5 The Stranger

Chapter 5 The Stranger That afternoon, Sir Henry met privately with Beryl Stapleton. He wanted to tell her he loved her, only she wouldn't let him speak. She insisted he was in grave danger and he must leave Dartmoor. He begged her, in that case, to come with him. Before she could reply, her brother Jack appeared. He angrily told Sir Henry to leave his sister alone. Sir Henry lost his temper, and Jack seized his sister's hand and stormed off. After this disaster, Sir Henry was in no mood for excursions, so I left my lovesick friend and went to Coombe Tracey alone. On my arrival at Laura Lyons's cottage, a maid showed me into the sitting room where I found the lady seated at her typewriter.

At first, she was happy to answer my questions about Sir Charles. He'd been very kind to her, she said. But when I asked about the letter she sent to him on the day of his death, her face paled. "He was supposed to burn that letter," she said. "Did you meet him as planned?" "No. Something happened to stop me from going." "What happened?" Mrs. Lyons refused to say, and despite my repeated attempts, I couldn't get anything more out of her.

After getting nowhere with Mrs. Lyons, I wondered again about the mysterious stranger living on the moor. Why would a gentleman choose to live in such discomfort? I strongly suspected he was a spy, checking up on Sir Henry—most probably the same man we saw in that London cab. As we passed a house on the way back to Baskerville Hall, I heard a shout. An old man was waving at me from the roof. I asked the driver to stop. "I'm Frankland!" the man called. "And you must be Dr. Watson." Mr. Frankland, I remembered, was the father of Mrs. Lyons. "Mortimer told me about you," he said. "Come on up and join me. The view is splendid."

His maid let me in and showed me to the roof. The view was, indeed, spectacular. Frankland had mounted a telescope there. "You're just in time," he said. "Every evening about this time, a boy takes food to the convict on the moor. Take a look." I peered through the telescope and, sure enough, there was a lad, a bundle on his shoulder, walking up a hill.

The boy, I knew, wasn't taking food to Selden —that was Barrymore's job. He was taking it to the mysterious stranger. If I followed the boy, I'd surely find the man. After a hasty farewell to Frankland, I dashed out onto the moor and raced up the hill the boy had climbed. From its summit, I saw the hut with the bag of food outside it. I approached it cautiously, gun in hand, and entered. The hut was empty. For a moment I stood there, waiting for my eyes to grow used to the gloom. Then, from outside, I heard a familiar voice. "Come out, Watson. It's a lovely evening."

"Holmes!" I cried, rushing out. He was seated on a rock in his tweed suit, smiling at me, his pale eyes dancing with amusement. I was never happier to see anyone in my life. I shook him warmly by the hand. "Holmes, I thought you were busy in London." "That's what I wanted people to think. If I'd accompanied you and Sir Henry, it would have put our enemies on their guard. Living wild like this, I've been able to learn all sorts of interesting things." "Like what, for example?" "For example, I know that Jack Stapleton and Laura Lyons are in a romantic relationship—and that Stapleton is married to someone else."