Baskerville Hall, October 13th.
MY DEAR HOLMES,
My previous letters and telegrams have kept you pretty well up to date as to all that has occurred in this most God-forsaken corner of the world. The longer one stays here the more does the spirit of the moor5 sink into one’s soul, its vastness, and also its grim charm. When you are once out upon its bosom6 you have left all traces of modern England behind you, but, on the other hand, you are conscious everywhere of the homes and the work of the prehistoric7 people. On all sides of you as you walk are the houses of these forgotten folk, with their graves and the huge monoliths which are supposed to have marked their temples. As you look at their grey stone huts against the scarred hillsides you leave your own age behind you, and if you were to see a skin-clad, hairy man crawl out from the low door fitting a flint-tipped arrow on to the string of his bow, you would feel that his presence there was more natural than your own. The strange thing is that they should have lived so thickly on what must always have been most unfruitful soil. I am no antiquarian, but I could imagine that they were some unwarlike and harried9 race who were forced to accept that which none other would occupy.
All this, however, is foreign to the mission on which you sent me and will probably be very uninteresting to your severely10 practical mind. I can still remember your complete indifference11 as to whether the sun moved round the earth or the earth round the sun. Let me, therefore, return to the facts concerning Sir Henry Baskerville.
If you have not had any report within the last few days it is because up to today there was nothing of importance to relate. Then a very surprising circumstance occurred, which I shall tell you in due course. But, first of all, I must keep you in touch with some of the other factors in the situation.
One of these, concerning which I have said little, is the escaped convict upon the moor. There is strong reason now to believe that he has got right away, which is a considerable relief to the lonely householders of this district. A fortnight has passed since his flight, during which he has not been seen and nothing has been heard of him. It is surely inconceivable that he could have held out upon the moor during all that time. Of course, so far as his concealment12 goes there is no difficulty at all. Any one of these stone huts would give him a hiding-place. But there is nothing to eat unless he were to catch and slaughter13 one of the moor sheep. We think, therefore, that he has gone, and the outlying farmers sleep the better in consequence.
We are four able-bodied men in this household, so that we could take good care of ourselves, but I confess that I have had uneasy moments when I have thought of the Stapletons. They live miles from any help. There are one maid, an old manservant, the sister, and the brother, the latter not a very strong man. They would be helpless in the hands of a desperate fellow like this Notting Hill criminal if he could once effect an entrance. Both Sir Henry and I were concerned at their situation, and it was suggested that Perkins the groom14 should go over to sleep there, but Stapleton would not hear of it.
The fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to display a considerable interest in our fair neighbour. It is not to be wondered at, for time hangs heavily in this lonely spot to an active man like him, and she is a very fascinating and beautiful woman. There is something tropical and exotic about her which forms a singular contrast to her cool and unemotional brother. Yet he also gives the idea of hidden fires. He has certainly a very marked influence over her, for I have seen her continually glance at him as she talked as if seeking approbation15 for what she said. I trust that he is kind to her. There is a dry glitter in his eyes and a firm set of his thin lips, which goes with a positive and possibly a harsh nature. You would find him an interesting study.
He came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, and the very next morning he took us both to show us the spot where the legend of the wicked Hugo is supposed to have had its origin. It was an excursion of some miles across the moor to a place which is so dismal16 that it might have suggested the story. We found a short valley between rugged18 tors which led to an open, grassy19 space flecked over with the white cotton grass. In the middle of it rose two great stones, worn and sharpened at the upper end until they looked like the huge corroding20 fangs21 of some monstrous22 beast. In every way it corresponded with the scene of the old tragedy. Sir Henry was much interested and asked Stapleton more than once whether he did really believe in the possibility of the interference of the supernatural in the affairs of men. He spoke23 lightly, but it was evident that he was very much in earnest. Stapleton was guarded in his replies, but it was easy to see that he said less than he might, and that he would not express his whole opinion out of consideration for the feelings of the baronet. He told us of similar cases, where families had suffered from some evil influence, and he left us with the impression that he shared the popular view upon the matter.
On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and it was there that Sir Henry made the acquaintance of Miss Stapleton. From the first moment that he saw her he appeared to be strongly attracted by her, and I am much mistaken if the feeling was not mutual24. He referred to her again and again on our walk home, and since then hardly a day has passed that we have not seen something of the brother and sister. They dine here tonight, and there is some talk of our going to them next week. One would imagine that such a match would be very welcome to Stapleton, and yet I have more than once caught a look of the strongest disapprobation in his face when Sir Henry has been paying some attention to his sister. He is much attached to her, no doubt, and would lead a lonely life without her, but it would seem the height of selfishness if he were to stand in the way of her making so brilliant a marriage. Yet I am certain that he does not wish their intimacy25 to ripen26 into love, and I have several times observed that he has taken pains to prevent them from being tête-à-tête. By the way, your instructions to me never to allow Sir Henry to go out alone will become very much more onerous27 if a love affair were to be added to our other difficulties. My popularity would soon suffer if I were to carry out your orders to the letter.
The other day—Thursday, to be more exact—Dr. Mortimer lunched with us. He has been excavating28 a barrow at Long Down and has got a prehistoric skull29 which fills him with great joy. Never was there such a single-minded enthusiast30 as he! The Stapletons came in afterwards, and the good doctor took us all to the yew31 alley17 at Sir Henry’s request to show us exactly how everything occurred upon that fatal night. It is a long, dismal walk, the yew alley, between two high walls of clipped hedge, with a narrow band of grass upon either side. At the far end is an old tumble-down summer-house. Halfway32 down is the moor-gate, where the old gentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a white wooden gate with a latch33. Beyond it lies the wide moor. I remembered your theory of the affair and tried to picture all that had occurred. As the old man stood there he saw something coming across the moor, something which terrified him so that he lost his wits and ran and ran until he died of sheer horror and exhaustion34. There was the long, gloomy tunnel down which he fled. And from what? A sheep-dog of the moor? Or a spectral35 hound, black, silent, and monstrous? Was there a human agency in the matter? Did the pale, watchful36 Barrymore know more than he cared to say? It was all dim and vague, but always there is the dark shadow of crime behind it.
One other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the south of us. He is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric37. His passion is for the British law, and he has spent a large fortune in litigation. He fights for the mere38 pleasure of fighting and is equally ready to take up either side of a question, so that it is no wonder that he has found it a costly39 amusement. Sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy the parish to make him open it. At others he will with his own hands tear down some other man’s gate and declare that a path has existed there from time immemorial, defying the owner to prosecute40 him for trespass41. He is learned in old manorial42 and communal43 rights, and he applies his knowledge sometimes in favour of the villagers of Fernworthy and sometimes against them, so that he is periodically either carried in triumph down the village street or else burned in effigy44, according to his latest exploit. He is said to have about seven lawsuits45 upon his hands at present, which will probably swallow up the remainder of his fortune and so draw his sting and leave him harmless for the future. Apart from the law he seems a kindly46, good-natured person, and I only mention him because you were particular that I should send some description of the people who surround us. He is curiously47 employed at present, for, being an amateur astronomer48, he has an excellent telescope, with which he lies upon the roof of his own house and sweeps the moor all day in the hope of catching49 a glimpse of the escaped convict. If he would confine his energies to this all would be well, but there are rumours50 that he intends to prosecute Dr. Mortimer for opening a grave without the consent of the next of kin8 because he dug up the Neolithic51 skull in the barrow on Long Down. He helps to keep our lives from being monotonous52 and gives a little comic relief where it is badly needed.
And now, having brought you up to date in the escaped convict, the Stapletons, Dr. Mortimer, and Frankland, of Lafter Hall, let me end on that which is most important and tell you more about the Barrymores, and especially about the surprising development of last night.
First of all about the test telegram, which you sent from London in order to make sure that Barrymore was really here. I have already explained that the testimony53 of the postmaster shows that the test was worthless and that we have no proof one way or the other. I told Sir Henry how the matter stood, and he at once, in his downright fashion, had Barrymore up and asked him whether he had received the telegram himself. Barrymore said that he had.
“Did the boy deliver it into your own hands?” asked Sir Henry.
Barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time.
“No,” said he, “I was in the box-room at the time, and my wife brought it up to me.”
“Did you answer it yourself?”
“No; I told my wife what to answer and she went down to write it.”
“I could not quite understand the object of your questions this morning, Sir Henry,” said he. “I trust that they do not mean that I have done anything to forfeit55 your confidence?”
Sir Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify56 him by giving him a considerable part of his old wardrobe, the London outfit57 having now all arrived.
Mrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solid person, very limited, intensely respectable, and inclined to be puritanical58. You could hardly conceive a less emotional subject. Yet I have told you how, on the first night here, I heard her sobbing59 bitterly, and since then I have more than once observed traces of tears upon her face. Some deep sorrow gnaws60 ever at her heart. Sometimes I wonder if she has a guilty memory which haunts her, and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being a domestic tyrant61. I have always felt that there was something singular and questionable62 in this man’s character, but the adventure of last night brings all my suspicions to a head.
And yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are aware that I am not a very sound sleeper63, and since I have been on guard in this house my slumbers64 have been lighter65 than ever. Last night, about two in the morning, I was aroused by a stealthy step passing my room. I rose, opened my door, and peeped out. A long black shadow was trailing down the corridor. It was thrown by a man who walked softly down the passage with a candle held in his hand. He was in shirt and trousers, with no covering to his feet. I could merely see the outline, but his height told me that it was Barrymore. He walked very slowly and circumspectly66, and there was something indescribably guilty and furtive67 in his whole appearance.
I have told you that the corridor is broken by the balcony which runs round the hall, but that it is resumed upon the farther side. I waited until he had passed out of sight and then I followed him. When I came round the balcony he had reached the end of the farther corridor, and I could see from the glimmer68 of light through an open door that he had entered one of the rooms. Now, all these rooms are unfurnished and unoccupied so that his expedition became more mysterious than ever. The light shone steadily69 as if he were standing70 motionless. I crept down the passage as noiselessly as I could and peeped round the corner of the door.
Barrymore was crouching71 at the window with the candle held against the glass. His profile was half turned towards me, and his face seemed to be rigid72 with expectation as he stared out into the blackness of the moor. For some minutes he stood watching intently. Then he gave a deep groan73 and with an impatient gesture he put out the light. Instantly I made my way back to my room, and very shortly came the stealthy steps passing once more upon their return journey. Long afterwards when I had fallen into a light sleep I heard a key turn somewhere in a lock, but I could not tell whence the sound came. What it all means I cannot guess, but there is some secret business going on in this house of gloom which sooner or later we shall get to the bottom of. I do not trouble you with my theories, for you asked me to furnish you only with facts. I have had a long talk with Sir Henry this morning, and we have made a plan of campaign founded upon my observations of last night. I will not speak about it just now, but it should make my next report interesting reading.
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1 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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2 transcribing | |
(用不同的录音手段)转录( transcribe的现在分词 ); 改编(乐曲)(以适应他种乐器或声部); 抄写; 用音标标出(声音) | |
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3 accurately | |
adv.准确地,精确地 | |
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4 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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5 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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6 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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7 prehistoric | |
adj.(有记载的)历史以前的,史前的,古老的 | |
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8 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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9 harried | |
v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 );不断烦扰;一再袭击;侵扰 | |
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10 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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11 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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12 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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13 slaughter | |
n.屠杀,屠宰;vt.屠杀,宰杀 | |
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14 groom | |
vt.给(马、狗等)梳毛,照料,使...整洁 | |
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15 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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16 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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17 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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18 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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19 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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20 corroding | |
使腐蚀,侵蚀( corrode的现在分词 ) | |
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21 fangs | |
n.(尤指狗和狼的)长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 );(蛇的)毒牙;罐座 | |
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22 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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23 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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24 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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25 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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26 ripen | |
vt.使成熟;vi.成熟 | |
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27 onerous | |
adj.繁重的 | |
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28 excavating | |
v.挖掘( excavate的现在分词 );开凿;挖出;发掘 | |
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29 skull | |
n.头骨;颅骨 | |
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30 enthusiast | |
n.热心人,热衷者 | |
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31 yew | |
n.紫杉属树木 | |
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32 halfway | |
adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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33 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
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34 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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35 spectral | |
adj.幽灵的,鬼魂的 | |
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36 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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37 choleric | |
adj.易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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38 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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39 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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40 prosecute | |
vt.告发;进行;vi.告发,起诉,作检察官 | |
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41 trespass | |
n./v.侵犯,闯入私人领地 | |
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42 manorial | |
adj.庄园的 | |
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43 communal | |
adj.公有的,公共的,公社的,公社制的 | |
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44 effigy | |
n.肖像 | |
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45 lawsuits | |
n.诉讼( lawsuit的名词复数 ) | |
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46 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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47 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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48 astronomer | |
n.天文学家 | |
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49 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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50 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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51 neolithic | |
adj.新石器时代的 | |
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52 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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53 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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54 recurred | |
再发生,复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 ); 治愈 | |
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55 forfeit | |
vt.丧失;n.罚金,罚款,没收物 | |
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56 pacify | |
vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒);抚慰 | |
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57 outfit | |
n.(为特殊用途的)全套装备,全套服装 | |
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58 puritanical | |
adj.极端拘谨的;道德严格的 | |
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59 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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60 gnaws | |
咬( gnaw的第三人称单数 ); (长时间) 折磨某人; (使)苦恼; (长时间)危害某事物 | |
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61 tyrant | |
n.暴君,专制的君主,残暴的人 | |
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62 questionable | |
adj.可疑的,有问题的 | |
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63 sleeper | |
n.睡眠者,卧车,卧铺 | |
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64 slumbers | |
睡眠,安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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65 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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66 circumspectly | |
adv.慎重地,留心地 | |
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67 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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68 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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69 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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70 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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71 crouching | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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72 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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73 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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