somebody.
I was up betimes in the morning, but Holmes was afoot earlier still,
for I saw him as I dressed, coming up the drive.
"Yes, we should have a full day to-day," he remarked, and he rubbed
his hands with the joy of action. "The nets are all in place, and the
drag is about to begin. We'll know before the day is out whether we
have caught our big, lean-jawed pike, or whether he has got through
the meshes."
"Have you been on the moor already?"
"I have sent a report from Grimpen to Princetown as to the death of
Selden. I think I can promise that none of you will be troubled in
the matter. And I have also communicated with my faithful Cartwright,
who would certainly have pined away at the door of my hut, as a dog
does at his master's grave, if I had not set his mind at rest about
my safety."
"What is the next move?"
"To see Sir Henry. Ah, here he is!"
"Good morning, Holmes," said the baronet. "You look like a general
who is planning a battle with his chief of the staff."
"That is the exact situation. Watson was asking for orders."
"And so do I."
"Very good. You are engaged, as I understand, to dine with our
friends the Stapletons to-night."
"I hope that you will come also. They are very hospitable people, and
I am sure that they would be very glad to see you."
"I fear that Watson and I must go to London."
"To London?"
"Yes, I think that we should be more useful there at the present
juncture."
The baronet's face perceptibly lengthened.
"I hoped that you were going to see me through this business. The
Hall and the moor are not very pleasant places when one is alone."
"My dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactly what I
tell you. You can tell your friends that we should have been happy to
have come with you, but that urgent business required us to be in
town. We hope very soon to return to Devonshire. Will you remember to
give them that message?"
"If you insist upon it."
"There is no alternative, I assure you."
I saw by the baronet's clouded brow that he was deeply hurt by what
he regarded as our desertion.
"When do you desire to go?" he asked coldly.
"Immediately after breakfast. We will drive in to Coombe Tracey, but
Watson will leave his things as a pledge that he will come back to
you. Watson, you will send a note to Stapleton to tell him that you
regret that you cannot come."
"I have a good mind to go to London with you," said the baronet. "Why
should I stay here alone?"
"Because it is your post of duty. Because you gave me your word that
you would do as you were told, and I tell you to stay."
"All right, then, I'll stay."
"One more direction! I wish you to drive to Merripit House. Send back
your trap, however, and let them know that you intend to walk home."
"To walk across the moor?"
"Yes."
"But that is the very thing which you have so often cautioned me not
to do."
"This time you may do it with safety. If I had not every confidence
in your nerve and courage I would not suggest it, but it is essential
that you should do it."
"Then I will do it."
"And as you value your life do not go across the moor in any
direction save along the straight path which leads from Merripit
House to the Grimpen Road, and is your natural way home."
"I will do just what you say."
"Very good. I should be glad to get away as soon after breakfast as
possible, so as to reach London in the afternoon."
I was much astounded by this programme, though I remembered that
Holmes had said to Stapleton on the night before that his visit would
terminate next day. It had not crossed my mind, however, that he
would wish me to go with him, nor could I understand how we could
both be absent at a moment which he himself declared to be critical.
There was nothing for it, however, but implicit obedience; so we bade
good-bye to our rueful friend, and a couple of hours afterwards we
were at the station of Coombe Tracey and had dispatched the trap upon
its return journey. A small boy was waiting upon the platform.
"Any orders, sir?"
"You will take this train to town, Cartwright. The moment you arrive
you will send a wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, in my name, to say
that if he finds the pocket-book which I have dropped he is to send
it by registered post to Baker Street."
"Yes, sir."
"And ask at the station office if there is a message for me."
The boy returned with a telegram, which Holmes handed to me. It ran:
Wire received. Coming down with unsigned warrant. Arrive five-forty.
Lestrade.
"That is in answer to mine of this morning. He is the best of the
professionals, I think, and we may need his assistance. Now, Watson,
I think that we cannot employ our time better than by calling upon
your acquaintance, Mrs. Laura Lyons."
His plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. He would use the
baronet in order to convince the Stapletons that we were really gone,
while we should actually return at the instant when we were likely to
be needed. That telegram from London, if mentioned by Sir Henry to
the Stapletons, must remove the last suspicions from their minds.
Already I seemed to see our nets drawing closer around that
lean-jawed pike.
Mrs. Laura Lyons was in her office, and Sherlock Holmes opened his
interview with a frankness and directness which considerably amazed
her.
"I am investigating the circumstances which attended the death of the
late Sir Charles Baskerville," said he. "My friend here, Dr. Watson,
has informed me of what you have communicated, and also of what you
have withheld in connection with that matter."
"What have I withheld?" she asked defiantly.
"You have confessed that you asked Sir Charles to be at the gate at
ten o'clock. We know that that was the place and hour of his death.
You have withheld what the connection is between these events."
"There is no connection."
"In that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinary one.
But I think that we shall succeed in establishing a connection after
all. I wish to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Lyons. We regard
this case as one of murder, and the evidence may implicate not only
your friend Mr. Stapleton, but his wife as well."
The lady sprang from her chair.
"His wife!" she cried.
"The fact is no longer a secret. The person who has passed for his
sister is really his wife."
Mrs. Lyons had resumed her seat. Her hands were grasping the arms of
her chair, and I saw that the pink nails had turned white with the
pressure of her grip.
"His wife!" she said again. "His wife! He is not a married man."
Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"Prove it to me! Prove it to me! And if you can do so--!" The fierce
flash of her eyes said more than any words.
"I have come prepared to do so," said Holmes, drawing several papers
from his pocket. "Here is a photograph of the couple taken in York
four years ago. It is indorsed 'Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur,' but you will
have no difficulty in recognizing him, and her also, if you know her
by sight. Here are three written descriptions by trustworthy
witnesses of Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur, who at that time kept St.
Oliver's private school. Read them and see if you can doubt the
identity of these people."
She glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set, rigid
face of a desperate woman.
"Mr. Holmes," she said, "this man had offered me marriage on
condition that I could get a divorce from my husband. He has lied to
me, the villain, in every conceivable way. Not one word of truth has
he ever told me. And why--why? I imagined that all was for my own
sake. But now I see that I was never anything but a tool in his
hands. Why should I preserve faith with him who never kept any with
me? Why should I try to shield him from the consequences of his own
wicked acts? Ask me what you like, and there is nothing which I shall
hold back. One thing I swear to you, and that is that when I wrote
the letter I never dreamed of any harm to the old gentleman, who had
been my kindest friend."
"I entirely believe you, madam," said Sherlock Holmes. "The recital
of these events must be very painful to you, and perhaps it will make
it easier if I tell you what occurred, and you can check me if I make
any material mistake. The sending of this letter was suggested to you
by Stapleton?"
"He dictated it."
"I presume that the reason he gave was that you would receive help
from Sir Charles for the legal expenses connected with your divorce?"
"Exactly."
"And then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you from keeping
the appointment?"
"He told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any other man
should find the money for such an object, and that though he was a
poor man himself he would devote his last penny to removing the
obstacles which divided us."
"He appears to be a very consistent character. And then you heard
nothing until you read the reports of the death in the paper?"
"No."
"And he made you swear to say nothing about your appointment with Sir
Charles?"
"He did. He said that the death was a very mysterious one, and that I
should certainly be suspected if the facts came out. He frightened me
into remaining silent."
"Quite so. But you had your suspicions?"
She hesitated and looked down.
"I knew him," she said. "But if he had kept faith with me I should
always have done so with him."
"I think that on the whole you have had a fortunate escape," said
Sherlock Holmes. "You have had him in your power and he knew it, and
yet you are alive. You have been walking for some months very near to
the edge of a precipice. We must wish you good-morning now, Mrs.
Lyons, and it is probable that you will very shortly hear from us
again."
"Our case becomes rounded off, and difficulty after difficulty thins
away in front of us," said Holmes as we stood waiting for the arrival
of the express from town. "I shall soon be in the position of being
able to put into a single connected narrative one of the most
singular and sensational crimes of modern times. Students of
criminology will remember the analogous incidents in Godno, in Little
Russia, in the year '66, and of course there are the Anderson murders
in North Carolina, but this case possesses some features which are
entirely its own. Even now we have no clear case against this very
wily man. But I shall be very much surprised if it is not clear
enough before we go to bed this night."
The London express came roaring into the station, and a small, wiry
bulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage. We all three
shook hands, and I saw at once from the reverential way in which
Lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a good deal since
the days when they had first worked together. I could well remember
the scorn which the theories of the reasoner used then to excite in
the practical man.
"Anything good?" he asked.
"The biggest thing for years," said Holmes. "We have two hours before
we need think of starting. I think we might employ it in getting some
dinner and then, Lestrade, we will take the London fog out of your
throat by giving you a breath of the pure night air of Dartmoor.
Never been there? Ah, well, I don't suppose you will forget your
first visit."
CHAPTER XIV
The Hound of the Baskervilles
One of Sherlock Holmes's defects--if, indeed, one may call it a
defect--was that he was exceedingly loath to communicate his full
plans to any other person until the instant of their fulfilment.
Partly it came no doubt from his own masterful nature, which loved to
dominate and surprise those who were around him. Partly also from his
professional caution, which urged him never to take any chances. The
result, however, was very trying for those who were acting as his
agents and assistants. I had often suffered under it, but never more
so than during that long drive in the darkness. The great ordeal was
in front of us; at last we were about to make our final effort, and
yet Holmes had said nothing, and I could only surmise what his course
of action would be. My nerves thrilled with anticipation when at last
the cold wind upon our faces and the dark, void spaces on either side
of the narrow road told me that we were back upon the moor once
again. Every stride of the horses and every turn of the wheels was
