So far I have been able to quote from the reports which Ihave forwarded during these early days to Sherlock Holmes.Now, however, I have arrived at a point in my narrative where Iam compelled to abandon this method and to trust once more tomy recollections, aided by the diary which I kept at the time. Afew extracts from the latter will carry me on to those sceneswhich are indelibly fixed in every detail upon my memory. Iproceed, then, from the morning which followed our abortivechase of the convict and our other strange experiences upon themoor.

October 16th. A dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. Thehouse is banked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and thento show the dreary curves of the moor, with thin, silver veinsupon the sides of the hills, and the distant boulders gleamingwhere the light strikes upon their wet faces. It is melancholyoutside and in. The baronet is in a black reaction after theexcitements of the night. I am conscious myself of a weight atmy heart and a feeling of impending danger -- ever present danger, which is the more terrible because I am unable to define it.

And have I not cause for such a feeling? Consider the longsequence of incidents which have all pointed to some sinisterinfluence which is at work around us. There is the death of thelast occupant of the Hall, fulfilling so exactly the conditions ofthe family legend, and there are the repeated reports from peasants of the appearance of a strange creature upon the moor.Twice I have with my own ears heard the sound which resembled the distant baying of a hound. It is incredible, impossible,that it should really be outside the ordinary laws of nature. Aspectral hound which leaves material footmarks and fills the airwith its howling is surely not to be thought of. Stapleton may fallin with such a superstition, and Mortimer also, but if I have onequality upon earth it is common sense, and nothing will persuademe to believe in such a thing. To do so would be to descend tothe level of these poor peasants, who are not content with a merefiend dog but must needs describe him with hell-fire shootingfrom his mouth and eyes. Holmes would not listen to suchfancies, and I am his agent. But facts are facts, and I have twiceheard this crying upon the moor. Suppose that there were reallysome huge hound loose upon it; that would go far to explaineverything. But where could such a hound lie concealed, wheredid it get its food, where did it come from, how was it that noone saw it by day? It must be confessed that the natural explanation offers almost as many difficulties as the other. And always,apart from the hound, there is the fact of the human agency inLondon, the man in the cab, and the letter which warned SirHenry against the moor. This at least was real, but it might havebeen the work of a protecting friend as easily as of an enemy.Where is that friend or enemy now? Has he remained in London,or has he followed us down here? Could he -- could he be thestranger whom I saw upon the tor?

It is true that I have had only the one glance at him, and yetthere are some things to which I am ready to swear. He is no onewhom I have seen down here, and I have now met all theneighbours. The figure was far taller than that of Stapleton, farthinner than that of Frankland. Barrymore it might possibly havebeen, but we had left him behind us, and I am certain that hecould not have followed us. A stranger then is still dogging us,just as a stranger dogged us in London. We have never shakenhim off. If I could lay my hands upon that man, then at last wemight find ourselves at the end of all our difficulties. To this onepurpose I must now devote all my energies.

My first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. Mysecond and wisest one is to play my own game and speak as littleas possible ta anyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves havebeen strangely shaken by that sound upon the moor. I will saynothing to add to his anxieties, but I will take my own steps toattain my own end.

We had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymoreasked leave to speak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted inhis study some little time. Sitting in the billiard-room I morethan once heard the sound of voices raised, and I had a prettygood idea what the point was which was under discussion. Aftera time the baronet opened his door and called for me.

"Barrymore considers that he has a grievance," he said. "Hethinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-lawdown when he, of his own free will, had told us the secret."

The butler was standing very pale but very collected before us.

"I may have spoken too warmly, sir," said he, "and if I have, I am sure that I beg your pardon. At the same time, I wasvery much surprised when I heard you two gentlemen come backthis morning and learned that you had been chasing Selden. Thepoor fellow has enough to fight against without my putting moreupon his track."

"If you had told us of your own free will it would have been adifferent thing," said the baronet, "you only told us, or ratheryour wife only told us, when it was forced from you and youcould not help yourself."

"I didn't think you would have taken advantage of it, Sir Henry -- indeed I didn't."

"The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses scattered over the moor, and he is a fellow who would stick atnothing. You only want to get a glimpse of his face to see that.Look at Mr. Stapleton's house, for example, with no one buthimself to defend it. There's no safety for anyone untill he isunder lock and key."

"He'll break into no house, sir. I give you my solemn wordupon that. But he will never trouble anyone in this countryagain. I assure you, Sir Henry, that in a very few days thenecessary arrangements will have been made and he will be onhis way to South America. For God's sake, sir, I beg of you notto let the police know that he is still on the moor. They havegiven up the chase there, and he can lie quiet until the ship isready for him. You can't tell on him without getting my wifeand me into trouble. I beg you, sir, to say nothing to thepolice."

"What do you say, Watson?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "If he were safely out of thecountry it would relieve the tax-payer of a burden."

"But how about the chance of his holding someone up beforehe goes?"

"He would not do anything so mad, sir. We have providedhim with all that he can want. To commit a crime would be toshow where he was hiding."

"That is true," said Sir Henry. "Well, Barrymore --"

"God bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart! It wouldhave killed my poor wife had he been taken again."

"I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson? But,after what we have heard I don't feel as if I could give the manup, so there is an end of it. All right, Barrymore, you can go."

With a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but hehesitated and then came back.

"You've been so kind to us, sir, that I should like to do thebest I can for you in return. I know something, Sir Henry, andperhaps I should have said it before, but it was long after theinquest that I found it out. I've never breathed a word about ityet to mortal man. It's about poor Sir Charles's death."

The baronet and I were both upon our feet. "Do you knowhow he died?"

"No, sir, I don't know that."

"What then?"

"I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet awoman."

"To meet a woman! He?"

"Yes, sir."

"And the woman's name?"

"I can't give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials.Her initials were L. L."

"How do you know this, Barrymore?"

"Well, Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. Hehad usually a great many letters, for he was a public man andwell known for his kind heart, so that everyone who was introuble was glad to turn to him. But that morning, as it chanced,there was only this one letter, so I took the more notice of it. Itwas from Coombe Tracey, and it was addressed in a woman'shand."

"Well?"

"Well, sir, I thought no more of the matter, and never wouldhave done had it not been for my wife. Only a few weeks agoshe was cleaning out Sir Charles's study -- it had never beentouched since his death -- and she found the ashes of a burnedletter in the back of the grate. The greater part of it was charredto pieces, but one little slip, the end of a page, hung together,and the writing could still be read, though it was gray on a blackground. It seemed to us to be a postscript at the end of the letterand it said: 'Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn thisletter, and be at the gate by ten o clock. Beneath it were signedthe initials L. L."

"Have you got that slip?"

"No, sir, it crumbled all to bits after we moved it."

"Had Sir Charles received any other lettefs in the samewritting?"

"Well, sir, I took no particular notice of his letters. I shouldnot have noticed this one, only it happened to come alone."

"And you have no idea who L. L. is?"

"No, sir. No more than you have. But I expect if we could layour hands upon that lady we should know more about Sir Charles'sdeath."

"I cannot understand, Barrymore, how you came to concealthis important information."

"Well, sir, it was immediately after that our own trouble cameto us. And then again, sir, we were both of us very fond of SirCharles, as we well might be considering all that he has done forus. To rake this up couldn't help our poor master, and it's wellto go carefully when there's a lady in the case. Even the best ofus --"

"You thought it might injure his reputation?"

"Well, sir, I thought no good could come of it. But now youhave been kind to us, and I feel as if it would be treating youunfairly not to tell you all that I know about the matter."

"Very good, Barrymore; you can go." When the butler hadleft us Sir Henry turned to me. "Well, Watson, what do youthink of this new light?"

"It seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before."

"So I think. But if we can only trace L. L. it should clear upthe whole business. We have gained that much. We know thatthere is someone who has the facts if we can only find her. Whatdo you think we should do?"

"Let Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him theclue for which he has been seeking. I am much mistaken if itdoes not bring him down."

I went at once to my room and drew up my report of themorning's conversation for Holmes. It was evident to me that hehad been very busy of late, for the notes which I had from BakerStreet were few and short, with no comments upon the information which I had supplied and hardly any reference to my mission. No doubt his blackmailing case is absorbing all his faculties.And yet this new factor must surely arrest his attention andrenew his interest. I wish that he were here.

October 17th. All day to-day the rain poured down, rustlingon the ivy and dripping from the eaves. I thought of the convictout upon the bleak, cold, shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whateverhis crimes, he has suffered something to atone for them. Andthen I thought of that other one -- the face in the cab, the figureagainst the moon. Was he also out in that deluged -- the unseenwatcher, the man of darkness? In the evening I put on mywaterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of darkimaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling about my ears. God help those who wander into the greatmire now, for even the firm uplands are becoming a morass. Ifound the black tor upon which I had seen the solitary watcher,and from its craggy summit I looked out myself across themelancholy downs. Rain squalls drifted across their russet face,and the heavy, slate-coloured clouds hung low over the landscape, trailing in gray wreaths down the sides of the fantastichills. In the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist,the two thin towers of Baskerville Hall rose above the trees.They were the only signs of human life which I could see, saveonly those prehistoric huts which lay thickly upon the slopes ofthe hills. Nowhere was there any trace of that lonely man whomI had seen on the same spot two nights before.

As I walked back I was overtaken by Dr. Mortimer driving inhis dog-cart over a rough moorland track which led from theoutlying farmhouse of Foulmire. He has been very attentive tous, and hardly a day has passed that he has not called at the Hallto see how we were getting on. He insisted upon my climbinginto his dog-cart, and he gave me a lift homeward. I found himmuch troubled over the disappearance of his little spaniel. It hadwandered on to the moor and had never come back. I gave himsuch consolation as I might, but I thought of the pony on theGrimpen Mire, and I do not fancy that he will see his little dogagain.

"By the way, Mortimer," said I as we jolted along the roughroad, "I suppose there are few people living within drivingdistance of this whom you do not know?"

"Hardly any, I think."

"Can you, then, tell me the name of any woman whoseinitials are L. L.?"

He thought for a few minutes.

"No," said he. "There are a few gipsies and labouring folkfor whom I can't answer, but among the farmers or gentry thereis no one whose initials are those. Wait a bit though," he addedafter a pause. "There is Laura Lyons -- her initials are L. L. -- butshe lives in Coombe Tracey."

"Who is she?" I asked.

"She is Frankland's daughter."

"What! Old Frankland the crank?"

"Exactly. She married an artist named Lyons, who camesketching on the moor. He proved to be a blackguard anddeserted her. The fault from what I hear may not have beenentirely on one side. Her father refused to have anything to dowith her because she had married without his consent and perhaps for one or two other reasons as well. So, between the oldsinner and the young one the girl has had a pretty bad time."

"How does she live?"

"I fancy old Frankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot bemore, for his own affairs are considerably involved. Whatevershe may have deserved one could not allow her to go hopelesslyto the bad. Her story got about, and several of the people heredid something to enable her to earn an honest living. Stapletondid for one, and Sir Charles for another. I gave a trifle myself. Itwas to set her up in a typewriting business."

He wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but I managedto satisfy his curiosity without telling him too much, for there isno reason why we should take anyone into our confidence.To-morrow morning I shall find my way to Coombe Tracey, andif I can see this Mrs. Laura Lyons, of equivocal reputation, along step will have been made towards clearing one incident inthis chain of mysteries. I am certainly developing the wisdom ofthe serpent, for when Mortimer pressed his questions to aninconvenient extent I asked him casually to what type Frankland's skull belonged, and so heard nothing but craniology forthe rest of our drive. I have not lived for years with SherlockHolmes for nothing.

I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuousand melancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymorejust now, which gives me one more strong card which I can playin due time.

Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet playedecarte afterwards. The butler brought me my coffee into thelibrary, and I took the chance to ask him a few questions.

"Well," said I, "has this precious relation of yours departed,or is he still lurking out yonder?"

"I don't know, sir. I hope to heaven that he has gone, for hehas brought nothing but trouble here! I've not heard of him sinceI left out food for him last, and that was three days ago."

"Did you see him then?"

"No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way."

"Then he was certainly there?"

"So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man whotook it."

I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared atBarrymore.

"You know that there is another man then?"

"Yes, sir; there is another man upon the moor."

"Have you seen him?"

"No, sir."

"How do you know of him then?"

"Selden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. He's inhiding, too, but he's not a convict as far as I can make out. Idon't like it, Dr. Watson -- I tell you straight, sir, that I don't likeit." He spoke with a sudden passion of earnestness.

"Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in thismatter but that of your master. I have come here with no objectexcept to help him. Tell me, frankly, what it is that you don'tlike."

Barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted hisoutburst or found it difficult to express his own feelings inwords.

"It's all these goings-on, sir," he cried at last, waving hishand towards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor."There's foul play somewhere, and there's black villainy brewing, to that I'll swear! Very glad I should be, sir, to see SirHenry on his way back to London again!"

"But what is it that alarms you?"

"Look at Sir Charles's death! That was bad enough, for allthat the coroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night.There's not a man would cross it after sundown if he was paidfor it. Look at this stranger hiding out yonder, and watching andwaiting! What's he waiting for? What does it mean? It means nogood to anyone of the name of Baskerville, and very glad I shallbe to be quit of it all on the day that Sir Henry's new servants areready to take over the Hall."

"But about this stranger," said I. "Can you tell me anythingabout him? What did Selden say? Did he find out where he hid,or what he was doing?"

"He saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one and givesnothing away. At first he thought that he was the police, butsoon he found that he had some lay of his own. A kind ofgentleman he was, as far as he could see, but what he was doinghe could not make out."

"And where did he say that he lived?"

"Among the old houses on the hillside -- the stone huts wherethe old folk used to live."

"But how about his food?"

"Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him andbrings all he needs. I dare say he goes to Coombe Tracey forwhat he wants."

"Very good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this someother time." When the butler had gone I walked over to theblack window, and I looked through a blurred pane at the drivingclouds and at the tossing outline of the wind-swept trees. It is awild night indoors, and what must it be in a stone hut upon themoor. What passion of hatred can it be which leads a man to lurkin such a place at such a time! And what deep and earnestpurpose can he have which calls for such a trial! There, in thathut upon the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problemwhich has vexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall nothave passed before I have done all that man can do to reach theheart of the mystery.