Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready uponthe appointed day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr.Sherlock Holmes drove with me to the station and gave me hislast parting injunctions and advice.

"I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions, Watson," said he; "I wish you simply to report facts inthe fullest possible manner to me, and you can leave me to dothe theorizing."

"What sort of facts?" I asked.

"Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect upon the case, and especially the relations between youngBaskerville and his neighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death of Sir Charles. I have made some inquiries myselfin the last few days, but the results have, I fear, been negative.One thing only appears to be certain, and that is that Mr. JamesDesmond, who is the next heir, is an elderly gentleman of a veryamiable disposition, so that this persecution does not arise fromhim. I really 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 ofl thisBarrymore couple?"

"By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If theyare innocent it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guiltywe should be giving up all chance of bringing it home to them.No, no, we will preserve them upon our list of suspects. Thenthere is 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 is hissister, who is said to be a young lady of attractions. There is Mr.Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who is also an unknown factor. andthere 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,and never 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 inanswer to my friend's questions. "I can swear to one thing, andthat is that we have not been shadowed during the last two days.We have never gone out without keeping a sharp watch, and noone could have escaped our notice."

"You have always kept together, I presume?"

"Except yesterday afternoon. I usually give up one day topure amusement when I come to town, so I spent it at theMuseum of the College 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 hishead and looking very grave. "I beg, Sir Henry, that you willnot go about alone. Some great misfortune will befall you if youdo. Did you get your other boot?"

"No, sir, it is gone forever."

"Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye," he addedas the 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 plafform when we had left it far behindand saw the tall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionlessand gazing after us.

The journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it inmaking the more intimate acquaintance of my two companionsand in playing with Dr. Mortimer's spaniel. In a very few hoursthe brown earth had become ruddy, the brick had changed togranite, and red cows grazed in well-hedged fields where thelush grasses and more luxuriant vegetation spoke of a richer, if adamper, climate. Young Baskerville stared eagerly out of thewindow and cried aloud with delight as he recognized the familar features of 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 comparewith it."

"l never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by hiscounty," I remarked.

"It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on thecounty," said Dr. Mortimer. "A glance at our friend herereveals the rounded head of the Celt, which carries inside it theCeltic enthusiasm and power of attachment. Poor Sir Charles'shead was of 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. I tellyou it is all as new to me as it is to Dr. Watson, and I'm as keenas 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 awood there 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 timehis eyes fixed upon it, and I read upon his eager face how muchit meant to him, this first sight of that strange spot where the menof his blood had held sway so long and left their mark so deep.There he sat, with his tweed suit and his American accent, in thecorner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as I looked at hisdark 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. If onthat forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous quest should liebefore 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 wagonettewith a pair of cobs was waiting. Our coming was evidently agreat event, for station-master and porters clustered round us tocarry out our luggage. It was a sweet, simple country spot, but Iwas surprised to observe that by the gate there stood two soldierly men in dark uniforms who leaned upon their short riflesand glanced keenly at us as we passed. The coachman, a hardfaced, gnarled little fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and ina few minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad, whiteroad. Rolling pasture lands curved upward on either side of us,and old gabled houses peeped out from amid the thick greenfoliage, but behind the peaceful and sunlit countryside there roseever, dark against the evening sky, the long, gloomy curve of themoor, broken by the jagged and sinister hills.

The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curvedupward through deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, highbanks on either side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshyhart's-tongue ferns. Bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamedin the light of the sinking sun. Still steadily rising, we passedover a narrow granite bridge and skirted a noisy stream whichgushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the gray boulders. Both road and stream wound up through a valley densewith scrub oak and fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation of delight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions. To his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me atinge of melancholy lay upon the countryside, which bore soclearly the mark of the waning year. Yellow leaves carpeted thelanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed. The rattle of ourwheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation --sad gifts, 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 themoor, 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.

Our driver half turned in his seat.

"There's a convict escaped from Princetown, sir. He's beenout three 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 stick atnothing."

"Who is he, then?"

"It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer."

I remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmeshad taken 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 caims and tors. A cold wind swept down from it and setus shivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, waslurking this fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast,his heart full of malignancy against the whole race which hadcast him out. It needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness of 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. Welooked back 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, withno creeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked downinto a cuplike depression, patched with stunted oaks and fuswhich had been twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm.Two high, narrow towers rose over the trees. The driver pointedwith his 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 lodgegates, a maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and summountedby the 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's SouthAfrican gold.

Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where thewheels were again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shottheir branches in a sombre tunnel.over our heads. Baskervilleshuddered as he looked up the long, dark drive to where thehouse glimmered like 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 onhim in such a place as this," said he. "It's enough to scare anyman. I'll have a row of electric lamps up here inside of sixmonths, and you won't know it again, with a thousand candle-power Swan and Edison right here in front of the hall door."

The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the houselay before us. In the fading light I could see that the centre was aheavy block of building from which a porch projected. Thewhole front was draped in ivy, with a patch clipped bare hereand there where a window or a coat of arms broke through thedark veil. From this central block rose the twin towers, ancient,crenellated, and pierced with many loopholes. To right and leftof the turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dulllight shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from thehigh chimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof theresprang a single black column of smoke.

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

A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to openthe door of the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouetted against the yellow light of the hall. She came out and helpedthe man to hand down our bags.

"You don't mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry?" saidDr. 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.I would stay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will bea better guide than I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or dayto send for me if I can be of service."

The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and Iturned into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. Itwas a fine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty,and heavily raftered with huge baulks of age-blackened oak. Inthe great old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs alog-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out ourhands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then wegazed round us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, theoak panelling, 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 canopyabove him. Barrymore had returned from taking our luggage toour rooms. He stood in front of us now with the subdued mannerof a well-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,have they not? I should be sorry to begin my life here bybreaking an old family connection."

I seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler'swhite face.

"I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell the truth,sir, we were both very much attached to Sir Charles and hisdeath gave us a shock and made these surroundings very painfulto us. I fear that we shall never again be easy in our minds atBaskerville 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 youto your 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 appearedto be much more modern than the central part of the house, andthe bright paper and numerous candles did something to removethe sombre impression which our arrival had left upon my mind.

But the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a placeof shadow and gloom. It was a long chamber with a stepseparating the dais where the family sat from the lower portionreserved for their dependents. At one end a minstrel's galleryoverlooked it. Black beams shot across above our heads, with asmoke-darkened ceiling beyond them. With rows of flaring torchesto light it up, and the colour and rude hilarity of an old-timebanquet, it might have softened; but now, when two blackclothed gentlemen sat in the little circle of light thrown by ashaded lamp, one's voice became hushed and one's spirit subdued. A dim line of ancestors, in every variety of dress, from theElizabethan knight to the buck of the Regency, stared down uponus and daunted us by their silent company. We talked little, and Ifor one was glad when the meal was over and we were able toretire into the modern billiard-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, if itsuits you, we will retire early to-night, and perhaps things mayseem more cheerful in the morning."

I drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked outfrom my window. It opened upon the grassy space which lay infront of the hall door. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned andswung in a rising wind. A half moon broke through the rifts ofracing clouds. In its cold light I saw beyond the trees a brokenfringe of rocks, and the long, low curve of the melancholy moor.I closed 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 struckout the 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 faraway and was certainly in the house. For half an hour I waitedwith every nerve on the alert, but there came no other sound savethe chiming clock and the rustle of the ivy on the wall.