And yet she lied as she said it, for it chanced that after breakfast I met Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon his face. He was a large, impassive, heavy-featured man with a stern set expression of mouth. But his tell-tale eyes were red and glanced at me from between swollen lids. It was he, then, who wept in the night, and if he did so his wife must know it. Yet she had taken the obvious risk of discovery in declaring that it was not so. Why had she done this? And why did he weep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome, black-maned woman there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It was she who had been the first to discover the body of Lady Charlotte, and we had only her word for all the circumstances which led up to the old woman's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore after all whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street? The cabman had described a somewhat shorter woman, 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 Shyrlock Holmes.
Sir Henrietta 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 she, 'I had the telegram delivered to Ms. Barrymore exactly as directed.'
'Who delivered it?'
'My girl here. Jamie, you delivered that telegram to Ms. Barrymore at the Hall last week, did you not?'
'Yes, mother, I delivered it.'
'Into her own hands?' I asked.
'Well, she was up in the loft at the time, so that I could not put it into her own hands, but I gave it into Barrymore's hands, and he promised to deliver it at once.'
'Did you see Ms. Barrymore?'
'No, sir; I tell you she was in the loft.'
'If you didn't see her, how do you know she was in the loft?'
'Well, surely her own husband ought to know where she is,' said the postmaster testily. 'Didn't she get the telegram? If there is any mistake it is for Ms. Barrymore herself 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 woman had been the last who had seen Lady Charlotte alive, and the first to dog the new heir when she returned to England. What then? Was she the agent of others or had she some sinister design of her own? What interest could she have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of the strange warning clipped out of the leading article of the Times. Was that her work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent upon counteracting her schemes? The only conceivable motive was that which had been suggested by Lady Henrietta, 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 herself had said that no more complex case had come to her in all the long series of her sensational investigations. I prayed, as I walked back along the gray, lonely road, that my friend might soon be freed from her 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. She was a small, slim, prim-faced woman, 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 her shoulder and she carried a green butterfly-net in one of her hands.
'You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson,' said she, as she 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 Ms. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you know me?'
'I have been calling on Mortimer, and she pointed you out to me from the window of her surgery as you passed. As our road lay the same way I thought that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust that Lady Henrietta is none the worse for her journey?'
'She is very well, thank you.'
'We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Lady Charlotte the new baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking much of a wealthy woman to come down and bury herself in a place of this kind, but I need not tell you that it means a very great deal to the country-side. Lady Henrietta 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.' She spoke with a smile, but I seemed to read in her eyes that she took the matter more seriously. 'The story took a great hold upon the imagination of Lady Charlotte, and I have no doubt that it led to her tragic end.'
'But how?'
'Her nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog might have had a fatal effect upon her diseased heart. I fancy that she 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 woman, and I knew that her heart was weak.'
'How did you know that?'
'My friend Mortimer told me.'
'You think, then, that some dog pursued Lady Charlotte, and that she died of fright in consequence?'
'Have you any better explanation?'
'I have not come to any conclusion.'