Chapter 10. Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson

nmyfaceandthewindwhistlingaboutmyears.Godhelpthosewhowanderintothegreatmirenow,foreventhefirmuplandsarebecomingamorass.IfoundtheblacktoruponwhichIhadseenthesolitarywatcher,andfromitscraggysummitIlookedoutmyselfacrossthemelancholydowns.Rainsquallsdriftedacrosstheirrussetface,andtheheavy,slate-colouredcloudshunglowoverthelandscape,trailingingreywreathsdownthesidesofthefantastichills.Inthedistanthollowontheleft,halfhiddenbythemist,thetwothintowersofBaskervilleHallroseabovethetrees.TheyweretheonlysignsofhumanlifewhichIcouldsee,saveonlythoseprehistorichutswhichlaythicklyupontheslopesofthehills.NowherewasthereanytraceofthatlonelymanwhomIhadseenonthesamespottwonightsbefore. AsIwalkedbackIwasovertakenbyDr.Mortimerdrivinginhisdog-cartoveraroughmoorlandtrackwhichledfromtheoutlyingfarmhouseofFoulmire.Hehasbeenveryattentivetous,andhardlyadayhaspassedthathehasnotcalledattheHalltoseehowweweregettingon.Heinsisteduponmyclimbingintohisdog-cart,andhegavemealifthomeward.Ifoundhimmuchtroubledoverthedisappearanceofhislittlespaniel.Ithadwanderedontothemoorandhadnevercomeback.IgavehimsuchconsolationasImight,butIthoughtoftheponyontheGrimpenMire,andIdonotfancythathewillseehislittledogagain. “Bytheway,Mortimer,”saidIaswejoltedalongtheroughroad,“Isupposetherearefewpeoplelivingwithindrivingdistanceofthiswhomyoudonotknow?” “Hardlyany,Ithink.” “Canyou,then,tellmethenameofanywomanwhoseinitialsareL.L.?” Hethoughtforafewminutes. “No,”saidhe.“ThereareafewgipsiesandlabouringfolkforwhomIcan’tanswer,butamongthefarmersorgentrythereisnoonewhoseinitialsarethose.Waitabitthough,”headdedafterapause.“ThereisLauraLyons—herinitialsareL.L.—butshelivesinCoombeTracey.” “Whoisshe?”Iasked. “SheisFrankland’sdaughter.” “What!OldFranklandthecrank?” “Exactly.ShemarriedanartistnamedLyons,whocamesketchingonthemoor.Heprovedtobeablackguardanddesertedher.ThefaultfromwhatIhearmaynothavebeenentirelyononeside.Herfatherrefusedtohaveanythingtodowithherbecauseshehadmarriedwithouthisconsentandperhapsforoneortwootherreasonsaswell.So,betweentheoldsinnerandtheyoungonethegirlhashadaprettybadtime.” “Howdoesshelive?” “IfancyoldFranklandallowsherapittance,butitcannotbemore,forhisownaffairsareconsiderablyinvolved.Whatevershemayhavedeservedonecouldnotallowhertogohopelesslytothebad.Herstorygotabout,andseveralofthepeopleheredidsomethingtoenablehertoearnanhonestliving.Stapletondidforone,andSirCharlesforanother.Igaveatriflemyself.Itwastosetherupinatypewritingbusiness.” Hewantedtoknowtheobjectofmyinquiries,butImanagedtosatisfyhiscuriositywithouttellinghimtoomuch,forthereisnoreasonwhyweshouldtakeanyoneintoourconfidence.TomorrowmorningIshallfindmywaytoCoombeTracey,andifIcanseethisMrs.LauraLyons,ofequivocalreputation,alongstepwillhavebeenmadetowardsclearingoneincidentinthischainofmysteries.Iamcertainlydevelopingthewisdomoftheserpent,forwhenMortimerpressedhisquestionstoaninconvenientextentIaskedhimcasuallytowhattypeFrankland’sskullbelonged,andsoheardnothingbutcraniologyfortherestofourdrive.IhavenotlivedforyearswithSherlockHolmesfornothing. Ihaveonlyoneotherincidenttorecorduponthistempestuousandmelancholyday.Th