The Man On The Moor

Who was the man I had seen on High Tor? Was it the man Holmes and I had seen in London? But I was sure that the man on High Tor did not have a beard. Sir Henry did not see the man on the Tor and I said nothing to him.

There was nothing we could do for Selden. We went back to the house. What had Selden run away from? What had he seen? What had we heard? Was it the Hound of the Baskervilles? I felt safer in Baskerville Hall than out on the moor at night. Sir Henry felt the same.

In the morning, we sent for the police. They took Selden's body away.

Sir Henry told the Barrymores what had happened. But he did not speak about the strange sounds we had heard. Mrs Barrymore cried and covered her face with a handkerchief. Mr Barrymore said, 'It had to end. Poor Selden could not have lived on the moor in winter. It is far too cold.'

'Please forget what I said last night,' Sir Henry told them. 'I want you to stay at Baskerville Hall.'

'Thank you, sir. We will,' said Barrymore.

I went to my room and wrote a long report to Sherlock Holmes. Then I decided to go for a walk, but I did not want to walk on the moor. I did not like the moor.

Usually, I posted my letters to Holmes in Grimpen Village. But today I decided to walk to Coombe Tracey, the village to the south. It took me an hour to walk there along the road. On the way, I saw Stapleton.

'I heard you caught the escaped murderer,' said Stapleton. 'I will look forward to hearing the story from Sir Henry at dinner tomorrow.'

'Sir Henry is looking forward to dining with you and your sister tomorrow,' I replied.

'And so is my sister,' Stapleton said coldly. 'I look forward to seeing Sir Henry tomorrow at eight o'clock.'

'I will tell him,' I said. 'Good day.'

I walked on to Coombe Tracey and posted my letter. I saw a large house outside the village and asked who lived there.

'That is Mr Frankland's house,' the village shopkeeper told me.

Dr Mortimer had told me about Mr Frankland - and about Mr Frankland's interest in the stars. I decided to visit the gentleman and ask to see his telescope.

Mr Frankland was standing by his garden gate. He was a red-faced, elderly man with white hair.

'Good day,' I said, 'my name is Watson.'

'Dr Watson?' asked Mr Frankland.

'Yes,' I replied.

'I heard that you caught Selden last night on the moor,' said Mr Frankland. 'I nearly caught him myself.'

'How did you do that?' I asked in surprise.

'With my telescope. Come and see.'

Mr Frankland showed me into his house. I was very interested in his telescope. It was very large and powerful.

'I saw a man on the moor a number of times,' said Mr Frankland.

'Why did you not tell the police?' I asked.

'I was not sure that it was the murderer,' he replied. 'I began to think that perhaps there were two men on the moor. But why would anyone want to live out on the moor? There is no food and the weather is cold. Then, yesterday, I saw something.'

'What did you see?' I asked.

'I saw someone taking food out on the moor,' answered Mr Frankland.

'At night?' I asked. I thought of Barrymore and his signal light. Perhaps Mr Frankland had seen Barrymore taking food and clothing out to Selden.

'No,' said Mr Frankland. 'I saw a boy taking food during the day - and letters.'

'Letters?' I asked. 'Are you sure?'

'Very sure,' said Mr Frankland, 'because I know the boy. I asked the postman and learnt that the boy collects letters every day.'

'And where does he take them?' I asked.

'Look through the telescope,' said Mr Frankland. 'Look at that old farmhouse to the right of High Tor. That is High Tor Farm. Someone lives there, but I do not know who. He is a stranger.'

I looked through the telescope at High Tor. On the left of the Tor I saw the roof of Merripit House, where the Stapletons lived. On the right, I saw an old farmhouse. The roof was broken and so was one wall. But I saw smoke coming from the chimney.

'Thank you, Mr Frankland,' I said. 'Whoever lives there is not Selden. Selden is dead.'

I said goodbye to Mr Frankland. Then I decided to walk across the moor and look at old High Tor Farm. It was a mile or two away and I reached it late in the afternoon. The sun was low in the sky and the air was cold.

I walked up to the farmhouse slowly. The door broken and I looked inside. The farmhouse was empty and silent.

Part of the farmhouse was dry, where the roof was not broken. There was a wood fire on the floor and a bed in the corner. A lamp stood on a table with a pile of papers next to it.

I went into the farmhouse carefully. I put my hand into my jacket pocket where I kept my army revolver. I walked slowly to the table and looked at the pile of papers. I saw one of my own letters. Someone had stolen one of my own letters!

Who lived in the farmhouse? Was it the man with the black beard? Was it the man I had seen on the Tor?

I soon found out, as I heard the sound of footsteps outside. I took my revolver out of my pocket and turned towards the door. A tall, thin man stood in the doorway with his back to the setting sun. I could not see his face.

'It is a lovely evening, isn't it Watson?' the man said.

The man was Sherlock Holmes.

Chapter eleven

High Tor Farm

'Holmes!' I said in surprise. 'What are you doing here?'

'I am watching,' said Holmes. 'I am waiting for the murderer to show himself.'

'The murderer? Do you mean Selden? Selden is dead.'

'I know. I was on the Tor last night and saw what happened,' Holmes said. 'Someone wanted to kill Sir Henry Baskerville, not Selden.'

'But how long have you been here?' I asked. 'And why are you here in secret?'

'I came here on the same day as you,' answered Sherlock Holmes. 'I came in secret because the murderer is clever. He will not show himself if he knows I am here.'

'And what about my letters?' I asked. 'Have you read them?'

'Yes, I have,' Holmes replied. 'They were sent to me from London. But I have not read your report of last night. Come. Tell me about it as we walk to Baskerville Hall.

He left the farmhouse and I walked quickly after him. The sun had gone down and it was getting dark. A thick white mist was rising from the moor.

'You are a good detective,' said Holmes. 'Tell me, how did you find me? How did you know I was at High Tor Farm?'

'I did not know it was you,' I answered. 'Mr Frankland saw you through his telescope. And he saw the boy who brought you food and letters. He thought you were Selden, the murderer. Also, I saw you last night on the Tor.'

'I see,' said Holmes. 'If you saw me, I think the murderer of Sir Charles Baskerville saw me too. He will want to kill me as well as Sir Henry.'

'So,' I said, 'you think that Sir Charles was murdered?'

'I am sure of it,' said Holmes. 'Now, stay on the path.'

It was dark and the moon had not come up. We had to walk carefully. The path went through the Great Grimpen Mire and a sea of soft mud lay under the grass on either side of us.

Behind us, we heard that strange sound, the deep howling sound I had heard on the moor last night. It made me shiver with fear.

'What is it, Holmes?' I asked. 'Do you know what makes that sound.'

'No,' he answered, 'but the village people say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles. I will not go back to High Tor Farm tonight. Come. We must hurry. Keep your revolver ready.'

We walked quickly along the dark path. I was pleased to see the lights of Baskerville Hall in front of us. I was afraid of what was behind us - out on the moor, at night.

Chapter twelve

Setting the Trap

'Mr Sherlock Holmes,' said Sir Henry Baskerville, 'what a surprise! Welcome to Baskerville Hall.'

'Thank you,' said Holmes. 'But you did not obey my orders. Last night you went out on the moor. You were nearly murdered!'

'But I did not go alone,' said Sir Henry. 'Dr Watson was with me. He has a revolver to protect me.'

'And I shall protect you too,' said Holmes. 'Next time you go out on the moor at night, both Dr Watson and I will go with you.'

'The next time...' Sir Henry began.

'The next time will be tomorrow night,' said Holmes. 'Dr Watson tells me that you are going to dinner at Merripit House on the moor. I believe the Stapletons have invited you.'

'Yes,' Sir Henry said. 'And has Dr Watson told you that I want to marry Miss Stapleton?'

'Yes, he has,' said Holmes. 'Now I would like to ask Barrymore some questions.'

Sir Henry called for his servant, Barrymore. Barrymore came and stood in front of us. Sherlock Holmes looked at him carefully. Was this the man with the black beard we had seen in London?

'Tell me about Sir Charles Baskerville,' Holmes said to Barrymore. 'Did he often go for a walk at night?'

'No, sir,' said Barrymore, 'Sir Charles did not often leave the house at night.'

'But, on the night he died, he went for a walk on the edge of the moor,' said Holmes. 'We know he stood by the gate on the edge of the moor for about ten minutes. Was he waiting for someone?'

'I'm not sure, sir,' said Barrymore. 'I remember that Sir Charles received a letter that day.'

'A letter?' Holmes asked. 'Why do you remember this letter? Did you read it?'

'No, sir,' Barrymore said. 'I never read Sir Charles' letters. But Sir Charles usually kept his letters on his desk. This letter was unusual. He read it. Then he put it on the fire.'

'Oh, so he burnt it,' Holmes said. 'Perhaps this letter asked him to meet someone. Perhaps he went to this meeting and met someone - or something.'

'But why did Sir Charles burn the letter?' I asked.

'Why do people burn letters, Watson?' asked Holmes. 'Often because they have something to hide. But Sir Charles was afraid to go out on the moor at night. Dr Mortimer told us that Sir Charles believed the story of the Hound of the Baskervilles. Why would he go out on the moor, alone, at night? If he was going to meet someone, it was someone he knew. But why meet on the edge of the moor? Was it a secret meeting?'

'Do you think Sir Charles was murdered by a friend?' I asked.

'I think he knew his murderer,' replied Holmes. 'And I think his murderer is not far away.'

After dinner, we sat in the library. There were paintings of the Baskerville family hanging on the walls. Some of the paintings were very old.

Sherlock Holmes looked at the paintings carefully. He was interested in the painting of Sir Hugo Baskerville, dated 1645.

'Interesting, Watson, very interesting,' said Holmes. 'Here is a painting of Sir Hugo, the man who started the story of the Hound of the Baskervilles. I am able to remember faces. Look at this black beard and the face. Have you seen this face before?'

'Yes, Holmes,' I said. 'It is the face of the man we saw in London. It is the man who followed Sir Henry in a cab!'

Chapter thirteen

Date: 2016-04-22; view: 1363