Chapter 10 Excerpts from the Diary of Dr. Watson

I have been citing earlier reports sent to Sherlock Holmes.But at this point in the description, I had to give up this method, and once again relied on my memory, with the help of my diary at that time.A few diary entries at random will remind me of those exhaustive scenes that have been etched in my memory.Well, I shall begin with the morning of our vain pursuit of fugitives in the moor, and our adventure. October 16 Today is a cloudy, foggy, drizzling day.The house was surrounded by thick rolling fog, but the dense fog rose from time to time, revealing the undulating moorland of the desert. The sky was shining brightly, and the outside and inside were immersed in a gloomy atmosphere.The terror of the night before had had a bad effect on the baronet; I felt a heavy heart, a sense of imminent danger--and a perpetual danger, which, because I could not describe it, seemed all the more dreadful.

Am I feeling this way for no reason?Just consider the long succession of accidental events which speak of a planned evil going on all around us.The death of the previous owner of the estate fulfilled exactly the contents of the family legend, and of the monsters that the peasants had repeatedly claimed to have appeared in the moor.Twice I have heard with my own ears what sounded like a hound howling in the distance. Could this be truly supernatural?It is neither believable nor possible.It's really unimaginable for a magic dog to leave paw prints and howl to the sky.Stapleton might believe this nonsense, and so might Mortimer; but if I had any common sense, I couldn't believe such a thing anyway.If I believed this myself, it would be tantamount to willingly lowering myself to the level of these poor peasants.It was not enough for them to describe the dog as a monster, and they even described it as having the fire of hell spouting from its mouth and eyes.Holmes will never listen to such fanciful statements, and I am his agent.Twice I have heard it in the moor.But a fact is a fact, and if some big hound had come out on the moor, it would explain everything.But where could such a hound hide?Where does it go to find food?Where did it come from?Why didn't anyone see it during the day?It is undeniable that no matter whether it is an explanation that conforms to the laws of nature or an explanation that does not conform to the laws of nature, it is equally difficult to make sense now.Leaving aside the hound for now, the "man" found in London is always the truth!The man in the carriage, and the letter warning Sir Henry not to come to the moor, at least it was true.It could be the work of a friend trying to protect him, but it could just as well be the work of an enemy.Where is that friend or enemy now?Is he still in London, or has he followed us here?Could he...could it be the stranger I saw standing on the ledge?

It is true that I only saw him once, but there are a few things I can be sure of.He was by no means the man I've met here, and I've seen all the neighbors now.It was much taller than Stapleton and much thinner than Frankland.It might be Barrymore, but we've left him at home, and I'm sure he won't follow us.So there must be someone else following us, just as a stranger followed us in London, and we have never been able to get rid of him.If we can catch that person, then all our difficulties will be solved.In order to achieve this goal, I must go all out now. My first thought was to tell Sir Henry all my plans; my second, and I think the wisest, was to do my own thing, and try not to talk about it with anyone.He looked silent and dazed, and the sound of the moor had shocked his nerves incredibly. I didn't want to add to his anxiety with anything. In order to achieve my established goal, I had to take a single action.

After breakfast this morning, we had another little incident.Barrymore asked to speak to Sir Henry alone, and they remained for a while behind closed doors in his study.More than once I sat in the billiard-room and heard the voices of the conversation rise, and I knew exactly what was being said.After a while the baronet opened the door and let me in. "Barrymore thinks he has a little resentment," he said. "He thinks it's unfair that we're going after his brother-in-law after he voluntarily told us the secret." The person in charge stood in front of us, his face was very pale, but he was very calm.

"Perhaps I have gone too far, my lord," said he; "if so, I beg your pardon. But I heard you two come back this morning and learned that you were after Seldan. I was really amazed at the time. The poor fellow, he'll have a hard time without me giving him any more trouble." "If you had told us of your own free will, perhaps it would not have been so," said the baronet, "but it is when you, or rather your wife, were compelled to tell our." "I didn't think you'd take advantage of that, Sir Henry . . . I didn't think so." "This man is a danger to society. The swamp is full of helpless families, and he's a lawless man, and you can see that just by looking at him. For example, if you look at Sta Mr Putton's house, he's the only one protecting it. No one will feel safe until Seldan is back in prison."

"He will never break into anyone's house, my lord, I can assure you of that. Anyway, he will not disturb anyone here again, and I assure you, Sir Henry, will be ready in a few days." He's going to South America. For God's sake, my lord, I beg you not to let the police know he's still in the moor. They've given up on him there, and he can stay in peace. Hide till the ship is ready. If you denounce him, you will surely get me and my wife into trouble. I beg you, my lord, to say nothing to the police." "What do you think, Watson?" I shrugged. "If he can get out of the country safely, that's going to take a load off the taxpayer."

"But will he mess with someone before he leaves?" "He will not be so mad, my lord, we have everything he needs. One more crime will reveal his hiding place." "That's true," said Sir Henry. "Well, Barrymore..." "God bless you, my lord, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart! If he is arrested again, my poor wife must die." "I suppose we are inciting the commission of a great crime, Watson? But after hearing what he has just said, it seems to me that the man can no longer be prosecuted. Come on! Well! , Barrymore, you can go."

The man turned around while saying some words of thanks intermittently, but he hesitated and then turned back. "You have been very kind to us, my lord, and I will do all I can to repay you. I know one thing, Sir Henry, and perhaps I should have said it long ago, but I did not discover it until long after the autopsy Yes. I haven't mentioned it to anyone about it, it's a matter of Sir Childs' death." The baronet and I both stood up. "Do you know how he died?" "No, my lord, I don't know that." "So, what do you know?" "I know why he was standing by that door at the time, it was to meet a woman."

"Go meet a woman! Him?!" "Yes, my lord." "What's that woman's name?" "I cannot tell you her name, my lord, but I can tell you the initials. Hers are LL." "How do you know that, Barrymore?" "Ah, Sir Henry, your uncle received a letter that morning. He used to receive many letters, for he was a well-known man, and a good-natured man, so that whoever, in times of difficulty, Everyone likes to turn to him. But that morning, as it happened, there was only one letter, which attracted my special attention. It was from Coombe Tracy, and it was in a woman's handwriting."

"Ok?" "Oh, my lord, if it had not been for my wife I should never have thought of it, perhaps I should never have. Just a few weeks ago, when she was clearing Sir Childs' study at the time—and he hadn’t touched it since his death—the ashes of a burnt letter were found behind the grate. Most of the letter was charred and crumbled to pieces except for a small strip at the end. It is still complete, and the handwriting looks gray on the black ground, but it can still be seen. It looks like a postscript at the end of the letter, which reads: "You are a gentleman, please burn this letter and write it in Go to the gate at ten o'clock.' Here is the signature with the initials LL."

"Is that note still with you?" "No, my lord, it shatters when we move." "Did Sir Childs ever receive a letter in the same handwriting?" "Oh, my lord, I didn't pay any particular attention to his letter. It was only because it was a separate post that I noticed it." "Don't you know who LL is?" "I don't know, my lord. I don't know much more than you do. But I think if we can find that lady, we'll know a little more about Sir Childs' death." "I don't know why, Barrymore, how could you keep such an important situation secret?" "Oh, my lord, that was just after our own troubles had come. And besides, my lord, we both had a great respect for Sir Childs, and we could not fail to take into account his kindness to us. We thought it It would not do our poor master any good to bring the matter up, and the fact that a lady is involved in the matter certainly ought to be done with care. Even the best of us . . . " "Do you think that will hurt his reputation?" "Well, my lord, I don't think it will come to anything good. But you are being so kind to us now that I feel I would be very sorry if I didn't tell you all about it. gone." "Very well, Barrymore, you may go." said Sir Henry, turning to me when the steward had gone. "Well, Watson, what do you think of this new discovery?" "It seems to be another difficult problem, made even more inexplicable than before." "I think so too, but as long as we can find out about LL, we may be able to figure out the whole problem. There are so many clues we can get. We already know that someone knows the truth of the matter, as long as we can Just find her. Where do you think we should begin?" "Tell Holmes the whole story at once, and this will give him the clues he has been looking for. It will be a wonder if this does not attract him here." I retired to my room at once, and wrote to Holmes my report of the conversation that had taken place this morning.I was well aware that he had been very busy of late, for there had been very few letters from Baker Street.It is also short, does not comment on the information I have given him, and rarely mentions my mission.There was no doubt that his mind was preoccupied with the case of the anonymous threatening letter.But this new development of events was bound to attract his attention and revive his interest in the case.How good it would be if he were here now. October 17 It rained heavily all day today, making the ivy rustle and the eaves dripping.I thought of the fugitive in the wild, cold, uncovered moor.Poor man!No matter what crime he committed, the suffering he is suffering now has finally atoned for his sin.I thought of another man—that face in the carriage, that figure before the moon, that hidden watcher and incomprehensible man—had he, too, been exposed to the downpour?In the evening, I put on my raincoat and rainshoes, and walked a long way in the wet swamp, filled with terrible imaginations, the rain hitting my face, and the wind whistling in my ears.But God help those who are stranded in the great mire, for even the hard high ground is turned into mire.At last I found the black crag on which I had seen the solitary watcher, and from its craggy summit I had a glimpse of the gloomy heights, treeless far and near.The storm mixed with heavy rain brushed across the reddish-brown ground, thick bluestone-like clouds suspended low above the ground, and strands of gray residual clouds dragged along the side of the strange-shaped mountain.In the ravine far to the left, the two slender towers of Baskerville Hall rose, half hidden through the mist, high up in the woods.Apart from the prehistoric huts that dotted the hillside, this was the only sign of human life I could see.There was nowhere to be seen the lonely man I had seen two nights before in the same spot. As I was walking back, Dr. Mortimer came up, driving his hansom up a rough moor path leading to the remote Fomel farmhouse.He was always very interested in us, and hardly ever did he come to the estate to see how we were doing.He insisted that I get into his carriage, so I rode home with him.I know he has been very troubled of late by the disappearance of the little spaniel; who has not returned since one of his wanderings into the moor.I comforted him as best I could, but as soon as I thought of the ponies in the Grimpen Mire, I stopped fantasizing that he would ever see his puppy again. "I say, Mortimer," said I, as we tossed and tossed on the bumpy road, "that there are few houses here that you can reach by carriage that you don't know." "I don't think so." "Then, can you tell me which women's names begin with LL?" He thought for a few minutes. "No," said he, "I don't know of any gipsies and drudges, and there isn't a single peasant or squire with such a prefix. Oh, wait a minute," he said. Then after a pause, "There's a Laura Lyons--her name begins LL--but she lives in Combe Tracey." "Who is she?" I asked. "She's Frankland's daughter." "What! Is that old nervous Frankland?" "Exactly, she married a painter named Lyons who came to the moor to sketch. But he turned out to be a dirty wretch, and he deserted her. From what I've heard, the fault may not be It was all on one side. Her father decided to leave nothing to do with her, because she married without his father's consent, and perhaps other reasons. Due to the discord between the dissolute old fellow and his daughter, it made This woman is in a difficult situation." "Then how does she live?" "I think old Frankland will give her some support, but not much, because his own troubles have dragged him down quite enough. No matter how much she deserves, she can't let her die Depraved. When word got out about her, there were people here who tried to help her and make her live a decent life. Stapleton and Childs helped, and I gave a little money, for Let her start a typing business." He wanted to know what I was asking these questions for, but I couldn't satisfy his curiosity by telling him much, since I had no reason to trust anyone.I'm going to Coombe Tracy tomorrow morning.Had I been able to meet the dubious Mrs. Laura Lyons, it would have taken a great step forward in my investigations into this mysterious chain of events.I must have grown to be as clever as a snake, for when Mortimer pressed him too hard to answer, I asked him casually what kind of skull Frankland had.In this way, until the destination is reached, nothing but skull science can be heard.I have not spent so many years with Sherlock Holmes. In this dreary, stormy weather, there was but one event worth recording.That's the conversation I had with Barrymore just now, and he gave me another strong card to show up at the right time. Mortimer stayed to supper, after which he and the baronet played cards.The manager came to the study to bring me coffee, and I took the opportunity to ask him a few questions. "Ah," said I, "has your dear relative gone? Or is it still hiding there?" "I don't know, sir. I hope he's gone, because he's only a nuisance here. I haven't heard anything about him since the last time I brought him food, and it's been three years." days ago." "Did you see him that time?" "No, sir, but when I went there again the food was gone." "Then he must still be there?" "Sir, you must think he's still there, unless he's taken by someone else." I sat there, before the coffee was delivered to my mouth, I stared at him and asked: "So, do you know that there is another person?" "Yes, sir, there is another man in the moor." "Have you seen him?" "No, sir." "Then how do you know?" "Seldan told me, sir, a week or so ago. He's in hiding too, but I don't think he's a fugitive. I'm so troubled by these things, Dr. Watson— I will tell you frankly, sir, that these things really bother me," he said with sudden earnestness and earnestness. "Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I am only for your master, or I have no interest in such matters. I have come here for no other purpose than to help him. Tell me frankly, what is the matter?" What is it that bothers you so much?" Barrymore hesitated for a moment, seeming to regret blurting out or to find it difficult to express his feelings in words. "That's what goes on, sir," he cried at last, waving his hands through the rain-washed window that opened onto the moor. Conspiracy! Sir, I wish Sir Henry could return to London." "But what factual grounds do you have for making you so alarmed?" "Look at the death of Sir Childs! Take what the coroner said, and it's bad enough. Look at the strange noises in the moor at night, after sunset, no one will pay you any money." Ken walks across the moor. And the man hiding there, who waits and watches! What is he waiting for? What is his purpose? All this, to any of the Baskervilles, must have been Not a good sign. I shall be glad to be away from it all when Sir Henry's new servants come to take over the estate." "But about this stranger in the moor," said I, "can you tell me anything? What did Celdan say? Did he find out where he was hiding or what he was doing?" "Seldan saw him once or twice, but he was a very sinister fellow, and he would not reveal anything. At first he thought the man was a policeman, but he soon found out that the man had other plans of his own. As far as he could tell Come on, the man seems like a gentleman, but he can't figure out what he's doing." "Did he say where the man lived?" "In the old house on the hillside—the little stone house where the ancients lived." "But what about his meal?" "Seldan found a boy in his service, and brought him what he needed. I dare say the boy went to Coombe Tracy to get what he needed." "Excellent, Barrymore. Let's talk about this in depth some other day." After the steward left, I looked out through the blurred window pane at the speeding clouds and the heights of the treetops swept by the wind. Different outlines.Such a night was sinister enough indoors, let alone in a stone house on the moor.What hatred can make a man lurk in such a place at such a time!What kind of far-reaching and urgent purpose made him work so tirelessly!It seemed that the center of my troubles was in the house on the moor.I vow to do whatever it takes to get to the heart of that mystery tomorrow.