CHAPTER EIGHT

The Stapletons of Pen House

The next morning was sunny, and we were all much more cheerful. The house did not seem so bad in the light of day.

I told Sir Henry about the crying of the woman. He called for Barrymore and asked him if he knew anything about the crying. When he heard Sir Henry's question, Barrymore's face turned pale.

"Well, Sir Henry, there are only two women in this house," he answered slowly. "One is the maid, who sleeps on the other side of the house. The other is my wife, and I can tell you that she was certainly not crying."

But I knew that Barrymore was lying. I had seen Mrs Barrymore that morning, when she did not see me. I could see clearly that she had been crying, for many hours. Her eyes were very red, and she looked terribly tired and in pain.

Why would Barrymore lie to us? Why was his wife crying? It seemed to me that Barrymore was more mysterious than we had thought. Was it possible that Barrymore was, in fact, the man who had been watching Sir Henry in London? I decided I would watch him closely in the future. That morning, I decided to go to the local post office and see if Holmes' message had really been given to Barrymore—or to someone else.

Sir Henry had to read over some papers, so I walked to the post office alone. It was in the nearest village, which was called Grimpen. This was the town that Dr Mortimer lived in. I spoke to the boy who had taken the message to the Hall.

"Did you give it to Mr Barrymore himself?" I asked.

"Well," the boy said, "he was working in one of the gardens, so I couldn't give it to him. But I gave it to Mrs Barrymore, and she said she would give it to him immediately."

"Did you see Mr Barrymore?" I asked him.

"No," said the boy, looking impatient.

It was hopeless to ask any more questions. Although Holmes' ideas in London had been clever, I Still did not have the answers I needed.

I was walking away from the post office when I heard someone calling me. When I turned around I expected to see Dr Mortimer, because I did not know anyone else in the area. But it was a stranger. He was a small, thin man with blond hair and no beard. He was carrying a net to catch butterflies, and a box to put them in.

"Good afternoon, Dr Watson," he said as he came up to me. "My name is Stapleton. I was visiting my friend Dr Mortimer when I saw you walk by. Dr Mortimer told me who you are. May I walk along with you? This path back to the Hall goes near my home, which is called Pen House. Please come in and meet my sister, and spend an hour with us."

I decided to do this, so we walked along together.

"I know that you are a close friend of Sherlock Holmes," said Stapleton. "Has Mr Holmes any ideas about Sir Charles' death?

"I can't answer that question," I said.

"Will Mr Holmes visit us himself?" he asked.

"He is in London on business, and cannot leave," I answered, a little coldly. I did not like him asking me these questions.

We continued to walk. Stapleton told me that he and his sister had lived in Devonshire for only two years. They had moved there soon after Sir Charles had begun to live in Baskerville Hall. He also talked about the moor, and how interesting it was to him. He told me to look across the moor to a place that was a dull green and brown color.

"That is the Great Grimpen Marsh," Stapleton said. "If animals or men go into the marsh, they will fall into it and die. But I am not afraid of it, because I know where to walk. Oh, look what is happening to another of those poor horses!"

As we watched, we saw a horse that was fighting to get out of the thick, wet sand of the marsh. We heard the horse's scream as its head and neck disappeared under the sand.

"It's gone," Stapleton said. "The marsh has caught and killed it. That often happens. It is a very evil place, the Great Grimpen Marsh." I noticed that as Stapleton spoke he looked almost happy.

"But you say you know how to travel in and out of the marsh safely?" I asked him.

"Yes, there are a few paths, and I have found them. Those low hills you can see are like islands, which are surrounded by the wet marsh sand. That is where I can find the unusual plants and butterflies that I collect."

"I think I shall try my luck one day," I said, just to see what he would say.

He looked at me in surprise. "Please don't try," he said. "You would never return alive, and it would be my fault."

Suddenly a long, low howl, very deep and rather sad, came over the moor. It filled the whole air. Then it faded away.

"What was that?" I asked. I felt a touch of fear in my heart.

Stapleton had a strange look on his face. "The people say it's the ghostly Hound of the Baskervilles, which is looking for something to hunt and kill. I've heard it once or twice before, but never so loud. People usually hear it only at night."

"You are a man of science," I said. "You don't believe that story, do you? Isn't there an ordinary explanation for the sound?"

"Well, perhaps there is. There are some very strange birds that live in the marsh. Their voices sound like something howling or crying. Maybe the cry we heard was one of those."

At that moment a small butterfly flew across the path in front of us. "Excuse me, Dr Watson," cried Stapleton, and ran off to try to catch the butterfly. He ran quickly and followed the butterfly into the marsh. As I watched him I saw that he knew exactly where to put his feet,so he was not in any danger of drowning.

Then I heard the sound of steps behind me. I turned and saw a woman walking towards me. I was sure she was Miss Stapleton. She was very beautiful and tall, with a lovely face. Before I could say anything, she said:

"Go back! Go straight back to London, immediately. I cannot tell you why, but please do what I ask you. Never come near Baskerville Hall again. But my brother is coming. Say nothing to him!"

Stapleton had caught the butterfly, and was walking back to us.

"Hello, my dear," he said to his sister, but it seemed to me that his voice was not very friendly. "I see that you two have met one another."

"Yes," she said. "I was telling Sir Henry that it is late in the year to see how beautiful the moor can be."

"I am sorry", I said. "You have made a mistake. I am not Sir Henry. I am Dr Watson, a friend who is visiting him."

Miss Stapleton was clearly angry with herself.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Please forget what I said. But do come and have tea at our house."

The house was lonely and dark. I wondered why the Stapletons had come to live so far away from other people, near the cold, dark moor. Stapleton seemed to know what I was thinking. He said: "You might think this is a lonely place to live, but the moors can be very beautiful, and my sister and I are happy here. I once owned a school in the north of England, but I had to close it. I miss teaching the children, but there is plenty to do here, and we have good neighbors. I hope Sir Henry will become a friend. His uncle was very much loved in this town. Do you think I might visit the Hall this afternoon to meet him?"

"I am sure he would like to meet you", I said. "I must return to Baskerville Hall now, but I will tell him you are coming."

I said goodbye to the Stapletons, and began to walk back to the hall. I had been walking for only a few minutes, but suddenly I saw Miss Stapleton standing on the road in front of me. She was breathing quickly, and I realized she had run by a quicker way to get ahead of me.

"Dr Watson," she said. "I am sorry for the mistake I made. I thought you were Sir Henry. Please, please forget what I said! You are not in danger. Now I must go. My brother will be wondering where I am."

"Miss Stapleton, your message is very important to me," I said. "If Sir Henry is in danger, I must tell him."

"Do you know the story of the Hound?" she asked me in a quiet voice.

"Yes, but I do not believe it. It is only a silly ghost story." I replied.

"It is all true—all of it!" she said. She looked at me and her eyes burned with emotion. "You must persuade Sir Henry to leave this place. So many of his family have died here. If he stays here, I am sure he will die!"

"Sir Henry won't leave this place without a real reason. He will not leave because of a ghost story, my dear," I said gently. Miss Stapleton sighed and said nothing.

"One more question, Miss Stapleton," I said. "The story of the Hound is well known. Why didn't you want your brother to hear what you said?"

Miss Stapleton looked uncomfortable. "My brother wants the head of the Baskerville family to live in the Hall," she said. "He thinks Sir Henry should continue to help the village people, like Sir Charles did before him. He doesn't want Sir Henry to go back to America, or somewhere else. He doesn't want me to talk about the Hound because he thinks it might scare Sir Henry away. I must go now, or my brother will know I have been talking to you. Goodbye!"

She turned and went back towards her house, and I walked on to Baskerville Hall.

(end of section)