福尔摩斯-巴斯克维尔的猎犬 Chapter 7

Chapter VII.

The Stapletons of Merripit House

The fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface from our minds the grim and gray impression which had been left upon both of us by our first experience of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat at breakfast the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows, throwing watery patches of colour from the coats of arms which covered them. The dark panelling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and it was hard to realize that this was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom into our souls upon the evening before.

“I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have to blame!” said the baronet. “We were tired with our journey and chilled by our drive, so we took a gray view of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so it is all cheerful once more.”

“And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination,” I answered. “Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman I think, sobbing in the night?”

“That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that I heard something of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there was no more of it, so I concluded that it was all a dream.”

“I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sob of a woman.”

“We must ask about this right away.” He rang the bell and asked Barrymore whether he could account for our experience. It seemed to me that the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler still as he listened to his master's question.

“There are only two women in the house, Sir Henry,” he answered. “One is the scullery-maid, who sleeps in the other wing. The other is my wife, and I can answer for it that the sound could not have come from her.”

And yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that after breakfast I met Mrs. Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy-featured woman with a stern set expression of mouth. But her tell-tale eyes were red and glanced at me from between swollen lids. It was she, then, who wept in the night, and if she did so her husband must know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery in declaring that it was not so. Why had he done this? And why did she weep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome, black-bearded man there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It was he who had been the first to discover the body of Sir Charles, and we had only his word for all the circumstances which led up to the old man's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore after all whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street? The beard might well have been the same. The cabman had described a somewhat shorter man, but such an impression might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the point forever? Obviously the first thing to do was to see the Grimpen postmaster, and find whether the test telegram had really been placed in Barrymore's own hands. Be the answer what it might, I should at least have something to report to Sherlock Holmes.

Sir Henry had numerous papers to examine after breakfast, so that the time was propitious for my excursion. It was a pleasant walk of four miles along the edge of the moor, leading me at last to a small gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings, which proved to be the inn and the house of Dr. Mortimer, stood high above the rest. The postmaster, who was also the village grocer, had a clear recollection of the telegram.

“Certainly, sir,” said he, “I had the telegram delivered to Mr. Barrymore exactly as directed.”

“Who delivered it?”

“My boy here. James, you delivered that telegram to Mr. Barrymore at the Hall last week, did you not?”

“Yes, father, I delivered it.”

“Into his own hands?” I asked.

“Well, he was up in the loft at the time, so that I could not put it into his own hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymore's hands, and she promised to deliver it at once.”

“Did you see Mr. Barrymore?”

“No, sir; I tell you he was in the loft.”

“If you didn't see him, how do you know he was in the loft?”

“Well, surely his own wife ought to know where he is,” said the postmaster testily. “Didn't he get the telegram? If there is any mistake it is for Mr. Barrymore himself to complain.”

It seemed hopeless to pursue the inquiry any farther, but it was clear that in spite of Holmes's ruse we had no proof that Barrymore had not been in London all the time. Suppose that it were so—suppose that the same man had been the last who had seen Sir Charles alive, and the first to dog the new heir when he returned to England. What then? Was he the agent of others or had he some sinister design of his own? What interest could he have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of the strange warning clipped out of the leading article of the Times. Was that his work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent upon counteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive was that which had been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family could be scared away a comfortable and permanent home would be secured for the Barrymores. But surely such an explanation as that would be quite inadequate to account for the deep and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving an invisible net round the young baronet. Holmes himself had said that no more complex case had come to him in all the long series of his sensational investigations. I prayed, as I walked back along the gray, lonely road, that my friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations and able to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility from my shoulders.

Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet behind me and by a voice which called me by name. I turned, expecting to see Dr. Mortimer, but to my surprise it was a stranger who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man, flaxen-haired and lean-jawed, between thirty and forty years of age, dressed in a gray suit and wearing a straw hat. A tin box for botanical specimens hung over his shoulder and he carried a green butterfly-net in one of his hands.

“You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson,” said he, as he came panting up to where I stood. “Here on the moor we are homely folk and do not wait for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my name from our mutual friend, Mortimer. I am Stapleton, of Merripit House.”

“Your net and box would have told me as much,” said I, “for I knew that Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you know me?”

“I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out to me from the window of his surgery as you passed. As our road lay the same way I thought that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust that Sir Henry is none the worse for his journey?”

“He is very well, thank you.”

“We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Sir Charles the new baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking much of a wealthy man to come down and bury himself in a place of this kind, but I need not tell you that it means a very great deal to the country-side. Sir Henry has, I suppose, no superstitious fears in the matter?”

“I do not think that it is likely.”

“Of course you know the legend of the fiend dog which haunts the family?”

“I have heard it.”

“It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here! Any number of them are ready to swear that they have seen such a creature upon the moor.” He spoke with a smile, but I seemed to read in his eyes that he took the matter more seriously. “The story took a great hold upon the imagination of Sir Charles, and I have no doubt that it led to his tragic end.”

“But how?”

“His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog might have had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancy that he really did see something of the kind upon that last night in the Yew Alley. I feared that some disaster might occur, for I was very fond of the old man, and I knew that his heart was weak.”

“How did you know that?”

“My friend Mortimer told me.”

“You think, then, that some dog pursued Sir Charles, and that he died of fright in consequence?”

“Have you any better explanation?”

“I have not come to any conclusion.”

“Has Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

The words took away my breath for an instant, but a glance at the placid face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprise was intended.

“It is useless for us to pretend that we do not know you, Dr. Watson,” said he. “The records of your detective have reached us here, and you could not celebrate him without being known yourself. When Mortimer told me your name he could not deny your identity. If you are here, then it follows that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself in the matter, and I am naturally curious to know what view he may take.”

“I am afraid that I cannot answer that question.”

“May I ask if he is going to honour us with a visit himself?”

“He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases which engage his attention.”

“What a pity! He might throw some light on that which is so dark to us. But as to your own researches, if there is any possible way in which I can be of service to you I trust that you will command me. If I had any indication of the nature of your suspicions or how you propose to investigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you some aid or advice.”

“I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friend, Sir Henry, and that I need no help of any kind.”

“Excellent!” said Stapleton. “You are perfectly right to be wary and discreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was an unjustifiable intrusion, and I promise you that I will not mention the matter again.”

We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from the road and wound away across the moor. A steep, boulder-sprinkled hill lay upon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry. The face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns and brambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise there floated a gray plume of smoke.

“A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to Merripit House,” said he. “Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have the pleasure of introducing you to my sister.”

My first thought was that I should be by Sir Henry's side. But then I remembered the pile of papers and bills with which his study table was littered. It was certain that I could not help with those. And Holmes had expressly said that I should study the neighbours upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, and we turned together down the path.

“It is a wonderful place, the moor,” said he, looking round over the undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged granite foaming up into fantastic surges. “You never tire of the moor. You cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast, and so barren, and so mysterious.”

“You know it well, then?”

“I have only been here two years. The residents would call me a newcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. But my tastes led me to explore every part of the country round, and I should think that there are few men who know it better than I do.”

“Is it hard to know?”

“Very hard. You see, for example, this great plain to the north here with the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anything remarkable about that?”

“It would be a rare place for a gallop.”

“You would naturally think so and the thought has cost several their lives before now. You notice those bright green spots scattered thickly over it?”

“Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest.”

Stapleton laughed.

“That is the great Grimpen Mire,” said he. “A false step yonder means death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor ponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quite a long time craning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him down at last. Even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn rains it is an awful place. And yet I can find my way to the very heart of it and return alive. By George, there is another of those miserable ponies!”

Something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful cry echoed over the moor. It turned me cold with horror, but my companion's nerves seemed to be stronger than mine.

“It's gone!” said he. “The mire has him. Two in two days, and many more, perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the dry weather, and never know the difference until the mire has them in its clutches. It's a bad place, the great Grimpen Mire.”

“And you say you can penetrate it?”

“Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man can take. I have found them out.”

“But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?”

“Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cut off on all sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them in the course of years. That is where the rare plants and the butterflies are, if you have the wit to reach them.”

“I shall try my luck some day.”

He looked at me with a surprised face.

“For God's sake put such an idea out of your mind,” said he. “Your blood would be upon my head. I assure you that there would not be the least chance of your coming back alive. It is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am able to do it.”

“Halloa!” I cried. “What is that?”

A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It filled the whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it came. From a dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into a melancholy, throbbing murmur once again. Stapleton looked at me with a curious expression in his face.

“Queer place, the moor!” said he.

“But what is it?”

“The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles calling for its prey. I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite so loud.”

I looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the huge swelling plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a tor behind us.

“You are an educated man. You don't believe such nonsense as that?” said I. “What do you think is the cause of so strange a sound?”

“Bogs make queer noises sometimes. It's the mud settling, or the water rising, or something.”

“No, no, that was a living voice.”

“Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?”

“No, I never did.”

“It's a very rare bird—practically extinct—in England now, but all things are possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not be surprised to learn that what we have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns.”

“It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my life.”

“Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hill-side yonder. What do you make of those?”

The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of stone, a score of them at least.

“What are they? Sheep-pens?”

“No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric man lived thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived there since, we find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them. These are his wigwams with the roofs off. You can even see his hearth and his couch if you have the curiosity to go inside.”

“But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?”

“Neolithic man—no date.”

“What did he do?”

“He grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to dig for tin when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look at the great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes, you will find some very singular points about the moor, Dr. Watson. Oh, excuse me an instant! It is surely Cyclopides.”

A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an instant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit of it. To my dismay the creature flew straight for the great mire, and my acquaintance never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuft behind it, his green net waving in the air. His gray clothes and jerky, zigzag, irregular progress made him not unlike some huge moth himself. I was standing watching his pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity and fear lest he should lose his footing in the treacherous mire, when I heard the sound of steps, and turning round found a woman near me upon the path. She had come from the direction in which the plume of smoke indicated the position of Merripit House, but the dip of the moor had hid her until she was quite close.

I could not doubt that this was the Miss Stapleton of whom I had been told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, and I remembered that I had heard someone describe her as being a beauty. The woman who approached me was certainly that, and of a most uncommon type. There could not have been a greater contrast between brother and sister, for Stapleton was neutral tinted, with light hair and gray eyes, while she was darker than any brunette whom I have seen in England—slim, elegant, and tall. She had a proud, finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed impassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the beautiful dark, eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress she was, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonely moorland path. Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and then she quickened her pace towards me. I had raised my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark, when her own words turned all my thoughts into a new channel.

“Go back!” she said. “Go straight back to London, instantly.”

I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed at me, and she tapped the ground impatiently with her foot.

“Why should I go back?” I asked.

“I cannot explain.” She spoke in a low, eager voice, with a curious lisp in her utterance. “But for God's sake do what I ask you. Go back and never set foot upon the moor again.”

“But I have only just come.”

“Man, man!” she cried. “Can you not tell when a warning is for your own good? Go back to London! Start to-night! Get away from this place at all costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not a word of what I have said. Would you mind getting that orchid for me among the mares-tails yonder? We are very rich in orchids on the moor, though, of course, you are rather late to see the beauties of the place.”

Stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathing hard and flushed with his exertions.

“Halloa, Beryl!” said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of his greeting was not altogether a cordial one.

“Well, Jack, you are very hot.”

“Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. He is very rare and seldom found in the late autumn. What a pity that I should have missed him!” He spoke unconcernedly, but his small light eyes glanced incessantly from the girl to me.

“You have introduced yourselves, I can see.”

“Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him to see the true beauties of the moor.”

“Why, who do you think this is?”

“I imagine that it must be Sir Henry Baskerville.”

“No, no,” said I. “Only a humble commoner, but his friend. My name is Dr. Watson.”

A flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. “We have been talking at cross purposes,” said she.

“Why, you had not very much time for talk,” her brother remarked with the same questioning eyes.

“I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of being merely a visitor,” said she. “It cannot much matter to him whether it is early or late for the orchids. But you will come on, will you not, and see Merripit House?”

A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it, but the trees, as is usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were admitted by a strange, wizened, rusty-coated old manservant, who seemed in keeping with the house. Inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with an elegance in which I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As I looked from their windows at the interminable granite-flecked moor rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon I could not but marvel at what could have brought this highly educated man and this beautiful woman to live in such a place.

“Queer spot to choose, is it not?” said he as if in answer to my thought. “And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not, Beryl?”

“Quite happy,” said she, but there was no ring of conviction in her words.

“I had a school,” said Stapleton. “It was in the north country. The work to a man of my temperament was mechanical and uninteresting, but the privilege of living with youth, of helping to mould those young minds, and of impressing them with one's own character and ideals, was very dear to me. However, the fates were against us. A serious epidemic broke out in the school and three of the boys died. It never recovered from the blow, and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet, if it were not for the loss of the charming companionship of the boys, I could rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with my strong tastes for botany and zoology, I find an unlimited field of work here, and my sister is as devoted to Nature as I am. All this, Dr. Watson, has been brought upon your head by your expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window.”

“It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dull—less for you, perhaps, than for your sister.”

“No, no, I am never dull,” said she, quickly.

“We have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbours. Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line. Poor Sir Charles was also an admirable companion. We knew him well, and miss him more than I can tell. Do you think that I should intrude if I were to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry?”

“I am sure that he would be delighted.”

“Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so. We may in our humble way do something to make things more easy for him until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you come upstairs, Dr. Watson, and inspect my collection of Lepidoptera? I think it is the most complete one in the south-west of England. By the time that you have looked through them lunch will be almost ready.”

But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which had been associated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all these things tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of these more or less vague impressions there had come the definite and distinct warning of Miss Stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that I could not doubt that some grave and deep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch, and I set off at once upon my return journey, taking the grass-grown path by which we had come.

It seems, however, that there must have been some short cut for those who knew it, for before I had reached the road I was astounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side of the track. Her face was beautifully flushed with her exertions, and she held her hand to her side.

“I have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson,” said she. “I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop, or my brother may miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am about the stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were Sir Henry. Please forget the words I said, which have no application whatever to you.”

“But I can't forget them, Miss Stapleton,” said I. “I am Sir Henry's friend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine. Tell me why it was that you were so eager that Sir Henry should return to London.”

“A woman's whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me better you will understand that I cannot always give reasons for what I say or do.”

“No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the look in your eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, Miss Stapleton, for ever since I have been here I have been conscious of shadows all round me. Life has become like that great Grimpen Mire, with little green patches everywhere into which one may sink and with no guide to point the track. Tell me then what it was that you meant, and I will promise to convey your warning to Sir Henry.”

An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her face, but her eyes had hardened again when she answered me.

“You make too much of it, Dr. Watson,” said she. “My brother and I were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles. We knew him very intimately, for his favourite walk was over the moor to our house. He was deeply impressed with the curse which hung over the family, and when this tragedy came I naturally felt that there must be some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I was distressed therefore when another member of the family came down to live here, and I felt that he should be warned of the danger which he will run. That was all which I intended to convey.

“But what is the danger?”

“You know the story of the hound?”

“I do not believe in such nonsense.”

“But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him away from a place which has always been fatal to his family. The world is wide. Why should he wish to live at the place of danger?”

“Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry's nature. I fear that unless you can give me some more definite information than this it would be impossible to get him to move.”

“I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite.”

“I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If you meant no more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish your brother to overhear what you said? There is nothing to which he, or anyone else, could object.”

“My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for he thinks it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. He would be very angry if he knew that I have said anything which might induce Sir Henry to go away. But I have done my duty now and I will say no more. I must get back, or he will miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Good-bye!“ She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among the scattered boulders, while I, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way to Baskerville Hall.

第七章　梅利琵宅邸的主人斯台普吞

第二天早晨的清新美景，多少消除了我们初见巴斯克维尔庄园时所产生的恐怖与一陰一郁的印象。当巴斯克维尔爵士和我坐下来吃早饭的时候，一陽一光已由高高的窗棂中散射进来，透过装在窗上的盾徽形窗玻璃投射一出一片片淡弱无力的色光，深色的护墙板被金色的一陽一光照得发出象青铜色的光辉；要说这就是昨晚在我们的心灵上投以暗影的那个房间，实在难以令人相信。

“我想这只能怪咱们自己，而不能怪房子！”准男爵说道，“那时，咱们由于旅途劳顿，乘车寒冷，以致对这地方产生了不快的印象。现在，咱们的身心已经焕然一新，所以又感到很愉快了。”

“可是，这还不仅仅是想象的问题，”我回答道，“比如说吧，您听到了有人——我想是个妇女，——在夜里哭泣吗？”

“真是奇怪，我在半醒半睡的时候确实听到过哭声。我等了很久，可是再也听不到了，因此我就肯定了那都是做梦。”

“我听得清清楚楚，而且我敢肯定地说，是女人的哭声。”

“咱们得马上将这事问清楚。”他摇铃叫来了白瑞摩，问他是否能对我们所听到的哭声给以解释。据我看来，总管听到主人所问的问题之后，苍白的面孔变得更加苍白了。

“亨利爵爷，在这房子里只有两个女人，”他回答道，“一个是女仆，她睡在对面厢房里；另一个就是我的妻子，可是我敢保证，哭声决不是由她发出来的。”

可是后来证明他竟是撒谎，因为在早饭之后，我碰巧在长廊上遇到了白瑞摩太太，一陽一光正照着她的脸，她是个体格高大、外表冷淡、身一体胖胖的女人，嘴角上带着严肃的表情。

可是她的两眼无可掩饰地都红着，还用红肿着的眼睛望了我一下。这么说，夜间哭的就是她了。如果她确是哭过，她丈夫就一定知其原委，可是他居然冒着显然会被人发现的危险否认事实。他为什么要这样做呢？还有，她为什么哭得那样伤心呢？在这面孔白皙、漂亮、蓄着黑一胡一须的人的周围，已经形成了神秘而凄惨的气氛。是他第一个发现了查尔兹爵士的一尸一体，而且我们也只由他那里才得到了关于将那老人引向死亡的有关情况的介绍。可能吗？难道我们在摄政街所看到的那辆马车里的那个人就是白瑞摩吗？一胡一须很可能是相同的。

马车夫形容的是个身材相当矮小的人，可是这样的印象很可能是错误的。我怎样才能弄清这一点呢？显然，首先该做的就是去找格林盆的邮政局长，弄清那件试探一性一的电报是否真的当面一交一给了白瑞摩。无论答案如何，我至少应该有些能向歇洛克·福尔摩斯报告的事。

早餐之后，亨利爵士有很多文件要看，因此这段时间恰好可以让我出门了。这是一次令人愉快的散步，我沿着沼地的边缘走了四英里路，最后走到了一个荒凉单调的小村，村中有两所较其余都高的大房子，事后知道一所是客栈，一所是摩梯末医生的房子，那位邮政局长——又是本村的食品杂货商，对那封电报记得很清楚。*

“肯定的，先生，”他说道，“我是完全按照指示叫人将那封电报送一交一白瑞摩先生的。”

“谁送去的？”

“我的小孩送去的。杰姆士，上星期是你把那封电报送一交一住在庄园的白瑞摩先生的，是不是？”

“是的，爸爸，是我送的。”

“是他亲手收到的吗？”我问道。

“啊，当时他正在楼上呢，所以我没有能亲自一交一到他手，可是，我把它一交一到了白瑞摩太太的手里了，她答应说马上就送上去。”

“你看到白瑞摩先生了吗？”

“没有，先生，我跟您说他是在楼上呢。”

“如果你并没有看到他，你怎么能知道他是在楼上呢？”

“噢，当然他自己的妻子应该知道他在什么地方啊！”邮政局长有些愠怒地说道，“究竟他收到了那份电报没有？如果发生了任何差错，也应该是白瑞摩先生自己来质问啊。”

要想继续这件调查似已无望了，可是有一点是很清楚的，虽然福尔摩斯使用了巧计，我们仍未能证明白瑞摩一直也没有去过伦敦。假设事实就是如此——假设他就是最后看到查尔兹爵士还活着的人，就是首先跟踪刚刚回到英伦的新继承人的人，那又怎么样呢？他是受别人的指使呢，还是另有个人的一陰一谋呢？害巴斯克维尔家的人对他会有什么好处呢？我想起了用《泰晤士报》评论剪贴而成的警告信。这是否就是他干的呢，还是可能有谁因为决心要反对他的一陰一谋而干的呢？

唯一能想象得出的就是亨利爵士所猜测过的那种动机，那就是说，如果庄园的主人能被吓跑的话，那么白瑞摩夫妇就能到手一个永久而舒适的家了。可是这样一种解释，对于如同环绕年轻的准男爵织成一面无形罗网的、深谋远虑的一陰一谋来说，确乎十分不当。福尔摩斯本人曾说过，在他那一长串惊人的侦探案里，再没有过比这更复杂的案子了。在我沿着颜色灰白而又孤寂的道路回来的途中，心里默默地祷告着，愿我的朋友能从他的事务中脱身到这里来，从我的双肩上卸下这份沉重的责任吧。

忽然一阵跑步声和唤着我名字的声音打断了我的思路，我转过身去，心想一定是摩梯末医生，但是很使我惊奇，追我的竟是一个陌生人。他是个矮小瘦削、一胡一子刮得很干净和面貌端正的人，长着淡黄色的头发，下巴尖瘦，大约三四十岁的样子，穿着一身灰色衣服，戴着草帽，肩上挂着一只薄薄的植物标本匣，一只手里拿着一把绿色的捕蝶网。

“我相信您一定会原谅我的冒昧无礼，华生医生，”当他喘着气跑到我跟前的时候说道，“在这片沼地里，人们都象是一家人似的，彼此相见，都不用等着正式的介绍。我想您从咱们的朋友摩梯末医生那里可能已经听说过我的姓名了，我就是住在梅利琵的斯台普吞。”

“您的木匣和网就已经很清楚地告诉我了，”我说道，“因为我早就知道斯台普吞先生是一位生物学家。可是您怎么会认识我呢？”

“在我拜访摩梯末医生的时候，您正从他的窗外走过，于是，他就把您指给我看了。因为咱们走的是一条路，所以我想赶上您来作个自我介绍。我相信亨利爵士的这趟旅行一切都好吧？”

“谢谢您，他很好。”

“在查尔兹爵士惨死之后，我们都担心这位新来的准男爵也许会不愿住在这里呢。要想使一位有钱的人屈尊埋没在这样一个地方，确实有点说不过去。可是，用不着我多说，这一点对乡鄙之地说来，确实是关系重大呢。我想，亨利爵士对这件事不会有什么迷信的恐惧心理吧？”

“我想大概不会吧。”

“您一定听说过关于缠着这一族人的魔鬼似的猎狗的那件传说吧？”

“我听说过了。”

“这里的农民们真是太容易轻信传闻了！他们每个人都能发誓说，在这片沼地里曾经见到过这样一只畜生。”他说话时带着微笑，可是我好象从他的眼里看得出来，他对这件事情的态度很认真呢。“这事在查尔兹爵士的心理上产生了很大的影响。我肯定地相信，就因为这件事才使得他落得这样悲惨的结局。”

“怎么会呢？”

“他的神经已紧张到一看见狗就会对他那有病的心脏发生致命影响的程度。我估计他临死的那天晚上，在水松夹道里，他真的看到了什么类似的东西。过去我常担心会发生什么灾难，因为我很喜欢那位老人，而且我也知道他的心脏很弱。”

“您怎么会知道这一点呢？”

“我的朋友摩梯末告诉我的。”

“那么，您认为是有一只狗追着查尔兹爵士，结果他就被吓死了吗？”

“除此以外您还有什么更好的解释吗？”

“我还没有作出任何结论呢。”

“歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生呢？”

这句话使我刹时间屏住了呼吸，可是再一看我那同伴的一温一和平静的面孔和沉着的目光，才又觉得他并非故意要使我惊讶。

“要想让我们假装不认识您，那是毫无用处的，华生医生，”他说道，“我们在这里早已看到了您那侦探案的记述了，而且您也无法做到既赞扬了您的朋友，而又不使您自己闻名。

当摩梯末对我谈起您的时候，他也无法否认您的身份。现在您既然到了这里，那么显然是歇洛克·福尔摩斯先生本人也对这件事发生了兴趣，而我呢，自然也就很想知道一下他对这件事的看法究竟如何了。”

“恐怕我回答不了这个问题。”

“冒昧地请问一下，他是否要赏光亲自来这儿呢？”

“目前他还不能离开城里。他在集中一精一力搞别的案子呢。”

“多么可惜！他也许能把这件难解的事给我们搞出些端倪来呢。当您在进行调查的时候，如果我能效劳的话，尽避差遣好了。如果我能知道您的疑问或是您准备如何进行调查，我也许马上就能予以协助或提出建议来呢。”

“请您相信，我在这里不过是来拜访我的朋友亨利爵士，而且我也不需要任何协助。”

“好啊！”斯台普吞说道，“您这样的小心谨慎完全是正确的。我受到训斥完全是罪有应得，因为我的想法只是没有道理的多管闲事。我向您保证，以后再也不提这件事了。”

我们走过了一条狭窄多草的由大道斜岔出去的小路，曲折迂回地穿过沼地。右侧是陡峭的乱石密布的小山，多年前已被开成了花岗岩采石场；向着我们的一面是暗色的崖壁，隙罅里长着羊齿植物和荆棘；在远处的山坡上，浮动着一抹灰色的烟雾。

“顺着这条沼地小径慢慢走一会儿，就能到梅利琵了，”他说道，“也许您能匀出一小时的时间来吧，我很愿意把您介绍给我的妹妹。”

我首先想到我应当陪伴着亨利爵士，可是随后又想起了那一堆满满地堆在他书桌上的文件和证券，当然在这些事情上我是无法帮他忙的，而且福尔摩斯还曾特意地说过，我应当对沼地上的邻人们加以考察，因此我就接受了斯台普吞的邀请，一起转上了小路。

“这片沼地可真是个奇妙的地方，”他说道，一面向四周环顾。起伏不平的丘原，象是绵延的绿色一浪一潮；参差不齐的花岗岩山巅，好象是被一浪一涛激起的奇形怪状的水花。“您永远也不会对这沼地感到厌烦的，沼地里绝妙的隐秘之处您简直就无法想象，那样的广大，那样的荒凉，那样的神秘。”

“那么说，您对沼地一定知道得很清楚啰？”

“我在这里才只住了两年，当地居民还把我称作新来的呢，我们来的时候，查尔兹爵士也是刚在这里住下没有多久。

我的兴趣促使我观察了这乡间的每一部分，所以我想很少有人能比我对这里知道得更清楚了。”

“要想弄清楚是很难的事吗？”

“很难。您要知道，比如说吧，北面的这个大平原，中间矗起了几座奇形怪状的小山。您可看得出来有什么特殊之处吗？”

“这倒是个少有的纵马奔驰的好地方。”

“您自然会这样想，可是到现在为止，这种想法已不知葬送了多少一性一命了。您看得见那些密布着嫩绿草地的地方吗？”

“是啊，看来那地方要比其他地方更肥沃些呢。”

斯台普吞大笑起来。

“那就是大格林盆泥潭，”他说道，“在那里只要一步不小心，无论人畜都会丧命的。昨天我还看到一匹沼地的小马跑了进去，它再也没有出来。过了很长时间我还看到它由泥坑里探出头来，可是最后终于陷了进去。就是在干燥的月份，穿过那里也是危险的。下过这几场秋雨之后，那里就更加可怕了。可是我就能找到通往泥潭中心去的道路，并且还能活着回来。天哪！又是一匹倒霉的小马陷进去了。”

这时，我看到那绿色的苔草丛中，有个棕色的东西正在上下翻滚，脖子扭来扭去地向上伸着，随后发出一阵痛苦的长鸣，可怕的吼声在沼地里起着回音。吓得我好象浑身都凉了，可是他的神经似乎比我要坚强些。

“完了！”他说道，“泥潭已经把它吞没了。两天之内就葬送了两匹，今后，说不定还会陷进多少匹去呢；因为在干燥的天气里，它们已一习一惯于跑到那里去，可是它们在被泥潭缠住以前是不会知道那里天旱和雨后的不同的。格林盆大泥潭真是个糟糕的地方。”

“但是您不是说您能穿得过去吗？”

“是啊，这里有一条小路，只有动作很灵敏的人才能走得过去，我已经找到这条路了。”

“可是，您为什么竟想走进这种可怕的地方去呢？”

“啊，您看到那边的小山吗？那真象是周围被无法通过的、年代久远的泥潭隔绝了的小岛。如果您能有办法到那里去的话，那才是稀有植物和蝴蝶的生长之处呢。”

“哪天我也去碰一碰运气。”

他忽然脸上带着惊讶的表情望着我。

“千万放弃这个念头吧，”他说道，“那样就等于是我杀了您。我敢说您难得会活着回来的，我是靠着记住某些错综复杂的地标才能到那里去的。”

“天哪！”我喊了起来，“那是什么？”

一声又长又低、凄惨得无法形容的呻一吟声传遍了整个沼地，充满了整个空间，可是无法说出是从哪里发出来的。开始是模糊的哼声，然后变成了深沉的怒吼，再后来又变成了忧伤而有节奏的哼声。斯台普吞面带好奇的表情在望着我。

“沼地真是个奇怪的地方！”他说道。

“这究竟是什么呢？”

“农民们说是巴斯克维尔的猎狗在寻找它的猎物。我以前曾听到过一两次，可是声音从没有象这样大过。”

我心里害怕得直打冷战，一面向四周环顾点缀着一片片绿色树丛的起伏不平的原野。在广大的原野上，除了有一对大乌鸦在我们背后的岩岗上呱呱大叫之外，别无动静。

“您是个受过教育的人，谅必不会相信这些无稽之谈吧？”

我说道，“您认为这种奇怪的声音是从什么地方发出来的呢？”

“泥潭有时也会发出奇怪的声音来的。污泥下沉或是地下水往上冒，或是什么别的原因。”

“不，不，那是动物发出来的声音。”

“啊，也许是。您听过鹭鸶叫吗？”

“没有，从来没有听过。”

“在英伦这是一种很稀有的鸟——几乎已经绝种了——

可是在沼地里也许还有。是的，即使刚才我们听到的就是绝无仅有的鹭鸶的叫一声，这也是不足为奇的。”

“这真是我一生中所听到过的最可怕、最奇怪的声音了。”

“是啊，这里简直是个神秘可怕的地方。请看小山那边，您说那是些什么东西？”

整个陡峭的山坡上都是灰色石头围成的圆圈，至少有二十堆。

“是什么呢，是羊圈吗？”

“不，那是咱们可敬的祖先的住处，在史前时期住在沼地里的人很多，因为从那时以后再没有人在那里住饼，所以我们看到的那些安排的细微之处还和他们离开房子以前一模一样。那些是他们的缺了房顶的小屋。如果您竟因为好奇而到里面去走一趟的话，您还能看到他们的炉灶和一床一呢。”

“真够个市镇的规模呢。在什么时候还有人住饼呢？”

“大约在新石器时代——没有确实的年代可考。”

“他们那时干些什么呢？”

“他们在这些山坡上牧放牛群，当青铜的刀开始代替石斧的时候，他们就学会了开掘锡矿。您看对面山上的壕沟，那就是挖掘的遗迹。是的，华生医生，您会发现沼地的一些很特别的地方的，噢，对不起，请等一会儿！一定是赛克罗派德大飞蛾。”

一只不知是蝇还是蛾的东西横过了小路，翩翩地飞了过去，顷刻之间斯台普吞就以少有的力量和速度扑了过去。使我大吃一惊的是，那只小动物竟一直向大泥潭飞了过去，而我的朋友却挥舞着他那绿色的网兜，一步不停地在一丛丛小树中间跳跃前进着。他穿着灰色的衣服，加以猛然纵跳、曲折前进的动作，使他本身看来就宛如一只大飞蛾。我怀着既羡慕他那敏捷异常的动作又害怕他会在那莫测深浅的泥潭里失足的复杂心情，站在那里望着他往前追去。由于听到了脚步声，我转过身来，看到在离我不远的路边有一个女子，她是从浮游着一抹烟雾、说明是梅利琵所在之处的方向来的，因为一直被沼地的洼处遮着，所以直到她走得很近时才被我发现。

我相信这位就是我曾听说过的斯台普吞小一姐，因为在沼地里太太小一姐很少，而且我还记得曾听人把她形容成是个美人。向我走过来的这个女人，的确是应归入最不平凡的类型的。兄妹相貌的不同，大概再也没有比这更显著的了。斯台普吞的肤色适中，长着淡色的头发和灰色的眼睛；而她的肤色呢，比我在英伦见过的任何深肤色型的女郎都更深，身材纤长，仪态万方。她生就一副高傲而美丽的面孔，五官那样端正，要不是配上善感的双一唇和美丽的黑色而又热切的双眸的话就会显得冷淡了。她有着完美的身段，再加以高贵的衣着，简直就象是寂静的沼地小路上的一个怪异的幽灵。在我转过身来的时候，她正在看着她的哥哥，随后她就快步向我走了过来。我摘下了帽子正想说几句解释的话，她的话就把我的思潮引进了一条新路。

“回去吧！”她说道，“马上回到伦敦去，马上就走。”

我只能吃惊得发愣地盯着她。她的眼对我发着火焰似的光芒，一只脚不耐烦地在地上拍打着。

“我为什么就应该回去呢？”我问道。

“我不能解释。”她的声音低微而恳切，带有奇怪的大舌头似的声音，“可是看在上帝的面上，按照我所请求您的那样做吧，回去吧，再也不要到沼地里来。”

“可是我刚才来啊！”

“您这个人啊，您这个人哪！”她叫了起来，“难道您还看不出来这个警告是为您好吗？回伦敦去！今晚就动身！无论如何也要离开这个地方！嘘，我哥哥来了！必于我说过的话，一个字也不要提。劳驾您把杉叶藻那边的那枝兰花摘给我好吗？在我们这片沼地上兰花很多，您显然是来得太迟了，已经看不到这里的美丽之处了。”

斯台普吞已经放弃了对那只小虫的追捕，回到了我们的身边，由于劳累而大喘着气，而且面孔通红。

“啊炳，贝莉儿！”他说道。可是就我看来他那打招呼的语调并不热诚。

“啊，杰克，你很热了吧？”

“嗯，我刚才追一只赛克罗派德大飞蛾来着，是在晚秋时分很少见的一种。多可惜呀，我竟没有捉到！”他漫不经心地说着，可是他那明亮的小眼却不住地向我和那女子的脸上看来看去。

“我看得出来，你们已经自我介绍过了。”

“是啊，我正和亨利爵士说，他来得太晚了，已经看不到沼地的真正美丽之处了。”

“啊，你以为这位是谁呀？”

“我想象一定是亨利·巴斯克维尔爵士。”

“不，不对，”我说道，“我不过是个卑微的普通人，是爵士的朋友，我是华生医生。”

她那富于表情的面孔因懊恼而泛起了红晕。“我们竟然在误会之中谈起天来了。”她说道。

“啊，没关系，你们谈话的时间并不长啊。”她哥哥说话时仍以怀疑的眼光看着我们。

“我没有把华生医生当作客人，而是把他当作本地住户似地和他谈话，”她说道，“对他说来，兰花的早晚是没多大关系的。可是来吧，您不看一看我们在梅利琵的房子吗？”

走了不多的路就到了，是一所沼地上的荒凉孤独的房子，在从前这里还繁荣的时候是个牧人的农舍，可是现在经过了修理以后，已经变成一幢新式的住宅了。四周被果园环绕着，可是那些树就象沼地里的一般的树似的，都是矮小的和发育很坏的，这地方整个都显出一种一陰一郁之色。一个怪异、干瘦、看来和这所房子很相配的、衣着陈旧褪色的老男仆把我们让了进去。面的屋子很大，室内布置得整洁而高雅，由此也能看出那位女士的一爱一好来。我从窗口向外望着，那绵延无际的、散布着花岗岩的沼地，毫无间断地向着远方地平线的方向起伏着。我不禁感到奇怪，什么原因使得这位受过高深教育的男子和这位美丽的女士到这样的地方来住呢？

“选了个怪里怪气的地点，是不是？”他象回答我所想的问题似地说道，“可是我们竟能过得很快活，不是吗，贝莉儿？”

“很快活。”她说道。可是她的语调却显得很勉强。

“我曾经办过一所学校。”斯台普吞说道，“是在北方，那种工作对我这种一性一格的人来说，不免要感到枯燥乏味，但能够和青年们生活在一起，帮助和培养那些青年，并用个人的品行和理想去影响他们的心灵，这对我来说却是很可贵的。怎奈我们的运气不好，学校里发生了严重的传染病，死了三个男孩，经过这次打击，学校再也没有恢复起来，我的资金也大部分不可挽救地赔了进去。可是，如果不是因丧失了与那些可一爱一的孩子们同一居共处之乐的话，我本可以不把这件不幸的事念念于怀的。因为我对动物学和植物学有着强烈的一爱一好，在这里我发现了无穷无尽的材料可供我进行研究，而且我妹妹也和我一样地深一爱一着对大自然的研究工作。所有这一切，华生医生，在观察着我们窗外的沼地的时候都已钻进了您的脑子，由您的表情里就看得出来。”

“我确曾想到，这里的生活对您妹妹可能有些枯燥无味，也许对您还稍微好些。”

“不，不，我从不感到枯燥。”她赶快说道。

“我们有书，有我们的研究工作，而且我们还有着有趣的邻居。摩梯末医生在他那一界里是个最有学问的人了！可怜的查尔兹爵士也是可亲的同伴。我们对他知之甚深，并且对他还感到说不出的怀念。您认为我今天下午是否应该冒昧地去拜访一下亨利爵士呢？”*

“我敢说，他一定会高兴见您的。”

“那么，最好您顺便提一声，就说我打算这样作吧。也许在他一习一惯于这新的环境以前，我们能聊尽绵薄，以使他更方便些呢。华生医生，您愿意上楼看一看我所收集的鳞翅类昆虫吗？我想那已是在英伦西南部所能收集的最完整的一套了。

等您看完的时候，午饭差不多也就预备好了。”

可是我已急于要回去看我的委托人了。一陰一惨的沼地，不幸的小马的丧命和那与巴斯克维尔的猎狗的可怕的传说相关联的、令人一毛一骨悚然的声音，所有这些都给我的思想蒙上了一层忧伤的色彩。浮现在这些多少还是模糊的印象之上的，就是斯台普吞小一姐的清楚、肯定的警告了。她当时谈话的态度又是那样的诚心诚意，使我无法再怀疑在这警告的后面必然有着深刻而严重的理由。我婉谢了一切使我留下来吃午饭的敦请，立刻就踏上了归途，顺着来时的那条长满野草的小路走了回去。

好象是路熟的人一定能找到捷径似的，在我还没有走上大路的时候，我就大吃一惊地看到了斯台普吞小一姐正坐在小路旁边的一块石头上。她由于经过剧烈运动，脸上泛出了美丽的红晕，两手叉着腰。

“为了截住您，我一口气就跑来了，华生医生，”她说道，“我甚至连帽子都没有来得及戴。我不能在这里久停，否则我哥哥就要因我不在而感到寂寞了。对我所犯的愚蠢的错误，我想向您致以深深的歉意，我竟把您看成了亨利爵士。请把我所说过的话忘掉吧，这些话与您是毫无关系的。”

“可是我是忘不掉的，斯台普吞小一姐，”我说道，“我是亨利爵士的朋友，我非常关心他的幸福。告诉我吧，为什么您那么急切地认为亨利爵士应当回到伦敦去呢？”

“不过是女人的一时之念罢了，华生医生。等您对我了解得更深一些的时候，您就会知道，我对我自己的一言一行并不是都能说出个道理来的。”

“不对，不对。我还记得您那发一抖的声调，我还记得您那时的眼神。喔，请您对我坦白地讲吧，斯台普吞小一姐，从我一到这里起，我就感到周围都是疑一团一。生活已经变得象格林盆泥潭一样了，到处都是小片小片的绿丛，人们会在那里陷入地里，而没有向导能给他指出一条脱身的道路。告诉我吧，您究竟是什么意思，我答应您一定把您的警告转达给亨利爵士。”

她的脸上刹时间闪现了一种犹豫不决的表情，可是在她回答我的时候，她的两眼马上又变得坚决起来了。

“您想得太多了，华生医生，”她说道，“我哥哥和我听到了查尔兹爵士的噩耗以后，都非常震惊。我们和这位老人相知甚深，因为他最喜欢穿过沼地到我们的房子这边来散步。他深深地受着笼罩着他家的厄运的影响。在这悲剧发生之后，我自然而然地感觉到，他所表现的恐惧绝非出之无因。现在当这家又有人到这里来住的时候，我感到担心，因此我觉得，对于可能又降临在他身上的危险，应该提出警告来。这就是我想传达给他的全部的意思。”

“可是，您所说的危险是什么呢？”

“您知道那个猎狗的故事吧？”

“我不相信这种无稽之谈。”

“可是我相信。如果您还能影响亨利爵士的话，就请您把他从对他们一家说来永远是个致命的所在带走吧。四海之大，尽有安身之处，为什么他偏偏愿意住在这个危险的地方呢？”

“正因为这是个危险的地方，他才到这里来住的，亨利爵士的一性一格就是这样。除非您能再供给我一些比这更加具体的材料，否则，若想让他离开这里恐怕是不太容易的。”

“我再说不出任何具体的东西来了，因为我根本就不知道任何具体的东西。”

“我要再问您一个问题，斯台普吞小一姐。如果说，您当初和我说的时候寓意只不过如此的话，为什么您不愿让您哥哥听到您的话呢？这里面并没有值得他或是任何人反对的地方啊。”

“我哥哥很希望这座庄园能有人住下来，因为他认为这样对沼地上的穷人们会有些好处。如果他知道我说了什么可能会使亨利爵士离开这里的话，他可能会大发雷霆呢。现在我已尽了我的责任了，我再不说什么了。我得回去了，否则他看不见我，就会怀疑我是来和你见面了。再见吧！”她转身走去，几分钟之内就消失在乱石之中了，而我就怀着莫名的恐惧赶回了巴斯克维尔庄园。