The Hound of the Baskervilles Read online

  Chapter 6

  Baskerville Hall

  Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon theappointed day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr.Sherlock Holmes drove with me to the station and gave me his lastparting injunctions and advice.

  "I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions,Watson," said he; "I wish you simply to report facts in thefullest possible manner to me, and you can leave me to do thetheorizing."

  "What sort of facts?" I asked.

  "Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect uponthe case, and especially the relations between young Baskervilleand his neighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the deathof Sir Charles. I have made some inquiries myself in the last fewdays, but the results have, I fear, been negative. One thing onlyappears to be certain, and that is that Mr. James Desmond, who isthe next heir, is an elderly gentleman of a very amiabledisposition, so that this persecution does not arise from him. Ireally think that we may eliminate him entirely from ourcalculations. There remain the people who will actually surroundSir Henry Baskerville upon the moor."

  "Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of thisBarrymore couple?"

  "By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If they areinnocent it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty weshould be giving up all chance of bringing it home to them. No,no, we will preserve them upon our list of suspects. Then thereis a groom at the Hall, if I remember right. There are twomoorland farmers. There is our friend Dr. Mortimer, whom Ibelieve to be entirely honest, and there is his wife, of whom weknow nothing. There is this naturalist, Stapleton, and there ishis sister, who is said to be a young lady of attractions. Thereis Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who is also an unknown factor,and there are one or two other neighbours. These are the folk whomust be your very special study."

  "I will do my best."

  "You have arms, I suppose?"

  "Yes, I thought it as well to take them."

  "Most certainly. Keep your revolver near you night and day, andnever relax your precautions."

  Our friends had already secured a first-class carriage and werewaiting for us upon the platform.

  "No, we have no news of any kind," said Dr. Mortimer in answer tomy friend's questions. "I can swear to one thing, and that isthat we have not been shadowed during the last two days. We havenever gone out without keeping a sharp watch, and no one couldhave escaped our notice."

  "You have always kept together, I presume?"

  "Except yesterday afternoon. I usually give up one day to pureamusement when I come to town, so I spent it at the Museum of theCollege of Surgeons."

  "And I went to look at the folk in the park," said Baskerville."But we had no trouble of any kind."

  "It was imprudent, all the same," said Holmes, shaking his headand looking very grave. "I beg, Sir Henry, that you will not goabout alone. Some great misfortune will befall you if you do. Didyou get your other boot?"

  "No, sir, it is gone forever."

  "Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye," he added asthe train began to glide down the platform. "Bear in mind, SirHenry, one of the phrases in that queer old legend which Dr.Mortimer has read to us, and avoid the moor in those hours ofdarkness when the powers of evil are exalted."

  I looked back at the platform when we had left it far behind, andsaw the tall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionless andgazing after us.

  The journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it inmaking the more intimate acquaintance of my two companions and inplaying with Dr. Mortimer's spaniel. In a very few hours thebrown earth had become ruddy, the brick had changed to granite,and red cows grazed in well-hedged fields where the lush grassesand more luxuriant vegetation spoke of a richer, if a damper,climate. Young Baskerville stared eagerly out of the window, andcried aloud with delight as he recognized the familiar featuresof the Devon scenery.

  "I've been over a good part of the world since I left it, Dr.Watson," said he; "but I have never seen a place to compare withit."

  "I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county," Iremarked.

  "It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on thecounty," said Dr. Mortimer. "A glance at our friend here revealsthe rounded head of the Celt, which carries inside it the Celticenthusiasm and power of attachment. Poor Sir Charles's head wasof a very rare type, half Gaelic, half Ivernian in itscharacteristics. But you were very young when you last sawBaskerville Hall, were you not?"

  "I was a boy in my 'teens at the time of my father's death, andhad never seen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on theSouth Coast. Thence I went straight to a friend in America. Itell you it is all as new to me as it is to Dr. Watson, and I'mas keen as possible to see the moor."

  "Are you? Then your wish is easily granted, for there is yourfirst sight of the moor," said Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of thecarriage window.

  Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a woodthere rose in the distance a gray, melancholy hill, with astrange jagged summit, dim and vague in the distance, like somefantastic landscape in a dream. Baskerville sat for a long time,his eyes fixed upon it, and I read upon his eager face how muchit meant to him, this first sight of that strange spot where themen of his blood had held sway so long and left their mark sodeep. There he sat, with his tweed suit and his American accent,in the corner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as I lookedat his dark and expressive face I felt more than ever how true adescendant he was of that long line of high-blooded, fiery, andmasterful men. There were pride, valour, and strength in histhick brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his large hazel eyes. Ifon that forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous quest shouldlie before us, this was at least a comrade for whom one mightventure to take a risk with the certainty that he would bravelyshare it.

  The train pulled up at a small wayside station and we alldescended. Outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette witha pair of cobs was waiting. Our coming was evidently a greatevent, for station-master and porters clustered round us to carryout our luggage. It was a sweet, simple country spot, but I wassurprised to observe that by the gate there stood two soldierlymen in dark uniforms, who leaned upon their short rifles andglanced keenly at us as we passed. The coachman, a hard-faced,gnarled little fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in afew minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad, white road.Rolling pasture lands curved upward on either side of us, and oldgabled houses peeped out from amid the thick green foliage, butbehind the peaceful and sunlit country-side there rose ever, darkagainst the evening sky, the long, gloomy curve of the moor,broken by the jagged and sinister hills.

  The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upwardthrough deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks oneither side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart's-tongueferns. Bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the lightof the sinking sun. Still steadily rising, we passed over anarrow granite bridge, and skirted a noisy stream which gushedswiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the gray boulders. Bothroad and stream wound up through a valley dense with scrub oakand fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation ofdelight, looking eagerly about him and asking countlessquestions. To his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge ofmelancholy lay upon the country-side, which bore so clearly themark of the waning year. Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes andfluttered down upon us as we passed. The rattle of our wheelsdied away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation--sadgifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before thecarriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.

  "Halloa!" cried Dr. Mortimer, "what is this?"

  A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor,lay in front of us. On the summit, hard and clear like anequestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, darkand stern, his rifle poised ready over his forearm. He waswatching the road along which we travelled.

  "What is this, Perkins?" asked Dr. Mortimer.

&
nbsp; Our driver half turned in his seat.

  "There's a convict escaped from Princetown, sir. He's been outthree days now, and the warders watch every road and everystation, but they've had no sight of him yet. The farmers abouthere don't like it, sir, and that's a fact."

  "Well, I understand that they get five pounds if they can giveinformation."

  "Yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is but a poor thingcompared to the chance of having your throat cut. You see, itisn't like any ordinary convict. This is a man that would stickat nothing."

  "Who is he, then?"

  "It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer."

  I remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmes hadtaken an interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of thecrime and the wanton brutality which had marked all the actionsof the assassin. The commutation of his death sentence had beendue to some doubts as to his complete sanity, so atrocious washis conduct. Our wagonette had topped a rise and in front of usrose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled with gnarled andcraggy cairns and tors. A cold wind swept down from it and set usshivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurkingthis fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, hisheart full of malignancy against the whole race which had casthim out. It needed but this to complete the grim suggestivenessof the barren waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky.Even Baskerville fell silent and pulled his overcoat more closelyaround him.

  We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We lookedback on it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning thestreams to threads of gold and glowing on the red earth newturned by the plough and the broad tangle of the woodlands. Theroad in front of us grew bleaker and wilder over huge russet andolive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now and then wepassed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone, with nocreeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down intoa cup-like depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs whichhad been twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Twohigh, narrow towers rose over the trees. The driver pointed withhis whip.

  "Baskerville Hall," said he.

  Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks andshining eyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates,a maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bittenpillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and surmounted bythe boars' heads of the Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin ofblack granite and bared ribs of rafters, but facing it was a newbuilding, half constructed, the first fruit of Sir Charles'sSouth African gold.

  Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheelswere again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot theirbranches in a sombre tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shudderedas he looked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmeredlike a ghost at the farther end.

  "Was it here?" he asked in a low voice.

  "No, no, the Yew Alley is on the other side."

  The young heir glanced round with a gloomy face.

  "It's no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on him insuch a place as this," said he. "It's enough to scare any man.I'll have a row of electric lamps up here inside of six months,and you won't know it again, with a thousand candle-power Swanand Edison right here in front of the hall door."

  The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house laybefore us. In the fading light I could see that the centre was aheavy block of building from which a porch projected. The wholefront was draped in ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and therewhere a window or a coat-of-arms broke through the dark veil.From this central block rose the twin towers, ancient,crenelated, and pierced with many loopholes. To right and left ofthe turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dull lightshone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high chimneyswhich rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a singleblack column of smoke.

  "Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!"

  A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open thedoor of the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouettedagainst the yellow light of the hall. She came out and helped theman to hand down our bags.

  "You don't mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry?" said Dr.Mortimer. "My wife is expecting me."

  "Surely you will stay and have some dinner?"

  "No, I must go. I shall probably find some work awaiting me. Iwould stay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be abetter guide than I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day tosend for me if I can be of service."

  The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turnedinto the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was afine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, andheavily raftered with huge balks of age-blackened oak. In thegreat old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs alog-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our handsto it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed roundus at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oakpanelling, the stags' heads, the coats-of-arms upon the walls,all dim and sombre in the subdued light of the central lamp.

  "It's just as I imagined it," said Sir Henry. "Is it not the verypicture of an old family home? To think that this should be thesame hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived.It strikes me solemn to think of it."

  I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazedabout him. The light beat upon him where he stood, but longshadows trailed down the walls and hung like a black canopy abovehim. Barrymore had returned from taking our luggage to our rooms.He stood in front of us now with the subdued manner of awell-trained servant. He was a remarkable-looking man, tall,handsome, with a square black beard and pale, distinguishedfeatures.

  "Would you wish dinner to be served at once, sir?"

  "Is it ready?"

  "In a very few minutes, sir. You will find hot water in yourrooms. My wife and I will be happy, Sir Henry, to stay with youuntil you have made your fresh arrangements, but you willunderstand that under the new conditions this house will requirea considerable staff."

  "What new conditions?"

  "I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very retired life, andwe were able to look after his wants. You would, naturally, wishto have more company, and so you will need changes in yourhousehold."

  "Do you mean that your wife and you wish to leave?"

  "Only when it is quite convenient to you, sir."

  "But your family have been with us for several generations, havethey not? I should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking anold family connection."

  I seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler's whiteface.

  "I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell thetruth, sir, we were both very much attached to Sir Charles, andhis death gave us a shock and made these surroundings verypainful to us. I fear that we shall never again be easy in ourminds at Baskerville Hall."

  "But what do you intend to do?"

  "I have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishingourselves in some business. Sir Charles's generosity has given usthe means to do so. And now, sir, perhaps I had best show you toyour rooms."

  A square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall,approached by a double stair. From this central point two longcorridors extended the whole length of the building, from whichall the bedrooms opened. My own was in the same wing asBaskerville's and almost next door to it. These rooms appeared tobe much more modern than the central part of the house, and thebright paper and numerous candles did something to remove thesombre impression which our arrival had left upon my mind.

  But the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place ofshadow and gloom. It was a long chamber with a step separatingthe dais where the family sat from the lower portion reserved fortheir dependents. At one end a minstrel's gallery overlooked it.Black beams shot across above our heads, with a smoke-darkenedceiling beyond them. With rows of flaring torches to light it up,and the colour and rude hilarity of an old-time banquet, it mighthave soften
ed; but now, when two black-clothed gentlemen sat inthe little circle of light thrown by a shaded lamp, one's voicebecame hushed and one's spirit subdued. A dim line of ancestors,in every variety of dress, from the Elizabethan knight to thebuck of the Regency, stared down upon us and daunted us by theirsilent company. We talked little, and I for one was glad when themeal was over and we were able to retire into the modernbilliard-room and smoke a cigarette.

  "My word, it isn't a very cheerful place," said Sir Henry. "Isuppose one can tone down to it, but I feel a bit out of thepicture at present. I don't wonder that my uncle got a littlejumpy if he lived all alone in such a house as this. However, ifit suits you, we will retire early to-night, and perhaps thingsmay seem more cheerful in the morning."

  I drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked out frommy window. It opened upon the grassy space which lay in front ofthe hall door. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in arising wind. A half moon broke through the rifts of racingclouds. In its cold light I saw beyond the trees a broken fringeof rocks, and the long, low curve of the melancholy moor. Iclosed the curtain, feeling that my last impression was inkeeping with the rest.

  And yet it was not quite the last. I found myself weary and yetwakeful, tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for thesleep which would not come. Far away a chiming clock struck outthe quarters of the hours, but otherwise a deathly silence layupon the old house. And then suddenly, in the very dead of thenight, there came a sound to my ears, clear, resonant, andunmistakable. It was the sob of a woman, the muffled, stranglinggasp of one who is torn by an uncontrollable sorrow. I sat up inbed and listened intently. The noise could not have been far awayand was certainly in the house. For half an hour I waited withevery nerve on the alert, but there came no other sound save thechiming clock and the rustle of the ivy on the wall.