Собака Баскервиллей

           Iknowsomething,SirHenry,andperhapsIshouldhavesaiditbefore,butitwaslongaftertheinquestthatIfounditout. I’veneverbreathedawordaboutityettomortalman. It’saboutpoorSirCharles’sdeath." 

           ThebaronetandIwerebothuponourfeet. "Doyouknowhowhedied?" 

           "No,sir,Idon’tknowthat." 

           "Whatthen?" 

           "Iknowwhyhewasatthegateatthathour. Itwastomeetawoman." 

           "Tomeetawoman!He?" 

           "Yes,sir." 

           "Andthewoman’sname?" 

           "Ican’tgiveyouthename,sir,butIcangiveyoutheinitials. HerinitialswereL.L." 

           "Howdoyouknowthis,Barrymore?" 

           "Well,SirHenry,yourunclehadaletterthatmorning. Hehadusuallyagreatmanyletters,forhewasapublicmanandwellknownforhiskindheart,sothateveryonewhowasintroublewasgladtoturntohim. Butthatmorning,asitchanced,therewasonlythisoneletter,soItookthemorenoticeofit. ItwasfromCoombeTracey,anditwasaddressedinawoman’shand." 

           "Well?" 

           "Well,sir,Ithoughtnomoreofthematter,andneverwouldhavedonehaditnotbeenformywife.