“My dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactlywhat I tell you. You can tell your friends that we should have beenhappy to have come with you, but that urgent business requiredus to be in town. We hope very soon to return to Devonshire. Willyou remember to give them that message?”
“If you insist upon it.”
“There is no alternative, I assure you.”
I saw by the baronet’s clouded brow that he was deeply hurt bywhat he regarded as our desertion.
“When do you desire to go?” he asked coldly.
“Immediately after breakfast. We will drive in to CoombeTracey, but Watson will leave his things as a pledge that he willcome back to you. Watson, you will send a note to Stapleton totell him that you regret that you cannot come.”
“I have a good mind to go to London with you,” said thebaronet. “Why should I stay here alone?”
“Because it is your post of duty. Because you gave me your wordthat you would do as you were told, and I tell you to stay.”
“All right, then, I’ll stay.”
“One more direction! I wish you to drive to Merripit House.
Send back your trap, however, and let them know that you intendto walk home.”
“To walk across the moor?”
“Yes.”
“But that is the very thing which you have so often cautionedme not to do.”
“This time you may do it with safety. If I had not every confidencein your nerve and courage I would not suggest it, but it is essentialthat you should do it.”
“Then I will do it.”
“And as you value your life do not go across the moor in anydirection save along the straight path which leads from MerripitHouse to the Grimpen Road, and is your natural way home.”
“I will do just what you say.”
“Very good. I should be glad to get away as soon after breakfastas possible, so as to reach London in the afternoon.”
I was much astounded by this programme, though I rememberedthat Holmes had said to Stapleton on the night before that hisvisit would terminate next day. It had not crossed my mind,however, that he would wish me to go with him, nor could Iunderstand how we could both be absent at a moment which hehimself declared to be critical. There was nothing for it, however,but implicit obedience; so we bade good-bye to our ruefulfriend, and a couple of hours afterwards we were at the stationof Coombe Tracey and had dispatched the trap upon its returnjourney. A small boy was waiting upon the platform.
“Any orders, sir?”
“You will take this train to town, Cartwright. The moment youarrive you will send a wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, in my name, tosay that if he finds the pocketbook which I have dropped he is tosend it by registered post to Baker Street.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And ask at the station office if there is a message for me.”
The boy returned with a telegram, which Holmes handed to me.
It ran:
“Wire received. Coming down with unsigned warrant. Arrive fiveforty.
LESTRADE.”
“That is in answer to mine of this morning. He is the best ofthe professionals, I think, and we may need his assistance. Now,Watson, I think that we cannot employ our time better than bycalling upon your acquaintance, Mrs. Laura Lyons.”
His plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. He would usethe baronet in order to convince the Stapletons that we were reallygone, while we should actually return at the instant when we werelikely to be needed. That telegram from London, if mentionedby Sir Henry to the Stapletons, must remove the last suspicionsfrom their minds. Already I seemed to see our nets drawing closeraround that lean-jawed pike.
Mrs. Laura Lyons was in her office, and Sherlock Holmes openedhis interview with a frankness and directness which considerablyamazed her.
“I am investigating the circumstances which attended the deathof the late Sir Charles Baskerville,” said he. “My friend here, Dr.
Watson, has informed me of what you have communicated, andalso of what you have withheld in connection with that matter.”
“What have I withheld?” she asked defiantly.
“You have confessed that you asked Sir Charles to be at the gate atten o’clock. We know that that was the place and hour of his death.
You have withheld what the connection is between these events.”
“There is no connection.”
“In that case the coincidence must indeed be an extraordinaryone. But I think that we shall succeed in establishing a connectionafter all. I wish to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Lyons. Weregard this case as one of murder, and the evidence may implicatenot only your friend Mr. Stapleton, but his wife as well.”
The lady sprang from her chair.
“His wife!” she cried.
“The fact is no longer a secret. The person who has passed forhis sister is really his wife.”
