Chapter 11
The Man on Black Tor
The meeting with Laura Lyons
That evening two things became clear to me. One was that the mysterious Laura Lyons had made an appointment to see Sir Charles on the same evening and at the same place where he died. Secondly, Barrymore told me there was another man living out on the moor in an old stone hut. His brother-in-law, the convict, had seen the mystery man. A messenger, a young boy, brought the man food every day. The man might be the stranger I had seen on the hilltop that night. Maybe he was dangerous.
At breakfast the next day I told Sir Henry about Laura Lyons. We thought she would talk more freely if only one of us visited her, so I went alone.
When I got to Coombe Tracey I found Mrs. Lyons sitting in front of a typewriter. She got up with a smile. With her rich brown hair and pink cheeks she seemed very beautiful, but then I noticed a certain hardness about her face. Her smile faded when she saw I was a stranger. She asked why I had come. I told her my name, and said I knew her father.
"I don't get along with my father," she said. "His friends aren't friends of mine. Only Sir Charles Baskerville and a few other kind people helped me when I was in trouble."
"I've come to see you about Sir Charles actually. I'd like to know if you ever wrote to him."
She did not reply, and turned pale.
"Why all the questions?" she asked sharply.
"It's better if I ask you privately, so that we keep things quiet."
"Well, I'll answer. I wrote him once or twice to thank him for his help."
"Do you remember the dates of those letters?"
"No."
"Did you ever meet him?"
"Yes, once or twice, when he came to Coombe Tracey."
"You didn't see him much, or write to him. So why did he help you? He must have known you well."
"A number of gentlemen knew my sad story and wanted to help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, sir Charles's neighbor and close friend. He was extremely kind and told Sir Charles about me.
"Did you ever write to sir Charles that you would meet him at Baskerville Hall? I asked.
Mrs. Lyons looked angry. "Certainly not," she said.
"How about on the day when sir Charles died?" I continued.
She looked uncomfortable.
"You must remember it," I said. "Part of your letter said: "Please, please, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock."
The color left her cheeks and she almost fainted.
"I thought sir Charles was a gentleman and would keep my letter secret," she said.
"He did burn the letter, but a part of it was found. Do you admit that you wrote it?"
"Yes," she replied. "Why should I deny it? I'm not ashamed that I wrote to ask for his help. That's why I asked him to meet me."
"But why at nighttime?"
"Because I had just heard that he was leaving for London the next day, and wouldn't return for months. Baskerville Hall is far away, and I couldn't get there early in the day."
"But why out in the garden, and not inside the house?"
"Do you think that a woman can go alone to a bachelor's house so late at night?"
"So, what happened when you got there?"
"I never went."
"Mrs. Lyons!"
"I swear to you, I didn't go! Things didn't happen the way I planned."
"What happened?"
"It's a private matter. I can't tell you."
"You asked sir Charles to meet you at the time and place where he died, but you didn't go in the end. That's a bit difficult to believe."
"But it's true."
I asked her more questions, but got no answer.
"Mrs. Lyons," I said. "I'm sure you know more than you're telling me. You'll get into trouble if I tell the police about this. Why did you ask sir Charles to burn that letter?"
"All right, I'll explain. You probably hears that I was very unhappy with my husband. He would only divorce me if I paid him some money. I wanted the divorce very badly. I knew sir Charles was very helpful and generous, and I thought he would help me if I met him that day."
"Then why didn't you go?"
"Because on that same day I got all the help I needed from another person."
"So, why didn't you write to sir Charles to explain?"
"I wanted to tell him, but by then it was too late to go to Baskerville Hall.
The next morning, I read about his death in the newspaper."
Her story seemed to be true. I could find out if she had tried to divorce her husband. If she had gone to Baskerville Hall, it was a long trip by carriage, and she would get back very late. Such a trip would not be a secret. But I knew Mrs. Lyons had not told me everything. Why did she turn so pale? Why was it so hard for her to talk? I had now reached a dead end.
I thought again about the stranger on Black Tor. Only the problem was that there were hundreds of empty stone huts on the moor. But I could start at Black Tor. I could use my gun to make him talk or, if I found his hut, I would wait for him there.
Meeting the stranger
But I had luck on ,y way home in the carriage. I saw Mr. Frankland with his red face and gray mustache outside his house, looking very happy.
"Good day, Dr. Watson," he said. "Do join me for a glass of wine."
I knew he was not very good to his daughter, but I agreed and sent the carriage home. He spoke first about the police. "I could tell them some news they are dying to hear. It's about the convict on the moor."
"How do you know he's on the moor?"
"I know how he gets his food, you see. I've seen a messenger taking food to someone."
I thought he was talking about Barrymore, but then he spoke about a boy.
"A boy carriage food passes by every day. I see him through my telescope on the roof."
Frankland was not talking about the convict, I realized. Barrymore only took him food at night, not during the day. maybe Frankland had discovered the tall stranger's hiding place.
"Perhaps what you've seen is a shepherd's son taking food to his father," I suggested.
"Really. sir!" he said. "That boy goes to a very rocky part of the moor where no shepherd would take his sheep. But wait a minute. There's someone on the hill right now!"
Many miles away, someone moved slowly up the hillside.
"Come upstairs to the roof, sir," cried Frankland, "and see for yourself."
Through the telescope we saw a boy slowly going up the hill. When he reached the top. he looked behind him. Then he went down the other side and disappeared.
"Well, am I right?"
"Yes, The boy seems to be doing something secret."
"But I won't tell the police. They never helped me, and I won't help them.
Promise me you won't tell them either."
"I'll do as you ask."
Mr. Frankland wanted me to stay, but I said goodbye. I walked towards Baskerville Hall first, then took a path back across the moor. I went over to the hill where the boy had walked. The sun was already low in the sky. The hills below me were gold and green, and some were already deep in shadow. It was a lonely, silent part of the moor. Below me was a circle of stone huts. My heart jumped when I saw that one hut still had a good roof. The stranger must live there.
I threw away my cigarette, and walked slowly towards the hut. Someone might be inside. I took out my gun and looked through the doorway. It was empty but the stranger must live there. I saw the ashes of a fire, cooking pots and a water bucket . On a flat stone were a loaf of bread and cans of food. I saw a sheet of paper with writing. On the note was the message: "Dr. Watson has gone to coombe Tracey."
I held the note in surprise. So, this man was following me. His boy had written a report about me. I searched the hut for more notes, but didn't find any. Was the stranger an enemy or a friend? I would wait for him to return. The sun was setting in a red and gold sky. I sat in a corner of the hut and waited, a little afraid.
And then I heard the sounds of a boot hitting a stone. The person came nearer and nearer. My hand held tightly to the gun in my pocket. There was a long silence as the stranger stopped. Then the footsteps came close, and stopped again. A shadow fell across the opening of the hut.
"It's really a lovely evening, My dear Watson," said a wall-known voice. "Why not come outside? I'm sure you'll be more comfortable there.
The Man on Black Tor
The meeting with Laura Lyons
That evening two things became clear to me. One was that the mysterious Laura Lyons had made an appointment to see Sir Charles on the same evening and at the same place where he died. Secondly, Barrymore told me there was another man living out on the moor in an old stone hut. His brother-in-law, the convict, had seen the mystery man. A messenger, a young boy, brought the man food every day. The man might be the stranger I had seen on the hilltop that night. Maybe he was dangerous.
At breakfast the next day I told Sir Henry about Laura Lyons. We thought she would talk more freely if only one of us visited her, so I went alone.
When I got to Coombe Tracey I found Mrs. Lyons sitting in front of a typewriter. She got up with a smile. With her rich brown hair and pink cheeks she seemed very beautiful, but then I noticed a certain hardness about her face. Her smile faded when she saw I was a stranger. She asked why I had come. I told her my name, and said I knew her father.
"I don't get along with my father," she said. "His friends aren't friends of mine. Only Sir Charles Baskerville and a few other kind people helped me when I was in trouble."
"I've come to see you about Sir Charles actually. I'd like to know if you ever wrote to him."
She did not reply, and turned pale.
"Why all the questions?" she asked sharply.
"It's better if I ask you privately, so that we keep things quiet."
"Well, I'll answer. I wrote him once or twice to thank him for his help."
"Do you remember the dates of those letters?"
"No."
"Did you ever meet him?"
"Yes, once or twice, when he came to Coombe Tracey."
"You didn't see him much, or write to him. So why did he help you? He must have known you well."
"A number of gentlemen knew my sad story and wanted to help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, sir Charles's neighbor and close friend. He was extremely kind and told Sir Charles about me.
"Did you ever write to sir Charles that you would meet him at Baskerville Hall? I asked.
Mrs. Lyons looked angry. "Certainly not," she said.
"How about on the day when sir Charles died?" I continued.
She looked uncomfortable.
"You must remember it," I said. "Part of your letter said: "Please, please, burn this letter, and be at the gate by ten o'clock."
The color left her cheeks and she almost fainted.
"I thought sir Charles was a gentleman and would keep my letter secret," she said.
"He did burn the letter, but a part of it was found. Do you admit that you wrote it?"
"Yes," she replied. "Why should I deny it? I'm not ashamed that I wrote to ask for his help. That's why I asked him to meet me."
"But why at nighttime?"
"Because I had just heard that he was leaving for London the next day, and wouldn't return for months. Baskerville Hall is far away, and I couldn't get there early in the day."
"But why out in the garden, and not inside the house?"
"Do you think that a woman can go alone to a bachelor's house so late at night?"
"So, what happened when you got there?"
"I never went."
"Mrs. Lyons!"
"I swear to you, I didn't go! Things didn't happen the way I planned."
"What happened?"
"It's a private matter. I can't tell you."
"You asked sir Charles to meet you at the time and place where he died, but you didn't go in the end. That's a bit difficult to believe."
"But it's true."
I asked her more questions, but got no answer.
"Mrs. Lyons," I said. "I'm sure you know more than you're telling me. You'll get into trouble if I tell the police about this. Why did you ask sir Charles to burn that letter?"
"All right, I'll explain. You probably hears that I was very unhappy with my husband. He would only divorce me if I paid him some money. I wanted the divorce very badly. I knew sir Charles was very helpful and generous, and I thought he would help me if I met him that day."
"Then why didn't you go?"
"Because on that same day I got all the help I needed from another person."
"So, why didn't you write to sir Charles to explain?"
"I wanted to tell him, but by then it was too late to go to Baskerville Hall.
The next morning, I read about his death in the newspaper."
Her story seemed to be true. I could find out if she had tried to divorce her husband. If she had gone to Baskerville Hall, it was a long trip by carriage, and she would get back very late. Such a trip would not be a secret. But I knew Mrs. Lyons had not told me everything. Why did she turn so pale? Why was it so hard for her to talk? I had now reached a dead end.
I thought again about the stranger on Black Tor. Only the problem was that there were hundreds of empty stone huts on the moor. But I could start at Black Tor. I could use my gun to make him talk or, if I found his hut, I would wait for him there.
Meeting the stranger
But I had luck on ,y way home in the carriage. I saw Mr. Frankland with his red face and gray mustache outside his house, looking very happy.
"Good day, Dr. Watson," he said. "Do join me for a glass of wine."
I knew he was not very good to his daughter, but I agreed and sent the carriage home. He spoke first about the police. "I could tell them some news they are dying to hear. It's about the convict on the moor."
"How do you know he's on the moor?"
"I know how he gets his food, you see. I've seen a messenger taking food to someone."
I thought he was talking about Barrymore, but then he spoke about a boy.
"A boy carriage food passes by every day. I see him through my telescope on the roof."
Frankland was not talking about the convict, I realized. Barrymore only took him food at night, not during the day. maybe Frankland had discovered the tall stranger's hiding place.
"Perhaps what you've seen is a shepherd's son taking food to his father," I suggested.
"Really. sir!" he said. "That boy goes to a very rocky part of the moor where no shepherd would take his sheep. But wait a minute. There's someone on the hill right now!"
Many miles away, someone moved slowly up the hillside.
"Come upstairs to the roof, sir," cried Frankland, "and see for yourself."
Through the telescope we saw a boy slowly going up the hill. When he reached the top. he looked behind him. Then he went down the other side and disappeared.
"Well, am I right?"
"Yes, The boy seems to be doing something secret."
"But I won't tell the police. They never helped me, and I won't help them.
Promise me you won't tell them either."
"I'll do as you ask."
Mr. Frankland wanted me to stay, but I said goodbye. I walked towards Baskerville Hall first, then took a path back across the moor. I went over to the hill where the boy had walked. The sun was already low in the sky. The hills below me were gold and green, and some were already deep in shadow. It was a lonely, silent part of the moor. Below me was a circle of stone huts. My heart jumped when I saw that one hut still had a good roof. The stranger must live there.
I threw away my cigarette, and walked slowly towards the hut. Someone might be inside. I took out my gun and looked through the doorway. It was empty but the stranger must live there. I saw the ashes of a fire, cooking pots and a water bucket . On a flat stone were a loaf of bread and cans of food. I saw a sheet of paper with writing. On the note was the message: "Dr. Watson has gone to coombe Tracey."
I held the note in surprise. So, this man was following me. His boy had written a report about me. I searched the hut for more notes, but didn't find any. Was the stranger an enemy or a friend? I would wait for him to return. The sun was setting in a red and gold sky. I sat in a corner of the hut and waited, a little afraid.
And then I heard the sounds of a boot hitting a stone. The person came nearer and nearer. My hand held tightly to the gun in my pocket. There was a long silence as the stranger stopped. Then the footsteps came close, and stopped again. A shadow fell across the opening of the hut.
"It's really a lovely evening, My dear Watson," said a wall-known voice. "Why not come outside? I'm sure you'll be more comfortable there.
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