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

uthinallthesestories?IsitpossiblethatIamreallyindangerfromsodarkacause?Youdon’tbelieveit,doyou,Watson?” “No,no.” “AndyetitwasonethingtolaughaboutitinLondon,anditisanothertostandouthereinthedarknessofthemoorandtohearsuchacryasthat.Andmyuncle!Therewasthefootprintofthehoundbesidehimashelay.Itallfitstogether.Idon’tthinkthatIamacoward,Watson,butthatsoundseemedtofreezemyveryblood.Feelmyhand!” Itwasascoldasablockofmarble. “You’llbeallrighttomorrow.” “Idon’tthinkI’llgetthatcryoutofmyhead.Whatdoyouadvisethatwedonow?” “Shallweturnback?” “No,bythunderwehavecomeouttogetourman,andwewilldoit.Weaftertheconvict,andahell-hound,aslikelyasnot,afterus.Comeon!We’llseeitthroughifallthefiendsofthepitwerelooseuponthemoor.” Westumbledslowlyalonginthedarkness,withtheblackloomofthecraggyhillsaroundus,andtheyellowspeckoflightburningsteadilyinfront.Thereisnothingsodeceptiveasthedistanceofalightuponapitch-darknight,andsometimestheglimmerseemedtobefarawayuponthehorizonandsometimesitmighthavebeenwithinafewyardsofus.Butatlastwecouldseewhenceitcame,andthenweknewthatwewereindeedveryclose.Agutteringcandlewasstuckinacreviceoftherockswhichflankeditoneachsidesoastokeepthewindfromitandalsotopreventitfrombeingvisible,saveinthedirectionofBaskervilleHall.Aboulderofgraniteconcealedourapproach,andcrouchingbehinditwegazedoveritatthesignallight.Itwasstrangetoseethissinglecandleburningthereinthemiddleofthemoor,withnosignoflifenearit—justtheonestraightyellowflameandthegleamoftherockoneachsideofit. “Whatshallwedonow?”whisperedSirHenry. “Waithere.Hemustbenearhislight.Letusseeifwecangetaglimpseofhim.” Thewordswerehardlyoutofmymouthwhenwebothsawhim.Overtherocks,inthecreviceofwhichthecandleburned,therewasthrustoutanevilyellowface,aterribleanimalface,allseamedandscoredwithvilepassions.Foulwithmire,withabristlingbeard,andhungwithmattedhair,itmightwellhavebelongedtooneofthoseoldsavageswhodweltintheburrowsonthehillsides.Thelightbeneathhimwasreflectedinhissmall,cunningeyeswhichpeeredfiercelytorightandleftthroughthedarknesslikeacraftyandsavageanimalwhohasheardthestepsofthehunters. Somethinghadevidentlyarousedhissuspicions.ItmayhavebeenthatBarrymorehadsomeprivatesignalwhichwehadneglectedtogive,orthefellowmayhavehadsomeotherreasonforthinkingthatallwasnotwell,butIcouldreadhisfearsuponhiswickedface.Anyinstanthemightdashoutthelightandvanishinthedarkness.Isprangforwardtherefore,andSirHenrydidthesame.Atthesamemomenttheconvictscreamedoutacurseatusandhurledarockwhichsplinteredupagainsttheboulderwhichhadshelteredus.Icaughtoneglimpseofhisshort,squat,stronglybuiltfigureashesprangtohisfeetandturnedtorun.Atthesamemomentbyaluckychancethemoonbrokethroughtheclouds.Werushedoverthebrowofthehill,andtherewasourmanrunningwithgreatspeeddowntheotherside,springingoverthestonesinhiswaywiththeactivityofamountaingoat.Aluckylongshotofmyrevolvermighthavecrippledhim,butIhadbroughtitonlytodefendmyselfifattackedandnottoshootanunarmedmanwhowasrunningaway. Wewerebothswiftrunnersandinfairlygoodtraining,butwesoonfoundthatwehadnochanceofovertakinghim.Wesawhimforalongtimeinthemoonlightuntilhewasonlyasmallspeckmovingswiftlyamongthebouldersuponthesideofadistanthill.Weranandranuntilwewerecompletelyblown,butthespacebetweenusgreweverwider.Finallywestoppedandsatpantingontworocks,whilewewatchedhimdisappearinginthedistance. Anditwasatthismomentthatthereoccurredamoststrangeandunexpectedthing.Wehadrisenfromourrocksandwereturningtogohome,havingabandonedthehopelesschase.Themoonwaslowupontheright,andthejaggedpinnacleofagranitetorstoodupagainstthelowercurveofitssilverdisc.There,outlinedasblackasanebonystatueonthatshiningbackground,Isawthefigureofamanuponthetor.Donotthinkthatitwasadelusion,Holmes.IassureyouthatIhaveneverinmylifeseenanythingmoreclearly.AsfarasIcouldjudge,thefigurewasthatofatall,thinman.Hestoodwithhislegsalittleseparated,hisarmsfolded,hisheadbowed,asifhewerebroodingoverthatenormouswildernessofpeatandgranitewhichlaybeforehim.Hemighthavebeentheveryspiritofthatterribleplace.Itwasnottheconvict.Thismanwasfarfromtheplacewherethelatterhaddisappeared.Besides,hewasamuchtallerman.WithacryofsurpriseIpointedhimouttothebaronet,butintheinstantduringwhichIhadturnedtograsphisarmthemanwasgone.Therewasthesharppinnacleofgranitestillcuttingtheloweredgeofthemoon,butitspeakborenotraceofthatsilentandmotionlessfigure. Iwishedtogointhatdirectionandtosearchthetor,butitwassomedistanceaway.Thebaronet’snerveswerestillquiveringfromthatcry,whichrecalledthedarkstoryofhisfamily,andhewasnotinthemoodforfreshadventures.Hehadnotseenthislonelymanuponthetorandcouldnotfeelthethrillwhichhisstrangepresenceandhiscommandingattitudehadgiventome.“Awarder,nodoubt,”saidhe.“Themoorhasbeenthickwiththemsincethisfellowescaped.”Well,perhapshisexplanationmaybetherightone,butIshouldliketohavesomefurtherproofofit.TodaywemeantocommunicatetothePrincetownpeoplewheretheyshouldlookfortheirmissingman,butitishardlinesthatwehavenotactuallyhadthetriumphofbringinghimbackasourownprisoner.Sucharetheadventuresoflastnight,andyoumustacknowledge,mydearHolmes,thatIhavedoneyouverywellinthematterofareport.MuchofwhatItellyouisnodoubtquiteirrelevant,butstillIfeelthatitisbestthatIshouldletyouhaveallthefactsandleaveyoutoselectforyourselfthosewhichwillbeofmostservicetoyouinhelpingyoutoyourconclusions.Wearecertainlymakingsomeprogress.SofarastheBarrymoresgowehavefoundthemotiveoftheiractions,andthathasclearedupthesituationverymuch.Butthemoorwithitsmysteriesanditsstrangeinhabitantsremainsasinscrutableasever.PerhapsinmynextImaybeabletothrowsomelightuponthisalso.Bestofallwoulditbeifyoucouldcomedowntous.Inanycaseyouwillhearfrommeagaininthecourseofthenextfewdays.