September 18, 2025 • 32 mins
07 - The Stapletons of Merripit House. The Hound of The Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
The Hound of the Baskervilles is the third of the four crime novels written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle featuring the detective Sherlock Holmes. Originally serialised in The Strand Magazine from August 1901 to April 1902, it is set largely on Dartmoor in Devon in England's West Country and tells the story of an attempted murder inspired by the legend of a fearsome, diabolical hound of supernatural origin. Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr. Watson investigate the case. This was the first appearance of Holmes since his intended death in "The Final Problem", and the success of The Hound of the Baskervilles led to the character's eventual revival.
The Hound of the Baskervilles is the third of the four crime novels written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle featuring the detective Sherlock Holmes. Originally serialised in The Strand Magazine from August 1901 to April 1902, it is set largely on Dartmoor in Devon in England's West Country and tells the story of an attempted murder inspired by the legend of a fearsome, diabolical hound of supernatural origin. Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr. Watson investigate the case. This was the first appearance of Holmes since his intended death in "The Final Problem", and the success of The Hound of the Baskervilles led to the character's eventual revival.
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
Chapter seven of the Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Bobnefeld, Chapter seven, the Stapletons of Merripitt House.
The fresh beauty of the following morning did something to
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efface from our minds the grim and gray impression which
had been left upon both of us by our first
experience of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat
at breakfast, the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows,
throwing watery patches of color from the coats of arms
which covered them. The dark paneling glowed like bronze in
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the golden rays, and it was hard to realize that
this was indeed the chamber which had struck such a
gloom into our souls upon the evening before. I guess
it is ourselves and not the house, that we have
to blame, said the Baronet. We were tired with our
journey and chilled by our drive, so we took a
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grave view of the place. Now we are fresh and well,
so it is all cheerful once more. Yet it is
not entirely a question of imagination, I answered, did you,
for example, happen to hear some one a woman, I think,
sobbing in the night. That is curious, for I did,
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when I was half asleep, fancy that I heard something
of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there
was no 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 sob of a woman.
We must ask about this right away. He rang the
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bell and asked Barrymore whether he could account for our experience.
It seemed to me that the pallid features of the
butler turned a shade paler still as he listened to
his master's question. There are only two women in the house,
Sir Henry, he answered. One is the scullery maid, who
sleeps in the other wing. The other is my wife,
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and I can answer for it that the sound could
not have come from her. And yet he lied as
he said it. For it chanced that after breakfast I
met missus Barrymore in the long corridor, with the sun
full upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy
featured woman with a stern set expression of mouth. But
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her tail tale eyes were red and glanced at me
from between swollen lids. It was she then who wept
in the night, and if she did so, her husband
must know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk
of discovery in declaring that it was not so. Why
had he done this? And why did she weep so bitterly?
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Already round this page faced handsome black bearded man, there
was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It
was he who had been the first to discover the
body of Sir Charles, and we had only his word
for all the circumstances which led up to the old
man's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore, after all,
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whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street.
The beard might well have been the same the cabman
had described a somewhat shorter man. But such an impression
might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the
point forever? O busily? The first thing to do was
to see the grimp and postmaster and find whether the
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test telegram had really been placed in Barrymore's own hands.
Be the answer what it might? I should at least
have something to report to Sherlock Holm's. Sir Henry had
numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that the time
was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasant walk
of four miles along the edge of the moor, leading
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me at last to a small gray hamlet, in which
two larger buildings, which proved to be the Inn and
the house of Doctor Mortimer, stood high above 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 to mister Barrmore exactly as directed.
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Who delivered it? My boy here, James, you delivered that
telegram to mister 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 not put it into
his own hands. But I gave it to missus Barrymore's hands,
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and she promised to deliver it at once. Did you
see mister Barrmore, No, Sir, I tell you he was
in the loft. If you didn't see him, how did
you know he was in the loft? Well, surely his
own wife ought to know where he is, said the
poastmaster testily, didn't he get the telegram? If there is
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any mistake, it is for mister Barrymore himself to complain.
It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any father, that
it was clear that, in spite of Holmes's ruse, we
had no proof that Barrymore had not been in London
all the time. Suppose it were so, suppose that the
same man had been the last who had seen Sir
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Charles alive, and the first to dog the new heir
when he returned to England. What then, was he the
agent of others? Or had he some sinister design of
his own? What interest could he have in persecuting the
Baskerville family? I thought of the strange warning clipped out
of the leading article of the Times? Was that his work?
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Or was it possibly the doing of some one who
was bent upon counteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive
was that which had been suggested by Sir Henry, that
if the family could be scared away, a comfortable and
permanent home would be secured for the Barrymoores. But surely
such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate to
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account for the deep and subtle scheming which seemed to
be weaving an invisible net round the young baronet. Holmes
himself had said that no more complex case had come
to him in all the long series of his sensational investigations.
I prayed as I walked back along the gray, lonely road,
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that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations
and able to come down to take this heavy 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. I turned, expecting
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to say doctor Mortimer, but to my surprise, it was
a stranger who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim,
clean shaven, prim faced man, flaxen haired and lean jawed,
between thirty and forty years of age, dressed in a
gray suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin box
for botanical specimens hung over his shoulder, and he carried
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a green butterfly net in one of his hands. You will,
I am sure, excuse my presumption, doctor Watson, said he
as he came panting up to where I stood here
on the moor. We are homely folk and do not
wait for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my
name from our mutual friend Mortimer. I am Stapleton of
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Merripet House. Your nat and box would have told me
as much, said I, for I knew that mister Stapleton
was a naturalist. But how did you know me? I
had been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out
to me from the window of his surgery. As you
passed as our road lay the same way, I thought
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that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust
that Sir Henry is none the worse for his journey
is very well. Thank you. We were all rather afraid that,
after the sad death of Sir Charles, the new baronet
might refuse to live here. It is asking much of
a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in
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a place of this kind, but I need not tell
you that it means a very great deal to the countryside.
Sir Henry has I suppose no superstitious fears in the matter.
I do not think that is likely. Of course, you
know the legend of the fiend dog which hunts the family.
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I have heard it. It is extraordinary how credulous. The
peasants are about here, any number of them are ready
to swear that they have seen such a creature upon
the moor. He spoke with a smile, but I seemed
to read in his eyes that he took the matter
more seriously. The story took a great hold upon the
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imagination of Sir Charles, and I have no doubt that
it led to his tragic end. But how his nerves
were so worked up that the appearance of any dog
might have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart.
I fancied that he really did see something of the kind.
Upon that last night in the yw alley. I feared
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that some disaster might occur, for I was very fond
of the old man, and I knew that his heart
was weak. How did you know that, my friend Mortimer
told me? You think then, that some dog pursued Sir Charles,
and that he died of fright and consequence? Have you
any better explanation? I have not come to any conclusion,
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as mister Sherlock Holmes. The words took away my breath
for an instant, But a glance at the placid face
and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprise
was intended. It is useless for us to pretend that
we do not know you, doctor Watson said he the
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records of your detective have reached us here, and you
could not celebrate him without being known yourself. When Mortimer
told me your name, he could not deny your identity.
If you are here, then it follows that mister Sherlock
Holmes is interesting himself in the matter, and I am
naturally curious to know what view he may take. I
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am afraid that I cannot answer that question. May I
ask if he is going to honor us with a
visit himself. He cannot leave town at present. He has
other cases which engage his attention. What a pity he
might throw some light on that which is so dark
to us. But as to your own researches, if there
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is any possible way which I can be of service
to you, I trust that you will command me. If
I had any indication of the nature of your suspicions,
or how you propose to investigate the case, I might
perhaps even now give you some aid or advice. I
assure you that I am simply here upon a visit
to my friend, Sir Henry that I need no help
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of any kind. Excellent, said Stapleton. You are perfectly right
to be wary and discreet. I am justly reproved for
what I feel was an injustifiable intrusion, and I promise
you that I will not mention the matter again. We
had come to a point where a narrow, grassy path
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struck off from the road and wound away across the moor.
A steep, bolder, sprinkled hill lay upon the right, which
had in by gone days been cut into a granite
quarry face, which was turned upwards towards us formed a
dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing in its niches.
From over a distant rise there floated a gray plume
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of smoke. A moderate walk along this moor path brings
us to Merripit House, said he. Perhaps you will spare
an hour that I may have the pleasure of introducing
you to my sister. My first thought was that I
should be by Sir Henry's side, but then I remembered
the pile of papers and bills with which his study
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table was littered. It was certain that I could not
help with those, and Holmes had expressly said that I
should study the neighbors upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's
invitation and returned together down the path. It is a
wonderful place the moor, said he, looking round over the
undulating downs, long green rollers with crests of jagged granite
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foaming up into fantastic surges. You never tire of the moor.
You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. 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 call me a newcomer. We came shortly
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after Sir Charles settled. But my tastes led me to
explore every part of the country round. And I should
think that there are few men who know it better
than I do. Is it hard to know? Very hard?
You see, for example, this great plain to the north here,
with the Queer hills breaking out of it. Do you
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observe anything remarkable about that? It would be a rare
place for a gallop, You would naturally think so, and
the thought has cost several of their lives before. Now
you notice these bright green spots scattered thickly over it. Yes,
they seem more fertile than the rest. Stableton laughed, For
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that is the great grimpen Mire, said he. A false
step yonder means death to a man or beast. Only
yesterday I saw one of the moor ponies wander into it.
It never came out. I saw his head for quite
a long time craning out of the bog hole, but
it sucked him down at last. Even in dry seasons
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it is a danger to cross it. But after these
autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I
can find my way to the very heart of it
and return alive. By George, there is another of those
miserable ponies. Something brown was rolling and tossing among the
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green sedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward,
and a dreadful cry echoed over the moor. It turned
me cold with horror. But my companion's nerves seems to
be stronger than mine. It's gone, said he. The mire
has him two in two days, and many more perhaps,
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for they get in the way of going there in
the dry weather and never know the difference until the
mire has them in its clutches. It's a bad place,
the great grimpen Mire, and you say you can penetrate it. Yes,
there are one or two paths which a very active
man can take. I have found them out. But why
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should you wish to go into so horrible a place? Well,
you see the hills beyond. They are really islands, cut
off on all sides by the impassable mire which has
crawled round them in the course of the years. That
is where the rare plants and the butterflies are. If
you have the wit to reach them, I shall try
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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 there would not be
the least chance of your coming back alive. It is
only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am able
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to do it. Hullo, I cried, what is that? A long,
low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It filled
the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say
whence it came from a dull murmur. It swelled into
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a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy,
throbbing murmur. Once again Stapleton looked at me with a
curious expression in his face. Queer place the more, said he,
But what is it? The peasants say it is the
hound of the Baskervilles calling for its prey. I've heard
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it once or twice before, but never quite so loud.
I looked round, with a chill of fear in my
heart at the huge swelling plain, mottled with the green
patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse, save
a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a tour
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behind us. You are an educated man. You don't believe
such nonsense as that, said I. What do you think
is the cause of so strange a sound. Bogs make
queer noises. Sometimes it's the mud settling, or or the
water rising or something. No, no, that was a living voice,
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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 be surprised to learn that what we
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have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns.
It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in
my life. Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look
at the hillside yonder, What do you make of those?
The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings
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of stone, a score of them at least. What are
they sheep pens? Oh? No, they are the homes of
our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric man lived thickly on the moor,
and as no one particular has lived there since, we
find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them.
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These are his wigwams, with the roofs off. You can
even see his hearth and his couch if you have
the curiosity to go inside. 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
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he learned to dig for 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,
Doctor Watson, who excuse me an instant? It is surely cyclopads.
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A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path,
and in an instant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy
and speed in pursuit of it. To my dismay, the
creature flew straight for the great mire, and my acquaintance
never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuft
behind it, his green net waving in the air. His
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great clothes and jerky zigzag irregular progress made him not
unlike some huge moth himself. I was standing watching his
pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity,
and fear lest he should lose his footing in the
treacherous mire, when I heard the sound of steps, and
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turning round, found a woman near me upon the path.
She had come from the direction in which the plume
of smoke indicated the position of Merriper House, but the
dip of the moor had hid her until she was
quite close. I could not doubt that this was the
miss Stapleton of whom I had been told, since ladies
of any sort must be few upon the moor, and
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I remembered that I had heard someone describe her as
being a beauty. The woman who approached me was certainly
that and of a most uncommon type. There could not
have been a greater contrast between brother and sister, for
Stapleton was neutral, tender, with light hair and gray eyes,
while she was darker than any brunette whom I have
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seen in England, slim, elegant and tall. She had a proud,
finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed
impassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the beautiful, dark,
eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress, she
was indeed a strange apparition upon a lonely mool and path.
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Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and
then she quickened her pace towards me. I had raised
my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark
when her own words turned all my thoughts into a
new channel. Go back, she said, go straight back to London. Instantly,
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I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her
eyes blazed at me, 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 a curious lisp in her utterance. But for God's sake,
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do what I ask you 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 is
for your own good? Go back to London, start tonight,
Get away from this place at all costs. Hush, my
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brother is coming. Not a word of what I have said?
Would you mind getting that orchid for me? Among the
Mayor's tales yonder, we are very rich in orchards on
the moor, though, of course you are rather late to
see the beauties of the place. Stapleton had abandoned the
chase and came back to us, breathing hard and flushed
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with his exertions. Hello, Beryl, said he, and it seemed
to me that the tone of his greeting was not
altogether a cordial one. Well, Jack, you are very hot. Yes,
I was chasing a psychopaths. He is very rare and
seldom found in the late autumn. What a pity that
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I should have missed him, He spoke unconcernedly, but his
small light eyes glanced incessantly 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
to see the true beauties of the moor. Why who
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do you think this is? I imagine it must be
Sir Henry Baskerville. No, no, said I, only a humble commoner.
But his friend my name is doctor Watson. A flush
of vexation passed over her expressive face. We have been
talking at cross purposes, said she. Why you had not
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very much time for talk? Her brother remarked with the
same questioning eyes. I he talked as if doctor Watson
were a resident instead of being merely a visitor, said she.
It cannot much matter to him whether it is early
or late for the orchids. But you will come on,
will you not, and see Marpet House. A short walk
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brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the
farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but
now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling.
An orchard surrounded it, but the trees, as is usual
upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect
of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were
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admitted by a strange, wise and rusty coated old man servant,
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 I
looked from their windows at the interminable granite flecked moor,
rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon, I could not but
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marvel at what could have brought this highly educated man
and this beautiful woman to live in such a place
queer spots to choose? Is it not? As if in
answer to my thought? And yet we managed to make
ourselves fairly happy, do we not? Speryl? Quite happy, said she,
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but there was no ring of conviction in her words.
I had a school, said Stapleton. It was in the
north country. The work, to a man of my temperament,
was mechanical and uninteresting, But the privilege of living with youth,
of helping to mold those young minds, and of impressing
them with one's own character and ideals, was very dear
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to me. However, the fates were against us. A serious
epidemic broke out in the school, and three of the
boys died. It never recovered from the blow, and much
of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet if
it were not for the loss of the charming companionship
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of the boys, I could rejoice over my own misfortune,
for with my strong tastes for botany and zoology, I
found an unlimited field of work here, and my sister
is as devoted to nature as I am. All this,
doctor Watson, has been brought upon your head by your
expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window.
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It certainly did cross my mind that it might be
a little dull 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 neighbors. Doctor
Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line.
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Poor sir Child was also an admirable companion. We knew
him well and miss him more than I can tell.
Do you think that I should intrude if I were
to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry,
I am sure that he would be delighted. Then perhaps
you would mention that I propose to do so, we may,
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in our humble way, do something to make things more
easy for him until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings.
Will you come upstairs, doctor Watson, and inspect my collection
of lepidoptera. I think it is the most complete one
in the southwest of England. By the time that you
have looked through them, lunch will be almost ready. But
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I was eager to get back to my charge. The
melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony,
the weird sound which had been associated with the grim
legend of the Baskervilles. All these things tanged my thoughts
with sadness. Then on the top of these more or
less vague impressions, there had come the definite and distinct
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warning of Miss Stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that
I could not doubt that some grave and deep reason
lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch,
and set off at once upon my return journey, taking
the grass grown path by which we had come. It seems, however,
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that there must have been some short cut for those
who knew it, for before I had reached the road,
I was astounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a
rock by the side of the track. Her face was
beautifully flushed with her exertions, and she held her hand
to her side. I have run all the way in
order to cut you off, doctor Watson, said she. I
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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 I am about
the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were
Sir Henry. Please forget the words I said, which have
no application whatever to you, But I cannot forget them,
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Miss Tableton said I I am Sir Henry'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 should return to London. A woman's whim, Doctor Watson.
When you know me better, you will understand that I
cannot always give reasons for what I say or do. No. No,
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I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the
look in your eyes. Please please be frank with me,
Miss Tableton. For ever since I have been here, I
have been conscious of shadows all around me. Life has
become like that great grimp and mire, with great green
patches everywhere into which one may sink, and with no
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guide to point the track. Tell me, then, what it
was that you meant, and I will promised to convey
your warning to Sir Henry. An expression of irresolution passed
for an instant over her face, but her eyes had
hardened again when she answered me, you make too much
of it, Doctor Watson said she, my brother and I
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were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles.
We knew him very intimately, for his favorite walk was
over the moor to our house. He was deeply impressed
with the curse which hung over the family, and when
this tragedy came, I naturally felt that there must be
some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I
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was distressed. Therefore, when another member of the family came
down to live here, and I felt that he should
be warned of the danger which he will run. That
was 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
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you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him away
from a place which has always been fatal to his family.
The world is wide. Why should he wish to live
at the place of danger? 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,
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it would be impossible to get him to move. I
cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite.
I would ask you one more question, Miss Tapleton, if
you meant no more than this when you first spoke
to me, why should you not wish your brother to
overhear what you said. There is nothing to which he
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or any one else could object. My brother is very
anxious to have the hall inhabited, for he thinks it
is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor.
He would be very angry if he knew that I
have said anything which might induce Sir Henry to go away.
But I have done my duty now and I will
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say no more. I must get back, for he will
miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Good Bye.
She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among
the scattered boulders, while I, with my soul full of
vague fears, pursued my way to Baskerville Hall. End of
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chapter seven
Chapter seven of the Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Bobnefeld, Chapter seven, the Stapletons of Merripitt House.
The fresh beauty of the following morning did something to
(00:24):
efface from our minds the grim and gray impression which
had been left upon both of us by our first
experience of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat
at breakfast, the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows,
throwing watery patches of color from the coats of arms
which covered them. The dark paneling glowed like bronze in
(00:46):
the golden rays, and it was hard to realize that
this was indeed the chamber which had struck such a
gloom into our souls upon the evening before. I guess
it is ourselves and not the house, that we have
to blame, said the Baronet. We were tired with our
journey and chilled by our drive, so we took a
(01:06):
grave view of the place. Now we are fresh and well,
so it is all cheerful once more. Yet it is
not entirely a question of imagination, I answered, did you,
for example, happen to hear some one a woman, I think,
sobbing in the night. That is curious, for I did,
(01:28):
when I was half asleep, fancy that I heard something
of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there
was no 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 sob of a woman.
We must ask about this right away. He rang the
(01:49):
bell and asked Barrymore whether he could account for our experience.
It seemed to me that the pallid features of the
butler turned a shade paler still as he listened to
his master's question. There are only two women in the house,
Sir Henry, he answered. One is the scullery maid, who
sleeps in the other wing. The other is my wife,
(02:12):
and I can answer for it that the sound could
not have come from her. And yet he lied as
he said it. For it chanced that after breakfast I
met missus Barrymore in the long corridor, with the sun
full upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy
featured woman with a stern set expression of mouth. But
(02:35):
her tail tale eyes were red and glanced at me
from between swollen lids. It was she then who wept
in the night, and if she did so, her husband
must know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk
of discovery in declaring that it was not so. Why
had he done this? And why did she weep so bitterly?
(02:58):
Already round this page faced handsome black bearded man, there
was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It
was he who had been the first to discover the
body of Sir Charles, and we had only his word
for all the circumstances which led up to the old
man's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore, after all,
(03:20):
whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street.
The beard might well have been the same the cabman
had described a somewhat shorter man. But such an impression
might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the
point forever? O busily? The first thing to do was
to see the grimp and postmaster and find whether the
(03:41):
test telegram had really been placed in Barrymore's own hands.
Be the answer what it might? I should at least
have something to report to Sherlock Holm's. Sir Henry had
numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that the time
was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasant walk
of four miles along the edge of the moor, leading
(04:04):
me at last to a small gray hamlet, in which
two larger buildings, which proved to be the Inn and
the house of Doctor Mortimer, stood high above 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 to mister Barrmore exactly as directed.
(04:27):
Who delivered it? My boy here, James, you delivered that
telegram to mister 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 not put it into
his own hands. But I gave it to missus Barrymore's hands,
(04:49):
and she promised to deliver it at once. Did you
see mister Barrmore, No, Sir, I tell you he was
in the loft. If you didn't see him, how did
you know he was in the loft? Well, surely his
own wife ought to know where he is, said the
poastmaster testily, didn't he get the telegram? If there is
(05:12):
any mistake, it is for mister Barrymore himself to complain.
It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any father, that
it was clear that, in spite of Holmes's ruse, we
had no proof that Barrymore had not been in London
all the time. Suppose it were so, suppose that the
same man had been the last who had seen Sir
(05:34):
Charles alive, and the first to dog the new heir
when he returned to England. What then, was he the
agent of others? Or had he some sinister design of
his own? What interest could he have in persecuting the
Baskerville family? I thought of the strange warning clipped out
of the leading article of the Times? Was that his work?
(05:57):
Or was it possibly the doing of some one who
was bent upon counteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive
was that which had been suggested by Sir Henry, that
if the family could be scared away, a comfortable and
permanent home would be secured for the Barrymoores. But surely
such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate to
(06:20):
account for the deep and subtle scheming which seemed to
be weaving an invisible net round the young baronet. Holmes
himself had said that no more complex case had come
to him in all the long series of his sensational investigations.
I prayed as I walked back along the gray, lonely road,
(06:40):
that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations
and able to come down to take this heavy 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. I turned, expecting
(07:01):
to say doctor Mortimer, but to my surprise, it was
a stranger who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim,
clean shaven, prim faced man, flaxen haired and lean jawed,
between thirty and forty years of age, dressed in a
gray suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin box
for botanical specimens hung over his shoulder, and he carried
(07:25):
a green butterfly net in one of his hands. You will,
I am sure, excuse my presumption, doctor Watson, said he
as he came panting up to where I stood here
on the moor. We are homely folk and do not
wait for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my
name from our mutual friend Mortimer. I am Stapleton of
(07:48):
Merripet House. Your nat and box would have told me
as much, said I, for I knew that mister Stapleton
was a naturalist. But how did you know me? I
had been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out
to me from the window of his surgery. As you
passed as our road lay the same way, I thought
(08:09):
that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust
that Sir Henry is none the worse for his journey
is very well. Thank you. We were all rather afraid that,
after the sad death of Sir Charles, the new baronet
might refuse to live here. It is asking much of
a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in
(08:31):
a place of this kind, but I need not tell
you that it means a very great deal to the countryside.
Sir Henry has I suppose no superstitious fears in the matter.
I do not think that is likely. Of course, you
know the legend of the fiend dog which hunts the family.
(08:51):
I have heard it. It is extraordinary how credulous. The
peasants are about here, any number of them are ready
to swear that they have seen such a creature upon
the moor. He spoke with a smile, but I seemed
to read in his eyes that he took the matter
more seriously. The story took a great hold upon the
(09:12):
imagination of Sir Charles, and I have no doubt that
it led to his tragic end. But how his nerves
were so worked up that the appearance of any dog
might have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart.
I fancied that he really did see something of the kind.
Upon that last night in the yw alley. I feared
(09:35):
that some disaster might occur, for I was very fond
of the old man, and I knew that his heart
was weak. How did you know that, my friend Mortimer
told me? You think then, that some dog pursued Sir Charles,
and that he died of fright and consequence? Have you
any better explanation? I have not come to any conclusion,
(09:59):
as mister Sherlock Holmes. The words took away my breath
for an instant, But a glance at the placid face
and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprise
was intended. It is useless for us to pretend that
we do not know you, doctor Watson said he the
(10:19):
records of your detective have reached us here, and you
could not celebrate him without being known yourself. When Mortimer
told me your name, he could not deny your identity.
If you are here, then it follows that mister Sherlock
Holmes is interesting himself in the matter, and I am
naturally curious to know what view he may take. I
(10:42):
am afraid that I cannot answer that question. May I
ask if he is going to honor us with a
visit himself. He cannot leave town at present. He has
other cases which engage his attention. What a pity he
might throw some light on that which is so dark
to us. But as to your own researches, if there
(11:04):
is any possible way which I can be of service
to you, I trust that you will command me. If
I had any indication of the nature of your suspicions,
or how you propose to investigate the case, I might
perhaps even now give you some aid or advice. I
assure you that I am simply here upon a visit
to my friend, Sir Henry that I need no help
(11:27):
of any kind. Excellent, said Stapleton. You are perfectly right
to be wary and discreet. I am justly reproved for
what I feel was an injustifiable intrusion, and I promise
you that I will not mention the matter again. We
had come to a point where a narrow, grassy path
(11:48):
struck off from the road and wound away across the moor.
A steep, bolder, sprinkled hill lay upon the right, which
had in by gone days been cut into a granite
quarry face, which was turned upwards towards us formed a
dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing in its niches.
From over a distant rise there floated a gray plume
(12:11):
of smoke. A moderate walk along this moor path brings
us to Merripit House, said he. Perhaps you will spare
an hour that I may have the pleasure of introducing
you to my sister. My first thought was that I
should be by Sir Henry's side, but then I remembered
the pile of papers and bills with which his study
(12:32):
table was littered. It was certain that I could not
help with those, and Holmes had expressly said that I
should study the neighbors upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's
invitation and returned together down the path. It is a
wonderful place the moor, said he, looking round over the
undulating downs, long green rollers with crests of jagged granite
(12:57):
foaming up into fantastic surges. You never tire of the moor.
You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. 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 call me a newcomer. We came shortly
(13:20):
after Sir Charles settled. But my tastes led me to
explore every part of the country round. And I should
think that there are few men who know it better
than I do. Is it hard to know? Very hard?
You see, for example, this great plain to the north here,
with the Queer hills breaking out of it. Do you
(13:42):
observe anything remarkable about that? It would be a rare
place for a gallop, You would naturally think so, and
the thought has cost several of their lives before. Now
you notice these bright green spots scattered thickly over it. Yes,
they seem more fertile than the rest. Stableton laughed, For
(14:03):
that is the great grimpen Mire, said he. A false
step yonder means death to a man or beast. Only
yesterday I saw one of the moor ponies wander into it.
It never came out. I saw his head for quite
a long time craning out of the bog hole, but
it sucked him down at last. Even in dry seasons
(14:28):
it is a danger to cross it. But after these
autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I
can find my way to the very heart of it
and return alive. By George, there is another of those
miserable ponies. Something brown was rolling and tossing among the
(14:48):
green sedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward,
and a dreadful cry echoed over the moor. It turned
me cold with horror. But my companion's nerves seems to
be stronger than mine. It's gone, said he. The mire
has him two in two days, and many more perhaps,
(15:13):
for they get in the way of going there in
the dry weather and never know the difference until the
mire has them in its clutches. It's a bad place,
the great grimpen Mire, and you say you can penetrate it. Yes,
there are one or two paths which a very active
man can take. I have found them out. But why
(15:35):
should you wish to go into so horrible a place? Well,
you see the hills beyond. They are really islands, cut
off on all sides by the impassable mire which has
crawled round them in the course of the years. That
is where the rare plants and the butterflies are. If
you have the wit to reach them, I shall try
(15:58):
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 there would not be
the least chance of your coming back alive. It is
only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am able
(16:21):
to do it. Hullo, I cried, what is that? A long,
low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It filled
the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say
whence it came from a dull murmur. It swelled into
(16:42):
a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy,
throbbing murmur. Once again Stapleton looked at me with a
curious expression in his face. Queer place the more, said he,
But what is it? The peasants say it is the
hound of the Baskervilles calling for its prey. I've heard
(17:05):
it once or twice before, but never quite so loud.
I looked round, with a chill of fear in my
heart at the huge swelling plain, mottled with the green
patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse, save
a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a tour
(17:26):
behind us. You are an educated man. You don't believe
such nonsense as that, said I. What do you think
is the cause of so strange a sound. Bogs make
queer noises. Sometimes it's the mud settling, or or the
water rising or something. No, no, that was a living voice,
(17:50):
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 be surprised to learn that what we
(18:11):
have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns.
It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in
my life. Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look
at the hillside yonder, What do you make of those?
The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings
(18:32):
of stone, a score of them at least. What are
they sheep pens? Oh? No, they are the homes of
our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric man lived thickly on the moor,
and as no one particular has lived there since, we
find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them.
(18:53):
These are his wigwams, with the roofs off. You can
even see his hearth and his couch if you have
the curiosity to go inside. 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
(19:15):
he learned to dig for 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,
Doctor Watson, who excuse me an instant? It is surely cyclopads.
(19:37):
A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path,
and in an instant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy
and speed in pursuit of it. To my dismay, the
creature flew straight for the great mire, and my acquaintance
never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuft
behind it, his green net waving in the air. His
(19:59):
great clothes and jerky zigzag irregular progress made him not
unlike some huge moth himself. I was standing watching his
pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity,
and fear lest he should lose his footing in the
treacherous mire, when I heard the sound of steps, and
(20:20):
turning round, found a woman near me upon the path.
She had come from the direction in which the plume
of smoke indicated the position of Merriper House, but the
dip of the moor had hid her until she was
quite close. I could not doubt that this was the
miss Stapleton of whom I had been told, since ladies
of any sort must be few upon the moor, and
(20:43):
I remembered that I had heard someone describe her as
being a beauty. The woman who approached me was certainly
that and of a most uncommon type. There could not
have been a greater contrast between brother and sister, for
Stapleton was neutral, tender, with light hair and gray eyes,
while she was darker than any brunette whom I have
(21:05):
seen in England, slim, elegant and tall. She had a proud,
finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed
impassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the beautiful, dark,
eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress, she
was indeed a strange apparition upon a lonely mool and path.
(21:28):
Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and
then she quickened her pace towards me. I had raised
my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark
when her own words turned all my thoughts into a
new channel. Go back, she said, go straight back to London. Instantly,
(21:49):
I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her
eyes blazed at me, 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 a curious lisp in her utterance. But for God's sake,
(22:11):
do what I ask you 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 is
for your own good? Go back to London, start tonight,
Get away from this place at all costs. Hush, my
(22:33):
brother is coming. Not a word of what I have said?
Would you mind getting that orchid for me? Among the
Mayor's tales yonder, we are very rich in orchards on
the moor, though, of course you are rather late to
see the beauties of the place. Stapleton had abandoned the
chase and came back to us, breathing hard and flushed
(22:53):
with his exertions. Hello, Beryl, said he, and it seemed
to me that the tone of his greeting was not
altogether a cordial one. Well, Jack, you are very hot. Yes,
I was chasing a psychopaths. He is very rare and
seldom found in the late autumn. What a pity that
(23:15):
I should have missed him, He spoke unconcernedly, but his
small light eyes glanced incessantly 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
to see the true beauties of the moor. Why who
(23:36):
do you think this is? I imagine it must be
Sir Henry Baskerville. No, no, said I, only a humble commoner.
But his friend my name is doctor Watson. A flush
of vexation passed over her expressive face. We have been
talking at cross purposes, said she. Why you had not
(24:00):
very much time for talk? Her brother remarked with the
same questioning eyes. I he talked as if doctor Watson
were a resident instead of being merely a visitor, said she.
It cannot much matter to him whether it is early
or late for the orchids. But you will come on,
will you not, and see Marpet House. A short walk
(24:23):
brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the
farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but
now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling.
An orchard surrounded it, but the trees, as is usual
upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect
of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were
(24:46):
admitted by a strange, wise and rusty coated old man servant,
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 I
looked from their windows at the interminable granite flecked moor,
rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon, I could not but
(25:09):
marvel at what could have brought this highly educated man
and this beautiful woman to live in such a place
queer spots to choose? Is it not? As if in
answer to my thought? And yet we managed to make
ourselves fairly happy, do we not? Speryl? Quite happy, said she,
(25:29):
but there was no ring of conviction in her words.
I had a school, said Stapleton. It was in the
north country. The work, to a man of my temperament,
was mechanical and uninteresting, But the privilege of living with youth,
of helping to mold those young minds, and of impressing
them with one's own character and ideals, was very dear
(25:51):
to me. However, the fates were against us. A serious
epidemic broke out in the school, and three of the
boys died. It never recovered from the blow, and much
of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet if
it were not for the loss of the charming companionship
(26:12):
of the boys, I could rejoice over my own misfortune,
for with my strong tastes for botany and zoology, I
found an unlimited field of work here, and my sister
is as devoted to nature as I am. All this,
doctor Watson, has been brought upon your head by your
expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window.
(26:35):
It certainly did cross my mind that it might be
a little dull 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 neighbors. Doctor
Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line.
(26:56):
Poor sir Child was also an admirable companion. We knew
him well and miss him more than I can tell.
Do you think that I should intrude if I were
to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry,
I am sure that he would be delighted. Then perhaps
you would mention that I propose to do so, we may,
(27:19):
in our humble way, do something to make things more
easy for him until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings.
Will you come upstairs, doctor Watson, and inspect my collection
of lepidoptera. I think it is the most complete one
in the southwest of England. By the time that you
have looked through them, lunch will be almost ready. But
(27:41):
I was eager to get back to my charge. The
melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony,
the weird sound which had been associated with the grim
legend of the Baskervilles. All these things tanged my thoughts
with sadness. Then on the top of these more or
less vague impressions, there had come the definite and distinct
(28:03):
warning of Miss Stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that
I could not doubt that some grave and deep reason
lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch,
and set off at once upon my return journey, taking
the grass grown path by which we had come. It seems, however,
(28:24):
that there must have been some short cut for those
who knew it, for before I had reached the road,
I was astounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a
rock by the side of the track. Her face was
beautifully flushed with her exertions, and she held her hand
to her side. I have run all the way in
order to cut you off, doctor Watson, said she. I
(28:48):
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 I am about
the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were
Sir Henry. Please forget the words I said, which have
no application whatever to you, But I cannot forget them,
(29:09):
Miss Tableton said I I am Sir Henry'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 should return to London. A woman's whim, Doctor Watson.
When you know me better, you will understand that I
cannot always give reasons for what I say or do. No. No,
(29:34):
I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the
look in your eyes. Please please be frank with me,
Miss Tableton. For ever since I have been here, I
have been conscious of shadows all around me. Life has
become like that great grimp and mire, with great green
patches everywhere into which one may sink, and with no
(29:54):
guide to point the track. Tell me, then, what it
was that you meant, and I will promised to convey
your warning to Sir Henry. An expression of irresolution passed
for an instant over her face, but her eyes had
hardened again when she answered me, you make too much
of it, Doctor Watson said she, my brother and I
(30:17):
were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles.
We knew him very intimately, for his favorite walk was
over the moor to our house. He was deeply impressed
with the curse which hung over the family, and when
this tragedy came, I naturally felt that there must be
some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I
(30:38):
was distressed. Therefore, when another member of the family came
down to live here, and I felt that he should
be warned of the danger which he will run. That
was 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
(31:01):
you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him away
from a place which has always been fatal to his family.
The world is wide. Why should he wish to live
at the place of danger? 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,
(31:25):
it would be impossible to get him to move. I
cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite.
I would ask you one more question, Miss Tapleton, if
you meant no more than this when you first spoke
to me, why should you not wish your brother to
overhear what you said. There is nothing to which he
(31:46):
or any one else could object. My brother is very
anxious to have the hall inhabited, for he thinks it
is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor.
He would be very angry if he knew that I
have said anything which might induce Sir Henry to go away.
But I have done my duty now and I will
(32:07):
say no more. I must get back, for he will
miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Good Bye.
She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among
the scattered boulders, while I, with my soul full of
vague fears, pursued my way to Baskerville Hall. End of
(32:29):
chapter seven
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