The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle (books to read this summer .txt) ๐
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- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
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He wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but I managed to satisfy his curiosity without telling him too much, for there is no reason why we should take anyone into our confidence. Tomorrow morning I shall find my way to Coombe Tracey, and if I can see this Mrs. Laura Lyons, of equivocal reputation, a long step will have been made towards clearing one incident in this chain of mysteries. I am certainly developing the wisdom of the serpent, for when Mortimer pressed his questions to an inconvenient extent I asked him casually to what type Franklandโs skull belonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest of our drive. I have not lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing.
I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous and melancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore just now, which gives me one more strong card which I can play in due time.
Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played รฉcartรฉ afterwards. The butler brought me my coffee into the library, and I took the chance to ask him a few questions.
โWell,โ said I, โhas this precious relation of yours departed, or is he still lurking out yonder?โ
โI donโt know, sir. I hope to heaven that he has gone, for he has brought nothing but trouble here! Iโve not heard of him since I left out food for him last, and that was three days ago.โ
โDid you see him then?โ
โNo, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way.โ
โThen he was certainly there?โ
โSo you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it.โ
I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at Barrymore.
โYou know that there is another man then?โ
โYes, sir; there is another man upon the moor.โ
โHave you seen him?โ
โNo, sir.โ
โHow do you know of him then?โ
โSelden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. Heโs in hiding, too, but heโs not a convict as far as I can make out. I donโt like it, Dr. WatsonโI tell you straight, sir, that I donโt like it.โ He spoke with a sudden passion of earnestness.
โNow, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matter but that of your master. I have come here with no object except to help him. Tell me, frankly, what it is that you donโt like.โ
Barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst or found it difficult to express his own feelings in words.
โItโs all these goings-on, sir,โ he cried at last, waving his hand towards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor. โThereโs foul play somewhere, and thereโs black villainy brewing, to that Iโll swear! Very glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his way back to London again!โ
โBut what is it that alarms you?โ
โLook at Sir Charlesโs death! That was bad enough, for all that the coroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night. Thereโs not a man would cross it after sundown if he was paid for it. Look at this stranger hiding out yonder, and watching and waiting! Whatโs he waiting for? What does it mean? It means no good to anyone of the name of Baskerville, and very glad I shall be to be quit of it all on the day that Sir Henryโs new servants are ready to take over the Hall.โ
โBut about this stranger,โ said I. โCan you tell me anything about him? What did Selden say? Did he find out where he hid, or what he was doing?โ
โHe saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one and gives nothing away. At first he thought that he was the police, but soon he found that he had some lay of his own. A kind of gentleman he was, as far as he could see, but what he was doing he could not make out.โ
โAnd where did he say that he lived?โ
โAmong the old houses on the hillsideโthe stone huts where the old folk used to live.โ
โBut how about his food?โ
โSelden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and brings all he needs. I dare say he goes to Coombe Tracey for what he wants.โ
โVery good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this some other time.โ When the butler had gone I walked over to the black window, and I looked through a blurred pane at the driving clouds and at the tossing outline of the wind-swept trees. It is a wild night indoors, and what must it be in a stone hut upon the moor. What passion of hatred can it be which leads a man to lurk in such a place at such a time! And what deep and earnest purpose can he have which calls for such a trial! There, in that hut upon the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which has vexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall not have passed before I have done all that man can do to reach the heart of the mystery.
The Man on the Tor
The extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter has brought my narrative up to the eighteenth of October, a time when these strange events began to move swiftly towards their terrible conclusion. The incidents of the next few days are indelibly graven upon my recollection, and I can tell them without reference to the notes made at the time. I start them from the day which succeeded that upon which I had established two facts of great importance, the one that Mrs. Laura Lyons of Coombe Tracey had written to Sir Charles Baskerville and made an appointment with him at the very place and hour that he met his death, the other that the lurking man upon the moor was to be found among the stone huts upon the hillside. With these two facts in my possession I felt that either my intelligence or my courage must be deficient if I could not throw some further light upon these dark places.
I had no opportunity to tell the baronet what I had learned about Mrs. Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer remained with him at cards until it was very late. At breakfast, however, I informed him about my discovery and asked him whether he would care to accompany me to Coombe Tracey. At first he was very eager to come, but on second thoughts it seemed to both of us that if I went alone the results might be better. The more formal we made the visit the less information we might obtain. I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, and drove off upon my new quest.
When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to
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