retired to bed.

But in the dead of night, and in some near Watson was startled by a terrible sound. The strangled sobbs of a clearly distraught woman. From the Noisa podcast network, this is the Hound of the Baskerville's Part 4. The fresh beauty of the following morning did something to erase from our minds the grim and grey impression, which had been left upon both of us by our

first experience of Baskerville Hall.

As Sahenry and I sat at breakfast, the sunlight flooded in through the high maligned windows, throwing watery patches of colour from the coats of arms which covered them. The dark paneling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and it was hard to realize that this was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom into our souls upon the evening before. I guess it is ourselves a nut-the-house that we have to blame, said the Baronet.

We were tired with our journey and chilled by our drive, so we took a grave view of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so it is all cheerful once more. And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination, I answered.

“Did you, for example, happen to hear someone a woman, I think, sobbing in the night?”

That is curious for I did when I was half asleep fancy that I heard something of the sword. I waited quite a time, but there was no more of it, so I concluded that it was all a dream. I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sob of a woman. We must ask about this right away. He rang the bell and asked Barrymore whether he could account for our experience.

It seemed to me that the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler still as he listened to his master's question. There are only two women in the house, Sir Henry, he answered. One is the scholarly maid, who sleeps in the other wing, the other is my wife, and I can answer for it that the sound could not have come from her.

And yet he lied, as he said it, for it chanced that after breakfast I met Mrs Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy-featured woman with a stern set expression of mouth, but her telltale eyes were red, and glanced at me from between swollen lids, it was she then who wept in the night, and if she did so, her husband must know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery in declaring that it was not so.

“Why had he done this? And why did she weep so bitterly?”

Already round this pale-faced handsome, black bearded man there was gathering an atmosphere of

mystery, and of gloom. It was he who had been the first to discover the body of Sir Charles,

and we had only his word for all these circumstances which led up to the old man's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore after all whom we had seen in the cabin region street? The beard might well have been the same. The cab man had described as somewhat shorter man, but such an impression might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the point forever? Obviously the first thing to do was to see the grimpen postmaster and find whether the

test telegram had really been placed in Barrymore's own hands. Be the answer what it might, I should at least have something to report to Sherlock Holmes.

It was a pleasant walk of four miles along the edge of the more,

“leading me at last to a small grey hamlet, in which two larger buildings, which proved to be the in”

and the house of Dr. Mortimer stood high above the rest. The postmaster, who was also the village grosser, had a clear recollection of the telegram. "Certainly, sir," said he. "I had the telegram delivered to Mr. Barrymore exactly as directed. Who delivered it?" "My boy here!" "James, you delivered that telegram to Mr. Barrymore at the whole last week, did you not?" "Yes, father, I delivered it." "Into his own hands," I asked. "Well, he was up in the loft at the

time so that I could not put it into his own hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymore's hands and she

promised to deliver it at once. Did you see Mr. Barrymore?" "No, sir, I'd tell you he was in the loft. If you didn't see him, how do you know he was in the loft?" "Well, surely his own wife ought to know

“where he is," said the postmaster, testily, didn't he get the telegram? If there is any mistake,”

it is for Mr. Barrymore himself to complain. "It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any father, but it was clear that in spite of Holmes's rules, we had no proof that Barrymore had not been in London all the time. Suppose that it was so suppose that the same man had been the

last who had seen Sir Charles alive and the first to dog the new air when he returned to England.

What then? Was he the agent of others or had he some sinister design of his own? What interest could he have in persecuting the Basqueville family?" I thought of the strange warning, clipped out of the leading article of the times, was that his work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent upon counteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive was that which had been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family could be scared away, a comfortable and permanent

home would be secured for the Barrymore's. But surely such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate to account for the deep and subtle scheming would seem to be weaving an invisible net around the young baronette. Holmes himself had said that no more complex case had come to him in all the long series of his sensational investigations. I prayed as I walked back along the grey lonely road that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations and able to come down

to take this heavy burden of responsibility from my shoulders. Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet behind me and by a voice which called me by name. I turned expecting to see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it was a stranger who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man, flex and head and lean jawed between 30 and 40 years of age, dressed in a grey suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin box for botanical specimens hung over his shoulder

and he carried a green butterfly net in one of his hands. You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption. Dr. Watson said he came panting up to where I stood. Here, on the more we are, homely folk and do not wait for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my name from our mutual friend, Mortimer. I am a stapleton of Mary Pitt House. Your net and box would have told

“me as much, said I. For I knew that Mr Stapleton was a naturalist, but how did you know me?”

I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out to me from the window of his surgery, as you passed. As our road lay the same way, I thought that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust that Sahenry is none the worse for his journey. He is very well, thank you. We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Sir Charles, the new Baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking much of a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in a

place of this kind, but I need not tell you that it means a very great deal to the countryside. The Sahenry has, I suppose, no superstitious fears in the matter. I do not think that it is likely. Of course, you know the legend of the fiend dog, which haunts the family. I have heard. It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here. The any number of them are ready to swear that they have seen such a creature upon the more.

The story took a great hold upon the imagination of Sir Charles, and I have no doubt that it led to

“his tragic end. But how? His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog might have”

had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancy that he really did see something of the kind upon that last night in the U. Alley. I feared that some disaster might occur for I was very fond of the old man, and I knew that his heart was weak. How did you know that? My friend Mortimer told me you think then that some dog pursued Sir Charles and that he died of fright in consequence. Have you any better explanation? I have not come to any conclusion. Has Mr Sherlock Holmes

the words took away my breath for an instant, but a glance at the placid face and steadfast eyes

of my companion showed that no surprise was intended. It is useless for us to pretend that we do

“not know you, Dr Watson, said he. The records of your detective have reached us here,”

and you could not celebrate him without being known yourself. When Mortimer told me your name he could not deny your identity. If you are here then it follows that Mr Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself in the matter, and I am naturally curious to know what view he may take. I am afraid that I cannot answer that question. May I ask if he is going to honor us with a visit himself? He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases which engage his attention.

What a pity. He might throw some light on that which is so dark to us. But as to your own researchers, if there is any possible way in which I can be of service to you

“I trust that you will command me. If I had any indication of the nature of your suspicions or”

how you propose to investigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you some aid or advice. I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friends a Henry and that I need no help of any kind. Excellent, said Stapleton. You are perfectly right to be wary and discreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was an unjustifiable intrusion and I promise you that I will not mention the matter again. We had count to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from the road

and wound away across the more. A steep, bolder sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry. The face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff with ferns and brambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise they floated a gray plum of smoke. A moderate walk along this more path brings us to Merri Pithouse, said he. Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to my sister. My first

thought was that I should be by Sir Henry's side, but then I remembered the pile of papers and bills with which his study table was littered. It was certain that I could not help with those. And Holmes had expressly said that I should study the neighbors upon the more. I accepted Stapleton's invitation and returned together down the path. "It is a wonderful place the more," said he, looking round over the undulating downs, long green rollers with crests of jagged granite foaming

up into fantastic surges. "You never tire of the more. You cannot think the wonderful secrets

which it contains. It is so vast and so barren, so mysterious." "You know it well then. I have only been here two years. The residents would call me a newcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles, settled, but my tastes led me to explore every part of the country around. And I should think that there are few men who know it better than I do. Is it hard to know? Very hard. You see, for example, this great plane to the north here with the queer hills breaking out of it, do you observe anything

remarkable about that?" "It would be a rare place for a gallop. You would naturally think so, and the thought has cost several their lives before now. You notice those bright green spots scattered

crimp and mire," said he. "A full step yonder means death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw

“one of the more ponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quite a long time”

craning out of the bog hole, but it sucked him down at last. Even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive. By George, there is another of those miserable ponies. Something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sages, then a long agonized, writhing neck, shot upward, and a dreadful cry echoed over the more.

It turned me cold with horror, but my companion's nerves seemed to be stronger than mine.

“"It's gone," said he. "The mire has him two in two days and many more perhaps,”

for they get in the way of going there in the dry weather and never know the difference until

the mire has them in its clutches. It's a bad place the great crimp and mire. And you say you can penetrate it. Yes, there are one or two paths which are very active man can take. I have found them out. But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place? Well, you see the hills beyond. They are really islands cut off on all sides by the impossible mire, which has crawled round them in the course of years. That is where the rare plants and the butterflies

“are. If you have the wit to reach them, I shall try my luck someday. He looked at me with a”

surprised face. "But for God's sake, put such an idea out of your mind," said he. "Your blood would be upon my head. I assure you that there would not be the least chance of your coming back alive. It is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am able to do it." Hello. What is that? A long, low-moon indescribably sad swept over the mire. It filled the whole air and yet it was impossible to say when it came. From a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar.

And then sank back into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again. Stapleton looked at me with a curious expression in his face. "Queer place, the more," said he. "But what is it?" The peasants say it is the hound of the basteaville's calling for its prey.

I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite so loud. I looked round with a chill of fear

in my heart, at the huge swelling plain mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse, save a pair of ravens, which crouched loudly from a tour behind us. "You are an educated man, you don't believe such nonsense as that," said I. "What do you think is the cause of so strange a sound?" Bugs make queer noises sometimes, it's the mud settling or the water rising or something.

"No, no, that was a living voice." "Well, perhaps it was, did you ever hear a bitern booming?"

"No, I never did. It's a very rare bird practically extinct in England now, but all things are

possible, upon the more." "Yes, I should not be surprised to learn that what we have heard, is the cry of the last of the bitons." "It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my life." "Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hillside yonder, what do you make of those?" The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of stone, a score of them, at least. "Oh, what are they? Sheep pens?" "No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors.

Prehistoric man lived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived there since,

You can even see his half and his couch if you have the curiosity to go inside, but it is quite

“a town. When was it inhabited? Neolithic man, no date. What did he do? He grays his cattle on these slopes,”

and he learned to dig for tin when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. "Look at the great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark." "Yes, you will find some very singular points about the moor," Dr. Watson. "Oh, excuse me, an instant. It is surely side-cloppedies." The small fly or mooth had fluttered across our path, and in an instant, staple tin was rushing

with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit of it. To my dismay, the creature flew straight

for the great Maya. And Maya Quintons never paused for an instant, bounding from tough to tough

“behind it, his green net waving in the air. His grey clothes and jerky zigzag irregular progress”

made him not unlike some huge mooth himself. I was standing watching his pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity, and fear, lest he should lose his footing in the treacherous Maya, when I heard the sound of steps, and turning round, found a woman near me upon the path. She had come from the direction in which the plume of smoke indicated the position of Mary Pithouse, but the dip of the moor had hid her until she was quite close. I could not doubt that this was the

mistakleton of whom I had been told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, and I remembered that I had heard someone describe her as being a beauty. The woman who approached

“me was certainly that, and of a most uncommon type. There could not have been a greater contrast”

between brother and sister, for staple tin was neutral tinted with light hair and grey eyes, while she was darker than any brunette whom I have seen in England. Slim, elegant, and tall. She had a proud, finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed impassive where it not for the sensitive mouth, and the beautiful dark eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress she was indeed a strange apparition upon a lonely moorland path. Her eyes were on her brother, as I turned,

and then she quickened her pace towards me. I had raised my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark when her own words turned all my thoughts into a new channel. "Go back," she said. "Go straight back to London instantly." I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed at me, and she tapped the ground impatiently with her foot. "Why should I go back?" I asked. I cannot explain. She spoke in a low eager voice with a curious list in her utterance.

"But for God's sake, do what I ask you. Go back and never set foot upon the moor again."

"But I've only just come." "Man, man!" she cried. "Can you not tell when a warning is for your own good?" "Go back to London." "Start tonight. Get away from this place at all costs." "Fush, my brother is coming, not the word of what I have said." "Oh, would you mind getting that orchid for me among the meath tales, the under? We are very rich in orchids on the moor, though, of course. You are rather late to see the beauties of the place."

Stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathing hard and flushed with his exertions. "Hello, Beryl," said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of his greeting was not all together a cordial one. "Well, Jack, you are very hot. Yes, I was chasing a cyclopidies he is very rare and seldom found in the late autumn. What a pity that I should have missed him. He spoke unconcernedly, but his small light eyes glanced incessantly from the girl to me. "You have introduced yourselves,

I can see?" "Yes, I was telling the Henry that it was rather late for him to see the true beauties of the moor." "Why, who do you think this is?" "I imagine that it must be Sir Henry Baskermil." "No, no," said I, only a humble, commoner, but his friend, my name is Dr Watson.

"Why, you had not very much time for talk?" her brother remarked with the same questioning eyes.

“"I talked as if Dr Watson were a resident instead of being merely a visitor," said she.”

"It cannot much matter to him whether it is early or late for the orchids, but you will come on, will you not, and see, merit pit house?" The short walk brought us to it. A bleak, moorland house once the farm of some greysia in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it, but the trees, as his usual upon the moor, was stunted and nipped, and the effect of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were admitted

by a strange, whizzened, rustic-coated old man-servant, who seemed in keeping with the house.

Inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with an elegance in which I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As I looked from their windows at the interminable granite,

“flaked moor, rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon, I could not but marvel at what could have”

brought this highly educated man, and this beautiful woman to live in such a place. "Quier spot to choose is it not," said he, as if in answer to my thought. "And yet we managed to make ourselves fairly happy. Do we not, Barrow?" "Quiet, happy," said she, but there was no ring of conviction in her words. "I had a school," said Stapleton. "It was in the north country the work to a man of my temperament

was mechanical and uninteresting, but the privilege of living with youth of helping to mold those young minds and of impressing them with one's own character and ideals was very dear to me." However, the fates were against us. A serious epidemic broke out in the school and

three of the boys died. It never recovered from the blow, and much of my capital was irretrievably

swallowed up. And yet, if it were not for the loss of the charming companionship of the boys, I could rejoice over my own misfortune for with my strong taste for botany and zoology. I find an unlimited field of work here, and my sister is as devoted to nature as I am. All this talk to Watson has been brought upon your head by your expression as you surveyed the more out of our window. It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dull,

unless for you, perhaps, and for your sister. "No, no, I am never dull," said she, quickly. "We have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbors. A doctor Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line. A poor such als was also an admirable companion. We knew him well, and miss him more than I can tell." Do you think that I should intrude if I were to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of

“Sahenry? I'm sure that he would be delighted. Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so?”

We may, in our humble way, do something to make things more easy for him until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you come upstairs, Dr. Watson, and inspect my collection of Leopard Doctora? I think it is the most complete one in the southwest of England. By the time that you have looked through them, lunch will be almost ready. But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which had

been associated with the grim legend of the basketballs, all these things tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then, on the top of these more or less vague impressions, they had come the definite and distinct warning of Miss Stapleton. Delivered with such intense earnestness that I could not doubt that some grave and deep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to the Stapleton and I set off at once upon my return journey taking the grass-grown path by which we had come. It seems, however,

that there must have been some short cuts for those who knew it. For before I had reached the road, I was astounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side of the track. Her face was beautifully flushed with her exertions and she held her hand to her side.

I must not stop, or my brother may miss me. I wanted to say to you how story I am about the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were the Henry, please forget the words I said, which have no application whatever to you. But I can't forget the Miss Stapleton said I. I am Sir Henry's friend and his welfare is a very close concern of mine. Tell me why it was, that you were so eager that Sir Henry should return to London.

A woman's wind, Dr Watson. When you know me better, you will understand that I cannot always

“give reasons for what I say or do. No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the”

look in your eyes, please. Please be frank with me, Miss Stapleton. For ever since I have been here, I have been conscious of shadows all around me. Life has become like that great crimp and mire, with little green patches everywhere into which one may sink and with no guide to point the track. Tell me then what it was that you meant and I will promise to convey your warning to Sir Henry. An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her face, but her eyes had hardened again when

she answered me. "You make too much of it, Dr Watson," said she. "My brother and I were very much shocked

by the death of Sir Charles. We knew him very intimately for his favorite walk was over the more to our house. He was deeply impressed with the curse which hung over the family and when this tragedy came I naturally felt that there must be some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I was distressed therefore when another member of the family came down to live here and I felt that he should be warned of the danger which he will run, that was all which I intended to convey.

But what is the danger? You know the story of the Hound. I do not believe in such nonsense, but I do.

If you have any influence with the Henry, take him away from a place which has always been fatal to

“his family. The world is wide. Why should he wish to live at the place of danger?”

Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry's nature. I fear that unless you can give me some more definite information than this, it would be impossible to get him to move. I cannot say anything definite. For I do not know anything definite. I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If you meant no more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish your brother

to over here what you said? There is nothing to achieve or anyone else could object. My brother is very anxious to have the hall inhabited for he thinks it is for the good of the poor folk upon the more. He would be very angry if he knew that I have said anything which might induce

“the Henry to go away. But I have done my duty now and I will say no more. I must go back or he”

will miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Goodbye. She turned and disappeared in a few minutes among the scattered boulders, while I, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way to basketball hall. 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. Basket of a 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 godforsaken corner of the world. The longer one stays here, the more does the spirit of the more sink into one's soul.

It's vastness and also it's grim charm. When you are one's 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 Holmes and the work of the prehistoric people. On all sides of you as you walk,

to have marked their temples. As you look at their gray stone hats against the scarred hillsides, you leave your own age behind you. And if you were to see a skin-clared hairy man crawl out from the low door, fitting a flint-tipped arrow onto 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 unwall-like 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 Sahenry basketball. 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 more. 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 more 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 more 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 made and old man's servant, the sister and the brother, the latter, not a very strong man. They would be helpless in a hands of a desperate fellow like this noting hill criminal, if he could once effect an entrance. Both Sahenri and I were concerned of 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 Baronette,”

begins to display a considerable interest in our fair neighbour. It is not to be wondered ad 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 out probation 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 her positive and possibly a harsh nature. You would find him an interesting

study. He came over to call upon basketball 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 two rugged tours which led to an open grassy space, fret 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. So 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 barrenet.

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 Meripit 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 one's court of look of the strongest

dissaturation 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 tipped at head.

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 Stapleton's came in afterwards and the good

doctor took us all to the U Alley at Sir Henry's request to show us exactly how everything occurred upon that fatal night. It is a long, dismal walk the U 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 more gate where the old gentleman left his cigar ash. It is a white wooden gate where the latch beyond it lies the wide more.

“I remember your theory of the affair and tried to picture all that had occurred. As the old”

man stood there he saw something across the more, something which terrified him so that he lost his wits, ran and ran until he died of sheer horror and exhaustion. There was the long gloomy tunnel down which he fled and from what? The sheepdog of the more were a spectral-hound, black, silent and monstrous. Was there a human agency in the matter? Did the pale watchful barrimour 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 neighbor I have met since I wrote last, this is Mr. Franklin of laughter hall who lived some four miles to the south of us. He is an elderly man, red faced, white-haired and colorig. 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 at 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 to memorial defying the owner to prosecute him for trespass. He has learned in old menorial and communal rights and he applies his knowledge sometimes in favor of the villagers of Furnworthy 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 them all all day

all would be well but there are rumors 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 and the escaped convict that Stapelton's Dr. Mortimer and Franklin of laughter hall let me end on that which is most

“important and tell you more about the Barrymore's 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 boxroom 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 occurred to the subject of his own accord. "I could not quite”

understand the object of your questions this morning," said Henry. "I trust that they do not mean that I have done anything too far fit 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 pure atanical. You could hardly conceive a less emotional

subject yet I have told you how on the first night here I heard her so being bitterly. And since then

I have more than one subserved traces of tears upon her face. Some deep sorrow, Norse 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've 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 her 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 circumspectally and there was something indescribably guilty and fertile 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 was 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 more. 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

Long afterwards when I had fallen into a light sleep I heard a key turn somewhere in a lock.

Which I could not tell once 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 Sahenri 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.

Next time in the hound of the basketballs the game is up for Barrymore as Sahenri extracts

“a confession. He and Watson set off across the moor at night hoping to lay their hands on the”

escaped convict but it turns out the former prisoner isn't the only one who's been sculking about out there. That's next time. Can't wait until the next episode. Well listen to it right away by subscribing to Noiser Plus. Head to www.noiser.com/subscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description. [BLANK_AUDIO]