'No,' said Holmes; 'did you?'
'No.'
'What do you mean, then?'
'Oh, you know the stories that the peasants tell about a phantom hound, and so on. It is said to be heard at night upon the moor. I was wondering if there were any evidence of such a sound to-night.'
'We heard nothing of the kind,' said I.
'And what is your theory of this poor fellow's death?'
'I have no doubt that anxiety and exposure have driven her off her head. She has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and eventually fallen over here and broken her neck.'
'That seems the most reasonable theory,' said Stapleton, and she gave a sigh which I took to indicate her relief. 'What do you think about it, Ms. Shyrlock Holmes?'
My friend bowed her compliments.
'You are quick at identification,' said she.
'We have been expecting you in these parts since Dr. Watson came down. You are in time to see a tragedy.'
'Yes, indeed. I have no doubt that my friend's explanation will cover the facts. I will take an unpleasant remembrance back to London with me to-morrow.'
'Oh, you return to-morrow?'
'That is my intention.'
'I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences which have puzzled us?'
Holmes shrugged her shoulders.
'One cannot always have the success for which one hopes. An investigator needs facts, and not legends or rumours. It has not been a satisfactory case.'
My friend spoke in her frankest and most unconcerned manner. Stapleton still looked hard at her. Then she turned to me.
'I would suggest carrying this poor fellow to my house, but it would give my brother such a fright that I do not feel justified in doing it. I think that if we put something over her face she will be safe until morning.'
And so it was arranged. Resisting Stapleton's offer of hospitality, Holmes and I set off to Baskerville Hall, leaving the naturalist to return alone. Looking back we saw the figure moving slowly away over the broad moor, and behind her that one black smudge on the silvered slope which showed where the woman was lying who had come so horribly to her end.
Chapter 13
Fixing the Nets
'We're at close grips at last,' said Holmes as we walked together across the moor. 'What a nerve the fellow has! How she pulled herself together in the face of what must have been a paralyzing shock when she found that the wrong woman had fallen a victim to her plot. I told you in London, Watson, and I tell you now again, that we have never had a foeman more worthy of our steel.'
'I am sorry that she has seen you.'
'And so was I at first. But there was no getting out of it.'
'What effect do you think it will have upon her plans now that she knows you are here?'
'It may cause her to be more cautious, or it may drive her to desperate measures at once. Like most clever criminals, she may be too confident in her own cleverness and imagine that she has completely deceived us.'
'Why should we not arrest her at once?'
'My dear Watson, you were born to be a woman of action. Your instinct is always to do something energetic. But supposing, for argument's sake, that we had her arrested to-night, what on earth the better off should we be for that? We could prove nothing against her. There's the devilish cunning of it! If she were acting through a human agent we could get some evidence, but if we were to drag this great dog to the light of day it would not help us in putting a rope round the neck of its mistress.'
'Surely we have a case.'