Chapter 11 The Man on Eleven Rocks

The last chapter, written by extracting from my diary, has been described until October 18th.That was the time when these strange events began to develop rapidly, and were approaching their terrible end.The events of the next few days are so imprinted on my memory that I can tell them without reference to notes made at the time.Let me start with the day after, when two extremely important facts were clarified.One of the two facts stated is that Mrs. Laura Lyons of Combe Tracey had written to Sir Charles Baskerville and agreed to meet him at the place and time of his death ; the other is the one hiding in the swamp, which can be found in the stone house on the side of the mountain.Having grasped these two circumstances, I felt that if I could not bring the mystery to light, I must either be imbecile or lack courage.

Yesterday evening I did not have an opportunity to tell the baronet what I then learned about Mrs Lyons, because Dr Mortimer played cards with him until very late.At breakfast this morning I told him of my discovery, and asked him if he would accompany me to Combe Tracey.At first he was anxious to go, but on second thought we both felt that it would be better if I went alone.Because the more solemn the form of the interview, the less we will be able to learn.I therefore left Sir Henry at home, and with some uneasiness I set off on my new quest. At Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put the horses in order, and then went to inquire about the lady I had come to visit.I had no trouble finding her place, which was well situated and furnished.A maid showed me in very casually, and as I entered the drawing-room a lady seated at a Remington typewriter rose quickly and greeted me with a wide smile; but When she saw that I was a stranger, her countenance recovered, she sat down again, and asked me the purpose of my visit.

The first impression Mrs. Lyons gave was one of extreme beauty.Her eyes and hair were dark brown, and although there were many freckles on her cheeks, she had just the right rosiness for a brown person, as if there was a pleasant pink in the heart of a yellowish rose.I repeat, the first impression is that of admiration.But then I discovered the flaws, there was something indescribably wrong with the face, some rough expression, maybe the eyes were a little stiff, and the lips were a little loose, all of which spoiled the flawless beauty.Of course, these were afterthoughts, and all I knew at the time was that I was standing in front of a very beautiful woman listening to her ask me the purpose of my visit.It wasn't until then that I really realized how tricky my task was.

"I have the good fortune," I said, "to know your father." This kind of self-introduction is very stupid, I can feel it from the woman's reaction. "There is nothing between my father and I," she said, "and I owe him nothing, and his friends are not mine. Were it not for the late Sir Charles Baskerville and some other good If I were a kind-hearted person, I might have starved to death long ago, and my father didn't take me to heart at all." "I have come here to see you about the late Sir Charles Baskerville." Frightened, the lady's face paled, and the freckles became more pronounced.

"What can I tell you about him?" she asked.Her fingers fiddled nervously with the punctuation keys on her typewriter. "You know him, don't you?" "As I have said, I am very grateful to him for his kindness to me. If I am able to live independently, it is mainly due to his interest in my sad situation." "Have you written with him?" The lady looked up quickly, an angry gleam in her brown eyes. "What do you mean by asking these questions?" she asked sharply. "The purpose is to avoid the spread of scandal. It's better for me to ask here than to let the matter get out of hand."

She was silent, her face still pale.At last she looked up with a look of desperation and defiance. "Well, I'll answer," she said, "what's your question?" "Have you written with Sir Charles?" "I did write to him once or twice to thank him for his thoughtfulness and generosity." "Do you remember the date the letter was sent?" "Can not remember." "Will you meet him?" "Yes, once or twice when he comes to Combe Tracey. He's a very private man, and he prefers to do good work in the dark." "But if you seldom see him and write to him seldom, how can he know so much about you to help you as you say?"

She answered what I thought was a difficult question without hesitation. "Several gentlemen who knew my deplorable story conspired to help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a good neighbor and intimate friend of Sir Childs, who had a good heart through whom he Only then did I know about me." I know that Sir Charles Baskerville has on several occasions asked Stapleton to take charge of his dole, so the lady's statement seems to be true. "Have you ever written to Sir Childs asking him to see you?" I went on. Mrs. Lyons blushed again. "Sir, this is a really unreasonable question."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I have to repeat it." "Then I'll answer, definitely not." "Not even the day Sir Childs died?" The redness on my face faded immediately, and a dead gray face appeared in front of me.Her scorched lips could no longer say the "no".It's not so much that I heard it as that I saw it. "Your memory must have fooled you," said I, "and I can even recite a passage from your letter which reads: 'You are a gentleman, please do burn this letter, And go to the gate at ten o'clock.'" At the time, I thought she had fainted, but she did her best to regain her composure.

"Is there no real gentleman in the world?!" Her breathing became rapid. "You have wronged Sir Childs. He did burn the letter, but sometimes you can recognize a burned letter. Do you admit now that you wrote it!" "Yes, I wrote it," cried she, pouring out all that was on her mind, "I wrote it. Why should I deny it? I have no reason to be ashamed of it, I I hope he can help me, and I believe that if I can meet him in person, I may be able to get his assistance, so I asked him to meet me." "But why the appointment at such a time?" "Because I just learned that he was going to London the next day, and probably for several months. I couldn't get there sooner for other reasons."

"But why meet in the garden instead of visiting in the house?" "Do you think a woman could go to a bachelor's house by herself at that time?" "Well, what happened when you went there?" "I didn't go." "Mrs. Lyons!" "No, I swear to you on everything that is most sacred to me. I haven't. There is one thing that keeps me from going." "What was that?" "That's a private matter, I can't talk about it." "You admit, then, that you had agreed to meet Sir Charles at the exact time and place where he died, but you deny that you kept your appointment."

"This is the truth." I questioned her again and again, but couldn't find anything further. "Mrs. Lyons," said I at last, rising from my long and fruitless visit, "you have placed yourself under a serious burden by not telling all that you know. responsibility, and have put yourself in a very dangerous position. If I had to call the police for assistance, you would know how much you are under suspicion. If you are innocent, why deny it in the first place On what day did you write to Sir Childs?" "Because I fear that I may draw some incorrect conclusions from that question, and that I may be involved in a scandal." "Then why are you so eager to ask Sir Childs to destroy your letter?" "If you've read that letter, you should know." "I didn't say I had read the whole letter." "And you quoted part of it." "I only quoted in a postscript. As I said, the letter had been burned and not all of it was legible. I would also like to ask you why you were so eager to ask Sir Do you want to destroy this letter you received?" "Because it's a purely personal matter." "The more important reason is probably that you want to avoid public investigation." "Then I'll tell you, if you've ever heard anything sad about me, you'll know that I married hastily, and of course regretted it afterwards." "I've heard it a lot." "I have lived a life of constant persecution by a husband whom I loathed so much. The law is in his favor, and every day I am faced with the possibility of being forced to live with him. As I write this letter to Sir Childs, I hear Said that if I could pay a sum of money, I might be free. That's all I've ever wanted--peace of mind, happiness, self-respect--that's all. I know Sir Childs is generous, and I think if he'd heard me tell it from my own mouth, he'd have helped me." "Then why didn't you go?" "Because that's when I got help from elsewhere again." "Then why did you not write to Sir Childs to explain the matter?" "I would have done so if I hadn't read the news of his death in the papers next morning." The woman's narration was consistent, and I couldn't find a flaw in all the questions I asked.I can only find out if, at or near the time of the tragedy, she actually filed legal proceedings against her husband for a divorce. It seemed that, if she had been to Baskerville Hall, she might not dare to say that she had not been there.For she had to go there by carriage, and would not return to Combe Tracey until early next morning, and such a journey could not be kept secret.Therefore, the greatest possibility is that she is telling the truth, or at least part of the truth.I came back dejected, this is another wall, this wall seems to be built on every road I want to pass through to reach my destination.But the more I imagined the lady's face and her expression, the more I felt that she was hiding something from me.Why had her face turned so pale?Why does she try to deny it every time and only admit it when she has to?Why was she so silent during the tragedy?Of course, the explanation of these problems is not as simple as she explained to me.At present, I can go no further in this direction, but turn to the stone house in the moor to search for other clues. But it was also a direction with very little hope, and I felt it on my way back.I saw one mountain after another, all bearing the remains of people's lives in ancient times.Barrymore only said that the man lived in one of these disused cottages, which were scattered by the hundreds and thousands all over the moor.Fortunately, I have seen the man standing on the top of Black Rock Hill. I might as well use this as a clue first, and use the place where I saw him as the center of my search.From there I should start looking at every cottage on the moor until I found the one I was looking for.If the man stays in the room, I will let him explain who he is and why he has been following us for so long, even forcing him to tell with my pistol if necessary.In the crowd of Regent Street he might be able to slip from our hands, but in this desert moor, I'm afraid he would feel at a loss as to what to do.But if I find the little room and the man isn't there, I'll wait there, no matter how many nights it takes, until he comes back.In London, Holmes let him slip, and it would be a great victory for me if I could track him down after the failure of my master. We have had bad luck time and time again in our investigation of this case, but now my luck has come, and the messenger of good luck is none other than Mr. Frankland.He had a grizzled beard and a ruddy complexion, and he was standing at the gate of his garden, which opened squarely to the avenue I was about to walk. "Well, Dr. Watson," he cried cheerfully, "you must give your horse a rest, come in and congratulate me with a glass of wine." After hearing what he did to his daughter, I couldn't really say I liked him any more, but I was anxious to get Perskin and the carriage home, and this was a good chance indeed.I got out of the car and wrote Sir Henry a note that I was going for a walk back around suppertime.Then I followed Mr. Frankland into his dining room. "It's a great day for me, sir, and one of the great days of my life," he cried, with a continual giggle. "I've closed two cases. I must Teach the people here that the law is the law. There is a man here who is not afraid of a lawsuit. I have verified that there is a road all the way through the center of old Midoton's garden, sir, from his The front door is less than a hundred yards away. How do you feel about that? We really need to teach these big people a lesson about not trampling on the rights of the common people, you bastards! I also closed a section of the Fernworthy house The woods where people go to picnic. These lawless people seem to think that property rights do not exist at all. They can drill around and leave empty paper bottles here and there. Dr. Watson, I won both cases. From John Moran I haven't had a better day than I've had since sir, for firing a gun in his poultry farm." "How on earth did you accuse him?" "Look at the record, sir. Worth seeing--Frankland v. Morland. High Court. The case cost me two hundred pounds, but I won it." "What benefit did you get?" "Nothing, sir, and no benefit. I am proud that I have done these things without regard for personal gain. My actions were motivated entirely by a sense of social responsibility. I I'm sure, let's say, the Fernworthys could burn me like a straw man tonight, and the last time they did that I called the police and told them they ought to put an end to these disgraceful acts. What a disgrace to the police station here, sir, they do not give me the protection I deserve. Frankland's suit against the Queen's Government will soon be brought to the attention of the community. I told them that one day they will treat me like that. Don’t regret it, my words have come true now.” "How can this be?" I asked. The old man put on a very smug expression. "Because I could have told them one thing they were dying to know, but, anyway, I wouldn't do the rascals a favor." I've been looking for an excuse to get away from listening to his gossip, but now I want to hear more.I am well aware of the strange and strange temper of this old fool. As long as you show a strong interest, he will definitely arouse his suspicion and stop talking. "Surely it's a case of poaching?" I said with indifference. "Aha, man, it's a much more important thing than that! How's the prisoner in the moor?" I was taken aback. "Do you think you know where he is?" I said. "I don't know exactly where he is, but I know for sure that I can help the police catch him. Didn't it ever occur to you that the way to catch this man was to find out where he got his food, and then Should we follow this clue to find him again?" His words have indeed come closer and closer to the truth, uncomfortably. "Of course," I said, "but how do you know he's really in the moor?" "I know, because I have seen the person who brought him food with my own eyes." I worry about Barrymore.It was indeed a terrible thing to be caught in the pigtails by such a troublesome and meddling old man.But what he said next made me feel relieved again. "You will be surprised to hear that a child brings him his food. I see him every day through the telescope on the roof, and he walks the same road at the same time every day. way; to whom shall he go but to the criminal?" What luck!I suppressed all manifestations of my interest in the matter.a child!Barrymore once said that the one we don't know was sent by a child.What Frankland found was his leads, not the fugitive's.If I could learn from there what he knew, it would save me a long and weary pursuit.But obviously I must also express my doubts and indifference. "I think it's probably a moor shepherd's son bringing his father food." A slight expression of disapproval can irritate this old expert into a rage.He was looking at me maliciously, his gray beard bristling like an angry cat. "Really, sir!" said he, pointing out on the vast moor, "do you see that black rocky yonder? Ah, do you see that low thorny hill in the distance? That's the rockiest part of the whole moor. Could it be where the shepherds stop? Sir! Your ideas are utterly absurd." I obeyed him and replied that I said this because I didn't know all the facts.My resignation pleased him greatly, and made him more willing to say more. "You may believe, sir, that when I make a positive opinion, I have good grounds. I have seen the boy with his roll again and again, once a day, sometimes twice a day, I can... wait a minute, Dr. Watson. Is it my eyesight, or is there something moving on that hillside right now?" It was about several miles away, but against the dark green and gray background, I could clearly see a small black dot. "Come on, sir, come on!" cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. "You can see for yourself, and then judge for yourself." The telescope was a bulky instrument mounted on a tripod, which rested on the flat lead roof.Frankland closed his eyes and let out an exclamation of satisfaction. "Quickly, Dr. Watson, come quickly, don't wait for him to pass the mountain!" And indeed, there he was, a child with a little roll on his shoulder, plodding slowly up the hill.When he reached the highest point, against the dark blue sky, for a moment I saw the disheveled stranger.He looked around furtively, as if afraid of being followed.Then it disappeared over the mountain. "Ha, am I right?" "Of course, that kid seems to have some secret mission." "A county policeman can guess what kind of mission it is, but I won't tell them a word, and I ask you to keep it a secret, Dr. Watson. Don't give a word, you understand. !" "Just follow orders." "They've treated me so badly - so badly. When the truth of Frankland's suit against the Queen's Government comes out, I daresay the whole country will be outraged. I won't help anyway. The police are busy. They want to deal with me, not the straw man who symbolizes me, tied to a pole by these hooligans and burned. You don't go away! You have to help me drink up this bottle to celebrate this greatness victory!" I declined all his entreaties, and succeeded in repelling his idea of ​​walking home with me.I followed the road as long as he could see me, and then suddenly I turned off the road and walked across the moor toward the hill where the boy had disappeared.Everything is going well with me, and I can swear that I will never, for lack of spirit and perseverance, miss the opportunity that fate has presented to me. By the time I reached the top, the sun was already setting, and the sun-facing side of the slope below was a golden green, while the other side was completely covered in gray shadows.On the very distant skyline, there was a faint twilight, and in the twilight stood out the strange shapes of Beliver and Vickson Rock.In the boundless land, nothing moves.A gray goose, maybe a gull or curlew, soars high in the blue sky.Between the vast expanse of the sky and the barren land below, it and I seemed to be the only living beings here.The sight of the desert, the feeling of solitude, and the mystery and urgency of my mission made me shudder.The child was nowhere to be seen, but in a ravine below me there were some old stone houses in a circle, and one in the middle had a roof that protected it from the sun and rain.My heart skipped a beat when I saw it. This must be where the man was hiding.At last my foot was on the threshold of his hiding place—his secret was within my grasp. As I approached the hut slowly, I walked cautiously and cautiously, like Stapleton approaching a settled butterfly with his net aloft.I am deeply satisfied that this place has indeed been used as a dwelling place.A path loomed among the rocks led to a crumbling opening that served as a door.The unknown man might be hiding there, or wandering about in the moor.The sense of adventure thrilled my nerves, and I put my cigarette butt aside, and with my hand on the butt of my revolver, I walked quickly to the door, and I looked into the room, which was empty. But there are many signs to show that I did not look in the wrong place.This must be where the man lives.A tarpaulin wrapped with several blankets was placed on the stone slab where Neolithic people once slept, and there was a pile of burnt ashes in a rough stone frame, and some kitchen utensils and half bucket of water.A mess of empty cans showed that the man had been living in the house for some time.After my eyes got used to the tangled dots of sunlight filtering through the leaves, I saw a small metal cup and a half-bottle of wine in the corner of the room.In the center of the hut there was a flat stone which had been used as a table, and on it was a little cloth bag - no doubt the roll on the child's shoulder which I had seen through the telescope.It contained a loaf of bread, a can of ox tongue, and two cans of peaches.When I put it down again after inspecting it, my heart skipped a beat because I saw there was a piece of paper with writing on it. I picked it up, and it was scrawled in pencil: "Dr. Watson has been to Combe Tracey." I stood there with the paper in my hand for a full minute, thinking about what the message was supposed to mean.Then it was not Sir Henry who was following the secret man, but me.He didn't follow me himself, but sent someone—perhaps the boy—after me, and that's what he wrote.Probably not a move has been made since my arrival on the moor that he has not seen and reported.I always feel that there is an invisible force, like a dense net, that surrounds us incomparably skillfully, and gathers us so loosely, only to let us know ourselves at the most critical moment. Really got entangled in the mesh. Now that I had a report, there might be more, so I searched around the house.But there was no trace, nor was there any sign to be found of the character and purpose of the people who dwelt in this strange place.The only thing that was certain was that he must have had the Spartan habits of being indifferent to the comforts of life.I looked at the gaping roof and thought about the downpour that day, and I realized more deeply how firm his will to achieve his goal was. Because of this will, he To live in such an uncomfortable place.Is he really our vicious enemy, or just happens to be our guardian angel?I made up my mind not to leave the hut until I knew all about it. Outside, the sun was already low, and the west glowed with fiery red and golden afterglow, and the skylight reflected patches of red light from the puddles scattered in the great Grimpen Mire in the distance.There the two towers of Baskerville Hall could be seen, and in the distance a hazy band of smoke indicated the village of Grimpen, and between them, behind the hill, was the Stapleton house.Under the golden afterglow of the evening, everything looks so beautiful, intoxicating and peaceful.But when I saw this scene, not only could I not feel the tranquility of nature in my heart, but I was trembling because of the bewilderment and fear caused by the approaching meeting.Nerves throbbing, but determination firm, I sat in the dark recesses of the hut, waiting patiently for the arrival of the occupant. Later, I finally heard him coming, and there was the sound of leather shoes walking on the stone in the distance, and he was getting closer step by step.I retreated to the darkest corner of the room, cocked the revolver with my hand in my pocket, and resolved not to show myself till I could see the man clearly.The sound stopped for a long time, indicating that he had stopped; then the footsteps came forward again, and a black shadow was projected through the opening of the stone house. "It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson," said a familiar voice; "I really think you will be much more comfortable out there than inside."