The fresh beauty of the following morning did something toefface from our minds the grim and gray impression which hadbeen left upon both of us by our first experience of BaskervilleHall. As Sir Henry and I sat at breakfast the sunlight flooded inthrough the high mullioned windows, throwing watery patches ofcolour from the coats of arms which covered them. The darkpanelling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and it was hardto realize that this was indeed the chamber which had struck sucha gloom into our souls upon the evening before.

"I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have toblame!" said the baronet. "We were tired with our journey andchilled by our drive, so we took a gray view of the place. Nowwe are fresh and well, so it is all cheerful once more."

"And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination," Ianswered. "Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, awoman I think, sobbing in the night?"

"That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that Iheard something of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there wasno more of it, so I concluded that it was all a dream."

"I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sobof a woman."

"We must ask about this right away." He rang the bell andasked Barrymore whether he could account for our experience. Itseemed to me that the pallid features of the butler turned a shadepaler still as he listened to his master's question.

"There are only two women in the house, Sir Henry," heanswered. "One is the scullery-maid, who sleeps in the otherwing. The other is my wife, and I can answer for it that thesound could not have come from her."

And yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that after breakfast Imet Mrs. Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full uponher face. She was a large, impassive, heavy-featured womanwith a stern set expression of mouth. But her telltale eyes werered and glanced at me from between swollen lids. It was she,then, who wept in the night, and if she did so her husband mustknow it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery indeclaring that it was not so. Why had he done this? And why didshe weep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome,black-bearded man there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It was he who had been the first to discoverthe body of Sir Charles, and we had only his word for all thecircumstances which led up to the old man's death. Was itpossible that it was Barrymore, after all, whom we had seen inthe cab in Regent Street? The beard might well have been thesame. The cabman had described a somewhat shorter man, butsuch an impression might easily have been erroneous. How couldI settle the point forever? Obviously the first thing to do was tosee the Grimpen postmaster and find whether the test telegramhad really been placed in Barrymore's own hands. Be the answerwhat it might, I should at least have something to report toSherlock Holmes.

Sir Henry had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, sothat the time was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasantwalk of four miles along the edge of the moor, leading me at lastto a small gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings, whichproved to be the inn and the house of Dr. Mortimer, stood highabove the rest. The postmaster, who was also the village grocer,had a clear recollection of the telegram.

"Certainly, sir," said he, "I had the telegram delivered toMr. Barrymore exactly as directed."

"Who delivered it?"

"My boy here. James, you delivered that telegram to Mr.Barrymore at the Hall last week, did you not?"

"Yes, father, I delivered it."

"Into his own hands?" I asked.

"Well, he was up in the loft at the time, so that I could notput it into his own hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymore'shands, and she promised to deliver it at once."

"Did you see Mr. Barrymore?"

"No, sir; I tell you he was in the loft."

"If you didn't see him, how do you know he was in the loft?"

"Well, surely his own wife ought to know where he is," saidthe postmaster testily. "Didn't he get the telegram? If there isany mistake it is for Mr. Barrymore himself to complain."

It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it wasclear that in spite of Holmes's ruse we had no proof that Barrymore had not been in London all the time. Suppose that it wereso -- suppose that the same man had been the last who had seenSir Charles alive, and the first to dog the new heir when hereturned to England. What then? Was he the agent of others orhad he some sinister design of his own? What interest could hehave in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of thestrange warning clipped out of the leading article of the Times.Was that his work or was it possibly the doing of someone whowas bent upon counteracting his schemes? The only conceivablemotive was that which had been suggested by Sir Henry, that ifthe family could be scared away a comfortable and permanenthome would be secured for the Barrymores. But surely such anexplanation as that would be quite inadequate to account for thedeep and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving aninvisible net round the young baronet. Holmes himself had saidthat no more complex case had come to him in all the long seriesof his sensational investigations. I prayed, as I walked backalong the gray, lonely road, that my friend might soon be freedfrom his preoccupations and able to come down to take thisheavy burden of responsibility from my shoulders.

Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet behind me and by a voice which called me by name. Iturned, expecting to see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it wasa stranger who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man, flaxen-haired and leanjawed, betweenthirty and forty years of age, dressed in a gray suit and wearing astraw hat. A tin box for botanical specimens hung over hisshoulder and he carried a green butterfly-net in one of his hands.

"You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson,"said he as he came panting up to where I stood. "Here on themoor we are homely folk and do not wait for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my name from our mutualfriend, Mortimer. I am Stapleton, of Merripit House."

"Your net and box would have told me as much," said I,"for I knew that Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did youknow me?"

"I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out tome from the window of his surgery as you passed. As our roadlay the same way I thought that I would overtake you andintroduce myself. I trust that Sir Henry is none the worse for hisjourney?"

"He is very well, thank you."

"We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of SirCharles the new baronet might refuse to live here. It is askingmuch of a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in aplace of this kind, but I need not tell you that it means a verygreat deal to the countryside. Sir Henry has, I suppose, nosuperstitious fears in the matter?"

"I do not think that it is likely."

"Of course you know the legend of the fiend dog whichhaunts the family?"

"I have heard it."

"It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are abouthere! Any number of them are ready to swear that they have seensuch a creature upon the moor." He spoke with a smile, but Iseemed to read in his eyes that he took the matter more seriously. "The story took a great hold upon the imagination of SirCharles, and I have no doubt that it led to his tragic end."

"But how?"

"His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of anydog might have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancythat he really did see something of the kind upon that last nightin the yew alley. I feared that some disaster might occur, for Iwas very fond of the old man, and I knew that his heart wasweak."

"How did you know that?"

"My friend Mortimer told me."

"You think, then, that some dog pursued Sir Charles, and thathe died of fright in consequence?"

"Have you any better explanation?"

"I have not come to any conclusion."

"Has Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

The words took away my breath for an instant but a glance atthe placid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed thatno surprise was intended.

"It is useless for us to pretend that we do not know you, DrWatson," said he. "The records of your detective have reachedus here, and you could not celebrate him without being knownyourself. When Mortimer told me your name he could not denyyour identity. If you are here, then it follows that Mr. SherlockHolmes is interesting himself in the matter, and I am naturallycurious to know what view he may take."

"I am afraid that I cannot answer that question."

"May I ask if he is going to honour us with a visit himsel?"

"He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases whichengage his attention."

"What a pity! He might throw some light on that which is sodark to us. But as to your own researches, if there is any possibleway in which I can be of service to you I trust that you willcommand me. If I had any indication of the nature of yoursuspicions or how you propose to investigate the case, I mightperhaps even now give you some aid or advice."

"I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friend,Sir Henry, and that I need no help of any kind."

"Excellent!" said Stapleton. "You are perfectly right to bewary and discreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was anunjustifiable intrusion, and I promise you that I will not mentionthe matter again."

We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck offfrom the road and wound away across the moor. A steep,boulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygonedays been cut into a granite quarry. The face which was turnedtowards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growingin its niches. From over a distant rise there floated a gray plumeof smoke.

"A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to MerripitHouse," said he. "Perhaps you will spare an hour that I mayhave the pleasure of introducing you to my sister."

My first thought was that I should be by Sir Henry's side. Butthen I remembered the pile of papers and bills with which hisstudy table was littered. It was certain that I could not help withthose. And Holmes had expressly said that I should study theneighbours upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, andwe turned together down the path.

"It is a wonderful place, the moor," said he, looking roundover the undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests ofjagged granite foaming up into fantastic surges. "You never tireof the moor. You cannot think the wonderful secrets which itcontains. It is so vast, and so barren, and so mysterious."

"You know it well, then?"

"I have only been here two years. The residents would callme a newcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. Butmy tastes led me to explore every part of the country round, andI should think that there are few men who know it better than Ido."

"Is it hard to know?"

"Very hard. You see, for example, this great plain to thenorth here with the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observeanything remarkable about that?"

"It would be a rare place for a gallop."

"You would naturally think so and the thought has costseveral their lives before now. You notice those bright greenspots scattered thickly over it?"

"Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest."

Stapleton laughed.

"That is the great Grimpen Mire," said he. "A false stepyonder means death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw oneof the moor ponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw hishead for quite a long time craning out of the bog-hole, but itsucked him down at last. Even in dry seasons it is a danger tocross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awful place. And yetI can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive. ByGeorge, there is another of those miserable ponies!"

Something brown was rolling and tossing among the greensedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and adreadful cry echoed over the moor. It turned me cold withhorror, but my companion's nerves seemed to be stronger thanmme.

"It's gone!" said he. "The mire has him. Two in two days,and many more, perhaps, for they get in the way of going therein the dry weather and never know the difference until the mirehas them in its clutches. It's a bad place, the great GrimpenMire."

"And you say you can penetrate it?"

"Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man cantake. I have found them out."

"But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?"

"Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cutoff on all sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled roundthem in the course of years. That is where the rare plants and thebutterflies are, if you have the wit to reach them."

"I shall try my luck some day."

He looked at me with a surprised face.

"For God's sake put such an idea out of your mind," said he.

"Your blood would be upon my head. I assure you that therewould not be the least chance of your coming back alive. It isonly by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am ableto do it."

"Halloa!" I cried. "What is that?"

A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. Itfilled the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence itcame. From a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and thensank back into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again.Stapleton looked at me with a curious expression in his face.

"Queer place, the moor!" said he.

"But what is it?"

"The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles callingfor its prey. I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite soloud."

I looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the hugeswelling plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothingstirred over the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croakedloudly from a tor behind us.

"You are an educated man. You don't believe such nonsenseas that?" said I. "What do you think is the cause of so strange asound?"

"Bogs make queer noises sometimes. It's the mud settling, orthe water rising, or something."

"No, no, that was a living voice."

"Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?"

"No, I never did."

"It's a very rare bird -- practically extinct -- in England now,but all things are possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not besurprised to learn that what we have heard is the cry of the last ofthe bitterns."

"It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in mylife."

"Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at thehillside yonder. What do you make of those?"

The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings ofstone, a score of them at least.

"What are they? Sheep-pens?"

"No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoricman lived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular haslived there since, we find all his little arrangements exactly as heleft them. These are his wigwams with the roofs off. You caneven see his hearth and his couch if you have the curiosity to goinside.

"But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?"

"Neolithic man -- no date."

"What did he do?"

"He grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to digfor tin when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe.Look at the great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark.Yes, you will find some very singular points about the moor, Dr.Watson. Oh, excuse me an instant! It is surely Cyclopides."

A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in aninstant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy andspeed in pursuit of it. To my dismay the creature flew straightfor the great mire, and my acquaintance never paused for aninstant, bounding from tuft to tuft behind it, his green net wavingin the air. His gray clothes and jerky, zigzag, irregular progressmade him not unlike some huge moth himself. I was standingwatching his pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity and fear lest he should lose his footing in thetreacherous mire when I heard the sound of steps and, turninground, found a woman near me upon the path. She had comefrom the direction in which the plume of smoke indicated theposition of Merripit House, but the dip of the moor had hid heruntil she was quite close.

I could not doubt that this was the Miss Stapleton of whom Ihad been told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon themoor, and I remembered that I had heard someone describe heras being a beauty. The woman who approached me was certainlythat, and of a most uncommon type. There could not have been agreater contrast between brother and sister, for Stapleton wasneutral tinted, with light hair and gray eyes, while she wasdarker than any brunette whom I have seen in England -- slim,elegant, and tall. She had a proud, finely cut face, so regular thatit might have seemed impassive were it not for the sensitivemouth and the beautiful dark, eager eyes. With her perfect figureand elegant dress she was, indeed, a strange apparition upon alonely moorland path. Her eyes were on her brother as I turned,and then she quickened her pace towards me. I had raised my hatand was about to make some explanatory remark when her ownwords turned all my thoughts into a new channel.

"Go back!" she said. "Go straight back to London, instantly."

I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed atme, and she tapped the ground impatiently with her foot.

"Why should I go back?" I asked.

"I cannot explain." She spoke in a low, eager voice, with acurious lisp in her utterance. "But for God's sake do what I askyou. Go back and never set foot upon the moor again."

"But I have only just come."

"Man, man!" she cried. "Can you not tell when a warning isfor your own good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get awayfrom this place at all costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not aword of what I have said. Would you mind getting that orchidfor me among the mare's-tails yonder? We are very rich inorchids on the moor, though, of course, you are rather late to seethe beauties of the place."

Stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to usbreathing hard and flushed with his exertions.

"Halloa, Beryl!" said he, and it seemed to me that the tone ofhis greeting was not altogether a cordial one.

"Well, Jack, you are very hot."

"Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. He is very rare and seldomfound in the late autumn. What a pity that I should have missedhim!" He spoke unconcernedly, but his small light eyes glancedincessantly from the girl to me.

"You have introduced yourselves, I can see."

"Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him tosee the true beauties of the moor."

"Why, who do you think this is?"

"I imagine that it must be Sir Henry Baskerville."

"No, no," said I. "Only a humble commoner, but his friend.My name is Dr. Watson."

A flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. "Wehave been talking at cross purposes," said she.

"Why, you had not very much time for talk," her brotherremarked with the same questioning eyes.

"I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of beingmerely a visitor," said she. "It cannot much matter to himwhether it is early or late for the orchids. But you will come on,will you not, and see Merripit House?"

A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, oncethe farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now putinto repair and turned into a modern dwelling. An orchardsurrounded it, but the trees, as is usual upon the moor, werestunted and nipped, and the effect of the whole place was meanand melancholy. We were admitted by a strange, wizened, rusty-coated old manservant, who seemed in keeping with the house.Inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with an elegance in which I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As Ilooked from their windows at the interminable granite-fleckedmoor rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon I could not butmarvel at what could have brought this highly educated man andthis beautiful woman to live in such a place.

"Queer spot to choose, is it not?" said he as if in answer tomy thought. "And yet we manage to make ourselves fairlyhappy, do we not, Beryl?"

"Quite happy," said she, but there was no ring of convictionin her words.

"I had a school," said Stapleton. "It was in the north country. The work to a man of my temperament was mechanical anduninteresting, but the privilege of living with youth, of helpingto mould those young minds, and of impressing them with one'sown character and ideals was very dear to me. However, thefates were against us. A serious epidemic broke out in the schooland three of the boys died. It never recovered from the blow, andmuch of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, ifit were not for the loss of the charming companionship of theboys, I could rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with mystrong tastes for botany and zoology, I find an unlimited field ofwork here, and my sister is as devoted to Nature as I am. Allthis, Dr. Watson, has been brought upon your head by yourexpression as you surveyed the moor out of our window."

"It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a littledull -- less for you, perhaps, than for your sister."

"No, no, I am never dull," said she quickly.

"We have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his ownline. Poor Sir Charles was also an admirable companion. Weknew him well and miss him more than I can tell. Do you thinkthat I should intrude if I were to call this afternoon and make theacquaintance of Sir Henry?"

"I am sure that he would be delighted."

"Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so.We may in our humble way do something to make things moreeasy for him until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you come upstairs, Dr. Watson, and inspect mycollection of Lepidoptera? I think it is the most complete one inthe south-west of England. By the time that you have lookedthrough them lunch will be almost ready."

But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy ofthe moor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird soundwhich had been associated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all these things tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then onthe top of these more or less vague impressions there had comethe definite and distinct warning of Miss Stapleton, deliveredwith such intense earnestness that I could not doubt that somegrave and deep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stayfor lunch, and I set off at once upon my return journey, takingthe grass-grown path by which we had come.

It seems, however, that there must have been some short cutfor those who knew it, for before I had reached the road I wasastounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the sideof the track. Her face was beautifully flushed with her exertionsand she held her hand to her side.

"I have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson,"said she. "I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop,or my brother may miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry Iam about the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were SirHenry. Please forget the words I said, which have no applicationwhatever to you."

"But I can't forget them, Miss Stapleton," said I. "I am SirHenry's friend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine.Tell me why it was that you were so eager that Sir Henry shouldreturn to London."

"A woman's whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me betteryou will understand that I cannot always give reasons for what Isay or do."

"No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remembe thelook in your eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, MissStapleton, for ever since I have been here I have been consciousof shadows all round me. Life has become like that great GrimpenMire, with little green patches everywhere into which one maysink and with no guide to point the track. Tell me then what itwas that you meant, and I will promise to convey your warningto Sir Henry."

An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over herface, but her eyes had hardened again when she answered me.

"You make too much of it, Dr. Watson," said she. "Mybrother and I were very much shocked by the death of SirCharles. We knew him very intimately, for his favourite walkwas over the moor to our house. He was deeply impressed withthe curse which hung over the family, and when this tragedycame I naturally felt that there must be some grounds for thefears which he had expressed. I was distressed therefore whenanother member of the family came down to live here, and I feltthat he should be warned of the danger which he will run. Thatwas all which I intended to convey.

"But what is the danger?"

"You know the story of the hound?"

"I do not believe in such nonsense."

"But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry, take himaway from a place which has always been fatal to his family.The world is wide. Why should he wish to live at the place ofdanger?"

"Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry's nature.I fear that unless you can give me some more definite information than this it would be impossible to get him to move."

"I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anythingdefinite."

"I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If youmeant no more than this when you first spoke to me, why shouldyou not wish your brother to overhear what you said? There isnothing to which he, or anyone else, could object."

"My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for hethinks it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. Hewould be very angry if he knew that I have said anything whichmight induce Sir Henry to go away. But I have done my dutynow and I will say no more. I must go back, or he will miss meand suspect that I have seen you. Good-bye!" She turned andhad disappeared in a few minutes among the scattered boulders,while I, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way toBaskerville Hall.