The Hound of the Baskervilles
overtake him, so I set off at once in the direction of Merripit
House.
I hurried along the road at the top of my speed without seeing
anything of Sir Henry, until I came to the point where the moor
path branches off. There, fearing that perhaps I had come in the
wrong direction after all, I mounted a hill from which I could
command a view—the same hill which is cut into the dark quarry.
Thence I saw him at once. He was on the moor path about a quarter
of a mile off, and a lady was by his side who could only be Miss
Stapleton. It was clear that there was already an understanding
between them and that they had met by appointment. They were
walking slowly along in deep conversation, and I saw her making
quick little movements of her hands as if she were very earnest
in what she was saying, while he listened intently, and once or
twice shook his head in strong dissent. I stood among the rocks
watching them, very much puzzled as to what I should do next. To
follow them and break into their intimate conversation seemed to
be an outrage, and yet my clear duty was never for an instant to
let him out of my sight. To act the spy upon a friend was a
hateful task. Still, I could see no better course than to observe
him from the hill, and to clear my conscience by confessing to
him afterwards what I had done. It is true that if any sudden
danger had threatened him I was too far away to be of use, and
yet I am sure that you will agree with me that the position was
very difficult, and that there was nothing more which I could do.
Our friend, Sir Henry, and the lady had halted on the path and
were standing deeply absorbed in their conversation, when I was
suddenly aware that I was not the only witness of their
interview. A wisp of green floating in the air caught my eye, and
another glance showed me that it was carried on a stick by a man
who was moving among the broken ground. It was Stapleton with his
butterfly-net. He was very much closer to the pair than I was,
and he appeared to be moving in their direction. At this instant
Sir Henry suddenly drew Miss Stapleton to his side. His arm was
round her, but it seemed to me that she was straining away from
him with her face averted. He stooped his head to hers, and she
raised one hand as if in protest. Next moment I saw them spring
apart and turn hurriedly round. Stapleton was the cause of the
interruption. He was running wildly towards them, his absurd net
dangling behind him. He gesticulated and almost danced with
excitement in front of the lovers. What the scene meant I could
not imagine, but it seemed to me that Stapleton was abusing Sir
Henry, who offered explanations, which became more angry as the
other refused to accept them. The lady stood by in haughty
silence. Finally Stapleton turned upon his heel and beckoned in a
peremptory way to his sister, who, after an irresolute glance at
Sir Henry, walked off by the side of her brother. The
naturalist’s angry gestures showed that the lady was included in
his displeasure. The baronet stood for a minute looking after
them, and then he walked slowly back the way that he had come,
his head hanging, the very picture of dejection.
What all this meant I could not imagine, but I was deeply ashamed
to have witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend’s
knowledge. I ran down the hill therefore and met the baronet at
the bottom. His face was flushed with anger and his brows were
wrinkled, like one who is at his wit’s ends what to do.
“Halloa, Watson! Where have you dropped from?” said he. “You
don’t mean to say that you came after me in spite of all?”
I explained everything to him: how I had found it impossible to
remain behind, how I had followed him, and how I had witnessed
all that had occurred. For an instant his eyes blazed at me, but
my frankness disarmed his anger, and he broke at last into a
rather rueful laugh.
“You would have thought the middle of that prairie a fairly safe
place for a man to be private,” said he, “but, by thunder, the
whole countryside seems to have been out to see me do my
wooing—and a mighty poor wooing at that! Where had you engaged a
seat?”
“I was on that hill.”
“Quite in the back row, eh? But her brother was well up to the
front. Did you see him come out on us?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did he ever strike you as being crazy—this brother of hers?”
“I can’t say that he ever did.”
“I dare say not. I always thought him sane enough until today,
but you can take it from me that either he or I ought to be in a
straitjacket. What’s the matter with me, anyhow? You’ve lived
near me for some weeks, Watson. Tell me straight, now! Is there
anything that would prevent me from making a good husband to a
woman that I loved?”
“I should say not.”
“He can’t object to my worldly position, so it must be myself
that he has this down on. What has he against me? I never hurt
man or woman in my life that I know of. And yet he would not so
much as let me touch the tips of her fingers.”
“Did he say so?”
“That, and a deal more. I tell you, Watson, I’ve only known her
these few weeks, but from the first I just felt that she was made
for me, and she, too—she was happy when she was with me, and that
I’ll swear. There’s a light in a woman’s eyes that speaks louder
than words. But he has never let us get together and it was only
today for the first time that I saw a chance of having a few
words with her alone. She was glad to meet me, but when she did
it was not love that she would talk about, and she wouldn’t have
let me talk about it either if she could have stopped it. She
kept coming back to it that this was a place of danger, and that
she would never be happy until I had left it. I told her that
since I had seen her I was in no hurry to leave it, and that if
she really wanted me to go, the only way to work it was for her
to arrange to go with me. With that I offered in as many words to
marry her, but before she could answer, down came this brother of
hers, running at us with a face on him like a madman. He was just
white with rage, and those light eyes of his were blazing with
fury. What was I doing with the lady? How dared I offer her
attentions which were distasteful to her? Did I think that
because I was a baronet I could do what I liked? If he had not
been her brother I should have known better how to answer him. As
it was I told him that my feelings towards his sister were such
as I was not ashamed of, and that I hoped that she might honour
me by becoming my wife. That seemed to make the matter no better,
so then I lost my temper too, and I answered him rather more
hotly than I should perhaps, considering that she was standing
by. So it ended by his going off with her, as you saw, and here
am I as badly puzzled a man as any in this county. Just tell me
what it all means, Watson, and I’ll owe you more than ever I can
hope to pay.”
I tried one or two explanations, but, indeed, I was completely
puzzled myself. Our friend’s title, his fortune, his age, his
character, and his appearance are all in his favour, and I know
nothing against him unless it be this dark fate which runs in his
family. That his advances should be rejected so brusquely without
any reference to the lady’s own wishes and that the lady should
accept the situation without protest is very amazing. However,
our conjectures were set at rest by a visit from Stapleton
himself that very afternoon. He had come to offer apologies for
his rudeness of the morning, and after a long private interview
with Sir Henry in his study the upshot of their conversation was
that the breach is quite healed, and that we are to dine at
Merripit House next Friday as a sign of it.
“I don’t say now that he isn’t a crazy man,” said Sir Henry; “I
can’t forget the look in his eyes when he ran at me this morning,
but I must allow that no man could make a more handsome apology
than he has done.”
“Did he give any explanation of his conduct?”
“His sister is everything in his life, he says. That is natural
enough, and I am glad that he should understand her value. They
have always been together, and according to his account he has
been a very lonely man with only her as a companion, so that the
thought of losing her was really terrible to him. He had not
understood, he said, that I was becoming attached to her, but
when he saw with his own eyes that it was really so, and that she
might be taken away from him, it gave him such a shock that for a
time he was not responsible for what he said or did. He was very
sorry for all that had passed, and he recognized how foolish and
how selfish it was that he should imagine that he could hold a
beautiful woman like his sister to himself for her whole life. If
she had to leave him he had rather it was to a neighbour like
myself than to anyone else. But in any case it was a blow to him
and it would take him some time before he could prepare himself
to meet it. He would withdraw all opposition upon his part if I
would promise for three months to let the matter rest and to be
content with cultivating the lady’s friendship during that time
without claiming her love. This I promised, and so the matter
rests.”
So there is one of our small mysteries cleared up. It is
something to have touched bottom anywhere in this bog in which we
are floundering. We know now why Stapleton looked with disfavour
upon his sister’s suitor—even when that suitor was so eligible a
one as Sir Henry. And now I pass on to another thread which I
have extricated out of the tangled skein, the mystery of the sobs
in the night, of the tear-stained face of Mrs. Barrymore, of the
secret journey of the butler to the western lattice window.
Congratulate me, my dear Holmes, and tell me that I have not
disappointed you as an agent—that you do not regret the
confidence which you showed in me when you sent me down. All
these things have by one night’s work been thoroughly cleared.
I have said “by one night’s work,” but, in truth, it was by two
nights’ work, for on the first we drew entirely blank. I sat up
with Sir Henry in his rooms until nearly three o’clock in the
morning, but no sound of any sort did we hear except the chiming
clock upon the stairs. It was a most melancholy vigil and ended
by each of us falling asleep in our chairs. Fortunately we were
not discouraged, and we determined to try again. The next night
we lowered the lamp and sat smoking cigarettes without making the
least sound. It was incredible how slowly the hours crawled by,
and yet we were helped through it by the same sort of patient
interest which the hunter must feel as he watches the trap into
which he hopes the game may wander. One struck, and two, and we
had almost for the second time given it up in despair when in an