learn that what we have heard is the cry of the last of the
bitterns."
"It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my life."
"Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hill-side
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.
"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, we find all his little arrangements exactly as he left
them. These are his wigwams with the roofs off. You can even see his
hearth 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 grazed 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 Cyclopides."
A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an instant
Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit
of it. To my dismay the creature flew straight for the great mire,
and my acquaintance never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft
to tuft behind it, his green net waving in the air. His gray clothes
and jerky, zigzag, irregular progress made him not unlike some huge
moth 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 mire, 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 Merripit House, but the dip of the moor had hid her until
she was quite close.
I could not doubt that this was the Miss Stapleton 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 Stapleton was neutral tinted, with light hair
and gray 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 were 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
lisp 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 have only just come."
"Man, man!" she cried. "Can you not tell when a warning is for your
own good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get away from this place
at all costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not a word of what I have
said. Would you mind getting that orchid for me among the mares-tails
yonder? 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.
"Halloa, Beryl!" said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of his
greeting was not altogether a cordial one.
"Well, Jack, you are very hot."
"Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. 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 Sir 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 Baskerville."
"No, no," said I. "Only a humble commoner, but his friend. My name is
Dr. Watson."
A flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. "We have been
talking at cross purposes," said she.
"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
Merripit House?"
A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the farm
of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair
and turned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it, but the
trees, as is usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the
effect of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were admitted
by a strange, wizened, rusty-coated old manservant, 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-flecked 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.
"Queer spot to choose, is it not?" said he as if in answer to my
thought. "And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we
not, Beryl?"
"Quite 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 mould 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 tastes 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, Dr. Watson, has been brought upon your head by
your expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window."
"It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dull--less
for you, perhaps, than for your sister."
"No, no, I am never dull," said she, quickly.
"We have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting
neighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line. Poor
Sir Charles 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 Sir
Henry?"
"I am 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 Lepidoptera? I think it is
the most complete one in the south-west 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 Baskervilles, all these things
tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of these more or
less vague impressions there 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 stay for lunch, 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 cut 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 have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson," said
she. "I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop, or my
brother may miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am about the
stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were Sir Henry. Please
forget the words I said, which have no application whatever to you."
"But I can't forget them, 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 whim, 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 round me.
Life has become like that great Grimpen 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 favourite walk was over the moor 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 Sir 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 overhear what you said? There is nothing to which he,
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 moor. He would be very
angry if he knew that I have said anything which might induce Sir
Henry to go away. But I have done my duty now and I will say no more.
I must get back, or he will miss me and suspect that I have seen you.
Good-bye!" She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among the
scattered boulders, while I, with my soul full of vague fears,
pursued my way to Baskerville Hall.
CHAPTER VIII
First Report of Dr. Watson
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
