From this point onward I will follow the course of events bytranscribing my own letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which liebefore me on the table. One page is missing, but otherwise theyare exactly as written and show my feelings and suspicions of themoment more accurately than my memory, clear as it is uponthese tragic events, can possibly do.

My dear Holmes:

My previous letters and telegrams have kept you pretty wellup to date as to all that has occurred in this most God-forsakencorner of the world. The longer one stays here the more does thespirit of the moor sink into one's soul, its vastness, and also itsgrim charm. When you are once out upon its bosom you haveleft all traces of modern England behind you, but, on the otherhand, you are conscious everywhere of the homes and the workof the prehistoric people. On all sides of you as you walk are thehouses of these forgotten folk, with their graves and the hugemonoliths which are supposed to have marked their temples. Asyou look at their gray stone huts against the scarred hillsides youleave your own age behind you, and if you were to see askin-clad, hairy man crawl out from the low door fitting aflint-tipped arrow on to the string of his bow, you wouid feel thathis presence there was more natural than your own. The strangething is that they should have lived so thickly on what mustalways have been most unfruitful soil. I am no antiquarian, but Icould imagine that they were some unwarlike and harried racewho were forced to accept that which none other would occupy.

All this, however, is foreign to the mission on which you sentme and will probably be very uninteresting to your severelypractical mind. I can still remember your complete indifferenceas to whether the sun moved round the earth or the earth roundthe sun. Let me, therefore, return to the facts concerning SirHenry Baskerville.

If you have not had any report within the last few days it isbecause up to to-day there was nothing of importance to relate.Then a very surprising circumstance occurred, which I shall tellyou in due course. But, first of all, I must keep you in touchwith some of the other factors in the situation.

One of these, concerning which I have said little, is theescaped convict upon the moor. There is strong reason now tobelieve that he has got right away, which is a considerable reliefto the lonely householders of this district. A fortnight has passedsince his flight, during which he has not been seen and nothinghas been heard of him. It is surely inconceivable that he couldhave held out upon the moor during all that time. Of course, sofar as his concealment goes there is no difficulty at all. Any oneof these stone huts would give him a hiding-place. But there isnothing to eat unless he were to catch and slaughter one of themoor sheep. We think, therefore, that he has gone, and theoutlying farmers sleep the better in consequence.

We are four able-bodied men in this household, so that wecould take good care of ourselves, but I confess that I have haduneasy moments when I have thought of the Stapletons. Theylive miles from any help. There are one maid, an old manservant, the sister, and the brother, the latter not a very strong man.They would be helpless in the hands of a desperate fellow likethis Notting Hill criminal if he could once effect an entrance.Both Sir Henry and I were concerned at their situation, and itwas suggested that Perkins the groom should go over to sleepthere, but Stapleton would not hear of it.

The fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to display aconsiderable interest in our fair neighbour. It is not to be wondered at, for time hangs heavily in this lonely spot to an activeman like him, and she is a very fascinating and beautiful woman.There is something tropical and exotic about her which forms asingular contrast to her cool and unemotional brother. Yet healso gives the idea of hidden fires. He has certainly a verymarked influence over her, for I have seen her continually glanceat him as she talked as if seeking approbation for what she said. Itrust that he is kind to her. There is a dry glitter in his eyes and afirm set of his thin lips, which goes with a positive and possiblya harsh nature. You would find him an interesting study.

He came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, andthe very next morning he took us both to show us the spot wherethe legend of the wicked Hugo is supposed to have had itsorigin. It was an excursion of some miles across the moor to aplace which is so dismal that it might have suggested the story.We found a short valley between rugged tors which led to anopen, grassy space flecked over with the white cotton grass. Inthe middle of it rose two great stones, worn and sharpened at theupper end until they looked like the huge corroding fangs ofsome monstrous beast. In every way it corresponded with thescene of the old tragedy. Sir Henry was much interested andasked Stapleton more than once whether he did really believe inthe possibility of the interference of the supernatural in theaffairs of men. He spoke lightly, but it was evident that he wasvery much in earnest. Stapleton was guarded in his replies, but itwas easy to see that he said less than he might, and that hewould not express his whole opinion out of consideration for thefeelings of the baronet. He told us of similar cases, wherefamilies had suffered from some evil influence, and he left uswith the impression that he shared the popular view upon thematter.

On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and itwas there that Sir Henry made the acquaintance of Miss Stapleton.From the first moment that he saw her he appeared to be stronglyattracted by her, and I am much mistaken if the feeling was notmutual. He referred to her again and again on our walk home,and since then hardly a day has passed that we have not seensomething of the brother and sister. They dine here to-night, andthere is some talk of our going to them next week. One wouldimagine that such a match would be very welcome to Stapleton,and yet I have more than once caught a look of the strongestdisapprobation in his face when Sir Henry has been paying someattention to his sister. He is much attached to her, no doubt, andwould lead a lonely life without her, but it would seem theheight of selfishness if he were to stand in the way of her makingso brilliant a marriage. Yet I am certain that he does not wishtheir intimacy to ripen into love, and I have several timesobserved that he has taken pains to prevent them from beingtete-a-tete. By the way, your instructions to me never to allowSir Henry to go out alone will become very much more onerousif a love affair were to be added to our other difficulties. Mypopularity would soon suffer if I were to carry out your orders tothe letter.

The other day -- Thursday, to be more exact -- Dr. Mortimerlunched with us. He has been excavating a barrow at Long Downand has got a prehistoric skull which fills him with great joy.Never was there such a single-minded enthusiast as he! TheStapletons came in afterwards, and the good doctor took us all tothe yew alley at Sir Henry's request to show us exactly howeverything occurred upon that fatal night. It is a long, dismalwalk, the yew alley, between two high walls of clipped hedge,with a narrow band of grass upon either side. At the far end is anold tumble-down summer-house. Halfway down is the moorgate, where the old gentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a whitewooden gate with a latch. Beyond it lies the wide moor. Iremembered your theory of the affair and tried to picture all thathad occurred. As the old man stood there he saw somethingcoming across the moor, something which terrified him so thathe lost his wits and ran and ran until he died of sheer horror andexhaustion. There was the long, gloomy tunnel down which hefled. And from what? A sheep-dog of the moor? Or a spectralhound, black, silent, and monstrous? Was there a human agencyin the matter? Did the pale, watchful Barrymore know more thanhe cared to say? It was all dim and vague, but always there isthe dark shadow of crime behind it.

One other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr.Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the southof us. He is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric. His passion is for the British law, and he has spent a largefortune in litigation. He fights for the mere pleasure of fightingand is equally ready to take up either side of a question, so that itis no wonder that he has found it a costly amusement. Sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy the parish to makehim open it. At others he will with his own hands tear downsome other man's gate and declare that a path has existed therefrom time immemorial, defying the owner to prosecute him fortrespass. He is learned in old manorial and communal rights, andhe applies his knowledge sometimes in favour of the villagers ofFernworthy and sometimes against them, so that he is periodically either carried in triumph down the village street or elseburned in effigy, according to his latest exploit. He is said tohave about seven lawsuits upon his hands at present, which willprobably swallow up the remainder of his fortune and so drawhis sting and leave him harmless for the future. Apart from thelaw he seems a kindly, good-natured person, and I only mentionhim because you were particular that I should send some description of the people who surround us. He is curiously employed atpresent, for, being an amateur astronomer, he has an excellenttelescope, with which he lies upon the roof of his own house andsweeps the moor all day in the hope of catching a glimpse of theescaped convict. If he would confine his energies to this allwould be well, but there are rumours that he intends to prosecuteDr. Mortimer for opening a grave without the consent of the nextof kin because he dug up the neolithic skull in the barrow onLong Down. He helps to keep our lives from being monotonousand gives a little comic relief where it is badly needed.

And now, having brought you up to date in the escapedconvict, the Stapletons, Dr. Mortimer, and Frankland, of LafterHall, let me end on that which is most important and tell youmore about the Barrymores, and especially about the surprisingdevelopment of last night.

First of all about the test telegram, which you sent fromLondon in order to make sure that Barrymore was really here. Ihave already explained that the testimony of the postmastershows that the test was worthless and that we have no proof oneway or the other. I told Sir Henry how the matter stood, and heat once, in his downright fashion, had Barrymore up and askedhim whether he had received the telegram himself. Barrymoresaid that he had.

"Did the boy deliver it into your own hands?" asked SirHenry.

Barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time.

"No," said he, "I was in the box-room at the time, and mywife brought it up to me."

"Did you answer it yourself?"

"No; I told my wife what to answer and she went down towrite it."

In the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord.

"I could not quite understand the object of your questions thismorning, Sir Henry," said he. "I trust that they do not meanthat I have done anything to forfeit your confidence?"

Sir Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify himby giving him a considerable part of his old wardrobe, theLondon outfit having now all arrived.

Mrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solidperson, very limited, intensely respectable, and inclined to bepuritanical. You could hardly conceive a less emotional subject.Yet I have told you how, on the first night here, I heard hersobbing bitterly, and since then I have more than once observedtraces of tears upon her face. Some deep sorrow gnaws ever ather heart. Sometimes I wonder if she has a guilty memory whichhaunts her, and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being adomestic tyrant. I have always felt that there was somethingsingular and questionable in this man's character, but the adventure of last night brings all my suspicions to a head.

And yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are awarethat I am not a very sound sleeper, and since I have been onguard in this house my slumbers have been lighter than ever.Last night, about two in the morning, I was aroused by a stealthystep passing my room. I rose, opened my door, and peeped out.A long black shadow was trailing down the corridor. It wasthrown by a man who walked softly down the passage with acandle held in his hand. He was in shirt and trousers, with nocovering to his feet. I could merely see the outline, but his heighttold me that it was Barrymore. He walked very slowly andcircumspectly, and there was something indescribably guilty andfurtive in his whole appearance.

I have told you that the corridor is broken by the balconywhich runs round the hall, but that it is resumed upon the fartherside. I waited until he had passed out of sight and then Ifollowed him. When I came round the balcony he had reachedthe end of the farther corridor, and I could see from the glimmerof light through an open door that he had entered one of therooms. Now, all these rooms are unfurnished and unoccupied sothat his expedition became more mysterious than ever. The lightshone steadily as if he were standing motionless. I crept downthe passage as noiselessly as I could and peeped round the cornerof the door.

Barrymore was crouching at the window with the candle heldagainst the glass. His profile was half turned towards me, and hisface seemed to be rigid with expectation as he stared out into theblackness of the moor. For some minutes he stood watchingintently. Then he gave a deep groan and with an impatientgesture he put out the light. Instantly I made my way back to myroom, and very shortly came the stealthy steps passing once moreupon their return journey. Long afterwards when I had fallen intoa light sleep I heard a key turn somewhere in a lock, but I couldnot tell whence the sound came. What it all means I cannotguess, but there is some secret business going on in this house ofgloom which sooner or later we shall get to the bottom of. I donot trouble you with my theories, for you asked me to furnishyou only with facts. I have had a long talk with Sir Henry thismorning, and we have made a plan of campaign founded uponmy observations of last night. I will not speak about it just now,but it should make my next report interesting reading.