Chapter: Baskerville Hall, Oct. 15th. MY DEAR HOLMES: If I was compelled to
leave you without much news during the early days of my mission you must
acknowledge that I am making up for lost time, and that events are now
crowding thick and fast upon us. In my last report I ended upon my top
note with Barrymore at the window, and now I have quite a budget already
which will, unless I am much mistaken, considerably surprise you. Things
have taken a turn which I could not have anticipated. In some ways they
have within the last forty-eight hours become much clearer and in some
ways they have become more complicated. But I will tell you all and you
shall judge for yourself.

Before breakfast on the morning following my adventure I went down the
corridor and examined the room in which Barrymore had been on the night
before. The western window through which he had stared so intently has,
I noticed, one peculiarity above all other windows in the house--it
commands the nearest outlook on to the moor. There is an opening between
two trees which enables one from this point of view to look right down
upon it, while from all the other windows it is only a distant glimpse
which can be obtained. It follows, therefore, that Barrymore, since
only this window would serve the purpose, must have been looking out for
something or somebody upon the moor. The night was very dark, so that I
can hardly imagine how he could have hoped to see anyone. It had struck
me that it was possible that some love intrigue was on foot. That would
have accounted for his stealthy movements and also for the uneasiness
of his wife. The man is a striking-looking fellow, very well equipped
to steal the heart of a country girl, so that this theory seemed to
have something to support it. That opening of the door which I had heard
after I had returned to my room might mean that he had gone out to keep
some clandestine appointment. So I reasoned with myself in the morning,
and I tell you the direction of my suspicions, however much the result
may have shown that they were unfounded.

But whatever the true explanation of Barrymore's movements might be,
I felt that the responsibility of keeping them to myself until I could
explain them was more than I could bear. I had an interview with the
baronet in his study after breakfast, and I told him all that I had
seen. He was less surprised than I had expected.

"I knew that Barrymore walked about nights, and I had a mind to speak
to him about it," said he. "Two or three times I have heard his steps in
the passage, coming and going, just about the hour you name."

"Perhaps then he pays a visit every night to that particular window," I
suggested.

"Perhaps he does. If so, we should be able to shadow him and see what
it is that he is after. I wonder what your friend Holmes would do if he
were here."

"I believe that he would do exactly what you now suggest," said I. "He
would follow Barrymore and see what he did."

"Then we shall do it together."

"But surely he would hear us."

"The man is rather deaf, and in any case we must take our chance of
that. We'll sit up in my room tonight and wait until he passes." Sir
Henry rubbed his hands with pleasure, and it was evident that he hailed
the adventure as a relief to his somewhat quiet life upon the moor.

The baronet has been in communication with the architect who prepared
the plans for Sir Charles, and with a contractor from London, so that we
may expect great changes to begin here soon. There have been decorators
and furnishers up from Plymouth, and it is evident that our friend
has large ideas and means to spare no pains or expense to restore the
grandeur of his family. When the house is renovated and refurnished, all
that he will need will be a wife to make it complete. Between ourselves
there are pretty clear signs that this will not be wanting if the lady
is willing, for I have seldom seen a man more infatuated with a woman
than he is with our beautiful neighbour, Miss Stapleton. And yet the
course of true love does not run quite as smoothly as one would under
the circumstances expect. Today, for example, its surface was broken
by a very unexpected ripple, which has caused our friend considerable
perplexity and annoyance.

After the conversation which I have quoted about Barrymore, Sir Henry
put on his hat and prepared to go out. As a matter of course I did the
same.

"What, are you coming, Watson?" he asked, looking at me in a curious
way.

"That depends on whether you are going on the moor," said I.

"Yes, I am."

"Well, you know what my instructions are. I am sorry to intrude, but
you heard how earnestly Holmes insisted that I should not leave you, and
especially that you should not go alone upon the moor."

Sir Henry put his hand upon my shoulder with a pleasant smile.

"My dear fellow," said he, "Holmes, with all his wisdom, did not foresee
some things which have happened since I have been on the moor. You
understand me? I am sure that you are the last man in the world who
would wish to be a spoil-sport. I must go out alone."

It put me in a most awkward position. I was at a loss what to say or
what to do, and before I had made up my mind he picked up his cane and
was gone.

But when I came to think the matter over my conscience reproached me
bitterly for having on any pretext allowed him to go out of my sight.
I imagined what my feelings would be if I had to return to you and to
confess that some misfortune had occurred through my disregard for your
instructions. I assure you my cheeks flushed at the very thought. It
might not even now be too late to 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 instant we
both sat bolt upright in our chairs with all our weary senses keenly on
the alert once more. We had heard the creak of a step in the passage.

Very stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in the
distance. Then the baronet gently opened his door and we set out in
pursuit. Already our man had gone round the gallery and the corridor was
all in darkness. Softly we stole along until we had come into the other
wing. We were just in time to catch a glimpse of the tall, black-bearded
figure, his shoulders rounded as he tiptoed down the passage. Then he
passed through the same door as before, and the light of the candle
framed it in the darkness and shot one single yellow beam across the
gloom of the corridor. We shuffled cautiously towards it, trying every
plank before we dared to put our whole weight upon it. We had taken the
precaution of leaving our boots behind us, but, even so, the old boards
snapped and creaked beneath our tread. Sometimes it seemed impossible
that he should fail to hear our approach. However, the man is
fortunately rather deaf, and he was entirely preoccupied in that which
he was doing. When at last we reached the door and peeped through we
found him crouching at the window, candle in hand, his white, intent
face pressed against the pane, exactly as I had seen him two nights
before.

We had arranged no plan of campaign, but the baronet is a man to whom
the most direct way is always the most natural. He walked into the room,
and as he did so Barrymore sprang up from the window with a sharp hiss
of his breath and stood, livid and trembling, before us. His dark eyes,
glaring out of the white mask of his face, were full of horror and
astonishment as he gazed from Sir Henry to me.

"What are you doing here, Barrymore?"

"Nothing, sir." His agitation was so great that he could hardly speak,
and the shadows sprang up and down from the shaking of his candle. "It
was the window, sir. I go round at night to see that they are fastened."

"On the second floor?"

"Yes, sir, all the windows."

"Look here, Barrymore," said Sir Henry sternly, "we have made up our
minds to have the truth out of you, so it will save you trouble to tell
it sooner rather than later. Come, now! No lies! What were you doing at
that window?"

The fellow looked at us in a helpless way, and he wrung his hands
together like one who is in the last extremity of doubt and misery.

"I was doing no harm, sir. I was holding a candle to the window."

"And why were you holding a candle to the window?"

"Don't ask me, Sir Henry--don't ask me! I give you my word, sir, that it
is not my secret, and that I cannot tell it. If it concerned no one but
myself I would not try to keep it from you."

A sudden idea occurred to me, and I took the candle from the trembling
hand of the butler.

"He must have been holding it as a signal," said I. "Let us see if
there is any answer." I held it as he had done, and stared out into the
darkness of the night. Vaguely I could discern the black bank of the
trees and the lighter expanse of the moor, for the moon was behind the
clouds. And then I gave a cry of exultation, for a tiny pinpoint of
yellow light had suddenly transfixed the dark veil, and glowed steadily
in the centre of the black square framed by the window.

"There it is!" I cried.

"No, no, sir, it is nothing--nothing at all!" the butler broke in; "I
assure you, sir--"

"Move your light across the window, Watson!" cried the baronet. "See,
the other moves also! Now, you rascal, do you deny that it is a signal?
Come, speak up! Who is your confederate out yonder, and what is this
conspiracy that is going on?"

The man's face became openly defiant. "It is my business, and not yours.
I will not tell."

"Then you leave my employment right away."

"Very good, sir. If I must I must."

"And you go in disgrace. By thunder, you may well be ashamed of
yourself. Your family has lived with mine for over a hundred years under
this roof, and here I find you deep in some dark plot against me."

"No, no, sir; no, not against you!" It was a woman's voice, and Mrs.
Barrymore, paler and more horror-struck than her husband, was standing
at the door. Her bulky figure in a shawl and skirt might have been comic
were it not for the intensity of feeling upon her face.

"We have to go, Eliza. This is the end of it. You can pack our things,"
said the butler.

"Oh, John, John, have I brought you to this? It is my doing, Sir
Henry--all mine. He has done nothing except for my sake and because I
asked him."

"Speak out, then! What does it mean?"

"My unhappy brother is starving on the moor. We cannot let him perish at
our very gates. The light is a signal to him that food is ready for him,
and his light out yonder is to show the spot to which to bring it."

"Then your brother is--"

"The escaped convict, sir--Selden, the criminal."

"That's the truth, sir," said Barrymore. "I said that it was not my
secret and that I could not tell it to you. But now you have heard it,
and you will see that if there was a plot it was not against you."

This, then, was the explanation of the stealthy expeditions at night
and the light at the window. Sir Henry and I both stared at the woman in
amazement. Was it possible that this stolidly respectable person was of
the same blood as one of the most notorious criminals in the country?

"Yes, sir, my name was Selden, and he is my younger brother. We humoured
him too much when he was a lad and gave him his own way in everything
until he came to think that the world was made for his pleasure, and
that he could do what he liked in it. Then as he grew older he met
wicked companions, and the devil entered into him until he broke my
mother's heart and dragged our name in the dirt. From crime to crime
he sank lower and lower until it is only the mercy of God which has
snatched him from the scaffold; but to me, sir, he was always the little
curly-headed boy that I had nursed and played with as an elder sister
would. That was why he broke prison, sir. He knew that I was here and
that we could not refuse to help him. When he dragged himself here one
night, weary and starving, with the warders hard at his heels, what
could we do? We took him in and fed him and cared for him. Then you
returned, sir, and my brother thought he would be safer on the moor than
anywhere else until the hue and cry was over, so he lay in hiding there.
But every second night we made sure if he was still there by putting a
light in the window, and if there was an answer my husband took out some
bread and meat to him. Every day we hoped that he was gone, but as long
as he was there we could not desert him. That is the whole truth, as I
am an honest Christian woman and you will see that if there is blame in
the matter it does not lie with my husband but with me, for whose sake
he has done all that he has."

The woman's words came with an intense earnestness which carried
conviction with them.

"Is this true, Barrymore?"

"Yes, Sir Henry. Every word of it."

"Well, I cannot blame you for standing by your own wife. Forget what
I have said. Go to your room, you two, and we shall talk further about
this matter in the morning."

When they were gone we looked out of the window again. Sir Henry had
flung it open, and the cold night wind beat in upon our faces. Far away
in the black distance there still glowed that one tiny point of yellow
light.

"I wonder he dares," said Sir Henry.

"It may be so placed as to be only visible from here."

"Very likely. How far do you think it is?"

"Out by the Cleft Tor, I think."

"Not more than a mile or two off."

"Hardly that."

"Well, it cannot be far if Barrymore had to carry out the food to it.
And he is waiting, this villain, beside that candle. By thunder, Watson,
I am going out to take that man!"

The same thought had crossed my own mind. It was not as if the
Barrymores had taken us into their confidence. Their secret had been
forced from them. The man was a danger to the community, an unmitigated
scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse. We were only doing
our duty in taking this chance of putting him back where he could do no
harm. With his brutal and violent nature, others would have to pay the
price if we held our hands. Any night, for example, our neighbours the
Stapletons might be attacked by him, and it may have been the thought of
this which made Sir Henry so keen upon the adventure.

"I will come," said I.

"Then get your revolver and put on your boots. The sooner we start the
better, as the fellow may put out his light and be off."

In five minutes we were outside the door, starting upon our expedition.
We hurried through the dark shrubbery, amid the dull moaning of the
autumn wind and the rustle of the falling leaves. The night air was
heavy with the smell of damp and decay. Now and again the moon peeped
out for an instant, but clouds were driving over the face of the sky,
and just as we came out on the moor a thin rain began to fall. The light
still burned steadily in front.

"Are you armed?" I asked.

"I have a hunting-crop."

"We must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be a desperate
fellow. We shall take him by surprise and have him at our mercy before
he can resist."

"I say, Watson," said the baronet, "what would Holmes say to this? How
about that hour of darkness in which the power of evil is exalted?"

As if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vast gloom
of the moor that strange cry which I had already heard upon the borders
of the great Grimpen Mire. It came with the wind through the silence
of the night, a long, deep mutter, then a rising howl, and then the sad
moan in which it died away. Again and again it sounded, the whole air
throbbing with it, strident, wild, and menacing. The baronet caught my
sleeve and his face glimmered white through the darkness.

"My God, what's that, Watson?"

"I don't know. It's a sound they have on the moor. I heard it once
before."

It died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us. We stood
straining our ears, but nothing came.

"Watson," said the baronet, "it was the cry of a hound."

My blood ran cold in my veins, for there was a break in his voice which
told of the sudden horror which had seized him.

"What do they call this sound?" he asked.

"Who?"

"The folk on the countryside."

"Oh, they are ignorant people. Why should you mind what they call it?"

"Tell me, Watson. What do they say of it?"

I hesitated but could not escape the question.

"They say it is the cry of the Hound of the Baskervilles."

He groaned and was silent for a few moments.

"A hound it was," he said at last, "but it seemed to come from miles
away, over yonder, I think."

"It was hard to say whence it came."

"It rose and fell with the wind. Isn't that the direction of the great
Grimpen Mire?"

"Yes, it is."

"Well, it was up there. Come now, Watson, didn't you think yourself that
it was the cry of a hound? I am not a child. You need not fear to speak
the truth."

"Stapleton was with me when I heard it last. He said that it might be
the calling of a strange bird."

"No, no, it was a hound. My God, can there be some truth in all these
stories? Is it possible that I am really in danger from so dark a cause?
You don't believe it, do you, Watson?"

"No, no."

"And yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it is another
to stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hear such a cry as
that. And my uncle! There was the footprint of the hound beside him as
he lay. It all fits together. I don't think that I am a coward, Watson,
but that sound seemed to freeze my very blood. Feel my hand!"

It was as cold as a block of marble.

"You'll be all right tomorrow."

"I don't think I'll get that cry out of my head. What do you advise that
we do now?"

"Shall we turn back?"

"No, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will do it. We
after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not, after us. Come
on! We'll see it through if all the fiends of the pit were loose upon
the moor."

We stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom of the
craggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burning steadily
in front. There is nothing so deceptive as the distance of a light upon
a pitch-dark night, and sometimes the glimmer seemed to be far away upon
the horizon and sometimes it might have been within a few yards of us.
But at last we could see whence it came, and then we knew that we were
indeed very close. A guttering candle was stuck in a crevice of the
rocks which flanked it on each side so as to keep the wind from it
and also to prevent it from being visible, save in the direction of
Baskerville Hall. A boulder of granite concealed our approach, and
crouching behind it we gazed over it at the signal light. It was strange
to see this single candle burning there in the middle of the moor, with
no sign of life near it--just the one straight yellow flame and the
gleam of the rock on each side of it.

"What shall we do now?" whispered Sir Henry.

"Wait here. He must be near his light. Let us see if we can get a
glimpse of him."

The words were hardly out of my mouth when we both saw him. Over the
rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, there was thrust out
an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all seamed and scored with
vile passions. Foul with mire, with a bristling beard, and hung with
matted hair, it might well have belonged to one of those old savages
who dwelt in the burrows on the hillsides. The light beneath him was
reflected in his small, cunning eyes which peered fiercely to right and
left through the darkness like a crafty and savage animal who has heard
the steps of the hunters.

Something had evidently aroused his suspicions. It may have been that
Barrymore had some private signal which we had neglected to give, or
the fellow may have had some other reason for thinking that all was not
well, but I could read his fears upon his wicked face. Any instant he
might dash out the light and vanish in the darkness. I sprang forward
therefore, and Sir Henry did the same. At the same moment the convict
screamed out a curse at us and hurled a rock which splintered up against
the boulder which had sheltered us. I caught one glimpse of his short,
squat, strongly built figure as he sprang to his feet and turned to run.
At the same moment by a lucky chance the moon broke through the clouds.
We rushed over the brow of the hill, and there was our man running with
great speed down the other side, springing over the stones in his way
with the activity of a mountain goat. A lucky long shot of my revolver
might have crippled him, but I had brought it only to defend myself if
attacked and not to shoot an unarmed man who was running away.

We were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we soon
found that we had no chance of overtaking him. We saw him for a long
time in the moonlight until he was only a small speck moving swiftly
among the boulders upon the side of a distant hill. We ran and ran until
we were completely blown, but the space between us grew ever wider.
Finally we stopped and sat panting on two rocks, while we watched him
disappearing in the distance.

And it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange and
unexpected thing. We had risen from our rocks and were turning to go
home, having abandoned the hopeless chase. The moon was low upon the
right, and the jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up against the
lower curve of its silver disc. There, outlined as black as an ebony
statue on that shining background, I saw the figure of a man upon the
tor. Do not think that it was a delusion, Holmes. I assure you that
I have never in my life seen anything more clearly. As far as I could
judge, the figure was that of a tall, thin man. He stood with his legs
a little separated, his arms folded, his head bowed, as if he were
brooding over that enormous wilderness of peat and granite which lay
before him. He might have been the very spirit of that terrible place.
It was not the convict. This man was far from the place where the
latter had disappeared. Besides, he was a much taller man. With a cry
of surprise I pointed him out to the baronet, but in the instant during
which I had turned to grasp his arm the man was gone. There was the
sharp pinnacle of granite still cutting the lower edge of the moon, but
its peak bore no trace of that silent and motionless figure.

I wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but it was some
distance away. The baronet's nerves were still quivering from that cry,
which recalled the dark story of his family, and he was not in the mood
for fresh adventures. He had not seen this lonely man upon the tor and
could not feel the thrill which his strange presence and his commanding
attitude had given to me. "A warder, no doubt," said he. "The moor
has been thick with them since this fellow escaped." Well, perhaps his
explanation may be the right one, but I should like to have some further
proof of it. Today we mean to communicate to the Princetown people where
they should look for their missing man, but it is hard lines that
we have not actually had the triumph of bringing him back as our
own prisoner. Such are the adventures of last night, and you must
acknowledge, my dear Holmes, that I have done you very well in
the matter of a report. Much of what I tell you is no doubt quite
irrelevant, but still I feel that it is best that I should let you have
all the facts and leave you to select for yourself those which will
be of most service to you in helping you to your conclusions. We are
certainly making some progress. So far as the Barrymores go we have
found the motive of their actions, and that has cleared up the situation
very much. But the moor with its mysteries and its strange inhabitants
remains as inscrutable as ever. Perhaps in my next I may be able to
throw some light upon this also. Best of all would it be if you could
come down to us. In any case you will hear from me again in the course
of the next few days.

 The next morning, Watson looks out Barrymore's secret window. He sees that this window gives the best view of the moor. Watson mentions Barrymore's late night activities to Sir Henry, who isn't surprised. In fact, Sir Henry has also heard Barrymore going around late at night. They decide to stay up that night and follow Barrymore. Sir Henry prepares to go out for a walk on the moor, and Watson gets ready to go with him. Sir Henry's like, three's company, man. Don't crowd me, I've got business on the moor. Watson is embarrassed to be a third wheel, since it's clear that Sir Henry's trying to go on a date. But Holmes did insist that Watson shouldn't let Sir Henry leave the house on his own. So Watson follows secretly, some distance behind him. He sees Sir Henry meeting with Beryl Stapleton. As Watson keeps a lookout, he sees the two lovebirds jump apart. He watches as Stapleton comes running up, enraged.. Stapleton gets all up in Sir Henry's face and then drags Beryl away. Watson appears from his hiding place on top of a nearby hill. Sir Henry's annoyed at Watson's spying. But he's more shocked at Stapleton's bizarre behavior. Why would Stapleton go nuts about Sir Henry proposing to Beryl? That afternoon, Stapleton comes to Baskerville Hall to apologize for his behavior. He invites Sir Henry and Watson to dinner at Merripit House to make up for it. Stapleton explains why he flipped out at the idea of Beryl and Sir Henry getting together. Apparently, he's just a lonely guy who's come to depend on his sister's company to keep him from getting too isolated. He hadn't noticed that Beryl and Sir Henry were growing close, and he was taken by surprise to hear of their potential engagement. He has no real objection, but he asks Sir Henry to give him three months to get used to the idea. Sir Henry agrees, and so he and Beryl are now engaged... to be engaged. Sir Henry and Watson now turn their attention back to Barrymore. Two nights later, they catch him again standing at the window with his lamp. Barrymore claims that it isn't his place to say why he's holding a candle to the window. As Barrymore speaks, they spot another light out on the moors. When Barrymore moves his candle, the other light also moves. A signal. Sir Henry fires Barrymore on the spot and accuses him of plotting against him. Suddenly, Mrs. Barrymore appears: she swears that they are not planning to harm Sir Henry. Barrymore tries to calm her, but she insists on explaining: the signal is for her brother. Mrs. Barrymore's brother is none other than--Selden, the insane escaped prisoner. Mrs. Barrymore explains that, even after everything that Selden's done, when he turned up at their doorstep shivering and alone, she couldn't leave him to die out on the moors. Sir Henry forgives Barrymore for standing by his wife, and rehires him as butler. He sends the Barrymores off to bed, and promises they'll talk over things in the morning. After the Barrymores leave, Watson and Sir Henry look out the window. They can still see Selden's candle burning out on the moor. Watson guesses that he's hiding about a mile or two away. Sir Henry and Watson decide to go out and capture Selden, since a psychotic murderer could be a danger to the community. Ya think? Watson brings his gun, and they set off in the direction of the light. Suddenly, they hear that low, moaning howl that Watson heard on the moor that afternoon with Stapleton. Sir Henry sounds frightened when he asks Watson what the local people say about that sound. Watson tries to play it off as no big deal, but finally he has to admit: it's the howl of the Hound of the Baskervilles. Sir Henry starts to sound very superstitious about this Hound business. They spot Selden just as he seems to realize that he's been found. He takes off across the moor. Sir Henry and Watson chase after him, but he's had too much of a head start. As they're standing on the moor, Watson sees a tall figure of another man outlined against the moon. A split second later, the man is gone.

