Собака Баскервиллей

The Man on the Tor

           Hehadnotfollowedmehimself,buthehadsetanagenttheboy,perhapsuponmytrack,andthiswashisreport. PossiblyIhadtakennostepsinceIhadbeenuponthemoorwhichhadnotbeenobservedandreported. Alwaystherewasthisfeelingofanunseenforce,afinenetdrawnrounduswithinfiniteskillanddelicacy, holdingussolightlythatitwasonlyatsomesuprememomentthatonerealizedthatonewasindeedentangledinitsmeshes. 

           Iftherewasonereporttheremightbeothers,soIlookedroundthehutinsearchofthem. Therewasnotrace,however,ofanythingofthekind,norcouldIdiscoveranysignwhichmightindicatethecharacterorintentionsofthemanwholivedinthissingularplace, savethathemustbeofSpartanhabitsandcaredlittleforthecomfortsoflife. WhenIthoughtoftheheavyrainsandlookedatthegapingroofIunderstoodhowstrongandimmutablemustbethepurposewhichhadkepthiminthatinhospitableabode. Washeourmalignantenemy,orwashebychanceourguardianangel? IsworethatIwouldnotleavethehutuntilIknew. 

           Outsidethesunwassinkinglowandthewestwasblazingwithscarletandgold. ItsreflectionwasshotbackinruddypatchesbythedistantpoolswhichlayamidthegreatGrimpenMire. TherewerethetwotowersofBaskervilleHall,andthereadistantblurofsmokewhichmarkedthevillageofGrimpen. Betweenthetwo,behindthehill,wasthehouseoftheStapletons. Allwassweetandmellowandpeacefulinthegoldeneveninglight, andyetasIlookedatthemmysoulsharednoneofthepeaceofnaturebutquiveredatthevaguenessandtheterrorofthatinterviewwhicheveryinstantwasbringingnearer. Withtinglingnerves,butafixedpurpose,Isatinthedarkrecessofthehutandwaitedwithsombrepatienceforthecomingofitstenant. 

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