Chapter 10. Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson

iswasmyconversationwithBarrymorejustnow,whichgivesmeonemorestrongcardwhichIcanplayinduetime. Mortimerhadstayedtodinner,andheandthebaronetplayedécartéafterwards.Thebutlerbroughtmemycoffeeintothelibrary,andItookthechancetoaskhimafewquestions. “Well,”saidI,“hasthispreciousrelationofyoursdeparted,orishestilllurkingoutyonder?” “Idon’tknow,sir.Ihopetoheaventhathehasgone,forhehasbroughtnothingbuttroublehere!I’venotheardofhimsinceIleftoutfoodforhimlast,andthatwasthreedaysago.” “Didyouseehimthen?” “No,sir,butthefoodwasgonewhennextIwentthatway.” “Thenhewascertainlythere?” “Soyouwouldthink,sir,unlessitwastheothermanwhotookit.” Isatwithmycoffee-cuphalfwaytomylipsandstaredatBarrymore. “Youknowthatthereisanothermanthen?” “Yes,sirthereisanothermanuponthemoor.” “Haveyouseenhim?” “No,sir.” “Howdoyouknowofhimthen?” “Seldentoldmeofhim,sir,aweekagoormore.He’sinhiding,too,buthe’snotaconvictasfarasIcanmakeout.Idon’tlikeit,Dr.Watson—Itellyoustraight,sir,thatIdon’tlikeit.”Hespokewithasuddenpassionofearnestness. “Now,listentome,Barrymore!Ihavenointerestinthismatterbutthatofyourmaster.Ihavecomeherewithnoobjectexcepttohelphim.Tellme,frankly,whatitisthatyoudon’tlike.” Barrymorehesitatedforamoment,asifheregrettedhisoutburstorfounditdifficulttoexpresshisownfeelingsinwords. “It’sallthesegoings-on,sir,”hecriedatlast,wavinghishandtowardstherain-lashedwindowwhichfacedthemoor.“There’sfoulplaysomewhere,andthere’sblackvillainybrewing,tothatI’llswear!VerygladIshouldbe,sir,toseeSirHenryonhiswaybacktoLondonagain!” “Butwhatisitthatalarmsyou?” “LookatSirCharles’sdeath!Thatwasbadenough,forallthatthecoronersaid.Lookatthenoisesonthemooratnight.There’snotamanwouldcrossitaftersundownifhewaspaidforit.Lookatthisstrangerhidingoutyonder,andwatchingandwaiting!What’shewaitingfor?Whatdoesitmean?ItmeansnogoodtoanyoneofthenameofBaskerville,andverygladIshallbetobequitofitallonthedaythatSirHenry’snewservantsarereadytotakeovertheHall.” “Butaboutthisstranger,”saidI.“Canyoutellmeanythingabouthim?WhatdidSeldensay?Didhefindoutwherehehid,orwhathewasdoing?” “Hesawhimonceortwice,butheisadeeponeandgivesnothingaway.Atfirsthethoughtthathewasthepolice,butsoonhefoundthathehadsomelayofhisown.Akindofgentlemanhewas,asfarashecouldsee,butwhathewasdoinghecouldnotmakeout.” “Andwheredidhesaythathelived?” “Amongtheoldhousesonthehillside—thestonehutswheretheoldfolkusedtolive.” “Buthowabouthisfood?” “Seldenfoundoutthathehasgotaladwhoworksforhimandbringsallheneeds.IdaresayhegoestoCoombeTraceyforwhathewants.” “Verygood,Barrymore.Wemaytalkfurtherofthissomeothertime.”WhenthebutlerhadgoneIwalkedovertotheblackwindow,andIlookedthroughablurredpaneatthedrivingcloudsandatthetossingoutlineofthewind-swepttrees.Itisawildnightindoors,andwhatmustitbeinastonehutuponthemoor.Whatpassionofhatredcanitbewhichleadsamantolurkinsuchaplaceatsuchatime!Andwhatdeepandearnestpurposecanhehavewhichcallsforsuchatrial!There,inthathutuponthemoor,seemstolietheverycentreofthatproblemwhichhasvexedmesosorely.IswearthatanotherdayshallnothavepassedbeforeIhavedoneallthatmancandotoreachtheheartofthemystery.