Chapter 9. The Light upon the Moor [Second Report of Dr. Watson]

npackourthings,”saidthebutler. “Oh,John,John,haveIbroughtyoutothis?Itismydoing,SirHenry—allmine.HehasdonenothingexceptformysakeandbecauseIaskedhim.” “Speakout,then!Whatdoesitmean?” “Myunhappybrotherisstarvingonthemoor.Wecannotlethimperishatourverygates.Thelightisasignaltohimthatfoodisreadyforhim,andhislightoutyonderistoshowthespottowhichtobringit.” “Thenyourbrotheris—” “Theescapedconvict,sir—Selden,thecriminal.” “That’sthetruth,sir,”saidBarrymore.“IsaidthatitwasnotmysecretandthatIcouldnottellittoyou.Butnowyouhaveheardit,andyouwillseethatiftherewasaplotitwasnotagainstyou.” This,then,wastheexplanationofthestealthyexpeditionsatnightandthelightatthewindow.SirHenryandIbothstaredatthewomaninamazement.Wasitpossiblethatthisstolidlyrespectablepersonwasofthesamebloodasoneofthemostnotoriouscriminalsinthecountry? “Yes,sir,mynamewasSelden,andheismyyoungerbrother.Wehumouredhimtoomuchwhenhewasaladandgavehimhisownwayineverythinguntilhecametothinkthattheworldwasmadeforhispleasure,andthathecoulddowhathelikedinit.Thenashegrewolderhemetwickedcompanions,andthedevilenteredintohimuntilhebrokemymother’sheartanddraggedournameinthedirt.FromcrimetocrimehesanklowerandloweruntilitisonlythemercyofGodwhichhassnatchedhimfromthescaffoldbuttome,sir,hewasalwaysthelittlecurly-headedboythatIhadnursedandplayedwithasaneldersisterwould.Thatwaswhyhebrokeprison,sir.HeknewthatIwashereandthatwecouldnotrefusetohelphim.Whenhedraggedhimselfhereonenight,wearyandstarving,withthewardershardathisheels,whatcouldwedo?Wetookhiminandfedhimandcaredforhim.Thenyoureturned,sir,andmybrotherthoughthewouldbesaferonthemoorthananywhereelseuntilthehueandcrywasover,sohelayinhidingthere.Buteverysecondnightwemadesureifhewasstilltherebyputtingalightinthewindow,andiftherewasananswermyhusbandtookoutsomebreadandmeattohim.Everydaywehopedthathewasgone,butaslongashewastherewecouldnotdeserthim.Thatisthewholetruth,asIamanhonestChristianwomanandyouwillseethatifthereisblameinthematteritdoesnotliewithmyhusbandbutwithme,forwhosesakehehasdoneallthathehas.” Thewoman’swordscamewithanintenseearnestnesswhichcarriedconvictionwiththem. “Isthistrue,Barrymore?” “Yes,SirHenry.Everywordofit.” “Well,Icannotblameyouforstandingbyyourownwife.ForgetwhatIhavesaid.Gotoyourroom,youtwo,andweshalltalkfurtheraboutthismatterinthemorning.” Whentheyweregonewelookedoutofthewindowagain.SirHenryhadflungitopen,andthecoldnightwindbeatinuponourfaces.Farawayintheblackdistancetherestillglowedthatonetinypointofyellowlight. “Iwonderhedares,”saidSirHenry. “Itmaybesoplacedastobeonlyvisiblefromhere.” “Verylikely.Howfardoyouthinkitis?” “OutbytheCleftTor,Ithink.” “Notmorethanamileortwooff.” “Hardlythat.” “Well,itcannotbefarifBarrymorehadtocarryoutthefoodtoit.Andheiswaiting,thisvillain,besidethatcandle.Bythunder,Watson,Iamgoingouttotakethatman!” Thesamethoughthadcrossedmyownmind.ItwasnotasiftheBarrymoreshadtakenusintotheirconfidence.Theirsecrethadbeenforcedfromthem.Themanwasadangertothecommunity,anunmitigatedscoundrelforwhomtherewasneitherpitynorexcuse.Wewereonlydoingourdutyintakingthischanceofputtinghimbackwherehecoulddonoharm.Withhisbrutalandviolentnature,otherswouldhavetopaythepriceifweheldourhands.Anynight,forexample,ourneighbourstheStapletonsmightbeattackedbyhim,anditmayhavebeenthethoughtofthiswhichmadeSirHenrysokeenupontheadventure. “Iwillcome,”saidI. “Thengetyourrevolverandputonyourboots.Thesoonerwestartthebetter,asthefellowmayputouthislightandbeoff.” Infiveminuteswewereoutsidethedoor,startinguponourexpedition.Wehurriedthroughthedarkshrubbery,amidthedullmoaningoftheautumnwindandtherustleofthefallingleaves.Thenightairwasheavywiththesmellofdampanddecay.Nowandagainthemoonpeepedoutforaninstant,butcloudsweredrivingoverthefaceofthesky,andjustaswecameoutonthemoorathinrainbegantofall.Thelightstillburnedsteadilyinfront. “Areyouarmed?”Iasked. “Ihaveahunting-crop.” “Wemustcloseinonhimrapidly,forheissaidtobeadesperatefellow.Weshalltakehimbysurpriseandhavehimatourmercybeforehecanresist.” “Isay,Watson,”saidthebaronet,“whatwouldHolmessaytothis?Howaboutthathourofdarknessinwhichthepowerofevilisexalted?” AsifinanswertohiswordsthererosesuddenlyoutofthevastgloomofthemoorthatstrangecrywhichIhadalreadyhearduponthebordersofthegreatGrimpenMire.Itcamewiththewindthroughthesilenceofthenight,along,deepmutter,thenarisinghowl,andthenthesadmoaninwhichitdiedaway.Againandagainitsounded,thewholeairthrobbingwithit,strident,wild,andmenacing.Thebaronetcaughtmysleeveandhisfaceglimmeredwhitethroughthedarkness. “MyGod,what’sthat,Watson?” “Idon’tknow.It’sasoundtheyhaveonthemoor.Ihearditoncebefore.” Itdiedaway,andanabsolutesilenceclosedinuponus.Westoodstrainingourears,butnothingcame. “Watson,”saidthebaronet,“itwasthecryofahound.” Mybloodrancoldinmyveins,fortherewasabreakinhisvoicewhichtoldofthesuddenhorrorwhichhadseizedhim. “Whatdotheycallthissound?”heasked. “Who?” “Thefolkonthecountryside.” “Oh,theyareignorantpeople.Whyshouldyoumindwhattheycallit?” “Tellme,Watson.Whatdotheysayofit?” Ihesitatedbutcouldnotescapethequestion. “TheysayitisthecryoftheHoundoftheBaskervilles.” Hegroanedandwassilentforafewmoments. “Ahounditwas,”hesaidatlast,“butitseemedtocomefrommilesaway,overyonder,Ithink.” “Itwashardtosaywhenceitcame.” “Itroseandfellwiththewind.Isn’tthatthedirectionofthegreatGrimpenMire?” “Yes,itis.” “Well,itwasupthere.Comenow,Watson,didn’tyouthinkyourselfthatitwasthecryofahound?Iamnotachild.Youneednotfeartospeakthetruth.” “StapletonwaswithmewhenIhearditlast.Hesaidthatitmightbethecallingofastrangebird.” “No,no,itwasahound.MyGod,cantherebesometr