"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 this?"
"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, therefore, 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 his garden, which opened on to the
high road 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 opportunity was a good
one. I alighted and sent a message to Sir Henry that I should walk
over in time for dinner. Then I followed 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 Constabulary 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 old 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 manner.
"Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that! What
about the convict on the moor?"
I started. "You don't mean that you know where he is?" said I.
"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 knowledge 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 whiskers
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 confidences.
"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 hill-side?"
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 tripod, 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 errand."
"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 perseverance 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 habitation. 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
