Corpora for The Lost World, The War of the Worlds, and The Hound of the Baskervilles

hound.txt

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save
upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated
at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the
stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was a
fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as
a �Penang lawyer.� Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly
an inch across. �To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the
C.C.H.,� was engraved upon it, with the date �1884.� It was just such a
stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to carry--dignified,
solid, and reassuring.

�Well, Watson, what do you make of it?�

Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no sign of
my occupation.

�How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in the back
of your head.�

�I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in front of
me,� said he. �But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of our visitor�s
stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss him and have no
notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir becomes of importance.
Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an examination of it.�

�I think,� said I, following as far as I could the methods of my
companion, �that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly medical man,
well-esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of their
appreciation.�

�Good!� said Holmes. �Excellent!�

�I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a country
practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on foot.�

�Why so?�

�Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has been so
knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it.
The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evident that he has done a
great amount of walking with it.�

�Perfectly sound!� said Holmes.

�And then again, there is the �friends of the C.C.H.� I should guess
that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose members he has
possibly given some surgical assistance, and which has made him a small
presentation in return.�

�Really, Watson, you excel yourself,� said Holmes, pushing back his
chair and lighting a cigarette. �I am bound to say that in all the
accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own small
achievements you have habitually underrated your own abilities. It may
be that you are not yourself luminous, but you are a conductor of
light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of
stimulating it. I confess, my dear fellow, that I am very much in your
debt.�

He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his words gave
me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his indifference to my
admiration and to the attempts which I had made to give publicity to
his methods. I was proud, too, to think that I had so far mastered his
system as to apply it in a way which earned his approval. He now took
the stick from my hands and examined it for a few minutes with his naked
eyes. Then with an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette,
and carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a
convex lens.

�Interesting, though elementary,� said he as he returned to his
favourite corner of the settee. �There are certainly one or two
indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several
deductions.�

�Has anything escaped me?� I asked with some self-importance. �I trust
that there is nothing of consequence which I have overlooked?�

�I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions were
erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be frank, that
in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided towards the truth.
Not that you are entirely wrong in this instance. The man is certainly a
country practitioner. And he walks a good deal.�

�Then I was right.�

�To that extent.�

�But that was all.�

�No, no, my dear Watson, not all--by no means all. I would suggest, for
example, that a presentation to a doctor is more likely to come from a
hospital than from a hunt, and that when the initials �C.C.� are placed
before that hospital the words �Charing Cross� very naturally suggest
themselves.�

�You may be right.�

�The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this as a
working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our
construction of this unknown visitor.�

�Well, then, supposing that �C.C.H.� does stand for �Charing Cross
Hospital,� what further inferences may we draw?�

�Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply them!�

�I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man has practised
in town before going to the country.�

�I think that we might venture a little farther than this. Look at it
in this light. On what occasion would it be most probable that such a
presentation would be made? When would his friends unite to give him
a pledge of their good will? Obviously at the moment when Dr. Mortimer
withdrew from the service of the hospital in order to start a practice
for himself. We know there has been a presentation. We believe there has
been a change from a town hospital to a country practice. Is it, then,
stretching our inference too far to say that the presentation was on the
occasion of the change?�

�It certainly seems probable.�

�Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff of the
hospital, since only a man well-established in a London practice could
hold such a position, and such a one would not drift into the country.
What was he, then? If he was in the hospital and yet not on the staff he
could only have been a house-surgeon or a house-physician--little more
than a senior student. And he left five years ago--the date is on the
stick. So your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into
thin air, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under thirty,
amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favourite
dog, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a terrier and
smaller than a mastiff.�

I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his settee and
blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling.

�As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you,� said I, �but
at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars about the
man�s age and professional career.� From my small medical shelf I took
down the Medical Directory and turned up the name. There were several
Mortimers, but only one who could be our visitor. I read his record
aloud.

        �Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor, Devon.
        House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross Hospital.
        Winner of the Jackson prize for Comparative Pathology,
        with essay entitled �Is Disease a Reversion?�  Corresponding
        member of the Swedish Pathological Society.  Author of
        �Some Freaks of Atavism� (Lancet 1882).  �Do We Progress?�
        (Journal of Psychology, March, 1883).  Medical Officer
        for the parishes of Grimpen, Thorsley, and High Barrow.�

�No mention of that local hunt, Watson,� said Holmes with a mischievous
smile, �but a country doctor, as you very astutely observed. I think
that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As to the adjectives, I
said, if I remember right, amiable, unambitious, and absent-minded.
It is my experience that it is only an amiable man in this world who
receives testimonials, only an unambitious one who abandons a London
career for the country, and only an absent-minded one who leaves his
stick and not his visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room.�

�And the dog?�

�Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master. Being a
heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle, and the marks of
his teeth are very plainly visible. The dog�s jaw, as shown in the space
between these marks, is too broad in my opinion for a terrier and not
broad enough for a mastiff. It may have been--yes, by Jove, it is a
curly-haired spaniel.�

He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted in the recess
of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his voice that I
glanced up in surprise.

�My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?�

�For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our very
door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don�t move, I beg you,
Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and your presence may be
of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment of fate, Watson, when
you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life, and you
know not whether for good or ill. What does Dr. James Mortimer, the man
of science, ask of Sherlock Holmes, the specialist in crime? Come in!�

The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since I had expected
a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall, thin man, with a
long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two keen, gray eyes,
set closely together and sparkling brightly from behind a pair of
gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a professional but rather slovenly
fashion, for his frock-coat was dingy and his trousers frayed. Though
young, his long back was already bowed, and he walked with a forward
thrust of his head and a general air of peering benevolence. As he
entered his eyes fell upon the stick in Holmes�s hand, and he ran
towards it with an exclamation of joy. �I am so very glad,� said he.
�I was not sure whether I had left it here or in the Shipping Office. I
would not lose that stick for the world.�

�A presentation, I see,� said Holmes.

�Yes, sir.�

�From Charing Cross Hospital?�

�From one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage.�

�Dear, dear, that�s bad!� said Holmes, shaking his head.

Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment. �Why was
it bad?�

�Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your marriage,
you say?�

�Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all hopes of
a consulting practice. It was necessary to make a home of my own.�

�Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all,� said Holmes. �And now,
Dr. James Mortimer--�

�Mister, sir, Mister--a humble M.R.C.S.�

�And a man of precise mind, evidently.�

�A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the shores
of the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmes
whom I am addressing and not--�

�No, this is my friend Dr. Watson.�

�Glad to meet you, sir. I have heard your name mentioned in connection
with that of your friend. You interest me very much, Mr. Holmes. I
had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or such well-marked
supra-orbital development. Would you have any objection to my running my
finger along your parietal fissure? A cast of your skull, sir, until
the original is available, would be an ornament to any anthropological
museum. It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet
your skull.�

Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair. �You are an
enthusiast in your line of thought, I perceive, sir, as I am in
mine,� said he. �I observe from your forefinger that you make your own
cigarettes. Have no hesitation in lighting one.�

The man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in the other
with surprising dexterity. He had long, quivering fingers as agile and
restless as the antennae of an insect.

Holmes was silent, but his little darting glances showed me the interest
which he took in our curious companion. �I presume, sir,� said he at
last, �that it was not merely for the purpose of examining my skull that
you have done me the honour to call here last night and again today?�

�No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had the opportunity of doing
that as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I recognized that I am
myself an unpractical man and because I am suddenly confronted with a
most serious and extraordinary problem. Recognizing, as I do, that you
are the second highest expert in Europe--�

�Indeed, sir! May I inquire who has the honour to be the first?� asked
Holmes with some asperity.

�To the man of precisely scientific mind the work of Monsieur Bertillon
must always appeal strongly.�

�Then had you not better consult him?�

�I said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind. But as a practical man
of affairs it is acknowledged that you stand alone. I trust, sir, that I
have not inadvertently--�

�Just a little,� said Holmes. �I think, Dr. Mortimer, you would do
wisely if without more ado you would kindly tell me plainly what the
exact nature of the problem is in which you demand my assistance.�




�I have in my pocket a manuscript,� said Dr. James Mortimer.

�I observed it as you entered the room,� said Holmes.

�It is an old manuscript.�

�Early eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery.�

�How can you say that, sir?�

�You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination all the time
that you have been talking. It would be a poor expert who could not give
the date of a document within a decade or so. You may possibly have read
my little monograph upon the subject. I put that at 1730.�

�The exact date is 1742.� Dr. Mortimer drew it from his breast-pocket.
�This family paper was committed to my care by Sir Charles Baskerville,
whose sudden and tragic death some three months ago created so much
excitement in Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal friend as
well as his medical attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd,
practical, and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this
document very seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end
as did eventually overtake him.�

Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it upon
his knee. �You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s
and the short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix
the date.�

I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. At
the head was written: �Baskerville Hall,� and below in large, scrawling
figures: �1742.�

�It appears to be a statement of some sort.�

�Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the
Baskerville family.�

�But I understand that it is something more modern and practical upon
which you wish to consult me?�

�Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must be decided
within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and is intimately
connected with the affair. With your permission I will read it to you.�

Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and
closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the
manuscript to the light and read in a high, cracking voice the following
curious, old-world narrative:

        �Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there
        have been many statements, yet as I come in a direct
        line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from
        my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down
        with all belief that it occurred even as is here set
        forth.  And I would have you believe, my sons, that the
        same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously
        forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer
        and repentance it may be removed.  Learn then from this
        story not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather to
        be circumspect in the future, that those foul passions
        whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not
        again be loosed to our undoing.

        �Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the
        history of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most
        earnestly commend to your attention) this Manor of
        Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be
        gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, and godless
        man.  This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned,
        seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts,
        but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour
        which made his name a by-word through the West.  It
        chanced that this Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark
        a passion may be known under so bright a name) the daughter
        of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskerville estate.
        But the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute,
        would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil name.  So
        it came to pass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five
        or six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon
        the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and
        brothers being from home, as he well knew.  When they had
        brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper
        chamber, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long
        carouse, as was their nightly custom.  Now, the poor lass
        upstairs was like to have her wits turned at the singing
        and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from
        below, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville,
        when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who
        said them.  At last in the stress of her fear she did that
        which might have daunted the bravest or most active man,
        for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered (and
        still covers) the south wall she came down from under the
        eaves, and so homeward across the moor, there being three
        leagues betwixt the Hall and her father�s farm.

        �It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his
        guests to carry food and drink--with other worse things,
        perchance--to his captive, and so found the cage empty
        and the bird escaped.  Then, as it would seem, he became
        as one that hath a devil, for, rushing down the stairs
        into the dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table,
        flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried
        aloud before all the company that he would that very
        night render his body and soul to the Powers of Evil if
        he might but overtake the wench.  And while the revellers
        stood aghast at the fury of the man, one more wicked or,
        it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out that
        they should put the hounds upon her.  Whereat Hugo ran
        from the house, crying to his grooms that they should
        saddle his mare and unkennel the pack, and giving the
        hounds a kerchief of the maid�s, he swung them to the
        line, and so off full cry in the moonlight over the moor.

        �Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable
        to understand all that had been done in such haste.  But
        anon their bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed
        which was like to be done upon the moorlands.  Everything
        was now in an uproar, some calling for their pistols,
        some for their horses, and some for another flask of
        wine.  But at length some sense came back to their crazed
        minds, and the whole of them, thirteen in number, took
        horse and started in pursuit.  The moon shone clear above
        them, and they rode swiftly abreast, taking that course
        which the maid must needs have taken if she were to reach
        her own home.

        �They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the
        night shepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to
        him to know if he had seen the hunt.  And the man, as
        the story goes, was so crazed with fear that he could
        scarce speak, but at last he said that he had indeed seen
        the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track.  �But
        I have seen more than that,� said he, �for Hugo Baskerville
        passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind
        him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at
        my heels.�  So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd
        and rode onward.  But soon their skins turned cold, for
        there came a galloping across the moor, and the black
        mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing
        bridle and empty saddle.  Then the revellers rode close
        together, for a great fear was on them, but they still
        followed over the moor, though each, had he been alone,
        would have been right glad to have turned his horse�s
        head.  Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last
        upon the hounds.  These, though known for their valour
        and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the
        head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the
        moor, some slinking away and some, with starting hackles
        and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley before them.

        �The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you
        may guess, than when they started.  The most of them
        would by no means advance, but three of them, the boldest,
        or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the goyal.
        Now, it opened into a broad space in which stood two of
        those great stones, still to be seen there, which were
        set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old.
        The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there
        in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen,
        dead of fear and of fatigue.  But it was not the sight
        of her body, nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo
        Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon
        the heads of these three dare-devil roysterers, but it
        was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat,
        there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped
        like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal
        eye has rested upon.  And even as they looked the thing
        tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it
        turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the
        three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life, still
        screaming, across the moor.  One, it is said, died that
        very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were
        but broken men for the rest of their days.

        �Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound
        which is said to have plagued the family so sorely ever
        since.  If I have set it down it is because that which
        is clearly known hath less terror than that which is but
        hinted at and guessed.  Nor can it be denied that many
        of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, which
        have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious.  Yet may we
        shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence,
        which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that
        third or fourth generation which is threatened in Holy
        Writ.  To that Providence, my sons, I hereby commend
        you, and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from
        crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of
        evil are exalted.

        �[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John,
        with instructions that they say nothing thereof to their
        sister Elizabeth.]�

When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed
his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr. Sherlock
Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed the end of his cigarette into the
fire.

�Well?� said he.

�Do you not find it interesting?�

�To a collector of fairy tales.�

Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.

�Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little more recent. This
is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this year. It is a short
account of the facts elicited at the death of Sir Charles Baskerville
which occurred a few days before that date.�

My friend leaned a little forward and his expression became intent. Our
visitor readjusted his glasses and began:

        �The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose
        name has been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate
        for Mid-Devon at the next election, has cast a gloom over
        the county.  Though Sir Charles had resided at Baskerville
        Hall for a comparatively short period his amiability of
        character and extreme generosity had won the affection
        and respect of all who had been brought into contact with
        him.  In these days of nouveaux riches it is refreshing
        to find a case where the scion of an old county family
        which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own
        fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the
        fallen grandeur of his line.  Sir Charles, as is well known,
        made large sums of money in South African speculation.
        More wise than those who go on until the wheel turns
        against them, he realized his gains and returned to England
        with them.  It is only two years since he took up his
        residence at Baskerville Hall, and it is common talk how
        large were those schemes of reconstruction and improvement
        which have been interrupted by his death.  Being himself
        childless, it was his openly expressed desire that the
        whole countryside should, within his own lifetime, profit
        by his good fortune, and many will have personal reasons
        for bewailing his untimely end.  His generous donations
        to local and county charities have been frequently
        chronicled in these columns.

        �The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charles
        cannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the
        inquest, but at least enough has been done to dispose of
        those rumours to which local superstition has given rise.
        There is no reason whatever to suspect foul play, or to
        imagine that death could be from any but natural causes.
        Sir Charles was a widower, and a man who may be said to
        have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind.
        In spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his
        personal tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville
        Hall consisted of a married couple named Barrymore, the
        husband acting as butler and the wife as housekeeper.
        Their evidence, corroborated by that of several friends,
        tends to show that Sir Charles�s health has for some time
        been impaired, and points especially to some affection
        of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour,
        breathlessness, and acute attacks of nervous depression.
        Dr. James Mortimer, the friend and medical attendant of
        the deceased, has given evidence to the same effect.

        �The facts of the case are simple.  Sir Charles Baskerville
        was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking
        down the famous yew alley of Baskerville Hall.  The evidence
        of the Barrymores shows that this had been his custom.
        On the fourth of May Sir Charles had declared his intention
        of starting next day for London, and had ordered Barrymore
        to prepare his luggage.  That night he went out as usual
        for his nocturnal walk, in the course of which he was in
        the habit of smoking a cigar.  He never returned.  At
        twelve o�clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open,
        became alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search
        of his master.  The day had been wet, and Sir Charles�s
        footmarks were easily traced down the alley.  Halfway down
        this walk there is a gate which leads out on to the moor.
        There were indications that Sir Charles had stood for some
        little time here.  He then proceeded down the alley, and
        it was at the far end of it that his body was discovered.
        One fact which has not been explained is the statement
        of Barrymore that his master�s footprints altered their
        character from the time that he passed the moor-gate, and
        that he appeared from thence onward to have been walking
        upon his toes.  One Murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was on
        the moor at no great distance at the time, but he appears
        by his own confession to have been the worse for drink.
        He declares that he heard cries but is unable to state
        from what direction they came.  No signs of violence were
        to be discovered upon Sir Charles�s person, and though
        the doctor�s evidence pointed to an almost incredible
        facial distortion--so great that Dr. Mortimer refused at
        first to believe that it was indeed his friend and patient
        who lay before him--it was explained that that is a symptom
        which is not unusual in cases of dyspnoea and death from
        cardiac exhaustion.  This explanation was borne out by
        the post-mortem examination, which showed long-standing
        organic disease, and the coroner�s jury returned a
        verdict in accordance with the medical evidence.  It is
        well that this is so, for it is obviously of the utmost
        importance that Sir Charles�s heir should settle at the
        Hall and continue the good work which has been so sadly
        interrupted.  Had the prosaic finding of the coroner not
        finally put an end to the romantic stories which have been
        whispered in connection with the affair, it might have been
        difficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall.  It is
        understood that the next of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville,
        if he be still alive, the son of Sir Charles Baskerville�s
        younger brother.  The young man when last heard of was
        in America, and inquiries are being instituted with a
        view to informing him of his good fortune.�

Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket. �Those
are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection with the death of Sir
Charles Baskerville.�

�I must thank you,� said Sherlock Holmes, �for calling my attention to a
case which certainly presents some features of interest. I had observed
some newspaper comment at the time, but I was exceedingly preoccupied
by that little affair of the Vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige
the Pope I lost touch with several interesting English cases. This
article, you say, contains all the public facts?�

�It does.�

�Then let me have the private ones.� He leaned back, put his finger-tips
together, and assumed his most impassive and judicial expression.

�In doing so,� said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to show signs of some
strong emotion, �I am telling that which I have not confided to anyone.
My motive for withholding it from the coroner�s inquiry is that a man of
science shrinks from placing himself in the public position of seeming
to indorse a popular superstition. I had the further motive that
Baskerville Hall, as the paper says, would certainly remain untenanted
if anything were done to increase its already rather grim reputation.
For both these reasons I thought that I was justified in telling rather
less than I knew, since no practical good could result from it, but with
you there is no reason why I should not be perfectly frank.

�The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live near each other
are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw a good deal of
Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter
Hall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men of
education within many miles. Sir Charles was a retiring man, but the
chance of his illness brought us together, and a community of interests
in science kept us so. He had brought back much scientific information
from South Africa, and many a charming evening we have spent together
discussing the comparative anatomy of the Bushman and the Hottentot.

�Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me that
Sir Charles�s nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He had
taken this legend which I have read you exceedingly to heart--so much
so that, although he would walk in his own grounds, nothing would induce
him to go out upon the moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to
you, Mr. Holmes, he was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung
his family, and certainly the records which he was able to give of
his ancestors were not encouraging. The idea of some ghastly presence
constantly haunted him, and on more than one occasion he has asked me
whether I had on my medical journeys at night ever seen any strange
creature or heard the baying of a hound. The latter question he put
to me several times, and always with a voice which vibrated with
excitement.

�I can well remember driving up to his house in the evening some three
weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his hall door. I had
descended from my gig and was standing in front of him, when I saw
his eyes fix themselves over my shoulder and stare past me with an
expression of the most dreadful horror. I whisked round and had just
time to catch a glimpse of something which I took to be a large black
calf passing at the head of the drive. So excited and alarmed was he
that I was compelled to go down to the spot where the animal had been
and look around for it. It was gone, however, and the incident appeared
to make the worst impression upon his mind. I stayed with him all the
evening, and it was on that occasion, to explain the emotion which he
had shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative which I read to
you when first I came. I mention this small episode because it assumes
some importance in view of the tragedy which followed, but I was
convinced at the time that the matter was entirely trivial and that his
excitement had no justification.

�It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to London. His
heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived,
however chimerical the cause of it might be, was evidently having a
serious effect upon his health. I thought that a few months among the
distractions of town would send him back a new man. Mr. Stapleton, a
mutual friend who was much concerned at his state of health, was of the
same opinion. At the last instant came this terrible catastrophe.

�On the night of Sir Charles�s death Barrymore the butler, who made
the discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as I was
sitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour of
the event. I checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned
at the inquest. I followed the footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the
spot at the moor-gate where he seemed to have waited, I remarked the
change in the shape of the prints after that point, I noted that there
were no other footsteps save those of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and
finally I carefully examined the body, which had not been touched until
my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug
into the ground, and his features convulsed with some strong emotion to
such an extent that I could hardly have sworn to his identity. There was
certainly no physical injury of any kind. But one false statement was
made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces
upon the ground round the body. He did not observe any. But I did--some
little distance off, but fresh and clear.�

�Footprints?�

�Footprints.�

�A man�s or a woman�s?�

Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank
almost to a whisper as he answered.

�Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!�



I confess at these words a shudder passed through me. There was a thrill
in the doctor�s voice which showed that he was himself deeply moved by
that which he told us. Holmes leaned forward in his excitement and his
eyes had the hard, dry glitter which shot from them when he was keenly
interested.

�You saw this?�

�As clearly as I see you.�

�And you said nothing?�

�What was the use?�

�How was it that no one else saw it?�

�The marks were some twenty yards from the body and no one gave them
a thought. I don�t suppose I should have done so had I not known this
legend.�

�There are many sheep-dogs on the moor?�

�No doubt, but this was no sheep-dog.�

�You say it was large?�

�Enormous.�

�But it had not approached the body?�

�No.�

�What sort of night was it?�

�Damp and raw.�

�But not actually raining?�

�No.�

�What is the alley like?�

�There are two lines of old yew hedge, twelve feet high and
impenetrable. The walk in the centre is about eight feet across.�

�Is there anything between the hedges and the walk?�

�Yes, there is a strip of grass about six feet broad on either side.�

�I understand that the yew hedge is penetrated at one point by a gate?�

�Yes, the wicket-gate which leads on to the moor.�

�Is there any other opening?�

�None.�

�So that to reach the yew alley one either has to come down it from the
house or else to enter it by the moor-gate?�

�There is an exit through a summer-house at the far end.�

�Had Sir Charles reached this?�

�No; he lay about fifty yards from it.�

�Now, tell me, Dr. Mortimer--and this is important--the marks which you
saw were on the path and not on the grass?�

�No marks could show on the grass.�

�Were they on the same side of the path as the moor-gate?�

�Yes; they were on the edge of the path on the same side as the
moor-gate.�

�You interest me exceedingly. Another point. Was the wicket-gate
closed?�

�Closed and padlocked.�

�How high was it?�

�About four feet high.�

�Then anyone could have got over it?�

�Yes.�

�And what marks did you see by the wicket-gate?�

�None in particular.�

�Good heaven! Did no one examine?�

�Yes, I examined, myself.�

�And found nothing?�

�It was all very confused. Sir Charles had evidently stood there for
five or ten minutes.�

�How do you know that?�

�Because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar.�

�Excellent! This is a colleague, Watson, after our own heart. But the
marks?�

�He had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel. I could
discern no others.�

Sherlock Holmes struck his hand against his knee with an impatient
gesture.

�If I had only been there!� he cried. �It is evidently a case of
extraordinary interest, and one which presented immense opportunities to
the scientific expert. That gravel page upon which I might have read so
much has been long ere this smudged by the rain and defaced by the clogs
of curious peasants. Oh, Dr. Mortimer, Dr. Mortimer, to think that you
should not have called me in! You have indeed much to answer for.�

�I could not call you in, Mr. Holmes, without disclosing these facts to
the world, and I have already given my reasons for not wishing to do so.
Besides, besides--�

�Why do you hesitate?�

�There is a realm in which the most acute and most experienced of
detectives is helpless.�

�You mean that the thing is supernatural?�

�I did not positively say so.�

�No, but you evidently think it.�

�Since the tragedy, Mr. Holmes, there have come to my ears several
incidents which are hard to reconcile with the settled order of Nature.�

�For example?�

�I find that before the terrible event occurred several people had seen
a creature upon the moor which corresponds with this Baskerville demon,
and which could not possibly be any animal known to science. They all
agreed that it was a huge creature, luminous, ghastly, and spectral. I
have cross-examined these men, one of them a hard-headed countryman,
one a farrier, and one a moorland farmer, who all tell the same story of
this dreadful apparition, exactly corresponding to the hell-hound of the
legend. I assure you that there is a reign of terror in the district,
and that it is a hardy man who will cross the moor at night.�

�And you, a trained man of science, believe it to be supernatural?�

�I do not know what to believe.�

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. �I have hitherto confined my
investigations to this world,� said he. �In a modest way I have combated
evil, but to take on the Father of Evil himself would, perhaps, be too
ambitious a task. Yet you must admit that the footmark is material.�

�The original hound was material enough to tug a man�s throat out, and
yet he was diabolical as well.�

�I see that you have quite gone over to the supernaturalists. But now,
Dr. Mortimer, tell me this. If you hold these views, why have you come
to consult me at all? You tell me in the same breath that it is useless
to investigate Sir Charles�s death, and that you desire me to do it.�

�I did not say that I desired you to do it.�

�Then, how can I assist you?�

�By advising me as to what I should do with Sir Henry Baskerville, who
arrives at Waterloo Station�--Dr. Mortimer looked at his watch--�in
exactly one hour and a quarter.�

�He being the heir?�

�Yes. On the death of Sir Charles we inquired for this young gentleman
and found that he had been farming in Canada. From the accounts which
have reached us he is an excellent fellow in every way. I speak now not
as a medical man but as a trustee and executor of Sir Charles�s will.�

�There is no other claimant, I presume?�

�None. The only other kinsman whom we have been able to trace was Rodger
Baskerville, the youngest of three brothers of whom poor Sir Charles was
the elder. The second brother, who died young, is the father of this lad
Henry. The third, Rodger, was the black sheep of the family. He came of
the old masterful Baskerville strain and was the very image, they tell
me, of the family picture of old Hugo. He made England too hot to hold
him, fled to Central America, and died there in 1876 of yellow fever.
Henry is the last of the Baskervilles. In one hour and five minutes
I meet him at Waterloo Station. I have had a wire that he arrived at
Southampton this morning. Now, Mr. Holmes, what would you advise me to
do with him?�

�Why should he not go to the home of his fathers?�

�It seems natural, does it not? And yet, consider that every Baskerville
who goes there meets with an evil fate. I feel sure that if Sir Charles
could have spoken with me before his death he would have warned me
against bringing this, the last of the old race, and the heir to great
wealth, to that deadly place. And yet it cannot be denied that the
prosperity of the whole poor, bleak countryside depends upon his
presence. All the good work which has been done by Sir Charles will
crash to the ground if there is no tenant of the Hall. I fear lest I
should be swayed too much by my own obvious interest in the matter, and
that is why I bring the case before you and ask for your advice.�

Holmes considered for a little time.

�Put into plain words, the matter is this,� said he. �In your opinion
there is a diabolical agency which makes Dartmoor an unsafe abode for a
Baskerville--that is your opinion?�

�At least I might go the length of saying that there is some evidence
that this may be so.�

�Exactly. But surely, if your supernatural theory be correct, it could
work the young man evil in London as easily as in Devonshire. A devil
with merely local powers like a parish vestry would be too inconceivable
a thing.�

�You put the matter more flippantly, Mr. Holmes, than you would probably
do if you were brought into personal contact with these things. Your
advice, then, as I understand it, is that the young man will be as safe
in Devonshire as in London. He comes in fifty minutes. What would you
recommend?�

�I recommend, sir, that you take a cab, call off your spaniel who is
scratching at my front door, and proceed to Waterloo to meet Sir Henry
Baskerville.�

�And then?�

�And then you will say nothing to him at all until I have made up my
mind about the matter.�

�How long will it take you to make up your mind?�

�Twenty-four hours. At ten o�clock tomorrow, Dr. Mortimer, I will be
much obliged to you if you will call upon me here, and it will be
of help to me in my plans for the future if you will bring Sir Henry
Baskerville with you.�

�I will do so, Mr. Holmes.� He scribbled the appointment on his
shirt-cuff and hurried off in his strange, peering, absent-minded
fashion. Holmes stopped him at the head of the stair.

�Only one more question, Dr. Mortimer. You say that before Sir Charles
Baskerville�s death several people saw this apparition upon the moor?�

�Three people did.�

�Did any see it after?�

�I have not heard of any.�

�Thank you. Good-morning.�

Holmes returned to his seat with that quiet look of inward satisfaction
which meant that he had a congenial task before him.

�Going out, Watson?�

�Unless I can help you.�

�No, my dear fellow, it is at the hour of action that I turn to you for
aid. But this is splendid, really unique from some points of view.
When you pass Bradley�s, would you ask him to send up a pound of the
strongest shag tobacco? Thank you. It would be as well if you could make
it convenient not to return before evening. Then I should be very glad
to compare impressions as to this most interesting problem which has
been submitted to us this morning.�

I knew that seclusion and solitude were very necessary for my friend
in those hours of intense mental concentration during which he weighed
every particle of evidence, constructed alternative theories, balanced
one against the other, and made up his mind as to which points were
essential and which immaterial. I therefore spent the day at my club and
did not return to Baker Street until evening. It was nearly nine o�clock
when I found myself in the sitting-room once more.

My first impression as I opened the door was that a fire had broken out,
for the room was so filled with smoke that the light of the lamp upon
the table was blurred by it. As I entered, however, my fears were set at
rest, for it was the acrid fumes of strong coarse tobacco which took me
by the throat and set me coughing. Through the haze I had a vague vision
of Holmes in his dressing-gown coiled up in an armchair with his black
clay pipe between his lips. Several rolls of paper lay around him.

�Caught cold, Watson?� said he.

�No, it�s this poisonous atmosphere.�

�I suppose it is pretty thick, now that you mention it.�

�Thick! It is intolerable.�

�Open the window, then! You have been at your club all day, I perceive.�

�My dear Holmes!�

�Am I right?�

�Certainly, but how?�

He laughed at my bewildered expression. �There is a delightful freshness
about you, Watson, which makes it a pleasure to exercise any small
powers which I possess at your expense. A gentleman goes forth on a
showery and miry day. He returns immaculate in the evening with the
gloss still on his hat and his boots. He has been a fixture therefore
all day. He is not a man with intimate friends. Where, then, could he
have been? Is it not obvious?�

�Well, it is rather obvious.�

�The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever
observes. Where do you think that I have been?�

�A fixture also.�

�On the contrary, I have been to Devonshire.�

�In spirit?�

�Exactly. My body has remained in this armchair and has, I regret
to observe, consumed in my absence two large pots of coffee and an
incredible amount of tobacco. After you left I sent down to Stamford�s
for the Ordnance map of this portion of the moor, and my spirit has
hovered over it all day. I flatter myself that I could find my way
about.�

�A large-scale map, I presume?�

�Very large.�

He unrolled one section and held it over his knee. �Here you have the
particular district which concerns us. That is Baskerville Hall in the
middle.�

�With a wood round it?�

�Exactly. I fancy the yew alley, though not marked under that name, must
stretch along this line, with the moor, as you perceive, upon the right
of it. This small clump of buildings here is the hamlet of Grimpen,
where our friend Dr. Mortimer has his headquarters. Within a radius of
five miles there are, as you see, only a very few scattered dwellings.
Here is Lafter Hall, which was mentioned in the narrative. There is
a house indicated here which may be the residence of the
naturalist--Stapleton, if I remember right, was his name. Here are two
moorland farmhouses, High Tor and Foulmire. Then fourteen miles away the
great convict prison of Princetown. Between and around these scattered
points extends the desolate, lifeless moor. This, then, is the stage
upon which tragedy has been played, and upon which we may help to play
it again.�

�It must be a wild place.�

�Yes, the setting is a worthy one. If the devil did desire to have a
hand in the affairs of men--�

�Then you are yourself inclining to the supernatural explanation.�

�The devil�s agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not? There are
two questions waiting for us at the outset. The one is whether any crime
has been committed at all; the second is, what is the crime and how was
it committed? Of course, if Dr. Mortimer�s surmise should be correct,
and we are dealing with forces outside the ordinary laws of Nature,
there is an end of our investigation. But we are bound to exhaust all
other hypotheses before falling back upon this one. I think we�ll shut
that window again, if you don�t mind. It is a singular thing, but I find
that a concentrated atmosphere helps a concentration of thought. I have
not pushed it to the length of getting into a box to think, but that is
the logical outcome of my convictions. Have you turned the case over in
your mind?�

�Yes, I have thought a good deal of it in the course of the day.�

�What do you make of it?�

�It is very bewildering.�

�It has certainly a character of its own. There are points of
distinction about it. That change in the footprints, for example. What
do you make of that?�

�Mortimer said that the man had walked on tiptoe down that portion of
the alley.�

�He only repeated what some fool had said at the inquest. Why should a
man walk on tiptoe down the alley?�

�What then?�

�He was running, Watson--running desperately, running for his life,
running until he burst his heart--and fell dead upon his face.�

�Running from what?�

�There lies our problem. There are indications that the man was crazed
with fear before ever he began to run.�

�How can you say that?�

�I am presuming that the cause of his fears came to him across the moor.
If that were so, and it seems most probable, only a man who had lost his
wits would have run from the house instead of towards it. If the
gipsy�s evidence may be taken as true, he ran with cries for help in the
direction where help was least likely to be. Then, again, whom was he
waiting for that night, and why was he waiting for him in the yew alley
rather than in his own house?�

�You think that he was waiting for someone?�

�The man was elderly and infirm. We can understand his taking an evening
stroll, but the ground was damp and the night inclement. Is it natural
that he should stand for five or ten minutes, as Dr. Mortimer, with more
practical sense than I should have given him credit for, deduced from
the cigar ash?�

�But he went out every evening.�

�I think it unlikely that he waited at the moor-gate every evening. On
the contrary, the evidence is that he avoided the moor. That night he
waited there. It was the night before he made his departure for London.
The thing takes shape, Watson. It becomes coherent. Might I ask you to
hand me my violin, and we will postpone all further thought upon this
business until we have had the advantage of meeting Dr. Mortimer and Sir
Henry Baskerville in the morning.�






Our breakfast table was cleared early, and Holmes waited in his
dressing-gown for the promised interview. Our clients were punctual to
their appointment, for the clock had just struck ten when Dr. Mortimer
was shown up, followed by the young baronet. The latter was a small,
alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years of age, very sturdily built,
with thick black eyebrows and a strong, pugnacious face. He wore a
ruddy-tinted tweed suit and had the weather-beaten appearance of one who
has spent most of his time in the open air, and yet there was something
in his steady eye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which indicated
the gentleman.

�This is Sir Henry Baskerville,� said Dr. Mortimer.

�Why, yes,� said he, �and the strange thing is, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,
that if my friend here had not proposed coming round to you this morning
I should have come on my own account. I understand that you think out
little puzzles, and I�ve had one this morning which wants more thinking
out than I am able to give it.�

�Pray take a seat, Sir Henry. Do I understand you to say that you have
yourself had some remarkable experience since you arrived in London?�

�Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes. Only a joke, as like as not.
It was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which reached me this
morning.�

He laid an envelope upon the table, and we all bent over it. It was of
common quality, grayish in colour. The address, �Sir Henry Baskerville,
Northumberland Hotel,� was printed in rough characters; the post-mark
�Charing Cross,� and the date of posting the preceding evening.

�Who knew that you were going to the Northumberland Hotel?� asked
Holmes, glancing keenly across at our visitor.

�No one could have known. We only decided after I met Dr. Mortimer.�

�But Dr. Mortimer was no doubt already stopping there?�

�No, I had been staying with a friend,� said the doctor.

�There was no possible indication that we intended to go to this hotel.�

�Hum! Someone seems to be very deeply interested in your movements.� Out
of the envelope he took a half-sheet of foolscap paper folded into four.
This he opened and spread flat upon the table. Across the middle of it
a single sentence had been formed by the expedient of pasting printed
words upon it. It ran:

        As you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor.

The word �moor� only was printed in ink.

�Now,� said Sir Henry Baskerville, �perhaps you will tell me, Mr.
Holmes, what in thunder is the meaning of that, and who it is that takes
so much interest in my affairs?�

�What do you make of it, Dr. Mortimer? You must allow that there is
nothing supernatural about this, at any rate?�

�No, sir, but it might very well come from someone who was convinced
that the business is supernatural.�

�What business?� asked Sir Henry sharply. �It seems to me that all you
gentlemen know a great deal more than I do about my own affairs.�

�You shall share our knowledge before you leave this room, Sir Henry. I
promise you that,� said Sherlock Holmes. �We will confine ourselves
for the present with your permission to this very interesting document,
which must have been put together and posted yesterday evening. Have you
yesterday�s Times, Watson?�

�It is here in the corner.�

�Might I trouble you for it--the inside page, please, with the leading
articles?� He glanced swiftly over it, running his eyes up and down the
columns. �Capital article this on free trade. Permit me to give you an
extract from it.

     �You may be cajoled into imagining that your own special
     trade or your own industry will be encouraged by a
     protective tariff, but it stands to reason that such
     legislation must in the long run keep away wealth from the
     country, diminish the value of our imports, and lower the
     general conditions of life in this island.�

�What do you think of that, Watson?� cried Holmes in high glee, rubbing
his hands together with satisfaction. �Don�t you think that is an
admirable sentiment?�

Dr. Mortimer looked at Holmes with an air of professional interest, and
Sir Henry Baskerville turned a pair of puzzled dark eyes upon me.

�I don�t know much about the tariff and things of that kind,� said he,
�but it seems to me we�ve got a bit off the trail so far as that note is
concerned.�

�On the contrary, I think we are particularly hot upon the trail, Sir
Henry. Watson here knows more about my methods than you do, but I fear
that even he has not quite grasped the significance of this sentence.�

�No, I confess that I see no connection.�

�And yet, my dear Watson, there is so very close a connection that
the one is extracted out of the other. �You,� �your,� �your,� �life,�
�reason,� �value,� �keep away,� �from the.� Don�t you see now whence
these words have been taken?�

�By thunder, you�re right! Well, if that isn�t smart!� cried Sir Henry.

�If any possible doubt remained it is settled by the fact that �keep
away� and �from the� are cut out in one piece.�

�Well, now--so it is!�

�Really, Mr. Holmes, this exceeds anything which I could have imagined,�
 said Dr. Mortimer, gazing at my friend in amazement. �I could understand
anyone saying that the words were from a newspaper; but that you should
name which, and add that it came from the leading article, is really one
of the most remarkable things which I have ever known. How did you do
it?�

�I presume, Doctor, that you could tell the skull of a negro from that
of an Esquimau?�

�Most certainly.�

�But how?�

�Because that is my special hobby. The differences are obvious. The
supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve, the--�

�But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally obvious.
There is as much difference to my eyes between the leaded bourgeois type
of a Times article and the slovenly print of an evening half-penny paper
as there could be between your negro and your Esquimau. The detection of
types is one of the most elementary branches of knowledge to the special
expert in crime, though I confess that once when I was very young I
confused the Leeds Mercury with the Western Morning News. But a Times
leader is entirely distinctive, and these words could have been taken
from nothing else. As it was done yesterday the strong probability was
that we should find the words in yesterday�s issue.�

�So far as I can follow you, then, Mr. Holmes,� said Sir Henry
Baskerville, �someone cut out this message with a scissors--�

�Nail-scissors,� said Holmes. �You can see that it was a very
short-bladed scissors, since the cutter had to take two snips over �keep
away.��

�That is so. Someone, then, cut out the message with a pair of
short-bladed scissors, pasted it with paste--�

�Gum,� said Holmes.

�With gum on to the paper. But I want to know why the word �moor� should
have been written?�

�Because he could not find it in print. The other words were all simple
and might be found in any issue, but �moor� would be less common.�

�Why, of course, that would explain it. Have you read anything else in
this message, Mr. Holmes?�

�There are one or two indications, and yet the utmost pains have been
taken to remove all clues. The address, you observe is printed in rough
characters. But the Times is a paper which is seldom found in any hands
but those of the highly educated. We may take it, therefore, that
the letter was composed by an educated man who wished to pose as an
uneducated one, and his effort to conceal his own writing suggests that
that writing might be known, or come to be known, by you. Again, you
will observe that the words are not gummed on in an accurate line, but
that some are much higher than others. �Life,� for example is quite out
of its proper place. That may point to carelessness or it may point to
agitation and hurry upon the part of the cutter. On the whole I incline
to the latter view, since the matter was evidently important, and it
is unlikely that the composer of such a letter would be careless. If he
were in a hurry it opens up the interesting question why he should be
in a hurry, since any letter posted up to early morning would reach
Sir Henry before he would leave his hotel. Did the composer fear an
interruption--and from whom?�

�We are coming now rather into the region of guesswork,� said Dr.
Mortimer.

�Say, rather, into the region where we balance probabilities and choose
the most likely. It is the scientific use of the imagination, but we
have always some material basis on which to start our speculation. Now,
you would call it a guess, no doubt, but I am almost certain that this
address has been written in a hotel.�

�How in the world can you say that?�

�If you examine it carefully you will see that both the pen and the ink
have given the writer trouble. The pen has spluttered twice in a single
word and has run dry three times in a short address, showing that there
was very little ink in the bottle. Now, a private pen or ink-bottle is
seldom allowed to be in such a state, and the combination of the two
must be quite rare. But you know the hotel ink and the hotel pen, where
it is rare to get anything else. Yes, I have very little hesitation
in saying that could we examine the waste-paper baskets of the hotels
around Charing Cross until we found the remains of the mutilated Times
leader we could lay our hands straight upon the person who sent this
singular message. Halloa! Halloa! What�s this?�

He was carefully examining the foolscap, upon which the words were
pasted, holding it only an inch or two from his eyes.

�Well?�

�Nothing,� said he, throwing it down. �It is a blank half-sheet of
paper, without even a water-mark upon it. I think we have drawn as much
as we can from this curious letter; and now, Sir Henry, has anything
else of interest happened to you since you have been in London?�

�Why, no, Mr. Holmes. I think not.�

�You have not observed anyone follow or watch you?�

�I seem to have walked right into the thick of a dime novel,� said our
visitor. �Why in thunder should anyone follow or watch me?�

�We are coming to that. You have nothing else to report to us before we
go into this matter?�

�Well, it depends upon what you think worth reporting.�

�I think anything out of the ordinary routine of life well worth
reporting.�

Sir Henry smiled. �I don�t know much of British life yet, for I have
spent nearly all my time in the States and in Canada. But I hope that to
lose one of your boots is not part of the ordinary routine of life over
here.�

�You have lost one of your boots?�

�My dear sir,� cried Dr. Mortimer, �it is only mislaid. You will find
it when you return to the hotel. What is the use of troubling Mr. Holmes
with trifles of this kind?�

�Well, he asked me for anything outside the ordinary routine.�

�Exactly,� said Holmes, �however foolish the incident may seem. You have
lost one of your boots, you say?�

�Well, mislaid it, anyhow. I put them both outside my door last night,
and there was only one in the morning. I could get no sense out of the
chap who cleans them. The worst of it is that I only bought the pair
last night in the Strand, and I have never had them on.�

�If you have never worn them, why did you put them out to be cleaned?�

�They were tan boots and had never been varnished. That was why I put
them out.�

�Then I understand that on your arrival in London yesterday you went out
at once and bought a pair of boots?�

�I did a good deal of shopping. Dr. Mortimer here went round with me.
You see, if I am to be squire down there I must dress the part, and
it may be that I have got a little careless in my ways out West. Among
other things I bought these brown boots--gave six dollars for them--and
had one stolen before ever I had them on my feet.�

�It seems a singularly useless thing to steal,� said Sherlock Holmes.
�I confess that I share Dr. Mortimer�s belief that it will not be long
before the missing boot is found.�

�And, now, gentlemen,� said the baronet with decision, �it seems to me
that I have spoken quite enough about the little that I know. It is time
that you kept your promise and gave me a full account of what we are all
driving at.�

�Your request is a very reasonable one,� Holmes answered. �Dr. Mortimer,
I think you could not do better than to tell your story as you told it
to us.�

Thus encouraged, our scientific friend drew his papers from his pocket
and presented the whole case as he had done upon the morning before.
Sir Henry Baskerville listened with the deepest attention and with an
occasional exclamation of surprise.

�Well, I seem to have come into an inheritance with a vengeance,� said
he when the long narrative was finished. �Of course, I�ve heard of the
hound ever since I was in the nursery. It�s the pet story of the family,
though I never thought of taking it seriously before. But as to my
uncle�s death--well, it all seems boiling up in my head, and I can�t
get it clear yet. You don�t seem quite to have made up your mind whether
it�s a case for a policeman or a clergyman.�

�Precisely.�

�And now there�s this affair of the letter to me at the hotel. I suppose
that fits into its place.�

�It seems to show that someone knows more than we do about what goes on
upon the moor,� said Dr. Mortimer.

�And also,� said Holmes, �that someone is not ill-disposed towards you,
since they warn you of danger.�

�Or it may be that they wish, for their own purposes, to scare me away.�

�Well, of course, that is possible also. I am very much indebted to you,
Dr. Mortimer, for introducing me to a problem which presents several
interesting alternatives. But the practical point which we now have to
decide, Sir Henry, is whether it is or is not advisable for you to go to
Baskerville Hall.�

�Why should I not go?�

�There seems to be danger.�

�Do you mean danger from this family fiend or do you mean danger from
human beings?�

�Well, that is what we have to find out.�

�Whichever it is, my answer is fixed. There is no devil in hell, Mr.
Holmes, and there is no man upon earth who can prevent me from going to
the home of my own people, and you may take that to be my final answer.�
 His dark brows knitted and his face flushed to a dusky red as he spoke.
It was evident that the fiery temper of the Baskervilles was not extinct
in this their last representative. �Meanwhile,� said he, �I have hardly
had time to think over all that you have told me. It�s a big thing for a
man to have to understand and to decide at one sitting. I should like
to have a quiet hour by myself to make up my mind. Now, look here, Mr.
Holmes, it�s half-past eleven now and I am going back right away to my
hotel. Suppose you and your friend, Dr. Watson, come round and lunch
with us at two. I�ll be able to tell you more clearly then how this
thing strikes me.�

�Is that convenient to you, Watson?�

�Perfectly.�

�Then you may expect us. Shall I have a cab called?�

�I�d prefer to walk, for this affair has flurried me rather.�

�I�ll join you in a walk, with pleasure,� said his companion.

�Then we meet again at two o�clock. Au revoir, and good-morning!�

We heard the steps of our visitors descend the stair and the bang of the
front door. In an instant Holmes had changed from the languid dreamer to
the man of action.

�Your hat and boots, Watson, quick! Not a moment to lose!� He rushed
into his room in his dressing-gown and was back again in a few seconds
in a frock-coat. We hurried together down the stairs and into the
street. Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were still visible about two
hundred yards ahead of us in the direction of Oxford Street.

�Shall I run on and stop them?�

�Not for the world, my dear Watson. I am perfectly satisfied with your
company if you will tolerate mine. Our friends are wise, for it is
certainly a very fine morning for a walk.�

He quickened his pace until we had decreased the distance which divided
us by about half. Then, still keeping a hundred yards behind, we
followed into Oxford Street and so down Regent Street. Once our friends
stopped and stared into a shop window, upon which Holmes did the
same. An instant afterwards he gave a little cry of satisfaction, and,
following the direction of his eager eyes, I saw that a hansom cab with
a man inside which had halted on the other side of the street was now
proceeding slowly onward again.


�There�s our man, Watson! Come along! We�ll have a good look at him, if
we can do no more.�

At that instant I was aware of a bushy black beard and a pair of
piercing eyes turned upon us through the side window of the cab.
Instantly the trapdoor at the top flew up, something was screamed to
the driver, and the cab flew madly off down Regent Street. Holmes looked
eagerly round for another, but no empty one was in sight. Then he dashed
in wild pursuit amid the stream of the traffic, but the start was too
great, and already the cab was out of sight.

�There now!� said Holmes bitterly as he emerged panting and white with
vexation from the tide of vehicles. �Was ever such bad luck and such
bad management, too? Watson, Watson, if you are an honest man you will
record this also and set it against my successes!�

�Who was the man?�

�I have not an idea.�

�A spy?�

�Well, it was evident from what we have heard that Baskerville has been
very closely shadowed by someone since he has been in town. How else
could it be known so quickly that it was the Northumberland Hotel which
he had chosen? If they had followed him the first day I argued that they
would follow him also the second. You may have observed that I twice
strolled over to the window while Dr. Mortimer was reading his legend.�

�Yes, I remember.�

�I was looking out for loiterers in the street, but I saw none. We
are dealing with a clever man, Watson. This matter cuts very deep, and
though I have not finally made up my mind whether it is a benevolent or
a malevolent agency which is in touch with us, I am conscious always of
power and design. When our friends left I at once followed them in the
hopes of marking down their invisible attendant. So wily was he that he
had not trusted himself upon foot, but he had availed himself of a cab
so that he could loiter behind or dash past them and so escape their
notice. His method had the additional advantage that if they were to
take a cab he was all ready to follow them. It has, however, one obvious
disadvantage.�

�It puts him in the power of the cabman.�

�Exactly.�

�What a pity we did not get the number!�

�My dear Watson, clumsy as I have been, you surely do not seriously
imagine that I neglected to get the number? No. 2704 is our man. But
that is no use to us for the moment.�

�I fail to see how you could have done more.�

�On observing the cab I should have instantly turned and walked in the
other direction. I should then at my leisure have hired a second cab
and followed the first at a respectful distance, or, better still, have
driven to the Northumberland Hotel and waited there. When our unknown
had followed Baskerville home we should have had the opportunity of
playing his own game upon himself and seeing where he made for. As
it is, by an indiscreet eagerness, which was taken advantage of with
extraordinary quickness and energy by our opponent, we have betrayed
ourselves and lost our man.�

We had been sauntering slowly down Regent Street during this
conversation, and Dr. Mortimer, with his companion, had long vanished in
front of us.

�There is no object in our following them,� said Holmes. �The shadow has
departed and will not return. We must see what further cards we have
in our hands and play them with decision. Could you swear to that man�s
face within the cab?�

�I could swear only to the beard.�

�And so could I--from which I gather that in all probability it was
a false one. A clever man upon so delicate an errand has no use for a
beard save to conceal his features. Come in here, Watson!�

He turned into one of the district messenger offices, where he was
warmly greeted by the manager.

�Ah, Wilson, I see you have not forgotten the little case in which I had
the good fortune to help you?�

�No, sir, indeed I have not. You saved my good name, and perhaps my
life.�

�My dear fellow, you exaggerate. I have some recollection, Wilson, that
you had among your boys a lad named Cartwright, who showed some ability
during the investigation.�

�Yes, sir, he is still with us.�

�Could you ring him up?--thank you! And I should be glad to have change
of this five-pound note.�

A lad of fourteen, with a bright, keen face, had obeyed the summons
of the manager. He stood now gazing with great reverence at the famous
detective.

�Let me have the Hotel Directory,� said Holmes. �Thank you! Now,
Cartwright, there are the names of twenty-three hotels here, all in the
immediate neighbourhood of Charing Cross. Do you see?�

�Yes, sir.�

�You will visit each of these in turn.�

�Yes, sir.�

�You will begin in each case by giving the outside porter one shilling.
Here are twenty-three shillings.�

�Yes, sir.�

�You will tell him that you want to see the waste-paper of yesterday.
You will say that an important telegram has miscarried and that you are
looking for it. You understand?�

�Yes, sir.�

�But what you are really looking for is the centre page of the Times
with some holes cut in it with scissors. Here is a copy of the Times. It
is this page. You could easily recognize it, could you not?�

�Yes, sir.�

�In each case the outside porter will send for the hall porter, to whom
also you will give a shilling. Here are twenty-three shillings. You will
then learn in possibly twenty cases out of the twenty-three that the
waste of the day before has been burned or removed. In the three other
cases you will be shown a heap of paper and you will look for this page
of the Times among it. The odds are enormously against your finding
it. There are ten shillings over in case of emergencies. Let me have a
report by wire at Baker Street before evening. And now, Watson, it only
remains for us to find out by wire the identity of the cabman, No. 2704,
and then we will drop into one of the Bond Street picture galleries and
fill in the time until we are due at the hotel.�






Sherlock Holmes had, in a very remarkable degree, the power of detaching
his mind at will. For two hours the strange business in which we had
been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he was entirely absorbed in
the pictures of the modern Belgian masters. He would talk of nothing
but art, of which he had the crudest ideas, from our leaving the gallery
until we found ourselves at the Northumberland Hotel.

�Sir Henry Baskerville is upstairs expecting you,� said the clerk. �He
asked me to show you up at once when you came.�

�Have you any objection to my looking at your register?� said Holmes.

�Not in the least.�

The book showed that two names had been added after that of Baskerville.
One was Theophilus Johnson and family, of Newcastle; the other Mrs.
Oldmore and maid, of High Lodge, Alton.

�Surely that must be the same Johnson whom I used to know,� said Holmes
to the porter. �A lawyer, is he not, gray-headed, and walks with a
limp?�

�No, sir, this is Mr. Johnson, the coal-owner, a very active gentleman,
not older than yourself.�

�Surely you are mistaken about his trade?�

�No, sir! he has used this hotel for many years, and he is very well
known to us.�

�Ah, that settles it. Mrs. Oldmore, too; I seem to remember the name.
Excuse my curiosity, but often in calling upon one friend one finds
another.�

�She is an invalid lady, sir. Her husband was once mayor of Gloucester.
She always comes to us when she is in town.�

�Thank you; I am afraid I cannot claim her acquaintance. We have
established a most important fact by these questions, Watson,� he
continued in a low voice as we went upstairs together. �We know now that
the people who are so interested in our friend have not settled down
in his own hotel. That means that while they are, as we have seen, very
anxious to watch him, they are equally anxious that he should not see
them. Now, this is a most suggestive fact.�

�What does it suggest?�

�It suggests--halloa, my dear fellow, what on earth is the matter?�

As we came round the top of the stairs we had run up against Sir Henry
Baskerville himself. His face was flushed with anger, and he held an old
and dusty boot in one of his hands. So furious was he that he was hardly
articulate, and when he did speak it was in a much broader and more
Western dialect than any which we had heard from him in the morning.

�Seems to me they are playing me for a sucker in this hotel,� he cried.
�They�ll find they�ve started in to monkey with the wrong man unless
they are careful. By thunder, if that chap can�t find my missing boot
there will be trouble. I can take a joke with the best, Mr. Holmes, but
they�ve got a bit over the mark this time.�

�Still looking for your boot?�

�Yes, sir, and mean to find it.�

�But, surely, you said that it was a new brown boot?�

�So it was, sir. And now it�s an old black one.�

�What! you don�t mean to say--?�

�That�s just what I do mean to say. I only had three pairs in the
world--the new brown, the old black, and the patent leathers, which I am
wearing. Last night they took one of my brown ones, and today they have
sneaked one of the black. Well, have you got it? Speak out, man, and
don�t stand staring!�

An agitated German waiter had appeared upon the scene.

�No, sir; I have made inquiry all over the hotel, but I can hear no word
of it.�

�Well, either that boot comes back before sundown or I�ll see the
manager and tell him that I go right straight out of this hotel.�

�It shall be found, sir--I promise you that if you will have a little
patience it will be found.�

�Mind it is, for it�s the last thing of mine that I�ll lose in this den
of thieves. Well, well, Mr. Holmes, you�ll excuse my troubling you about
such a trifle--�

�I think it�s well worth troubling about.�

�Why, you look very serious over it.�

�How do you explain it?�

�I just don�t attempt to explain it. It seems the very maddest, queerest
thing that ever happened to me.�

�The queerest perhaps--� said Holmes thoughtfully.

�What do you make of it yourself?�

�Well, I don�t profess to understand it yet. This case of yours is very
complex, Sir Henry. When taken in conjunction with your uncle�s death
I am not sure that of all the five hundred cases of capital importance
which I have handled there is one which cuts so deep. But we hold
several threads in our hands, and the odds are that one or other of them
guides us to the truth. We may waste time in following the wrong one,
but sooner or later we must come upon the right.�

We had a pleasant luncheon in which little was said of the business
which had brought us together. It was in the private sitting-room to
which we afterwards repaired that Holmes asked Baskerville what were his
intentions.

�To go to Baskerville Hall.�

�And when?�

�At the end of the week.�

�On the whole,� said Holmes, �I think that your decision is a wise one.
I have ample evidence that you are being dogged in London, and amid the
millions of this great city it is difficult to discover who these people
are or what their object can be. If their intentions are evil they might
do you a mischief, and we should be powerless to prevent it. You did not
know, Dr. Mortimer, that you were followed this morning from my house?�

Dr. Mortimer started violently. �Followed! By whom?�

�That, unfortunately, is what I cannot tell you. Have you among your
neighbours or acquaintances on Dartmoor any man with a black, full
beard?�

�No--or, let me see--why, yes. Barrymore, Sir Charles�s butler, is a man
with a full, black beard.�

�Ha! Where is Barrymore?�

�He is in charge of the Hall.�

�We had best ascertain if he is really there, or if by any possibility
he might be in London.�

�How can you do that?�

�Give me a telegraph form. �Is all ready for Sir Henry?� That will
do. Address to Mr. Barrymore, Baskerville Hall. What is the nearest
telegraph-office? Grimpen. Very good, we will send a second wire to the
postmaster, Grimpen: �Telegram to Mr. Barrymore to be delivered into
his own hand. If absent, please return wire to Sir Henry Baskerville,
Northumberland Hotel.� That should let us know before evening whether
Barrymore is at his post in Devonshire or not.�

�That�s so,� said Baskerville. �By the way, Dr. Mortimer, who is this
Barrymore, anyhow?�

�He is the son of the old caretaker, who is dead. They have looked after
the Hall for four generations now. So far as I know, he and his wife are
as respectable a couple as any in the county.�

�At the same time,� said Baskerville, �it�s clear enough that so long as
there are none of the family at the Hall these people have a mighty fine
home and nothing to do.�

�That is true.�

�Did Barrymore profit at all by Sir Charles�s will?� asked Holmes.

�He and his wife had five hundred pounds each.�

�Ha! Did they know that they would receive this?�

�Yes; Sir Charles was very fond of talking about the provisions of his
will.�

�That is very interesting.�

�I hope,� said Dr. Mortimer, �that you do not look with suspicious eyes
upon everyone who received a legacy from Sir Charles, for I also had a
thousand pounds left to me.�

�Indeed! And anyone else?�

�There were many insignificant sums to individuals, and a large number
of public charities. The residue all went to Sir Henry.�

�And how much was the residue?�

�Seven hundred and forty thousand pounds.�

Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. �I had no idea that so gigantic
a sum was involved,� said he.

�Sir Charles had the reputation of being rich, but we did not know how
very rich he was until we came to examine his securities. The total
value of the estate was close on to a million.�

�Dear me! It is a stake for which a man might well play a desperate
game. And one more question, Dr. Mortimer. Supposing that anything
happened to our young friend here--you will forgive the unpleasant
hypothesis!--who would inherit the estate?�

�Since Rodger Baskerville, Sir Charles�s younger brother died unmarried,
the estate would descend to the Desmonds, who are distant cousins. James
Desmond is an elderly clergyman in Westmoreland.�

�Thank you. These details are all of great interest. Have you met Mr.
James Desmond?�

�Yes; he once came down to visit Sir Charles. He is a man of venerable
appearance and of saintly life. I remember that he refused to accept any
settlement from Sir Charles, though he pressed it upon him.�

�And this man of simple tastes would be the heir to Sir Charles�s
thousands.�

�He would be the heir to the estate because that is entailed. He would
also be the heir to the money unless it were willed otherwise by the
present owner, who can, of course, do what he likes with it.�

�And have you made your will, Sir Henry?�

�No, Mr. Holmes, I have not. I�ve had no time, for it was only yesterday
that I learned how matters stood. But in any case I feel that the money
should go with the title and estate. That was my poor uncle�s idea. How
is the owner going to restore the glories of the Baskervilles if he has
not money enough to keep up the property? House, land, and dollars must
go together.�

�Quite so. Well, Sir Henry, I am of one mind with you as to the
advisability of your going down to Devonshire without delay. There is
only one provision which I must make. You certainly must not go alone.�

�Dr. Mortimer returns with me.�

�But Dr. Mortimer has his practice to attend to, and his house is miles
away from yours. With all the goodwill in the world he may be unable to
help you. No, Sir Henry, you must take with you someone, a trusty man,
who will be always by your side.�

�Is it possible that you could come yourself, Mr. Holmes?�

�If matters came to a crisis I should endeavour to be present in person;
but you can understand that, with my extensive consulting practice
and with the constant appeals which reach me from many quarters, it is
impossible for me to be absent from London for an indefinite time. At
the present instant one of the most revered names in England is being
besmirched by a blackmailer, and only I can stop a disastrous scandal.
You will see how impossible it is for me to go to Dartmoor.�

�Whom would you recommend, then?�

Holmes laid his hand upon my arm. �If my friend would undertake it there
is no man who is better worth having at your side when you are in a
tight place. No one can say so more confidently than I.�

The proposition took me completely by surprise, but before I had time to
answer, Baskerville seized me by the hand and wrung it heartily.

�Well, now, that is real kind of you, Dr. Watson,� said he. �You see how
it is with me, and you know just as much about the matter as I do. If
you will come down to Baskerville Hall and see me through I�ll never
forget it.�

The promise of adventure had always a fascination for me, and I was
complimented by the words of Holmes and by the eagerness with which the
baronet hailed me as a companion.

�I will come, with pleasure,� said I. �I do not know how I could employ
my time better.�

�And you will report very carefully to me,� said Holmes. �When a crisis
comes, as it will do, I will direct how you shall act. I suppose that by
Saturday all might be ready?�

�Would that suit Dr. Watson?�

�Perfectly.�

�Then on Saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet at the
ten-thirty train from Paddington.�

We had risen to depart when Baskerville gave a cry, of triumph, and
diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown boot from
under a cabinet.

�My missing boot!� he cried.

�May all our difficulties vanish as easily!� said Sherlock Holmes.

�But it is a very singular thing,� Dr. Mortimer remarked. �I searched
this room carefully before lunch.�

�And so did I,� said Baskerville. �Every inch of it.�

�There was certainly no boot in it then.�

�In that case the waiter must have placed it there while we were
lunching.�

The German was sent for but professed to know nothing of the matter,
nor could any inquiry clear it up. Another item had been added to that
constant and apparently purposeless series of small mysteries which had
succeeded each other so rapidly. Setting aside the whole grim story of
Sir Charles�s death, we had a line of inexplicable incidents all within
the limits of two days, which included the receipt of the printed
letter, the black-bearded spy in the hansom, the loss of the new brown
boot, the loss of the old black boot, and now the return of the new
brown boot. Holmes sat in silence in the cab as we drove back to Baker
Street, and I knew from his drawn brows and keen face that his mind,
like my own, was busy in endeavouring to frame some scheme into which
all these strange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted.
All afternoon and late into the evening he sat lost in tobacco and
thought.

Just before dinner two telegrams were handed in. The first ran:

Have just heard that Barrymore is at the Hall. BASKERVILLE.

The second:

Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry, to report unable to
trace cut sheet of Times. CARTWRIGHT.

�There go two of my threads, Watson. There is nothing more stimulating
than a case where everything goes against you. We must cast round for
another scent.�

�We have still the cabman who drove the spy.�

�Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from the Official
Registry. I should not be surprised if this were an answer to my
question.�

The ring at the bell proved to be something even more satisfactory
than an answer, however, for the door opened and a rough-looking fellow
entered who was evidently the man himself.

�I got a message from the head office that a gent at this address had
been inquiring for No. 2704,� said he. �I�ve driven my cab this seven
years and never a word of complaint. I came here straight from the Yard
to ask you to your face what you had against me.�

�I have nothing in the world against you, my good man,� said Holmes.
�On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if you will give me a
clear answer to my questions.�

�Well, I�ve had a good day and no mistake,� said the cabman with a grin.
�What was it you wanted to ask, sir?�

�First of all your name and address, in case I want you again.�

�John Clayton, 3 Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out of Shipley�s
Yard, near Waterloo Station.�

Sherlock Holmes made a note of it.

�Now, Clayton, tell me all about the fare who came and watched this
house at ten o�clock this morning and afterwards followed the two
gentlemen down Regent Street.�

The man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. �Why, there�s no good
my telling you things, for you seem to know as much as I do already,�
 said he. �The truth is that the gentleman told me that he was a
detective and that I was to say nothing about him to anyone.�

�My good fellow; this is a very serious business, and you may find
yourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide anything from me.
You say that your fare told you that he was a detective?�

�Yes, he did.�

�When did he say this?�

�When he left me.�

�Did he say anything more?�

�He mentioned his name.�

Holmes cast a swift glance of triumph at me. �Oh, he mentioned his name,
did he? That was imprudent. What was the name that he mentioned?�

�His name,� said the cabman, �was Mr. Sherlock Holmes.�

Never have I seen my friend more completely taken aback than by the
cabman�s reply. For an instant he sat in silent amazement. Then he burst
into a hearty laugh.

�A touch, Watson--an undeniable touch!� said he. �I feel a foil as quick
and supple as my own. He got home upon me very prettily that time. So
his name was Sherlock Holmes, was it?�

�Yes, sir, that was the gentleman�s name.�

�Excellent! Tell me where you picked him up and all that occurred.�

�He hailed me at half-past nine in Trafalgar Square. He said that he was
a detective, and he offered me two guineas if I would do exactly what he
wanted all day and ask no questions. I was glad enough to agree. First
we drove down to the Northumberland Hotel and waited there until two
gentlemen came out and took a cab from the rank. We followed their cab
until it pulled up somewhere near here.�

�This very door,� said Holmes.

�Well, I couldn�t be sure of that, but I dare say my fare knew all about
it. We pulled up halfway down the street and waited an hour and a half.
Then the two gentlemen passed us, walking, and we followed down Baker
Street and along--�

�I know,� said Holmes.

�Until we got three-quarters down Regent Street. Then my gentleman threw
up the trap, and he cried that I should drive right away to Waterloo
Station as hard as I could go. I whipped up the mare and we were there
under the ten minutes. Then he paid up his two guineas, like a good one,
and away he went into the station. Only just as he was leaving he turned
round and he said: �It might interest you to know that you have been
driving Mr. Sherlock Holmes.� That�s how I come to know the name.�

�I see. And you saw no more of him?�

�Not after he went into the station.�

�And how would you describe Mr. Sherlock Holmes?�

The cabman scratched his head. �Well, he wasn�t altogether such an easy
gentleman to describe. I�d put him at forty years of age, and he was
of a middle height, two or three inches shorter than you, sir. He was
dressed like a toff, and he had a black beard, cut square at the end,
and a pale face. I don�t know as I could say more than that.�

�Colour of his eyes?�

�No, I can�t say that.�

�Nothing more that you can remember?�

�No, sir; nothing.�

�Well, then, here is your half-sovereign. There�s another one waiting
for you if you can bring any more information. Good-night!�

�Good-night, sir, and thank you!�

John Clayton departed chuckling, and Holmes turned to me with a shrug of
his shoulders and a rueful smile.

�Snap goes our third thread, and we end where we began,� said he. �The
cunning rascal! He knew our number, knew that Sir Henry Baskerville had
consulted me, spotted who I was in Regent Street, conjectured that I had
got the number of the cab and would lay my hands on the driver, and so
sent back this audacious message. I tell you, Watson, this time we have
got a foeman who is worthy of our steel. I�ve been checkmated in London.
I can only wish you better luck in Devonshire. But I�m not easy in my
mind about it.�

�About what?�

�About sending you. It�s an ugly business, Watson, an ugly dangerous
business, and the more I see of it the less I like it. Yes, my dear
fellow, you may laugh, but I give you my word that I shall be very glad
to have you back safe and sound in Baker Street once more.�





Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon the appointed
day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr. Sherlock Holmes
drove with me to the station and gave me his last parting injunctions
and advice.

�I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions,
Watson,� said he; �I wish you simply to report facts in the fullest
possible manner to me, and you can leave me to do the theorizing.�

�What sort of facts?� I asked.

�Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect upon the
case, and especially the relations between young Baskerville and his
neighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death of Sir Charles.
I have made some inquiries myself in the last few days, but the results
have, I fear, been negative. One thing only appears to be certain, and
that is that Mr. James Desmond, who is the next heir, is an elderly
gentleman of a very amiable disposition, so that this persecution does
not arise from him. I really think that we may eliminate him entirely
from our calculations. There remain the people who will actually
surround Sir Henry Baskerville upon the moor.�

�Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of this Barrymore
couple?�

�By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If they are innocent
it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty we should be
giving up all chance of bringing it home to them. No, no, we will
preserve them upon our list of suspects. Then there is a groom at the
Hall, if I remember right. There are two moorland farmers. There is our
friend Dr. Mortimer, whom I believe to be entirely honest, and there is
his wife, of whom we know nothing. There is this naturalist, Stapleton,
and there is his sister, who is said to be a young lady of attractions.
There is Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who is also an unknown factor,
and there are one or two other neighbours. These are the folk who must
be your very special study.�

�I will do my best.�

�You have arms, I suppose?�

�Yes, I thought it as well to take them.�

�Most certainly. Keep your revolver near you night and day, and never
relax your precautions.�

Our friends had already secured a first-class carriage and were waiting
for us upon the platform.

�No, we have no news of any kind,� said Dr. Mortimer in answer to my
friend�s questions. �I can swear to one thing, and that is that we
have not been shadowed during the last two days. We have never gone
out without keeping a sharp watch, and no one could have escaped our
notice.�

�You have always kept together, I presume?�

�Except yesterday afternoon. I usually give up one day to pure amusement
when I come to town, so I spent it at the Museum of the College of
Surgeons.�

�And I went to look at the folk in the park,� said Baskerville.

�But we had no trouble of any kind.�

�It was imprudent, all the same,� said Holmes, shaking his head and
looking very grave. �I beg, Sir Henry, that you will not go about alone.
Some great misfortune will befall you if you do. Did you get your other
boot?�

�No, sir, it is gone forever.�

�Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye,� he added as the
train began to glide down the platform. �Bear in mind, Sir Henry, one of
the phrases in that queer old legend which Dr. Mortimer has read to us,
and avoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil
are exalted.�

I looked back at the platform when we had left it far behind and saw the
tall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionless and gazing after us.

The journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it in making the
more intimate acquaintance of my two companions and in playing with
Dr. Mortimer�s spaniel. In a very few hours the brown earth had
become ruddy, the brick had changed to granite, and red cows grazed in
well-hedged fields where the lush grasses and more luxuriant vegetation
spoke of a richer, if a damper, climate. Young Baskerville stared
eagerly out of the window and cried aloud with delight as he recognized
the familiar features of the Devon scenery.

�I�ve been over a good part of the world since I left it, Dr. Watson,�
 said he; �but I have never seen a place to compare with it.�

�I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county,� I
remarked.

�It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on the county,� said
Dr. Mortimer. �A glance at our friend here reveals the rounded head of
the Celt, which carries inside it the Celtic enthusiasm and power
of attachment. Poor Sir Charles�s head was of a very rare type, half
Gaelic, half Ivernian in its characteristics. But you were very young
when you last saw Baskerville Hall, were you not?�

�I was a boy in my teens at the time of my father�s death and had never
seen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on the South Coast.
Thence I went straight to a friend in America. I tell you it is all as
new to me as it is to Dr. Watson, and I�m as keen as possible to see the
moor.�

�Are you? Then your wish is easily granted, for there is your first
sight of the moor,� said Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of the carriage
window.

Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood there
rose in the distance a gray, melancholy hill, with a strange jagged
summit, dim and vague in the distance, like some fantastic landscape in
a dream. Baskerville sat for a long time, his eyes fixed upon it, and I
read upon his eager face how much it meant to him, this first sight of
that strange spot where the men of his blood had held sway so long
and left their mark so deep. There he sat, with his tweed suit and his
American accent, in the corner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as
I looked at his dark and expressive face I felt more than ever how
true a descendant he was of that long line of high-blooded, fiery,
and masterful men. There were pride, valour, and strength in his thick
brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his large hazel eyes. If on that
forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous quest should lie before us,
this was at least a comrade for whom one might venture to take a risk
with the certainty that he would bravely share it.

The train pulled up at a small wayside station and we all descended.
Outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette with a pair of cobs
was waiting. Our coming was evidently a great event, for station-master
and porters clustered round us to carry out our luggage. It was a sweet,
simple country spot, but I was surprised to observe that by the gate
there stood two soldierly men in dark uniforms who leaned upon their
short rifles and glanced keenly at us as we passed. The coachman, a
hard-faced, gnarled little fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in
a few minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad, white road. Rolling
pasture lands curved upward on either side of us, and old gabled houses
peeped out from amid the thick green foliage, but behind the peaceful
and sunlit countryside there rose ever, dark against the evening sky,
the long, gloomy curve of the moor, broken by the jagged and sinister
hills.

The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upward through
deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on either side, heavy
with dripping moss and fleshy hart�s-tongue ferns. Bronzing bracken and
mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. Still steadily
rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge and skirted a noisy
stream which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the gray
boulders. Both road and stream wound up through a valley dense with
scrub oak and fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation of
delight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions. To
his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon
the countryside, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year.
Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we
passed. The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of
rotting vegetation--sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw
before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.

�Halloa!� cried Dr. Mortimer, �what is this?�

A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay in
front of us. On the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue
upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle
poised ready over his forearm. He was watching the road along which we
travelled.

�What is this, Perkins?� asked Dr. Mortimer.

Our driver half turned in his seat. �There�s a convict escaped from
Princetown, sir. He�s been out three days now, and the warders watch
every road and every station, but they�ve had no sight of him yet. The
farmers about here don�t like it, sir, and that�s a fact.�

�Well, I understand that they get five pounds if they can give
information.�

�Yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is but a poor thing compared
to the chance of having your throat cut. You see, it isn�t like any
ordinary convict. This is a man that would stick at nothing.�

�Who is he, then?�

�It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer.�

I remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmes had taken an
interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of the crime and the
wanton brutality which had marked all the actions of the assassin. The
commutation of his death sentence had been due to some doubts as to his
complete sanity, so atrocious was his conduct. Our wagonette had topped
a rise and in front of us rose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled
with gnarled and craggy cairns and tors. A cold wind swept down from
it and set us shivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was
lurking this fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his
heart full of malignancy against the whole race which had cast him out.
It needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness of the barren
waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky. Even Baskerville fell
silent and pulled his overcoat more closely around him.

We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We looked back on
it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads of
gold and glowing on the red earth new turned by the plough and the broad
tangle of the woodlands. The road in front of us grew bleaker and wilder
over huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now
and then we passed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone,
with no creeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into
a cuplike depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs which had been
twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Two high, narrow towers
rose over the trees. The driver pointed with his whip.

�Baskerville Hall,� said he.

Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shining
eyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, a maze of
fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on either
side, blotched with lichens, and surmounted by the boars� heads of the
Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs of
rafters, but facing it was a new building, half constructed, the first
fruit of Sir Charles�s South African gold.

Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheels were
again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their branches in a
sombre tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shuddered as he looked up
the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghost at the
farther end.

�Was it here?� he asked in a low voice.

�No, no, the yew alley is on the other side.�

The young heir glanced round with a gloomy face.

�It�s no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on him in such a
place as this,� said he. �It�s enough to scare any man. I�ll have a row
of electric lamps up here inside of six months, and you won�t know it
again, with a thousand candle-power Swan and Edison right here in front
of the hall door.�

The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house lay before
us. In the fading light I could see that the centre was a heavy block
of building from which a porch projected. The whole front was draped in
ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there where a window or a coat
of arms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the
twin towers, ancient, crenelated, and pierced with many loopholes. To
right and left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite.
A dull light shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high
chimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a
single black column of smoke.

�Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!�

A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open the door of
the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouetted against the yellow
light of the hall. She came out and helped the man to hand down our
bags.

�You don�t mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry?� said Dr. Mortimer.
�My wife is expecting me.�

�Surely you will stay and have some dinner?�

�No, I must go. I shall probably find some work awaiting me. I would
stay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be a better guide
than I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day to send for me if I
can be of service.�

The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned
into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine
apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily
raftered with huge baulks of age-blackened oak. In the great
old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled
and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb
from our long drive. Then we gazed round us at the high, thin window
of old stained glass, the oak panelling, the stags� heads, the coats
of arms upon the walls, all dim and sombre in the subdued light of the
central lamp.

�It�s just as I imagined it,� said Sir Henry. �Is it not the very
picture of an old family home? To think that this should be the same
hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me
solemn to think of it.�

I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazed about
him. The light beat upon him where he stood, but long shadows trailed
down the walls and hung like a black canopy above him. Barrymore had
returned from taking our luggage to our rooms. He stood in front of
us now with the subdued manner of a well-trained servant. He was a
remarkable-looking man, tall, handsome, with a square black beard and
pale, distinguished features.

�Would you wish dinner to be served at once, sir?�

�Is it ready?�

�In a very few minutes, sir. You will find hot water in your rooms. My
wife and I will be happy, Sir Henry, to stay with you until you have
made your fresh arrangements, but you will understand that under the new
conditions this house will require a considerable staff.�

�What new conditions?�

�I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very retired life, and we
were able to look after his wants. You would, naturally, wish to have
more company, and so you will need changes in your household.�

�Do you mean that your wife and you wish to leave?�

�Only when it is quite convenient to you, sir.�

�But your family have been with us for several generations, have they
not? I should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking an old family
connection.�

I seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler�s white face.

�I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell the truth, sir,
we were both very much attached to Sir Charles, and his death gave us
a shock and made these surroundings very painful to us. I fear that we
shall never again be easy in our minds at Baskerville Hall.�

�But what do you intend to do?�

�I have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishing ourselves
in some business. Sir Charles�s generosity has given us the means to do
so. And now, sir, perhaps I had best show you to your rooms.�

A square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall,
approached by a double stair. From this central point two long corridors
extended the whole length of the building, from which all the bedrooms
opened. My own was in the same wing as Baskerville�s and almost next
door to it. These rooms appeared to be much more modern than the
central part of the house, and the bright paper and numerous candles
did something to remove the sombre impression which our arrival had left
upon my mind.

But the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place of shadow
and gloom. It was a long chamber with a step separating the dais where
the family sat from the lower portion reserved for their dependents.
At one end a minstrel�s gallery overlooked it. Black beams shot across
above our heads, with a smoke-darkened ceiling beyond them. With rows of
flaring torches to light it up, and the colour and rude hilarity of
an old-time banquet, it might have softened; but now, when two
black-clothed gentlemen sat in the little circle of light thrown by a
shaded lamp, one�s voice became hushed and one�s spirit subdued. A
dim line of ancestors, in every variety of dress, from the Elizabethan
knight to the buck of the Regency, stared down upon us and daunted us by
their silent company. We talked little, and I for one was glad when the
meal was over and we were able to retire into the modern billiard-room
and smoke a cigarette.

�My word, it isn�t a very cheerful place,� said Sir Henry. �I suppose
one can tone down to it, but I feel a bit out of the picture at present.
I don�t wonder that my uncle got a little jumpy if he lived all alone
in such a house as this. However, if it suits you, we will retire early
tonight, and perhaps things may seem more cheerful in the morning.�

I drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked out from my
window. It opened upon the grassy space which lay in front of the hall
door. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in a rising wind. A
half moon broke through the rifts of racing clouds. In its cold light I
saw beyond the trees a broken fringe of rocks, and the long, low curve
of the melancholy moor. I closed the curtain, feeling that my last
impression was in keeping with the rest.

And yet it was not quite the last. I found myself weary and yet wakeful,
tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for the sleep which would
not come. Far away a chiming clock struck out the quarters of the
hours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon the old house. And then
suddenly, in the very dead of the night, there came a sound to my
ears, clear, resonant, and unmistakable. It was the sob of a woman, the
muffled, strangling gasp of one who is torn by an uncontrollable sorrow.
I sat up in bed and listened intently. The noise could not have been
far away and was certainly in the house. For half an hour I waited with
every nerve on the alert, but there came no other sound save the chiming
clock and the rustle of the ivy on the wall.





The fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface from
our minds the grim and gray impression which had been left upon both of
us by our first experience of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat
at breakfast the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows,
throwing watery patches of colour from the coats of arms which covered
them. The dark panelling glowed like bronze in the golden rays, and it
was hard to realize that this was indeed the chamber which had struck
such a gloom into our souls upon the evening before.

�I guess it is ourselves and not the house that we have to blame!� said
the baronet. �We were tired with our journey and chilled by our drive,
so we took a gray view of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so it is
all cheerful once more.�

�And yet it was not entirely a question of imagination,� I answered.
�Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman I think, sobbing
in the night?�

�That is curious, for I did when I was half asleep fancy that I heard
something of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there was no more of
it, so I concluded that it was all a dream.�

�I heard it distinctly, and I am sure that it was really the sob of a
woman.�

�We must ask about this right away.� He rang the bell and asked
Barrymore whether he could account for our experience. It seemed to me
that the pallid features of the butler turned a shade paler still as he
listened to his master�s question.

�There are only two women in the house, Sir Henry,� he answered. �One is
the scullery-maid, who sleeps in the other wing. The other is my wife,
and I can answer for it that the sound could not have come from her.�

And yet he lied as he said it, for it chanced that after breakfast I met
Mrs. Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full upon her face. She
was a large, impassive, heavy-featured woman with a stern set expression
of mouth. But her telltale eyes were red and glanced at me from between
swollen lids. It was she, then, who wept in the night, and if she did so
her husband must know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of discovery
in declaring that it was not so. Why had he done this? And why did she
weep so bitterly? Already round this pale-faced, handsome, black-bearded
man there was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It was he
who had been the first to discover the body of Sir Charles, and we had
only his word for all the circumstances which led up to the old man�s
death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore, after all, whom we had
seen in the cab in Regent Street? The beard might well have been the
same. The cabman had described a somewhat shorter man, 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 Sherlock Holmes.

Sir Henry 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 he, �I had the telegram delivered to Mr.
Barrymore exactly as directed.�

�Who delivered it?�

�My boy here. James, you delivered that telegram to Mr. Barrymore at the
Hall last week, did you not?�

�Yes, father, I delivered it.�

�Into his own hands?� I asked.

�Well, he was up in the loft at the time, so that I could not put it
into his own hands, but I gave it into Mrs. Barrymore�s hands, and she
promised to deliver it at once.�

�Did you see Mr. Barrymore?�

�No, sir; I tell you he was in the loft.�

�If you didn�t see him, how do you know he was in the loft?�

�Well, surely his own wife ought to know where he is,� said the
postmaster testily. �Didn�t he get the telegram? If there is any mistake
it is for Mr. Barrymore himself 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 man had been the last who had seen Sir Charles alive, and the first
to dog the new heir when he returned to England. What then? Was he the
agent of others or had he some sinister design of his own? What interest
could he have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of the
strange warning clipped out of the leading article of the Times. Was
that his work or was it possibly the doing of someone who was bent upon
counteracting his schemes? The only conceivable motive was that which
had been suggested by Sir Henry, 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 himself had said that
no more complex case had come to him in all the long series of his
sensational investigations. I prayed, as I walked back along the gray,
lonely road, that my friend might soon be freed from his 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. He was a small, slim, clean-shaven, prim-faced man, flaxen-haired
and leanjawed, 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 his shoulder and he carried a green butterfly-net in one of his
hands.

�You will, I am sure, excuse my presumption, Dr. Watson,� said he as he
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
Mr. Stapleton was a naturalist. But how did you know me?�

�I have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out to me from
the window of his surgery as you passed. As our road lay the same way I
thought that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust that Sir
Henry is none the worse for his journey?�

�He is very well, thank you.�

�We were all rather afraid that after the sad death of Sir Charles the
new baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking much of a wealthy
man to come down and bury himself in a place of this kind, but I need
not tell you that it means a very great deal to the countryside. Sir
Henry 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.� He spoke with a smile, but I seemed to read in his eyes
that he took the matter more seriously. �The story took a great hold
upon the imagination of Sir Charles, and I have no doubt that it led to
his tragic end.�

�But how?�

�His nerves were so worked up that the appearance of any dog might have
had a fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancy that he 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
man, and I knew that his heart was weak.�

�How did you know that?�

�My friend Mortimer told me.�

�You think, then, that some dog pursued Sir Charles, and that he died of
fright in consequence?�

�Have you any better explanation?�

�I have not come to any conclusion.�

�Has Mr. Sherlock Holmes?�

The words took away my breath for an instant but a glance at the placid
face and steadfast eyes of my companion showed that no surprise was
intended.

�It is useless for us to pretend that we do not know you, Dr. Watson,�
 said he. �The records of your detective have reached us here, and you
could not celebrate him without being known yourself. When Mortimer told
me your name he could not deny your identity. If you are here, then it
follows that Mr. Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself in the matter,
and I am naturally curious to know what view he may take.�

�I am afraid that I cannot answer that question.�

�May I ask if he is going to honour us with a visit himself?�

�He cannot leave town at present. He has other cases which engage his
attention.�

�What a pity! He might throw some light on that which is so dark to us.
But as to your own researches, if there is any possible way in which I
can be of service to you I trust that you will command me. If I had
any indication of the nature of your suspicions or how you propose to
investigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you some aid or
advice.�

�I assure you that I am simply here upon a visit to my friend, Sir
Henry, and that I need no help of any kind.�

�Excellent!� said Stapleton. �You are perfectly right to be wary and
discreet. I am justly reproved for what I feel was an unjustifiable
intrusion, and I promise you that I will not mention the matter again.�

We had come to a point where a narrow grassy path struck off from the
road and wound away across the moor. A steep, boulder-sprinkled hill lay
upon the right which had in bygone days been cut into a granite quarry.
The face which was turned towards us formed a dark cliff, with ferns and
brambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise there floated a
gray plume of smoke.

�A moderate walk along this moor-path brings us to Merripit House,�
 said he. �Perhaps you will spare an hour that I may have the pleasure of
introducing you to my sister.�

My first thought was that I should be by Sir Henry�s side. But then I
remembered the pile of papers and bills with which his study table was
littered. It was certain that I could not help with those. And Holmes
had expressly said that I should study the neighbours upon the moor. I
accepted Stapleton�s invitation, and we turned together down the path.

�It is a wonderful place, the moor,� said he, looking round over the
undulating downs, long green rollers, with crests of jagged granite
foaming up into fantastic surges. �You never tire of the moor. You
cannot think the wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast, and
so barren, and so mysterious.�

�You know it well, then?�

�I have only been here two years. The residents would call me a
newcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled. But my tastes led
me to explore every part of the country round, and I should think that
there are few men who know it better than I do.�

�Is it hard to know?�

�Very hard. You see, for example, this great plain to the north here
with the queer hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anything
remarkable about that?�

�It would be a rare place for a gallop.�

�You would naturally think so and the thought has cost several their
lives before now. You notice those bright green spots scattered thickly
over it?�

�Yes, they seem more fertile than the rest.�

Stapleton laughed. �That is the great Grimpen Mire,� said he. �A false
step yonder means death to man or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the
moor ponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw his head for quite
a long time craning out of the bog-hole, but it sucked him down at last.
Even in dry seasons it is a danger to cross it, but after these autumn
rains it is an awful place. And yet I can find my way to the very heart
of it and return alive. By George, there is another of those miserable
ponies!�

Something brown was rolling and tossing among the green sedges. Then a
long, agonized, writhing neck shot upward and a dreadful cry echoed
over the moor. It turned me cold with horror, but my companion�s nerves
seemed to be stronger than mine.

�It�s gone!� said he. �The mire has him. Two in two days, and many more,
perhaps, for they get in the way of going there in the dry weather and
never know the difference until the mire has them in its clutches. It�s
a bad place, the great Grimpen Mire.�

�And you say you can penetrate it?�

�Yes, there are one or two paths which a very active man can take. I
have found them out.�

�But why should you wish to go into so horrible a place?�

�Well, you see the hills beyond? They are really islands cut off on all
sides by the impassable mire, which has crawled round them in the course
of years. That is where the rare plants and the butterflies are, if you
have the wit to reach them.�

�I shall try my luck some day.�

He looked at me with a surprised face. �For God�s sake put such an idea
out of your mind,� said he. �Your blood would be upon my head. I assure
you that there would not be the least chance of your coming back alive.
It is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I am able to do
it.�

�Halloa!� I cried. �What is that?�

A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor. It filled the
whole air, and yet it was impossible to say whence it came. From a
dull murmur it swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into a
melancholy, throbbing murmur once again. Stapleton looked at me with a
curious expression in his face.

�Queer place, the moor!� said he.

�But what is it?�

�The peasants say it is the Hound of the Baskervilles calling for its
prey. I�ve heard it once or twice before, but never quite so loud.�

I looked round, with a chill of fear in my heart, at the huge swelling
plain, mottled with the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over
the vast expanse save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a tor
behind us.

�You are an educated man. You don�t believe such nonsense as that?� said
I. �What do you think is the cause of so strange a sound?�

�Bogs make queer noises sometimes. It�s the mud settling, or the water
rising, or something.�

�No, no, that was a living voice.�

�Well, perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming?�

�No, I never did.�

�It�s a very rare bird--practically extinct--in England now, but all
things are possible upon the moor. Yes, I should not be surprised to
learn that what we have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns.�

�It�s the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in my life.�

�Yes, it�s rather an uncanny place altogether. Look at the hillside
yonder. What do you make of those?�

The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings of stone, a
score of them at least.

�What are they? Sheep-pens?�

�No, they are the homes of our worthy ancestors. Prehistoric man lived
thickly on the moor, and as no one in particular has lived there since,
we find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them. These are
his wigwams with the roofs off. You can even see his hearth and his
couch if you have the curiosity to go inside.

�But it is quite a town. When was it inhabited?�

�Neolithic man--no date.�

�What did he do?�

�He grazed his cattle on these slopes, and he learned to dig for tin
when the bronze sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look at the
great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes, you will find
some very singular points about the moor, Dr. Watson. Oh, excuse me an
instant! It is surely Cyclopides.�

A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path, and in an instant
Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy and speed in pursuit of
it. To my dismay the creature flew straight for the great mire, and my
acquaintance never paused for an instant, bounding from tuft to tuft
behind it, his green net waving in the air. His gray clothes and jerky,
zigzag, irregular progress made him not unlike some huge moth himself.
I was standing watching his pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his
extraordinary activity and fear lest he should lose his footing in the
treacherous mire, when I heard the sound of steps and, turning round,
found a woman near me upon the path. She had come from the direction in
which the plume of smoke indicated the position of Merripit House, but
the dip of the moor had hid her until she was quite close.

I could not doubt that this was the Miss Stapleton of whom I had
been told, since ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor, and I
remembered that I had heard someone describe her as being a beauty. The
woman who approached me was certainly that, and of a most uncommon type.
There could not have been a greater contrast between brother and sister,
for Stapleton was neutral tinted, with light hair and gray eyes, while
she was darker than any brunette whom I have seen in England--slim,
elegant, and tall. She had a proud, finely cut face, so regular that it
might have seemed impassive were it not for the sensitive mouth and the
beautiful dark, eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress
she was, indeed, a strange apparition upon a lonely moorland path. Her
eyes were on her brother as I turned, and then she quickened her pace
towards me. I had raised my hat and was about to make some explanatory
remark when her own words turned all my thoughts into a new channel.

�Go back!� she said. �Go straight back to London, instantly.�

I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her eyes blazed at me, and
she tapped the ground impatiently with her foot.

�Why should I go back?� I asked.

�I cannot explain.� She spoke in a low, eager voice, with a curious lisp
in her utterance. �But for God�s sake do what I ask you. Go back and
never set foot upon the moor again.�

�But I have only just come.�

�Man, man!� she cried. �Can you not tell when a warning is for your own
good? Go back to London! Start tonight! Get away from this place at all
costs! Hush, my brother is coming! Not a word of what I have said. Would
you mind getting that orchid for me among the mare�s-tails yonder? We
are very rich in orchids on the moor, though, of course, you are rather
late to see the beauties of the place.�

Stapleton had abandoned the chase and came back to us breathing hard and
flushed with his exertions.

�Halloa, Beryl!� said he, and it seemed to me that the tone of his
greeting was not altogether a cordial one.

�Well, Jack, you are very hot.�

�Yes, I was chasing a Cyclopides. He is very rare and seldom found in
the late autumn. What a pity that I should have missed him!� He spoke
unconcernedly, but his small light eyes glanced incessantly from the
girl to me.

�You have introduced yourselves, I can see.�

�Yes. I was telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him to see the
true beauties of the moor.�

�Why, who do you think this is?�

�I imagine that it must be Sir Henry Baskerville.�

�No, no,� said I. �Only a humble commoner, but his friend. My name is
Dr. Watson.�

A flush of vexation passed over her expressive face. �We have been
talking at cross purposes,� said she.

�Why, you had not very much time for talk,� her brother remarked with
the same questioning eyes.

�I talked as if Dr. Watson were a resident instead of being merely a
visitor,� said she. �It cannot much matter to him whether it is early
or late for the orchids. But you will come on, will you not, and see
Merripit House?�

A short walk brought us to it, a bleak moorland house, once the farm
of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but now put into repair and
turned into a modern dwelling. An orchard surrounded it, but the trees,
as is usual upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect of
the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were admitted by a strange,
wizened, rusty-coated old manservant, who seemed in keeping with
the house. Inside, however, there were large rooms furnished with an
elegance in which I seemed to recognize the taste of the lady. As I
looked from their windows at the interminable granite-flecked moor
rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon I could not but marvel at what
could have brought this highly educated man and this beautiful woman to
live in such a place.

�Queer spot to choose, is it not?� said he as if in answer to my
thought. �And yet we manage to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not,
Beryl?�

�Quite happy,� said she, but there was no ring of conviction in her
words.

�I had a school,� said Stapleton. �It was in the north country. The work
to a man of my temperament was mechanical and uninteresting, but the
privilege of living with youth, of helping to mould those young minds,
and of impressing them with one�s own character and ideals was very dear
to me. However, the fates were against us. A serious epidemic broke out
in the school and three of the boys died. It never recovered from the
blow, and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And yet,
if it were not for the loss of the charming companionship of the boys,
I could rejoice over my own misfortune, for, with my strong tastes
for botany and zoology, I find an unlimited field of work here, and my
sister is as devoted to Nature as I am. All this, Dr. Watson, has been
brought upon your head by your expression as you surveyed the moor out
of our window.�

�It certainly did cross my mind that it might be a little dull--less for
you, perhaps, than for your sister.�

�No, no, I am never dull,� said she quickly.

�We have books, we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbours.
Dr. Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line. Poor Sir Charles was
also an admirable companion. We knew him well and miss him more than
I can tell. Do you think that I should intrude if I were to call this
afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry?�

�I am sure that he would be delighted.�

�Then perhaps you would mention that I propose to do so. We may in
our humble way do something to make things more easy for him until he
becomes accustomed to his new surroundings. Will you come upstairs, Dr.
Watson, and inspect my collection of Lepidoptera? I think it is the most
complete one in the south-west of England. By the time that you have
looked through them lunch will be almost ready.�

But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of the moor,
the death of the unfortunate pony, the weird sound which had been
associated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles, all these things
tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then on the top of these more or less
vague impressions there had come the definite and distinct warning of
Miss Stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that I could
not doubt that some grave and deep reason lay behind it. I resisted
all pressure to stay for lunch, and I set off at once upon my return
journey, taking the grass-grown path by which we had come.

It seems, however, that there must have been some short cut for those
who knew it, for before I had reached the road I was astounded to see
Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side of the track. Her face
was beautifully flushed with her exertions and she held her hand to her
side.

�I have run all the way in order to cut you off, Dr. Watson,� said she.
�I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop, or my brother
may miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am about the stupid
mistake I made in thinking that you were Sir Henry. Please forget the
words I said, which have no application whatever to you.�

�But I can�t forget them, Miss Stapleton,� said I. �I am Sir Henry�s
friend, and his welfare is a very close concern of mine. Tell me why it
was that you were so eager that Sir Henry should return to London.�

�A woman�s whim, Dr. Watson. When you know me better you will understand
that I cannot always give reasons for what I say or do.�

�No, no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember the look in
your eyes. Please, please, be frank with me, Miss Stapleton, for ever
since I have been here I have been conscious of shadows all round me.
Life has become like that great Grimpen Mire, with little green patches
everywhere into which one may sink and with no guide to point the track.
Tell me then what it was that you meant, and I will promise to convey
your warning to Sir Henry.�

An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her face, but
her eyes had hardened again when she answered me.

�You make too much of it, Dr. Watson,� said she. �My brother and I
were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles. We knew him very
intimately, for his favourite walk was over the moor to our house. He
was deeply impressed with the curse which hung over the family, and when
this tragedy came I naturally felt that there must be some grounds
for the fears which he had expressed. I was distressed therefore when
another member of the family came down to live here, and I felt that he
should be warned of the danger which he will run. That was all which I
intended to convey.

�But what is the danger?�

�You know the story of the hound?�

�I do not believe in such nonsense.�

�But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him away from
a place which has always been fatal to his family. The world is wide.
Why should he wish to live at the place of danger?�

�Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry�s nature. I fear
that unless you can give me some more definite information than this it
would be impossible to get him to move.�

�I cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite.�

�I would ask you one more question, Miss Stapleton. If you meant no
more than this when you first spoke to me, why should you not wish your
brother to overhear what you said? There is nothing to which he, or
anyone else, could object.�

�My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited, for he thinks it
is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. He would be very angry
if he knew that I have said anything which might induce Sir Henry to
go away. But I have done my duty now and I will say no more. I must go
back, or he will miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Good-bye!�
 She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among the scattered
boulders, while I, with my soul full of vague fears, pursued my way to
Baskerville Hall.



From this point onward I will follow the course of events by
transcribing my own letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which lie before me
on the table. One page is missing, but otherwise they are exactly
as written and show my feelings and suspicions of the moment more
accurately than my memory, clear as it is upon these tragic events, can
possibly do.


Baskerville Hall, October 13th. MY DEAR HOLMES: My previous letters
and telegrams have kept you pretty well up to date as to all that has
occurred in this most God-forsaken corner of the world. The longer one
stays here the more does the spirit of the moor sink into one�s soul,
its vastness, and also its grim charm. When you are once out upon its
bosom you have left all traces of modern England behind you, but, on the
other hand, you are conscious everywhere of the homes and the work of
the prehistoric people. On all sides of you as you walk are the houses
of these forgotten folk, with their graves and the huge monoliths which
are supposed to have marked their temples. As you look at their gray
stone huts against the scarred hillsides you leave your own age behind
you, and if you were to see a skin-clad, hairy man crawl out from the
low door fitting a flint-tipped arrow on to the string of his bow, you
would feel that his presence there was more natural than your own. The
strange thing is that they should have lived so thickly on what must
always have been most unfruitful soil. I am no antiquarian, but I could
imagine that they were some unwarlike and harried race who were forced
to accept that which none other would occupy.

All this, however, is foreign to the mission on which you sent me and
will probably be very uninteresting to your severely practical mind.
I can still remember your complete indifference as to whether the sun
moved round the earth or the earth round the sun. Let me, therefore,
return to the facts concerning Sir Henry Baskerville.

If you have not had any report within the last few days it is because
up to today there was nothing of importance to relate. Then a very
surprising circumstance occurred, which I shall tell you in due course.
But, first of all, I must keep you in touch with some of the other
factors in the situation.

One of these, concerning which I have said little, is the escaped
convict upon the moor. There is strong reason now to believe that he
has got right away, which is a considerable relief to the lonely
householders of this district. A fortnight has passed since his flight,
during which he has not been seen and nothing has been heard of him. It
is surely inconceivable that he could have held out upon the moor during
all that time. Of course, so far as his concealment goes there is
no difficulty at all. Any one of these stone huts would give him a
hiding-place. But there is nothing to eat unless he were to catch and
slaughter one of the moor sheep. We think, therefore, that he has gone,
and the outlying farmers sleep the better in consequence.

We are four able-bodied men in this household, so that we could take
good care of ourselves, but I confess that I have had uneasy moments
when I have thought of the Stapletons. They live miles from any help.
There are one maid, an old manservant, the sister, and the brother, the
latter not a very strong man. They would be helpless in the hands of a
desperate fellow like this Notting Hill criminal if he could once effect
an entrance. Both Sir Henry and I were concerned at their situation, and
it was suggested that Perkins the groom should go over to sleep there,
but Stapleton would not hear of it.

The fact is that our friend, the baronet, begins to display a
considerable interest in our fair neighbour. It is not to be wondered
at, for time hangs heavily in this lonely spot to an active man like
him, and she is a very fascinating and beautiful woman. There is
something tropical and exotic about her which forms a singular contrast
to her cool and unemotional brother. Yet he also gives the idea of
hidden fires. He has certainly a very marked influence over her, for
I have seen her continually glance at him as she talked as if seeking
approbation for what she said. I trust that he is kind to her. There is
a dry glitter in his eyes and a firm set of his thin lips, which goes
with a positive and possibly a harsh nature. You would find him an
interesting study.

He came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day, and the very
next morning he took us both to show us the spot where the legend of the
wicked Hugo is supposed to have had its origin. It was an excursion of
some miles across the moor to a place which is so dismal that it might
have suggested the story. We found a short valley between rugged tors
which led to an open, grassy space flecked over with the white cotton
grass. In the middle of it rose two great stones, worn and sharpened at
the upper end until they looked like the huge corroding fangs of some
monstrous beast. In every way it corresponded with the scene of the old
tragedy. Sir Henry was much interested and asked Stapleton more
than once whether he did really believe in the possibility of the
interference of the supernatural in the affairs of men. He spoke
lightly, but it was evident that he was very much in earnest. Stapleton
was guarded in his replies, but it was easy to see that he said less
than he might, and that he would not express his whole opinion out of
consideration for the feelings of the baronet. He told us of similar
cases, where families had suffered from some evil influence, and he left
us with the impression that he shared the popular view upon the matter.

On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House, and it was there
that Sir Henry made the acquaintance of Miss Stapleton. From the first
moment that he saw her he appeared to be strongly attracted by her, and
I am much mistaken if the feeling was not mutual. He referred to her
again and again on our walk home, and since then hardly a day has passed
that we have not seen something of the brother and sister. They dine
here tonight, and there is some talk of our going to them next week. One
would imagine that such a match would be very welcome to Stapleton, and
yet I have more than once caught a look of the strongest disapprobation
in his face when Sir Henry has been paying some attention to his sister.
He is much attached to her, no doubt, and would lead a lonely life
without her, but it would seem the height of selfishness if he were to
stand in the way of her making so brilliant a marriage. Yet I am certain
that he does not wish their intimacy to ripen into love, and I have
several times observed that he has taken pains to prevent them from
being tete-a-tete. By the way, your instructions to me never to allow
Sir Henry to go out alone will become very much more onerous if a love
affair were to be added to our other difficulties. My popularity would
soon suffer if I were to carry out your orders to the letter.

The other day--Thursday, to be more exact--Dr. Mortimer lunched with us.
He has been excavating a barrow at Long Down and has got a prehistoric
skull which fills him with great joy. Never was there such a
single-minded enthusiast as he! The Stapletons came in afterwards, and
the good doctor took us all to the yew alley at Sir Henry�s request to
show us exactly how everything occurred upon that fatal night. It is
a long, dismal walk, the yew alley, between two high walls of clipped
hedge, with a narrow band of grass upon either side. At the far end is
an old tumble-down summer-house. Halfway down is the moor-gate, where
the old gentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a white wooden gate with
a latch. Beyond it lies the wide moor. I remembered your theory of the
affair and tried to picture all that had occurred. As the old man stood
there he saw something coming across the moor, something which terrified
him so that he lost his wits and ran and ran until he died of sheer
horror and exhaustion. There was the long, gloomy tunnel down which
he fled. And from what? A sheep-dog of the moor? Or a spectral hound,
black, silent, and monstrous? Was there a human agency in the matter?
Did the pale, watchful Barrymore know more than he cared to say? It was
all dim and vague, but always there is the dark shadow of crime behind
it.

One other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr.
Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the south of us.
He is an elderly man, red-faced, white-haired, and choleric. His passion
is for the British law, and he has spent a large fortune in litigation.
He fights for the mere pleasure of fighting and is equally ready to take
up either side of a question, so that it is no wonder that he has found
it a costly amusement. Sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy
the parish to make him open it. At others he will with his own hands
tear down some other man�s gate and declare that a path has existed
there from time immemorial, defying the owner to prosecute him for
trespass. He is learned in old manorial and communal rights, and he
applies his knowledge sometimes in favour of the villagers of Fernworthy
and sometimes against them, so that he is periodically either carried in
triumph down the village street or else burned in effigy, according to
his latest exploit. He is said to have about seven lawsuits upon his
hands at present, which will probably swallow up the remainder of his
fortune and so draw his sting and leave him harmless for the future.
Apart from the law he seems a kindly, good-natured person, and I
only mention him because you were particular that I should send some
description of the people who surround us. He is curiously employed
at present, for, being an amateur astronomer, he has an excellent
telescope, with which he lies upon the roof of his own house and sweeps
the moor all day in the hope of catching a glimpse of the escaped
convict. If he would confine his energies to this all would be well, but
there are rumours that he intends to prosecute Dr. Mortimer for opening
a grave without the consent of the next of kin because he dug up the
Neolithic skull in the barrow on Long Down. He helps to keep our lives
from being monotonous and gives a little comic relief where it is badly
needed.

And now, having brought you up to date in the escaped convict, the
Stapletons, Dr. Mortimer, and Frankland, of Lafter Hall, let me end on
that which is most important and tell you more about the Barrymores, and
especially about the surprising development of last night.

First of all about the test telegram, which you sent from London in
order to make sure that Barrymore was really here. I have already
explained that the testimony of the postmaster shows that the test was
worthless and that we have no proof one way or the other. I told Sir
Henry how the matter stood, and he at once, in his downright fashion,
had Barrymore up and asked him whether he had received the telegram
himself. Barrymore said that he had.

�Did the boy deliver it into your own hands?� asked Sir Henry.

Barrymore looked surprised, and considered for a little time.

�No,� said he, �I was in the box-room at the time, and my wife brought
it up to me.�

�Did you answer it yourself?�

�No; I told my wife what to answer and she went down to write it.�

In the evening he recurred to the subject of his own accord.

�I could not quite understand the object of your questions this morning,
Sir Henry,� said he. �I trust that they do not mean that I have done
anything to forfeit your confidence?�

Sir Henry had to assure him that it was not so and pacify him by giving
him a considerable part of his old wardrobe, the London outfit having
now all arrived.

Mrs. Barrymore is of interest to me. She is a heavy, solid person, very
limited, intensely respectable, and inclined to be puritanical. You
could hardly conceive a less emotional subject. Yet I have told you how,
on the first night here, I heard her sobbing bitterly, and since then
I have more than once observed traces of tears upon her face. Some deep
sorrow gnaws ever at her heart. Sometimes I wonder if she has a guilty
memory which haunts her, and sometimes I suspect Barrymore of being a
domestic tyrant. I have always felt that there was something singular
and questionable in this man�s character, but the adventure of last
night brings all my suspicions to a head.

And yet it may seem a small matter in itself. You are aware that I am
not a very sound sleeper, and since I have been on guard in this house
my slumbers have been lighter than ever. Last night, about two in the
morning, I was aroused by a stealthy step passing my room. I rose,
opened my door, and peeped out. A long black shadow was trailing down
the corridor. It was thrown by a man who walked softly down the passage
with a candle held in his hand. He was in shirt and trousers, with no
covering to his feet. I could merely see the outline, but his height
told me that it was Barrymore. He walked very slowly and circumspectly,
and there was something indescribably guilty and furtive in his whole
appearance.

I have told you that the corridor is broken by the balcony which runs
round the hall, but that it is resumed upon the farther side. I waited
until he had passed out of sight and then I followed him. When I came
round the balcony he had reached the end of the farther corridor, and
I could see from the glimmer of light through an open door that he
had entered one of the rooms. Now, all these rooms are unfurnished and
unoccupied so that his expedition became more mysterious than ever. The
light shone steadily as if he were standing motionless. I crept down
the passage as noiselessly as I could and peeped round the corner of the
door.

Barrymore was crouching at the window with the candle held against the
glass. His profile was half turned towards me, and his face seemed to be
rigid with expectation as he stared out into the blackness of the moor.
For some minutes he stood watching intently. Then he gave a deep groan
and with an impatient gesture he put out the light. Instantly I made my
way back to my room, and very shortly came the stealthy steps passing
once more upon their return journey. Long afterwards when I had fallen
into a light sleep I heard a key turn somewhere in a lock, but I could
not tell whence the sound came. What it all means I cannot guess, but
there is some secret business going on in this house of gloom which
sooner or later we shall get to the bottom of. I do not trouble you with
my theories, for you asked me to furnish you only with facts. I have
had a long talk with Sir Henry this morning, and we have made a plan of
campaign founded upon my observations of last night. I will not speak
about it just now, but it should make my next report interesting
reading.




Baskerville Hall, Oct. 15th. MY DEAR HOLMES: If I was compelled to
leave you without much news during the early days of my mission you must
acknowledge that I am making up for lost time, and that events are now
crowding thick and fast upon us. In my last report I ended upon my top
note with Barrymore at the window, and now I have quite a budget already
which will, unless I am much mistaken, considerably surprise you. Things
have taken a turn which I could not have anticipated. In some ways they
have within the last forty-eight hours become much clearer and in some
ways they have become more complicated. But I will tell you all and you
shall judge for yourself.

Before breakfast on the morning following my adventure I went down the
corridor and examined the room in which Barrymore had been on the night
before. The western window through which he had stared so intently has,
I noticed, one peculiarity above all other windows in the house--it
commands the nearest outlook on to the moor. There is an opening between
two trees which enables one from this point of view to look right down
upon it, while from all the other windows it is only a distant glimpse
which can be obtained. It follows, therefore, that Barrymore, since
only this window would serve the purpose, must have been looking out for
something or somebody upon the moor. The night was very dark, so that I
can hardly imagine how he could have hoped to see anyone. It had struck
me that it was possible that some love intrigue was on foot. That would
have accounted for his stealthy movements and also for the uneasiness
of his wife. The man is a striking-looking fellow, very well equipped
to steal the heart of a country girl, so that this theory seemed to
have something to support it. That opening of the door which I had heard
after I had returned to my room might mean that he had gone out to keep
some clandestine appointment. So I reasoned with myself in the morning,
and I tell you the direction of my suspicions, however much the result
may have shown that they were unfounded.

But whatever the true explanation of Barrymore�s movements might be,
I felt that the responsibility of keeping them to myself until I could
explain them was more than I could bear. I had an interview with the
baronet in his study after breakfast, and I told him all that I had
seen. He was less surprised than I had expected.

�I knew that Barrymore walked about nights, and I had a mind to speak
to him about it,� said he. �Two or three times I have heard his steps in
the passage, coming and going, just about the hour you name.�

�Perhaps then he pays a visit every night to that particular window,� I
suggested.

�Perhaps he does. If so, we should be able to shadow him and see what
it is that he is after. I wonder what your friend Holmes would do if he
were here.�

�I believe that he would do exactly what you now suggest,� said I. �He
would follow Barrymore and see what he did.�

�Then we shall do it together.�

�But surely he would hear us.�

�The man is rather deaf, and in any case we must take our chance of
that. We�ll sit up in my room tonight and wait until he passes.� Sir
Henry rubbed his hands with pleasure, and it was evident that he hailed
the adventure as a relief to his somewhat quiet life upon the moor.

The baronet has been in communication with the architect who prepared
the plans for Sir Charles, and with a contractor from London, so that we
may expect great changes to begin here soon. There have been decorators
and furnishers up from Plymouth, and it is evident that our friend
has large ideas and means to spare no pains or expense to restore the
grandeur of his family. When the house is renovated and refurnished, all
that he will need will be a wife to make it complete. Between ourselves
there are pretty clear signs that this will not be wanting if the lady
is willing, for I have seldom seen a man more infatuated with a woman
than he is with our beautiful neighbour, Miss Stapleton. And yet the
course of true love does not run quite as smoothly as one would under
the circumstances expect. Today, for example, its surface was broken
by a very unexpected ripple, which has caused our friend considerable
perplexity and annoyance.

After the conversation which I have quoted about Barrymore, Sir Henry
put on his hat and prepared to go out. As a matter of course I did the
same.

�What, are you coming, Watson?� he asked, looking at me in a curious
way.

�That depends on whether you are going on the moor,� said I.

�Yes, I am.�

�Well, you know what my instructions are. I am sorry to intrude, but
you heard how earnestly Holmes insisted that I should not leave you, and
especially that you should not go alone upon the moor.�

Sir Henry put his hand upon my shoulder with a pleasant smile.

�My dear fellow,� said he, �Holmes, with all his wisdom, did not foresee
some things which have happened since I have been on the moor. You
understand me? I am sure that you are the last man in the world who
would wish to be a spoil-sport. I must go out alone.�

It put me in a most awkward position. I was at a loss what to say or
what to do, and before I had made up my mind he picked up his cane and
was gone.

But when I came to think the matter over my conscience reproached me
bitterly for having on any pretext allowed him to go out of my sight.
I imagined what my feelings would be if I had to return to you and to
confess that some misfortune had occurred through my disregard for your
instructions. I assure you my cheeks flushed at the very thought. It
might not even now be too late to overtake him, so I set off at once in
the direction of Merripit House.

I hurried along the road at the top of my speed without seeing anything
of Sir Henry, until I came to the point where the moor path branches
off. There, fearing that perhaps I had come in the wrong direction after
all, I mounted a hill from which I could command a view--the same hill
which is cut into the dark quarry. Thence I saw him at once. He was on
the moor path about a quarter of a mile off, and a lady was by his side
who could only be Miss Stapleton. It was clear that there was already
an understanding between them and that they had met by appointment. They
were walking slowly along in deep conversation, and I saw her making
quick little movements of her hands as if she were very earnest in what
she was saying, while he listened intently, and once or twice shook his
head in strong dissent. I stood among the rocks watching them, very much
puzzled as to what I should do next. To follow them and break into their
intimate conversation seemed to be an outrage, and yet my clear duty was
never for an instant to let him out of my sight. To act the spy upon a
friend was a hateful task. Still, I could see no better course than to
observe him from the hill, and to clear my conscience by confessing to
him afterwards what I had done. It is true that if any sudden danger had
threatened him I was too far away to be of use, and yet I am sure that
you will agree with me that the position was very difficult, and that
there was nothing more which I could do.

Our friend, Sir Henry, and the lady had halted on the path and were
standing deeply absorbed in their conversation, when I was suddenly
aware that I was not the only witness of their interview. A wisp of
green floating in the air caught my eye, and another glance showed me
that it was carried on a stick by a man who was moving among the broken
ground. It was Stapleton with his butterfly-net. He was very much closer
to the pair than I was, and he appeared to be moving in their direction.
At this instant Sir Henry suddenly drew Miss Stapleton to his side. His
arm was round her, but it seemed to me that she was straining away from
him with her face averted. He stooped his head to hers, and she raised
one hand as if in protest. Next moment I saw them spring apart and turn
hurriedly round. Stapleton was the cause of the interruption. He was
running wildly towards them, his absurd net dangling behind him. He
gesticulated and almost danced with excitement in front of the lovers.
What the scene meant I could not imagine, but it seemed to me that
Stapleton was abusing Sir Henry, who offered explanations, which became
more angry as the other refused to accept them. The lady stood by in
haughty silence. Finally Stapleton turned upon his heel and beckoned in
a peremptory way to his sister, who, after an irresolute glance at Sir
Henry, walked off by the side of her brother. The naturalist�s angry
gestures showed that the lady was included in his displeasure. The
baronet stood for a minute looking after them, and then he walked slowly
back the way that he had come, his head hanging, the very picture of
dejection.

What all this meant I could not imagine, but I was deeply ashamed to
have witnessed so intimate a scene without my friend�s knowledge. I ran
down the hill therefore and met the baronet at the bottom. His face was
flushed with anger and his brows were wrinkled, like one who is at his
wit�s ends what to do.

�Halloa, Watson! Where have you dropped from?� said he. �You don�t mean
to say that you came after me in spite of all?�

I explained everything to him: how I had found it impossible to remain
behind, how I had followed him, and how I had witnessed all that
had occurred. For an instant his eyes blazed at me, but my frankness
disarmed his anger, and he broke at last into a rather rueful laugh.

�You would have thought the middle of that prairie a fairly safe
place for a man to be private,� said he, �but, by thunder, the whole
countryside seems to have been out to see me do my wooing--and a mighty
poor wooing at that! Where had you engaged a seat?�

�I was on that hill.�

�Quite in the back row, eh? But her brother was well up to the front.
Did you see him come out on us?�

�Yes, I did.�

�Did he ever strike you as being crazy--this brother of hers?�

�I can�t say that he ever did.�

�I dare say not. I always thought him sane enough until today, but you
can take it from me that either he or I ought to be in a straitjacket.
What�s the matter with me, anyhow? You�ve lived near me for some weeks,
Watson. Tell me straight, now! Is there anything that would prevent me
from making a good husband to a woman that I loved?�

�I should say not.�

�He can�t object to my worldly position, so it must be myself that he
has this down on. What has he against me? I never hurt man or woman in
my life that I know of. And yet he would not so much as let me touch the
tips of her fingers.�

�Did he say so?�

�That, and a deal more. I tell you, Watson, I�ve only known her these
few weeks, but from the first I just felt that she was made for me,
and she, too--she was happy when she was with me, and that I�ll swear.
There�s a light in a woman�s eyes that speaks louder than words. But he
has never let us get together and it was only today for the first time
that I saw a chance of having a few words with her alone. She was glad
to meet me, but when she did it was not love that she would talk about,
and she wouldn�t have let me talk about it either if she could have
stopped it. She kept coming back to it that this was a place of danger,
and that she would never be happy until I had left it. I told her that
since I had seen her I was in no hurry to leave it, and that if she
really wanted me to go, the only way to work it was for her to arrange
to go with me. With that I offered in as many words to marry her, but
before she could answer, down came this brother of hers, running at us
with a face on him like a madman. He was just white with rage, and those
light eyes of his were blazing with fury. What was I doing with the
lady? How dared I offer her attentions which were distasteful to her?
Did I think that because I was a baronet I could do what I liked? If he
had not been her brother I should have known better how to answer him.
As it was I told him that my feelings towards his sister were such as
I was not ashamed of, and that I hoped that she might honour me by
becoming my wife. That seemed to make the matter no better, so then I
lost my temper too, and I answered him rather more hotly than I should
perhaps, considering that she was standing by. So it ended by his going
off with her, as you saw, and here am I as badly puzzled a man as any
in this county. Just tell me what it all means, Watson, and I�ll owe you
more than ever I can hope to pay.�

I tried one or two explanations, but, indeed, I was completely puzzled
myself. Our friend�s title, his fortune, his age, his character, and his
appearance are all in his favour, and I know nothing against him unless
it be this dark fate which runs in his family. That his advances should
be rejected so brusquely without any reference to the lady�s own wishes
and that the lady should accept the situation without protest is very
amazing. However, our conjectures were set at rest by a visit from
Stapleton himself that very afternoon. He had come to offer apologies
for his rudeness of the morning, and after a long private interview with
Sir Henry in his study the upshot of their conversation was that the
breach is quite healed, and that we are to dine at Merripit House next
Friday as a sign of it.

�I don�t say now that he isn�t a crazy man,� said Sir Henry; �I can�t
forget the look in his eyes when he ran at me this morning, but I must
allow that no man could make a more handsome apology than he has done.�

�Did he give any explanation of his conduct?�

�His sister is everything in his life, he says. That is natural enough,
and I am glad that he should understand her value. They have always been
together, and according to his account he has been a very lonely man
with only her as a companion, so that the thought of losing her was
really terrible to him. He had not understood, he said, that I was
becoming attached to her, but when he saw with his own eyes that it was
really so, and that she might be taken away from him, it gave him such a
shock that for a time he was not responsible for what he said or did.
He was very sorry for all that had passed, and he recognized how foolish
and how selfish it was that he should imagine that he could hold a
beautiful woman like his sister to himself for her whole life. If she
had to leave him he had rather it was to a neighbour like myself than to
anyone else. But in any case it was a blow to him and it would take him
some time before he could prepare himself to meet it. He would withdraw
all opposition upon his part if I would promise for three months to let
the matter rest and to be content with cultivating the lady�s friendship
during that time without claiming her love. This I promised, and so the
matter rests.�

So there is one of our small mysteries cleared up. It is something to
have touched bottom anywhere in this bog in which we are floundering.
We know now why Stapleton looked with disfavour upon his sister�s
suitor--even when that suitor was so eligible a one as Sir Henry. And
now I pass on to another thread which I have extricated out of the
tangled skein, the mystery of the sobs in the night, of the tear-stained
face of Mrs. Barrymore, of the secret journey of the butler to the
western lattice window. Congratulate me, my dear Holmes, and tell me
that I have not disappointed you as an agent--that you do not regret
the confidence which you showed in me when you sent me down. All these
things have by one night�s work been thoroughly cleared.

I have said �by one night�s work,� but, in truth, it was by two nights�
work, for on the first we drew entirely blank. I sat up with Sir Henry
in his rooms until nearly three o�clock in the morning, but no sound of
any sort did we hear except the chiming clock upon the stairs. It was
a most melancholy vigil and ended by each of us falling asleep in our
chairs. Fortunately we were not discouraged, and we determined to try
again. The next night we lowered the lamp and sat smoking cigarettes
without making the least sound. It was incredible how slowly the hours
crawled by, and yet we were helped through it by the same sort of
patient interest which the hunter must feel as he watches the trap into
which he hopes the game may wander. One struck, and two, and we had
almost for the second time given it up in despair when in an instant we
both sat bolt upright in our chairs with all our weary senses keenly on
the alert once more. We had heard the creak of a step in the passage.

Very stealthily we heard it pass along until it died away in the
distance. Then the baronet gently opened his door and we set out in
pursuit. Already our man had gone round the gallery and the corridor was
all in darkness. Softly we stole along until we had come into the other
wing. We were just in time to catch a glimpse of the tall, black-bearded
figure, his shoulders rounded as he tiptoed down the passage. Then he
passed through the same door as before, and the light of the candle
framed it in the darkness and shot one single yellow beam across the
gloom of the corridor. We shuffled cautiously towards it, trying every
plank before we dared to put our whole weight upon it. We had taken the
precaution of leaving our boots behind us, but, even so, the old boards
snapped and creaked beneath our tread. Sometimes it seemed impossible
that he should fail to hear our approach. However, the man is
fortunately rather deaf, and he was entirely preoccupied in that which
he was doing. When at last we reached the door and peeped through we
found him crouching at the window, candle in hand, his white, intent
face pressed against the pane, exactly as I had seen him two nights
before.

We had arranged no plan of campaign, but the baronet is a man to whom
the most direct way is always the most natural. He walked into the room,
and as he did so Barrymore sprang up from the window with a sharp hiss
of his breath and stood, livid and trembling, before us. His dark eyes,
glaring out of the white mask of his face, were full of horror and
astonishment as he gazed from Sir Henry to me.

�What are you doing here, Barrymore?�

�Nothing, sir.� His agitation was so great that he could hardly speak,
and the shadows sprang up and down from the shaking of his candle. �It
was the window, sir. I go round at night to see that they are fastened.�

�On the second floor?�

�Yes, sir, all the windows.�

�Look here, Barrymore,� said Sir Henry sternly, �we have made up our
minds to have the truth out of you, so it will save you trouble to tell
it sooner rather than later. Come, now! No lies! What were you doing at
that window?�

The fellow looked at us in a helpless way, and he wrung his hands
together like one who is in the last extremity of doubt and misery.

�I was doing no harm, sir. I was holding a candle to the window.�

�And why were you holding a candle to the window?�

�Don�t ask me, Sir Henry--don�t ask me! I give you my word, sir, that it
is not my secret, and that I cannot tell it. If it concerned no one but
myself I would not try to keep it from you.�

A sudden idea occurred to me, and I took the candle from the trembling
hand of the butler.

�He must have been holding it as a signal,� said I. �Let us see if
there is any answer.� I held it as he had done, and stared out into the
darkness of the night. Vaguely I could discern the black bank of the
trees and the lighter expanse of the moor, for the moon was behind the
clouds. And then I gave a cry of exultation, for a tiny pinpoint of
yellow light had suddenly transfixed the dark veil, and glowed steadily
in the centre of the black square framed by the window.

�There it is!� I cried.

�No, no, sir, it is nothing--nothing at all!� the butler broke in; �I
assure you, sir--�

�Move your light across the window, Watson!� cried the baronet. �See,
the other moves also! Now, you rascal, do you deny that it is a signal?
Come, speak up! Who is your confederate out yonder, and what is this
conspiracy that is going on?�

The man�s face became openly defiant. �It is my business, and not yours.
I will not tell.�

�Then you leave my employment right away.�

�Very good, sir. If I must I must.�

�And you go in disgrace. By thunder, you may well be ashamed of
yourself. Your family has lived with mine for over a hundred years under
this roof, and here I find you deep in some dark plot against me.�

�No, no, sir; no, not against you!� It was a woman�s voice, and Mrs.
Barrymore, paler and more horror-struck than her husband, was standing
at the door. Her bulky figure in a shawl and skirt might have been comic
were it not for the intensity of feeling upon her face.

�We have to go, Eliza. This is the end of it. You can pack our things,�
 said the butler.

�Oh, John, John, have I brought you to this? It is my doing, Sir
Henry--all mine. He has done nothing except for my sake and because I
asked him.�

�Speak out, then! What does it mean?�

�My unhappy brother is starving on the moor. We cannot let him perish at
our very gates. The light is a signal to him that food is ready for him,
and his light out yonder is to show the spot to which to bring it.�

�Then your brother is--�

�The escaped convict, sir--Selden, the criminal.�

�That�s the truth, sir,� said Barrymore. �I said that it was not my
secret and that I could not tell it to you. But now you have heard it,
and you will see that if there was a plot it was not against you.�

This, then, was the explanation of the stealthy expeditions at night
and the light at the window. Sir Henry and I both stared at the woman in
amazement. Was it possible that this stolidly respectable person was of
the same blood as one of the most notorious criminals in the country?

�Yes, sir, my name was Selden, and he is my younger brother. We humoured
him too much when he was a lad and gave him his own way in everything
until he came to think that the world was made for his pleasure, and
that he could do what he liked in it. Then as he grew older he met
wicked companions, and the devil entered into him until he broke my
mother�s heart and dragged our name in the dirt. From crime to crime
he sank lower and lower until it is only the mercy of God which has
snatched him from the scaffold; but to me, sir, he was always the little
curly-headed boy that I had nursed and played with as an elder sister
would. That was why he broke prison, sir. He knew that I was here and
that we could not refuse to help him. When he dragged himself here one
night, weary and starving, with the warders hard at his heels, what
could we do? We took him in and fed him and cared for him. Then you
returned, sir, and my brother thought he would be safer on the moor than
anywhere else until the hue and cry was over, so he lay in hiding there.
But every second night we made sure if he was still there by putting a
light in the window, and if there was an answer my husband took out some
bread and meat to him. Every day we hoped that he was gone, but as long
as he was there we could not desert him. That is the whole truth, as I
am an honest Christian woman and you will see that if there is blame in
the matter it does not lie with my husband but with me, for whose sake
he has done all that he has.�

The woman�s words came with an intense earnestness which carried
conviction with them.

�Is this true, Barrymore?�

�Yes, Sir Henry. Every word of it.�

�Well, I cannot blame you for standing by your own wife. Forget what
I have said. Go to your room, you two, and we shall talk further about
this matter in the morning.�

When they were gone we looked out of the window again. Sir Henry had
flung it open, and the cold night wind beat in upon our faces. Far away
in the black distance there still glowed that one tiny point of yellow
light.

�I wonder he dares,� said Sir Henry.

�It may be so placed as to be only visible from here.�

�Very likely. How far do you think it is?�

�Out by the Cleft Tor, I think.�

�Not more than a mile or two off.�

�Hardly that.�

�Well, it cannot be far if Barrymore had to carry out the food to it.
And he is waiting, this villain, beside that candle. By thunder, Watson,
I am going out to take that man!�

The same thought had crossed my own mind. It was not as if the
Barrymores had taken us into their confidence. Their secret had been
forced from them. The man was a danger to the community, an unmitigated
scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse. We were only doing
our duty in taking this chance of putting him back where he could do no
harm. With his brutal and violent nature, others would have to pay the
price if we held our hands. Any night, for example, our neighbours the
Stapletons might be attacked by him, and it may have been the thought of
this which made Sir Henry so keen upon the adventure.

�I will come,� said I.

�Then get your revolver and put on your boots. The sooner we start the
better, as the fellow may put out his light and be off.�

In five minutes we were outside the door, starting upon our expedition.
We hurried through the dark shrubbery, amid the dull moaning of the
autumn wind and the rustle of the falling leaves. The night air was
heavy with the smell of damp and decay. Now and again the moon peeped
out for an instant, but clouds were driving over the face of the sky,
and just as we came out on the moor a thin rain began to fall. The light
still burned steadily in front.

�Are you armed?� I asked.

�I have a hunting-crop.�

�We must close in on him rapidly, for he is said to be a desperate
fellow. We shall take him by surprise and have him at our mercy before
he can resist.�

�I say, Watson,� said the baronet, �what would Holmes say to this? How
about that hour of darkness in which the power of evil is exalted?�

As if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vast gloom
of the moor that strange cry which I had already heard upon the borders
of the great Grimpen Mire. It came with the wind through the silence
of the night, a long, deep mutter, then a rising howl, and then the sad
moan in which it died away. Again and again it sounded, the whole air
throbbing with it, strident, wild, and menacing. The baronet caught my
sleeve and his face glimmered white through the darkness.

�My God, what�s that, Watson?�

�I don�t know. It�s a sound they have on the moor. I heard it once
before.�

It died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us. We stood
straining our ears, but nothing came.

�Watson,� said the baronet, �it was the cry of a hound.�

My blood ran cold in my veins, for there was a break in his voice which
told of the sudden horror which had seized him.

�What do they call this sound?� he asked.

�Who?�

�The folk on the countryside.�

�Oh, they are ignorant people. Why should you mind what they call it?�

�Tell me, Watson. What do they say of it?�

I hesitated but could not escape the question.

�They say it is the cry of the Hound of the Baskervilles.�

He groaned and was silent for a few moments.

�A hound it was,� he said at last, �but it seemed to come from miles
away, over yonder, I think.�

�It was hard to say whence it came.�

�It rose and fell with the wind. Isn�t that the direction of the great
Grimpen Mire?�

�Yes, it is.�

�Well, it was up there. Come now, Watson, didn�t you think yourself that
it was the cry of a hound? I am not a child. You need not fear to speak
the truth.�

�Stapleton was with me when I heard it last. He said that it might be
the calling of a strange bird.�

�No, no, it was a hound. My God, can there be some truth in all these
stories? Is it possible that I am really in danger from so dark a cause?
You don�t believe it, do you, Watson?�

�No, no.�

�And yet it was one thing to laugh about it in London, and it is another
to stand out here in the darkness of the moor and to hear such a cry as
that. And my uncle! There was the footprint of the hound beside him as
he lay. It all fits together. I don�t think that I am a coward, Watson,
but that sound seemed to freeze my very blood. Feel my hand!�

It was as cold as a block of marble.

�You�ll be all right tomorrow.�

�I don�t think I�ll get that cry out of my head. What do you advise that
we do now?�

�Shall we turn back?�

�No, by thunder; we have come out to get our man, and we will do it. We
after the convict, and a hell-hound, as likely as not, after us. Come
on! We�ll see it through if all the fiends of the pit were loose upon
the moor.�

We stumbled slowly along in the darkness, with the black loom of the
craggy hills around us, and the yellow speck of light burning steadily
in front. There is nothing so deceptive as the distance of a light upon
a pitch-dark night, and sometimes the glimmer seemed to be far away upon
the horizon and sometimes it might have been within a few yards of us.
But at last we could see whence it came, and then we knew that we were
indeed very close. A guttering candle was stuck in a crevice of the
rocks which flanked it on each side so as to keep the wind from it
and also to prevent it from being visible, save in the direction of
Baskerville Hall. A boulder of granite concealed our approach, and
crouching behind it we gazed over it at the signal light. It was strange
to see this single candle burning there in the middle of the moor, with
no sign of life near it--just the one straight yellow flame and the
gleam of the rock on each side of it.

�What shall we do now?� whispered Sir Henry.

�Wait here. He must be near his light. Let us see if we can get a
glimpse of him.�

The words were hardly out of my mouth when we both saw him. Over the
rocks, in the crevice of which the candle burned, there was thrust out
an evil yellow face, a terrible animal face, all seamed and scored with
vile passions. Foul with mire, with a bristling beard, and hung with
matted hair, it might well have belonged to one of those old savages
who dwelt in the burrows on the hillsides. The light beneath him was
reflected in his small, cunning eyes which peered fiercely to right and
left through the darkness like a crafty and savage animal who has heard
the steps of the hunters.

Something had evidently aroused his suspicions. It may have been that
Barrymore had some private signal which we had neglected to give, or
the fellow may have had some other reason for thinking that all was not
well, but I could read his fears upon his wicked face. Any instant he
might dash out the light and vanish in the darkness. I sprang forward
therefore, and Sir Henry did the same. At the same moment the convict
screamed out a curse at us and hurled a rock which splintered up against
the boulder which had sheltered us. I caught one glimpse of his short,
squat, strongly built figure as he sprang to his feet and turned to run.
At the same moment by a lucky chance the moon broke through the clouds.
We rushed over the brow of the hill, and there was our man running with
great speed down the other side, springing over the stones in his way
with the activity of a mountain goat. A lucky long shot of my revolver
might have crippled him, but I had brought it only to defend myself if
attacked and not to shoot an unarmed man who was running away.

We were both swift runners and in fairly good training, but we soon
found that we had no chance of overtaking him. We saw him for a long
time in the moonlight until he was only a small speck moving swiftly
among the boulders upon the side of a distant hill. We ran and ran until
we were completely blown, but the space between us grew ever wider.
Finally we stopped and sat panting on two rocks, while we watched him
disappearing in the distance.

And it was at this moment that there occurred a most strange and
unexpected thing. We had risen from our rocks and were turning to go
home, having abandoned the hopeless chase. The moon was low upon the
right, and the jagged pinnacle of a granite tor stood up against the
lower curve of its silver disc. There, outlined as black as an ebony
statue on that shining background, I saw the figure of a man upon the
tor. Do not think that it was a delusion, Holmes. I assure you that
I have never in my life seen anything more clearly. As far as I could
judge, the figure was that of a tall, thin man. He stood with his legs
a little separated, his arms folded, his head bowed, as if he were
brooding over that enormous wilderness of peat and granite which lay
before him. He might have been the very spirit of that terrible place.
It was not the convict. This man was far from the place where the
latter had disappeared. Besides, he was a much taller man. With a cry
of surprise I pointed him out to the baronet, but in the instant during
which I had turned to grasp his arm the man was gone. There was the
sharp pinnacle of granite still cutting the lower edge of the moon, but
its peak bore no trace of that silent and motionless figure.

I wished to go in that direction and to search the tor, but it was some
distance away. The baronet�s nerves were still quivering from that cry,
which recalled the dark story of his family, and he was not in the mood
for fresh adventures. He had not seen this lonely man upon the tor and
could not feel the thrill which his strange presence and his commanding
attitude had given to me. �A warder, no doubt,� said he. �The moor
has been thick with them since this fellow escaped.� Well, perhaps his
explanation may be the right one, but I should like to have some further
proof of it. Today we mean to communicate to the Princetown people where
they should look for their missing man, but it is hard lines that
we have not actually had the triumph of bringing him back as our
own prisoner. Such are the adventures of last night, and you must
acknowledge, my dear Holmes, that I have done you very well in
the matter of a report. Much of what I tell you is no doubt quite
irrelevant, but still I feel that it is best that I should let you have
all the facts and leave you to select for yourself those which will
be of most service to you in helping you to your conclusions. We are
certainly making some progress. So far as the Barrymores go we have
found the motive of their actions, and that has cleared up the situation
very much. But the moor with its mysteries and its strange inhabitants
remains as inscrutable as ever. Perhaps in my next I may be able to
throw some light upon this also. Best of all would it be if you could
come down to us. In any case you will hear from me again in the course
of the next few days.




So far I have been able to quote from the reports which I have forwarded
during these early days to Sherlock Holmes. Now, however, I have arrived
at a point in my narrative where I am compelled to abandon this method
and to trust once more to my recollections, aided by the diary which
I kept at the time. A few extracts from the latter will carry me on to
those scenes which are indelibly fixed in every detail upon my memory. I
proceed, then, from the morning which followed our abortive chase of the
convict and our other strange experiences upon the moor.

October 16th. A dull and foggy day with a drizzle of rain. The house
is banked in with rolling clouds, which rise now and then to show the
dreary curves of the moor, with thin, silver veins upon the sides of the
hills, and the distant boulders gleaming where the light strikes upon
their wet faces. It is melancholy outside and in. The baronet is in a
black reaction after the excitements of the night. I am conscious myself
of a weight at my heart and a feeling of impending danger--ever present
danger, which is the more terrible because I am unable to define it.

And have I not cause for such a feeling? Consider the long sequence of
incidents which have all pointed to some sinister influence which is
at work around us. There is the death of the last occupant of the Hall,
fulfilling so exactly the conditions of the family legend, and there
are the repeated reports from peasants of the appearance of a strange
creature upon the moor. Twice I have with my own ears heard the sound
which resembled the distant baying of a hound. It is incredible,
impossible, that it should really be outside the ordinary laws of
nature. A spectral hound which leaves material footmarks and fills the
air with its howling is surely not to be thought of. Stapleton may
fall in with such a superstition, and Mortimer also, but if I have one
quality upon earth it is common sense, and nothing will persuade me to
believe in such a thing. To do so would be to descend to the level of
these poor peasants, who are not content with a mere fiend dog but must
needs describe him with hell-fire shooting from his mouth and eyes.
Holmes would not listen to such fancies, and I am his agent. But facts
are facts, and I have twice heard this crying upon the moor. Suppose
that there were really some huge hound loose upon it; that would go far
to explain everything. But where could such a hound lie concealed, where
did it get its food, where did it come from, how was it that no one
saw it by day? It must be confessed that the natural explanation offers
almost as many difficulties as the other. And always, apart from the
hound, there is the fact of the human agency in London, the man in the
cab, and the letter which warned Sir Henry against the moor. This at
least was real, but it might have been the work of a protecting friend
as easily as of an enemy. Where is that friend or enemy now? Has he
remained in London, or has he followed us down here? Could he--could he
be the stranger whom I saw upon the tor?

It is true that I have had only the one glance at him, and yet there are
some things to which I am ready to swear. He is no one whom I have seen
down here, and I have now met all the neighbours. The figure was far
taller than that of Stapleton, far thinner than that of Frankland.
Barrymore it might possibly have been, but we had left him behind us,
and I am certain that he could not have followed us. A stranger then is
still dogging us, just as a stranger dogged us in London. We have never
shaken him off. If I could lay my hands upon that man, then at last we
might find ourselves at the end of all our difficulties. To this one
purpose I must now devote all my energies.

My first impulse was to tell Sir Henry all my plans. My second and
wisest one is to play my own game and speak as little as possible to
anyone. He is silent and distrait. His nerves have been strangely shaken
by that sound upon the moor. I will say nothing to add to his anxieties,
but I will take my own steps to attain my own end.

We had a small scene this morning after breakfast. Barrymore asked leave
to speak with Sir Henry, and they were closeted in his study some little
time. Sitting in the billiard-room I more than once heard the sound of
voices raised, and I had a pretty good idea what the point was which was
under discussion. After a time the baronet opened his door and called
for me. �Barrymore considers that he has a grievance,� he said. �He
thinks that it was unfair on our part to hunt his brother-in-law down
when he, of his own free will, had told us the secret.�

The butler was standing very pale but very collected before us.

�I may have spoken too warmly, sir,� said he, �and if I have, I am sure
that I beg your pardon. At the same time, I was very much surprised when
I heard you two gentlemen come back this morning and learned that you
had been chasing Selden. The poor fellow has enough to fight against
without my putting more upon his track.�

�If you had told us of your own free will it would have been a different
thing,� said the baronet, �you only told us, or rather your wife only
told us, when it was forced from you and you could not help yourself.�

�I didn�t think you would have taken advantage of it, Sir Henry--indeed
I didn�t.�

�The man is a public danger. There are lonely houses scattered over the
moor, and he is a fellow who would stick at nothing. You only want to
get a glimpse of his face to see that. Look at Mr. Stapleton�s house,
for example, with no one but himself to defend it. There�s no safety for
anyone until he is under lock and key.�

�He�ll break into no house, sir. I give you my solemn word upon that.
But he will never trouble anyone in this country again. I assure you,
Sir Henry, that in a very few days the necessary arrangements will have
been made and he will be on his way to South America. For God�s sake,
sir, I beg of you not to let the police know that he is still on the
moor. They have given up the chase there, and he can lie quiet until the
ship is ready for him. You can�t tell on him without getting my wife and
me into trouble. I beg you, sir, to say nothing to the police.�

�What do you say, Watson?�

I shrugged my shoulders. �If he were safely out of the country it would
relieve the tax-payer of a burden.�

�But how about the chance of his holding someone up before he goes?�

�He would not do anything so mad, sir. We have provided him with all
that he can want. To commit a crime would be to show where he was
hiding.�

�That is true,� said Sir Henry. �Well, Barrymore--�

�God bless you, sir, and thank you from my heart! It would have killed
my poor wife had he been taken again.�

�I guess we are aiding and abetting a felony, Watson? But, after what
we have heard I don�t feel as if I could give the man up, so there is an
end of it. All right, Barrymore, you can go.�

With a few broken words of gratitude the man turned, but he hesitated
and then came back.

�You�ve been so kind to us, sir, that I should like to do the best I
can for you in return. I know something, Sir Henry, and perhaps I should
have said it before, but it was long after the inquest that I found it
out. I�ve never breathed a word about it yet to mortal man. It�s about
poor Sir Charles�s death.�

The baronet and I were both upon our feet. �Do you know how he died?�

�No, sir, I don�t know that.�

�What then?�

�I know why he was at the gate at that hour. It was to meet a woman.�

�To meet a woman! He?�

�Yes, sir.�

�And the woman�s name?�

�I can�t give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials. Her
initials were L. L.�

�How do you know this, Barrymore?�

�Well, Sir Henry, your uncle had a letter that morning. He had usually a
great many letters, for he was a public man and well known for his kind
heart, so that everyone who was in trouble was glad to turn to him. But
that morning, as it chanced, there was only this one letter, so I took
the more notice of it. It was from Coombe Tracey, and it was addressed
in a woman�s hand.�

�Well?�

�Well, sir, I thought no more of the matter, and never would have done
had it not been for my wife. Only a few weeks ago she was cleaning out
Sir Charles�s study--it had never been touched since his death--and she
found the ashes of a burned letter in the back of the grate. The greater
part of it was charred to pieces, but one little slip, the end of a
page, hung together, and the writing could still be read, though it was
gray on a black ground. It seemed to us to be a postscript at the end
of the letter and it said: �Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn
this letter, and be at the gate by ten o clock. Beneath it were signed
the initials L. L.�

�Have you got that slip?�

�No, sir, it crumbled all to bits after we moved it.�

�Had Sir Charles received any other letters in the same writing?�

�Well, sir, I took no particular notice of his letters. I should not
have noticed this one, only it happened to come alone.�

�And you have no idea who L. L. is?�

�No, sir. No more than you have. But I expect if we could lay our hands
upon that lady we should know more about Sir Charles�s death.�

�I cannot understand, Barrymore, how you came to conceal this important
information.�

�Well, sir, it was immediately after that our own trouble came to us.
And then again, sir, we were both of us very fond of Sir Charles, as we
well might be considering all that he has done for us. To rake this
up couldn�t help our poor master, and it�s well to go carefully when
there�s a lady in the case. Even the best of us--�

�You thought it might injure his reputation?�

�Well, sir, I thought no good could come of it. But now you have been
kind to us, and I feel as if it would be treating you unfairly not to
tell you all that I know about the matter.�

�Very good, Barrymore; you can go.� When the butler had left us Sir
Henry turned to me. �Well, Watson, what do you think of this new light?�

�It seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before.�

�So I think. But if we can only trace L. L. it should clear up the whole
business. We have gained that much. We know that there is someone who
has the facts if we can only find her. What do you think we should do?�

�Let Holmes know all about it at once. It will give him the clue for
which he has been seeking. I am much mistaken if it does not bring him
down.�

I went at once to my room and drew up my report of the morning�s
conversation for Holmes. It was evident to me that he had been very busy
of late, for the notes which I had from Baker Street were few and short,
with no comments upon the information which I had supplied and hardly
any reference to my mission. No doubt his blackmailing case is absorbing
all his faculties. And yet this new factor must surely arrest his
attention and renew his interest. I wish that he were here.

October 17th. All day today the rain poured down, rustling on the ivy
and dripping from the eaves. I thought of the convict out upon the
bleak, cold, shelterless moor. Poor devil! Whatever his crimes, he has
suffered something to atone for them. And then I thought of that other
one--the face in the cab, the figure against the moon. Was he also out
in that deluged--the unseen watcher, the man of darkness? In the evening
I put on my waterproof and I walked far upon the sodden moor, full of
dark imaginings, the rain beating upon my face and the wind whistling
about my ears. God help those who wander into the great mire now, for
even the firm uplands are becoming a morass. I found the black tor upon
which I had seen the solitary watcher, and from its craggy summit I
looked out myself across the melancholy downs. Rain squalls drifted
across their russet face, and the heavy, slate-coloured clouds hung
low over the landscape, trailing in gray wreaths down the sides of the
fantastic hills. In the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the
mist, the two thin towers of Baskerville Hall rose above the trees. They
were the only signs of human life which I could see, save only those
prehistoric huts which lay thickly upon the slopes of the hills. Nowhere
was there any trace of that lonely man whom I had seen on the same spot
two nights before.

As I walked back I was overtaken by Dr. Mortimer driving in his dog-cart
over a rough moorland track which led from the outlying farmhouse of
Foulmire. He has been very attentive to us, and hardly a day has passed
that he has not called at the Hall to see how we were getting on. He
insisted upon my climbing into his dog-cart, and he gave me a lift
homeward. I found him much troubled over the disappearance of his little
spaniel. It had wandered on to the moor and had never come back. I
gave him such consolation as I might, but I thought of the pony on the
Grimpen Mire, and I do not fancy that he will see his little dog again.

�By the way, Mortimer,� said I as we jolted along the rough road, �I
suppose there are few people living within driving distance of this whom
you do not know?�

�Hardly any, I think.�

�Can you, then, tell me the name of any woman whose initials are L. L.?�

He thought for a few minutes.

�No,� said he. �There are a few gipsies and labouring folk for whom
I can�t answer, but among the farmers or gentry there is no one whose
initials are those. Wait a bit though,� he added after a pause. �There
is Laura Lyons--her initials are L. L.--but she lives in Coombe Tracey.�

�Who is she?� I asked.

�She is Frankland�s daughter.�

�What! Old Frankland the crank?�

�Exactly. She married an artist named Lyons, who came sketching on the
moor. He proved to be a blackguard and deserted her. The fault from what
I hear may not have been entirely on one side. Her father refused to
have anything to do with her because she had married without his consent
and perhaps for one or two other reasons as well. So, between the old
sinner and the young one the girl has had a pretty bad time.�

�How does she live?�

�I fancy old Frankland allows her a pittance, but it cannot be more,
for his own affairs are considerably involved. Whatever she may have
deserved one could not allow her to go hopelessly to the bad. Her story
got about, and several of the people here did something to enable her
to earn an honest living. Stapleton did for one, and Sir Charles for
another. I gave a trifle myself. It was to set her up in a typewriting
business.�

He wanted to know the object of my inquiries, but I managed to satisfy
his curiosity without telling him too much, for there is no reason why
we should take anyone into our confidence. Tomorrow morning I shall
find my way to Coombe Tracey, and if I can see this Mrs. Laura Lyons, of
equivocal reputation, a long step will have been made towards clearing
one incident in this chain of mysteries. I am certainly developing the
wisdom of the serpent, for when Mortimer pressed his questions to an
inconvenient extent I asked him casually to what type Frankland�s skull
belonged, and so heard nothing but craniology for the rest of our drive.
I have not lived for years with Sherlock Holmes for nothing.

I have only one other incident to record upon this tempestuous and
melancholy day. This was my conversation with Barrymore just now, which
gives me one more strong card which I can play in due time.

Mortimer had stayed to dinner, and he and the baronet played ecarte
afterwards. The butler brought me my coffee into the library, and I took
the chance to ask him a few questions.

�Well,� said I, �has this precious relation of yours departed, or is he
still lurking out yonder?�

�I don�t know, sir. I hope to heaven that he has gone, for he has
brought nothing but trouble here! I�ve not heard of him since I left out
food for him last, and that was three days ago.�

�Did you see him then?�

�No, sir, but the food was gone when next I went that way.�

�Then he was certainly there?�

�So you would think, sir, unless it was the other man who took it.�

I sat with my coffee-cup halfway to my lips and stared at Barrymore.

�You know that there is another man then?�

�Yes, sir; there is another man upon the moor.�

�Have you seen him?�

�No, sir.�

�How do you know of him then?�

�Selden told me of him, sir, a week ago or more. He�s in hiding, too,
but he�s not a convict as far as I can make out. I don�t like it, Dr.
Watson--I tell you straight, sir, that I don�t like it.� He spoke with a
sudden passion of earnestness.

�Now, listen to me, Barrymore! I have no interest in this matter but
that of your master. I have come here with no object except to help him.
Tell me, frankly, what it is that you don�t like.�

Barrymore hesitated for a moment, as if he regretted his outburst or
found it difficult to express his own feelings in words.

�It�s all these goings-on, sir,� he cried at last, waving his hand
towards the rain-lashed window which faced the moor. �There�s foul play
somewhere, and there�s black villainy brewing, to that I�ll swear!
Very glad I should be, sir, to see Sir Henry on his way back to London
again!�

�But what is it that alarms you?�

�Look at Sir Charles�s death! That was bad enough, for all that the
coroner said. Look at the noises on the moor at night. There�s not a
man would cross it after sundown if he was paid for it. Look at this
stranger hiding out yonder, and watching and waiting! What�s he waiting
for? What does it mean? It means no good to anyone of the name of
Baskerville, and very glad I shall be to be quit of it all on the day
that Sir Henry�s new servants are ready to take over the Hall.�

�But about this stranger,� said I. �Can you tell me anything about
him? What did Selden say? Did he find out where he hid, or what he was
doing?�

�He saw him once or twice, but he is a deep one and gives nothing away.
At first he thought that he was the police, but soon he found that he
had some lay of his own. A kind of gentleman he was, as far as he could
see, but what he was doing he could not make out.�

�And where did he say that he lived?�

�Among the old houses on the hillside--the stone huts where the old folk
used to live.�

�But how about his food?�

�Selden found out that he has got a lad who works for him and brings all
he needs. I dare say he goes to Coombe Tracey for what he wants.�

�Very good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this some other time.�
 When the butler had gone I walked over to the black window, and I looked
through a blurred pane at the driving clouds and at the tossing outline
of the wind-swept trees. It is a wild night indoors, and what must it
be in a stone hut upon the moor. What passion of hatred can it be which
leads a man to lurk in such a place at such a time! And what deep and
earnest purpose can he have which calls for such a trial! There, in that
hut upon the moor, seems to lie the very centre of that problem which
has vexed me so sorely. I swear that another day shall not have passed
before I have done all that man can do to reach the heart of the
mystery.




The extract from my private diary which forms the last chapter has
brought my narrative up to the eighteenth of October, a time when these
strange events began to move swiftly towards their terrible conclusion.
The incidents of the next few days are indelibly graven upon my
recollection, and I can tell them without reference to the notes made
at the time. I start them from the day which succeeded that upon which
I had established two facts of great importance, the one that Mrs. Laura
Lyons of Coombe Tracey had written to Sir Charles Baskerville and made
an appointment with him at the very place and hour that he met his
death, the other that the lurking man upon the moor was to be found
among the stone huts upon the hillside. With these two facts in my
possession I felt that either my intelligence or my courage must be
deficient if I could not throw some further light upon these dark
places.

I had no opportunity to tell the baronet what I had learned about Mrs.
Lyons upon the evening before, for Dr. Mortimer remained with him at
cards until it was very late. At breakfast, however, I informed him
about my discovery and asked him whether he would care to accompany
me to Coombe Tracey. At first he was very eager to come, but on second
thoughts it seemed to both of us that if I went alone the results might
be better. The more formal we made the visit the less information we
might obtain. I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without some
prickings of conscience, and drove off upon my new quest.

When I reached Coombe Tracey I told Perkins to put up the horses, and
I made inquiries for the lady whom I had come to interrogate. I had no
difficulty in finding her rooms, which were central and well appointed.
A maid showed me in without ceremony, and as I entered the sitting-room
a lady, who was sitting before a Remington typewriter, sprang up with a
pleasant smile of welcome. Her face fell, however, when she saw that
I was a stranger, and she sat down again and asked me the object of my
visit.

The first impression left by Mrs. Lyons was one of extreme beauty. Her
eyes and hair were of the same rich hazel colour, and her cheeks, though
considerably freckled, were flushed with the exquisite bloom of the
brunette, the dainty pink which lurks at the heart of the sulphur rose.
Admiration was, I repeat, the first impression. But the second was
criticism. There was something subtly wrong with the face, some
coarseness of expression, some hardness, perhaps, of eye, some looseness
of lip which marred its perfect beauty. But these, of course, are
afterthoughts. At the moment I was simply conscious that I was in
the presence of a very handsome woman, and that she was asking me the
reasons for my visit. I had not quite understood until that instant how
delicate my mission was.

�I have the pleasure,� said I, �of knowing your father.�

It was a clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it. �There
is nothing in common between my father and me,� she said. �I owe him
nothing, and his friends are not mine. If it were not for the late Sir
Charles Baskerville and some other kind hearts I might have starved for
all that my father cared.�

�It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come here to
see you.�

The freckles started out on the lady�s face.

�What can I tell you about him?� she asked, and her fingers played
nervously over the stops of her typewriter.

�You knew him, did you not?�

�I have already said that I owe a great deal to his kindness. If I am
able to support myself it is largely due to the interest which he took
in my unhappy situation.�

�Did you correspond with him?�

The lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes.

�What is the object of these questions?� she asked sharply.

�The object is to avoid a public scandal. It is better that I should ask
them here than that the matter should pass outside our control.�

She was silent and her face was still very pale. At last she looked up
with something reckless and defiant in her manner.

�Well, I�ll answer,� she said. �What are your questions?�

�Did you correspond with Sir Charles?�

�I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his delicacy and
his generosity.�

�Have you the dates of those letters?�

�No.�

�Have you ever met him?�

�Yes, once or twice, when he came into Coombe Tracey. He was a very
retiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth.�

�But if you saw him so seldom and wrote so seldom, how did he know
enough about your affairs to be able to help you, as you say that he has
done?�

She met my difficulty with the utmost readiness.

�There were several gentlemen who knew my sad history and united to
help me. One was Mr. Stapleton, a neighbour and intimate friend of Sir
Charles�s. He was exceedingly kind, and it was through him that Sir
Charles learned about my affairs.�

I knew already that Sir Charles Baskerville had made Stapleton his
almoner upon several occasions, so the lady�s statement bore the impress
of truth upon it.

�Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you?� I continued.

Mrs. Lyons flushed with anger again. �Really, sir, this is a very
extraordinary question.�

�I am sorry, madam, but I must repeat it.�

�Then I answer, certainly not.�

�Not on the very day of Sir Charles�s death?�

The flush had faded in an instant, and a deathly face was before me. Her
dry lips could not speak the �No� which I saw rather than heard.

�Surely your memory deceives you,� said I. �I could even quote a passage
of your letter. It ran �Please, please, as you are a gentleman, burn
this letter, and be at the gate by ten o�clock.��

I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a supreme
effort.

�Is there no such thing as a gentleman?� she gasped.

�You do Sir Charles an injustice. He did burn the letter. But sometimes
a letter may be legible even when burned. You acknowledge now that you
wrote it?�

�Yes, I did write it,� she cried, pouring out her soul in a torrent of
words. �I did write it. Why should I deny it? I have no reason to be
ashamed of it. I wished him to help me. I believed that if I had an
interview I could gain his help, so I asked him to meet me.�

�But why at such an hour?�

�Because I had only just learned that he was going to London next day
and might be away for months. There were reasons why I could not get
there earlier.�

�But why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to the house?�

�Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a bachelor�s
house?�

�Well, what happened when you did get there?�

�I never went.�

�Mrs. Lyons!�

�No, I swear it to you on all I hold sacred. I never went. Something
intervened to prevent my going.�

�What was that?�

�That is a private matter. I cannot tell it.�

�You acknowledge then that you made an appointment with Sir Charles at
the very hour and place at which he met his death, but you deny that you
kept the appointment.�

�That is the truth.�

Again and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never get past that
point.

�Mrs. Lyons,� said I as I rose from this long and inconclusive
interview, �you are taking a very great responsibility and putting
yourself in a very false position by not making an absolutely clean
breast of all that you know. If I have to call in the aid of the police
you will find how seriously you are compromised. If your position is
innocent, why did you in the first instance deny having written to Sir
Charles upon that date?�

�Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn from it and
that I might find myself involved in a scandal.�

�And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy your
letter?�

�If you have read the letter you will know.�

�I did not say that I had read all the letter.�

�You quoted some of it.�

�I quoted the postscript. The letter had, as I said, been burned and it
was not all legible. I ask you once again why it was that you were so
pressing that Sir Charles should destroy this letter which he received
on the day of his death.�

�The matter is a very private one.�

�The more reason why you should avoid a public investigation.�

�I will tell you, then. If you have heard anything of my unhappy history
you will know that I made a rash marriage and had reason to regret it.�

�I have heard so much.�

�My life has been one incessant persecution from a husband whom I abhor.
The law is upon his side, and every day I am faced by the possibility
that he may force me to live with him. At the time that I wrote this
letter to Sir Charles I had learned that there was a prospect of
my regaining my freedom if certain expenses could be met. It meant
everything to me--peace of mind, happiness, self-respect--everything. I
knew Sir Charles�s generosity, and I thought that if he heard the story
from my own lips he would help me.�

�Then how is it that you did not go?�

�Because I received help in the interval from another source.�

�Why then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explain this?�

�So I should have done had I not seen his death in the paper next
morning.�

The woman�s story hung coherently together, and all my questions were
unable to shake it. I could only check it by finding if she had, indeed,
instituted divorce proceedings against her husband at or about the time
of the tragedy.

It was unlikely that she would dare to say that she had not been to
Baskerville Hall if she really had been, for a trap would be necessary
to take her there, and could not have returned to Coombe Tracey until
the early hours of the morning. Such an excursion could not be kept
secret. The probability was, therefore, that she was telling the truth,
or, at least, a part of the truth. I came away baffled and disheartened.
Once again I had reached that dead wall which seemed to be built across
every path by which I tried to get at the object of my mission. And yet
the more I thought of the lady�s face and of her manner the more I felt
that something was being held back from me. Why should she turn so pale?
Why should she fight against every admission until it was forced from
her? Why should she have been so reticent at the time of the tragedy?
Surely the explanation of all this could not be as innocent as she
would have me believe. For the moment I could proceed no farther in that
direction, but must turn back to that other clue which was to be sought
for among the stone huts upon the moor.

And that was a most vague direction. I realized it as I drove back
and noted how hill after hill showed traces of the ancient people.
Barrymore�s only indication had been that the stranger lived in one of
these abandoned huts, and many hundreds of them are scattered throughout
the length and breadth of the moor. But I had my own experience for a
guide since it had shown me the man himself standing upon the summit of
the Black Tor. That, then, should be the centre of my search. From there
I should explore every hut upon the moor until I lighted upon the right
one. If this man were inside it I should find out from his own lips, at
the point of my revolver if necessary, who he was and why he had dogged
us so long. He might slip away from us in the crowd of Regent Street,
but it would puzzle him to do so upon the lonely moor. On the other
hand, if I should find the hut and its tenant should not be within it I
must remain there, however long the vigil, until he returned. Holmes had
missed him in London. It would indeed be a triumph for me if I could run
him to earth where my master had failed.

Luck had been against us again and again in this inquiry, but now at
last it came to my aid. And the messenger of good fortune was none other
than Mr. Frankland, who was standing, gray-whiskered and red-faced,
outside the gate of his garden, which opened on to the highroad along
which I travelled.

�Good-day, Dr. Watson,� cried he with unwonted good humour, �you must
really give your horses a rest and come in to have a glass of wine and
to congratulate me.�

My feelings towards him were very far from being friendly after what I
had heard of his treatment of his daughter, but I was anxious to send
Perkins and the wagonette home, and the opportunity was a good one. I
alighted and sent a message to Sir Henry that I should walk over in time
for dinner. Then I followed Frankland into his dining-room.

�It is a great day for me, sir--one of the red-letter days of my life,�
 he cried with many chuckles. �I have brought off a double event. I mean
to teach them in these parts that law is law, and that there is a man
here who does not fear to invoke it. I have established a right of way
through the centre of old Middleton�s park, slap across it, sir, within
a hundred yards of his own front door. What do you think of that? We�ll
teach these magnates that they cannot ride roughshod over the rights
of the commoners, confound them! And I�ve closed the wood where the
Fernworthy folk used to picnic. These infernal people seem to think that
there are no rights of property, and that they can swarm where they like
with their papers and their bottles. Both cases decided, Dr. Watson, and
both in my favour. I haven�t had such a day since I had Sir John Morland
for trespass because he shot in his own warren.�

�How on earth did you do that?�

�Look it up in the books, sir. It will repay reading--Frankland v.
Morland, Court of Queen�s Bench. It cost me 200 pounds, but I got my
verdict.�

�Did it do you any good?�

�None, sir, none. I am proud to say that I had no interest in the
matter. I act entirely from a sense of public duty. I have no doubt, for
example, that the Fernworthy people will burn me in effigy tonight.
I told the police last time they did it that they should stop these
disgraceful exhibitions. The County Constabulary is in a scandalous
state, sir, and it has not afforded me the protection to which I am
entitled. The case of Frankland v. Regina will bring the matter before
the attention of the public. I told them that they would have occasion
to regret their treatment of me, and already my words have come true.�

�How so?� I asked.

The old man put on a very knowing expression. �Because I could tell them
what they are dying to know; but nothing would induce me to help the
rascals in any way.�

I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get away
from his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of it. I had seen
enough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to understand that any
strong sign of interest would be the surest way to stop his confidences.

�Some poaching case, no doubt?� said I with an indifferent manner.

�Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that! What about
the convict on the moor?�

I stared. �You don�t mean that you know where he is?� said I.

�I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that I could
help the police to lay their hands on him. Has it never struck you that
the way to catch that man was to find out where he got his food and so
trace it to him?�

He certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth. �No
doubt,� said I; �but how do you know that he is anywhere upon the moor?�

�I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messenger who takes
him his food.�

My heart sank for Barrymore. It was a serious thing to be in the power
of this spiteful old busybody. But his next remark took a weight from my
mind.

�You�ll be surprised to hear that his food is taken to him by a child.
I see him every day through my telescope upon the roof. He passes along
the same path at the same hour, and to whom should he be going except to
the convict?�

Here was luck indeed! And yet I suppressed all appearance of interest. A
child! Barrymore had said that our unknown was supplied by a boy. It was
on his track, and not upon the convict�s, that Frankland had stumbled.
If I could get his knowledge it might save me a long and weary hunt. But
incredulity and indifference were evidently my strongest cards.

�I should say that it was much more likely that it was the son of one of
the moorland shepherds taking out his father�s dinner.�

The least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the old autocrat.
His eyes looked malignantly at me, and his gray whiskers bristled like
those of an angry cat.

�Indeed, sir!� said he, pointing out over the wide-stretching moor. �Do
you see that Black Tor over yonder? Well, do you see the low hill beyond
with the thornbush upon it? It is the stoniest part of the whole moor.
Is that a place where a shepherd would be likely to take his station?
Your suggestion, sir, is a most absurd one.�

I meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing all the facts. My
submission pleased him and led him to further confidences.

�You may be sure, sir, that I have very good grounds before I come to an
opinion. I have seen the boy again and again with his bundle. Every
day, and sometimes twice a day, I have been able--but wait a moment,
Dr. Watson. Do my eyes deceive me, or is there at the present moment
something moving upon that hillside?�

It was several miles off, but I could distinctly see a small dark dot
against the dull green and gray.

�Come, sir, come!� cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. �You will see with
your own eyes and judge for yourself.�

The telescope, a formidable instrument mounted upon a tripod, stood upon
the flat leads of the house. Frankland clapped his eye to it and gave a
cry of satisfaction.

�Quick, Dr. Watson, quick, before he passes over the hill!�

There he was, sure enough, a small urchin with a little bundle upon his
shoulder, toiling slowly up the hill. When he reached the crest I saw
the ragged uncouth figure outlined for an instant against the cold blue
sky. He looked round him with a furtive and stealthy air, as one who
dreads pursuit. Then he vanished over the hill.

�Well! Am I right?�

�Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand.�

�And what the errand is even a county constable could guess. But not
one word shall they have from me, and I bind you to secrecy also, Dr.
Watson. Not a word! You understand!�

�Just as you wish.�

�They have treated me shamefully--shamefully. When the facts come out in
Frankland v. Regina I venture to think that a thrill of indignation will
run through the country. Nothing would induce me to help the police in
any way. For all they cared it might have been me, instead of my effigy,
which these rascals burned at the stake. Surely you are not going! You
will help me to empty the decanter in honour of this great occasion!�

But I resisted all his solicitations and succeeded in dissuading him
from his announced intention of walking home with me. I kept the road
as long as his eye was on me, and then I struck off across the moor and
made for the stony hill over which the boy had disappeared. Everything
was working in my favour, and I swore that it should not be through lack
of energy or perseverance that I should miss the chance which fortune
had thrown in my way.

The sun was already sinking when I reached the summit of the hill, and
the long slopes beneath me were all golden-green on one side and gray
shadow on the other. A haze lay low upon the farthest sky-line, out of
which jutted the fantastic shapes of Belliver and Vixen Tor. Over the
wide expanse there was no sound and no movement. One great gray bird, a
gull or curlew, soared aloft in the blue heaven. He and I seemed to be
the only living things between the huge arch of the sky and the desert
beneath it. The barren scene, the sense of loneliness, and the mystery
and urgency of my task all struck a chill into my heart. The boy was
nowhere to be seen. But down beneath me in a cleft of the hills there
was a circle of the old stone huts, and in the middle of them there
was one which retained sufficient roof to act as a screen against the
weather. My heart leaped within me as I saw it. This must be the burrow
where the stranger lurked. At last my foot was on the threshold of his
hiding place--his secret was within my grasp.

As I approached the hut, walking as warily as Stapleton would do when
with poised net he drew near the settled butterfly, I satisfied myself
that the place had indeed been used as a habitation. A vague pathway
among the boulders led to the dilapidated opening which served as a
door. All was silent within. The unknown might be lurking there, or
he might be prowling on the moor. My nerves tingled with the sense of
adventure. Throwing aside my cigarette, I closed my hand upon the butt
of my revolver and, walking swiftly up to the door, I looked in. The
place was empty.

But there were ample signs that I had not come upon a false scent. This
was certainly where the man lived. Some blankets rolled in a waterproof
lay upon that very stone slab upon which Neolithic man had once
slumbered. The ashes of a fire were heaped in a rude grate. Beside it
lay some cooking utensils and a bucket half-full of water. A litter of
empty tins showed that the place had been occupied for some time, and I
saw, as my eyes became accustomed to the checkered light, a pannikin and
a half-full bottle of spirits standing in the corner. In the middle of
the hut a flat stone served the purpose of a table, and upon this stood
a small cloth bundle--the same, no doubt, which I had seen through the
telescope upon the shoulder of the boy. It contained a loaf of bread,
a tinned tongue, and two tins of preserved peaches. As I set it down
again, after having examined it, my heart leaped to see that beneath it
there lay a sheet of paper with writing upon it. I raised it, and this
was what I read, roughly scrawled in pencil: �Dr. Watson has gone to
Coombe Tracey.�

For a minute I stood there with the paper in my hands thinking out the
meaning of this curt message. It was I, then, and not Sir Henry, who was
being dogged by this secret man. He had not followed me himself, but
he had set an agent--the boy, perhaps--upon my track, and this was his
report. Possibly I had taken no step since I had been upon the moor
which had not been observed and reported. Always there was this feeling
of an unseen force, a fine net drawn round us with infinite skill and
delicacy, holding us so lightly that it was only at some supreme moment
that one realized that one was indeed entangled in its meshes.

If there was one report there might be others, so I looked round the hut
in search of them. There was no trace, however, of anything of the kind,
nor could I discover any sign which might indicate the character or
intentions of the man who lived in this singular place, save that he
must be of Spartan habits and cared little for the comforts of life.
When I thought of the heavy rains and looked at the gaping roof I
understood how strong and immutable must be the purpose which had kept
him in that inhospitable abode. Was he our malignant enemy, or was he by
chance our guardian angel? I swore that I would not leave the hut until
I knew.

Outside the sun was sinking low and the west was blazing with scarlet
and gold. Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches by the distant
pools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire. There were the two towers
of Baskerville Hall, and there a distant blur of smoke which marked the
village of Grimpen. Between the two, behind the hill, was the house
of the Stapletons. All was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the golden
evening light, and yet as I looked at them my soul shared none of the
peace of Nature but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of that
interview which every instant was bringing nearer. With tingling nerves
but a fixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited with
sombre patience for the coming of its tenant.

And then at last I heard him. Far away came the sharp clink of a boot
striking upon a stone. Then another and yet another, coming nearer and
nearer. I shrank back into the darkest corner and cocked the pistol in
my pocket, determined not to discover myself until I had an opportunity
of seeing something of the stranger. There was a long pause which showed
that he had stopped. Then once more the footsteps approached and a
shadow fell across the opening of the hut.

�It is a lovely evening, my dear Watson,� said a well-known voice. �I
really think that you will be more comfortable outside than in.�



For a moment or two I sat breathless, hardly able to believe my ears.
Then my senses and my voice came back to me, while a crushing weight
of responsibility seemed in an instant to be lifted from my soul. That
cold, incisive, ironical voice could belong to but one man in all the
world.

�Holmes!� I cried--�Holmes!�

�Come out,� said he, �and please be careful with the revolver.�

I stooped under the rude lintel, and there he sat upon a stone outside,
his gray eyes dancing with amusement as they fell upon my astonished
features. He was thin and worn, but clear and alert, his keen face
bronzed by the sun and roughened by the wind. In his tweed suit and
cloth cap he looked like any other tourist upon the moor, and he had
contrived, with that catlike love of personal cleanliness which was one
of his characteristics, that his chin should be as smooth and his linen
as perfect as if he were in Baker Street.

�I never was more glad to see anyone in my life,� said I as I wrung him
by the hand.

�Or more astonished, eh?�

�Well, I must confess to it.�

�The surprise was not all on one side, I assure you. I had no idea that
you had found my occasional retreat, still less that you were inside it,
until I was within twenty paces of the door.�

�My footprint, I presume?�

�No, Watson, I fear that I could not undertake to recognize your
footprint amid all the footprints of the world. If you seriously desire
to deceive me you must change your tobacconist; for when I see the stub
of a cigarette marked Bradley, Oxford Street, I know that my friend
Watson is in the neighbourhood. You will see it there beside the path.
You threw it down, no doubt, at that supreme moment when you charged
into the empty hut.�

�Exactly.�

�I thought as much--and knowing your admirable tenacity I was convinced
that you were sitting in ambush, a weapon within reach, waiting for the
tenant to return. So you actually thought that I was the criminal?�

�I did not know who you were, but I was determined to find out.�

�Excellent, Watson! And how did you localize me? You saw me, perhaps, on
the night of the convict hunt, when I was so imprudent as to allow the
moon to rise behind me?�

�Yes, I saw you then.�

�And have no doubt searched all the huts until you came to this one?�

�No, your boy had been observed, and that gave me a guide where to
look.�

�The old gentleman with the telescope, no doubt. I could not make it out
when first I saw the light flashing upon the lens.� He rose and peeped
into the hut. �Ha, I see that Cartwright has brought up some supplies.
What�s this paper? So you have been to Coombe Tracey, have you?�

�Yes.�

�To see Mrs. Laura Lyons?�

�Exactly.�

�Well done! Our researches have evidently been running on parallel
lines, and when we unite our results I expect we shall have a fairly
full knowledge of the case.�

�Well, I am glad from my heart that you are here, for indeed the
responsibility and the mystery were both becoming too much for my
nerves. But how in the name of wonder did you come here, and what have
you been doing? I thought that you were in Baker Street working out that
case of blackmailing.�

�That was what I wished you to think.�

�Then you use me, and yet do not trust me!� I cried with some
bitterness. �I think that I have deserved better at your hands, Holmes.�

�My dear fellow, you have been invaluable to me in this as in many other
cases, and I beg that you will forgive me if I have seemed to play a
trick upon you. In truth, it was partly for your own sake that I did it,
and it was my appreciation of the danger which you ran which led me to
come down and examine the matter for myself. Had I been with Sir Henry
and you it is confident that my point of view would have been the
same as yours, and my presence would have warned our very formidable
opponents to be on their guard. As it is, I have been able to get about
as I could not possibly have done had I been living in the Hall, and
I remain an unknown factor in the business, ready to throw in all my
weight at a critical moment.�

�But why keep me in the dark?�

�For you to know could not have helped us and might possibly have led
to my discovery. You would have wished to tell me something, or in your
kindness you would have brought me out some comfort or other, and so an
unnecessary risk would be run. I brought Cartwright down with me--you
remember the little chap at the express office--and he has seen after
my simple wants: a loaf of bread and a clean collar. What does man want
more? He has given me an extra pair of eyes upon a very active pair of
feet, and both have been invaluable.�

�Then my reports have all been wasted!�--My voice trembled as I recalled
the pains and the pride with which I had composed them.

Holmes took a bundle of papers from his pocket.

�Here are your reports, my dear fellow, and very well thumbed, I assure
you. I made excellent arrangements, and they are only delayed one day
upon their way. I must compliment you exceedingly upon the zeal and
the intelligence which you have shown over an extraordinarily difficult
case.�

I was still rather raw over the deception which had been practised upon
me, but the warmth of Holmes�s praise drove my anger from my mind. I
felt also in my heart that he was right in what he said and that it was
really best for our purpose that I should not have known that he was
upon the moor.

�That�s better,� said he, seeing the shadow rise from my face. �And
now tell me the result of your visit to Mrs. Laura Lyons--it was not
difficult for me to guess that it was to see her that you had gone, for
I am already aware that she is the one person in Coombe Tracey who might
be of service to us in the matter. In fact, if you had not gone today it
is exceedingly probable that I should have gone tomorrow.�

The sun had set and dusk was settling over the moor. The air had turned
chill and we withdrew into the hut for warmth. There, sitting together
in the twilight, I told Holmes of my conversation with the lady. So
interested was he that I had to repeat some of it twice before he was
satisfied.

�This is most important,� said he when I had concluded. �It fills up a
gap which I had been unable to bridge in this most complex affair. You
are aware, perhaps, that a close intimacy exists between this lady and
the man Stapleton?�

�I did not know of a close intimacy.�

�There can be no doubt about the matter. They meet, they write, there
is a complete understanding between them. Now, this puts a very powerful
weapon into our hands. If I could only use it to detach his wife--�

�His wife?�

�I am giving you some information now, in return for all that you have
given me. The lady who has passed here as Miss Stapleton is in reality
his wife.�

�Good heavens, Holmes! Are you sure of what you say? How could he have
permitted Sir Henry to fall in love with her?�

�Sir Henry�s falling in love could do no harm to anyone except Sir
Henry. He took particular care that Sir Henry did not make love to her,
as you have yourself observed. I repeat that the lady is his wife and
not his sister.�

�But why this elaborate deception?�

�Because he foresaw that she would be very much more useful to him in
the character of a free woman.�

All my unspoken instincts, my vague suspicions, suddenly took shape and
centred upon the naturalist. In that impassive colourless man, with his
straw hat and his butterfly-net, I seemed to see something terrible--a
creature of infinite patience and craft, with a smiling face and a
murderous heart.

�It is he, then, who is our enemy--it is he who dogged us in London?�

�So I read the riddle.�

�And the warning--it must have come from her!�

�Exactly.�

The shape of some monstrous villainy, half seen, half guessed, loomed
through the darkness which had girt me so long.

�But are you sure of this, Holmes? How do you know that the woman is his
wife?�

�Because he so far forgot himself as to tell you a true piece of
autobiography upon the occasion when he first met you, and I dare say
he has many a time regretted it since. He was once a schoolmaster in
the north of England. Now, there is no one more easy to trace than a
schoolmaster. There are scholastic agencies by which one may identify
any man who has been in the profession. A little investigation showed me
that a school had come to grief under atrocious circumstances, and that
the man who had owned it--the name was different--had disappeared with
his wife. The descriptions agreed. When I learned that the missing man
was devoted to entomology the identification was complete.�

The darkness was rising, but much was still hidden by the shadows.

�If this woman is in truth his wife, where does Mrs. Laura Lyons come
in?� I asked.

�That is one of the points upon which your own researches have shed a
light. Your interview with the lady has cleared the situation very
much. I did not know about a projected divorce between herself and her
husband. In that case, regarding Stapleton as an unmarried man, she
counted no doubt upon becoming his wife.�

�And when she is undeceived?�

�Why, then we may find the lady of service. It must be our first duty
to see her--both of us--tomorrow. Don�t you think, Watson, that you are
away from your charge rather long? Your place should be at Baskerville
Hall.�

The last red streaks had faded away in the west and night had settled
upon the moor. A few faint stars were gleaming in a violet sky.

�One last question, Holmes,� I said as I rose. �Surely there is no need
of secrecy between you and me. What is the meaning of it all? What is he
after?�

Holmes�s voice sank as he answered:

�It is murder, Watson--refined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder. Do not
ask me for particulars. My nets are closing upon him, even as his are
upon Sir Henry, and with your help he is already almost at my mercy.
There is but one danger which can threaten us. It is that he should
strike before we are ready to do so. Another day--two at the most--and
I have my case complete, but until then guard your charge as closely
as ever a fond mother watched her ailing child. Your mission today has
justified itself, and yet I could almost wish that you had not left his
side. Hark!�

A terrible scream--a prolonged yell of horror and anguish--burst out of
the silence of the moor. That frightful cry turned the blood to ice in
my veins.

�Oh, my God!� I gasped. �What is it? What does it mean?�

Holmes had sprung to his feet, and I saw his dark, athletic outline at
the door of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his head thrust forward,
his face peering into the darkness.

�Hush!� he whispered. �Hush!�

The cry had been loud on account of its vehemence, but it had pealed out
from somewhere far off on the shadowy plain. Now it burst upon our ears,
nearer, louder, more urgent than before.

�Where is it?� Holmes whispered; and I knew from the thrill of his voice
that he, the man of iron, was shaken to the soul. �Where is it, Watson?�

�There, I think.� I pointed into the darkness.

�No, there!�

Again the agonized cry swept through the silent night, louder and much
nearer than ever. And a new sound mingled with it, a deep, muttered
rumble, musical and yet menacing, rising and falling like the low,
constant murmur of the sea.

�The hound!� cried Holmes. �Come, Watson, come! Great heavens, if we are
too late!�

He had started running swiftly over the moor, and I had followed at his
heels. But now from somewhere among the broken ground immediately in
front of us there came one last despairing yell, and then a dull, heavy
thud. We halted and listened. Not another sound broke the heavy silence
of the windless night.

I saw Holmes put his hand to his forehead like a man distracted. He
stamped his feet upon the ground.

�He has beaten us, Watson. We are too late.�

�No, no, surely not!�

�Fool that I was to hold my hand. And you, Watson, see what comes of
abandoning your charge! But, by Heaven, if the worst has happened we�ll
avenge him!�

Blindly we ran through the gloom, blundering against boulders, forcing
our way through gorse bushes, panting up hills and rushing down slopes,
heading always in the direction whence those dreadful sounds had come.
At every rise Holmes looked eagerly round him, but the shadows were
thick upon the moor, and nothing moved upon its dreary face.

�Can you see anything?�

�Nothing.�

�But, hark, what is that?�

A low moan had fallen upon our ears. There it was again upon our left!
On that side a ridge of rocks ended in a sheer cliff which overlooked
a stone-strewn slope. On its jagged face was spread-eagled some dark,
irregular object. As we ran towards it the vague outline hardened into
a definite shape. It was a prostrate man face downward upon the ground,
the head doubled under him at a horrible angle, the shoulders rounded
and the body hunched together as if in the act of throwing a somersault.
So grotesque was the attitude that I could not for the instant realize
that that moan had been the passing of his soul. Not a whisper, not a
rustle, rose now from the dark figure over which we stooped. Holmes laid
his hand upon him and held it up again with an exclamation of horror.
The gleam of the match which he struck shone upon his clotted fingers
and upon the ghastly pool which widened slowly from the crushed skull
of the victim. And it shone upon something else which turned our hearts
sick and faint within us--the body of Sir Henry Baskerville!

There was no chance of either of us forgetting that peculiar ruddy tweed
suit--the very one which he had worn on the first morning that we had
seen him in Baker Street. We caught the one clear glimpse of it, and
then the match flickered and went out, even as the hope had gone out
of our souls. Holmes groaned, and his face glimmered white through the
darkness.

�The brute! The brute!� I cried with clenched hands. �Oh Holmes, I shall
never forgive myself for having left him to his fate.�

�I am more to blame than you, Watson. In order to have my case well
rounded and complete, I have thrown away the life of my client. It is
the greatest blow which has befallen me in my career. But how could I
know--how could I know--that he would risk his life alone upon the moor
in the face of all my warnings?�

�That we should have heard his screams--my God, those screams!--and yet
have been unable to save him! Where is this brute of a hound which drove
him to his death? It may be lurking among these rocks at this instant.
And Stapleton, where is he? He shall answer for this deed.�

�He shall. I will see to that. Uncle and nephew have been murdered--the
one frightened to death by the very sight of a beast which he thought
to be supernatural, the other driven to his end in his wild flight to
escape from it. But now we have to prove the connection between the
man and the beast. Save from what we heard, we cannot even swear to the
existence of the latter, since Sir Henry has evidently died from the
fall. But, by heavens, cunning as he is, the fellow shall be in my power
before another day is past!�

We stood with bitter hearts on either side of the mangled body,
overwhelmed by this sudden and irrevocable disaster which had brought
all our long and weary labours to so piteous an end. Then as the moon
rose we climbed to the top of the rocks over which our poor friend had
fallen, and from the summit we gazed out over the shadowy moor, half
silver and half gloom. Far away, miles off, in the direction of Grimpen,
a single steady yellow light was shining. It could only come from the
lonely abode of the Stapletons. With a bitter curse I shook my fist at
it as I gazed.

�Why should we not seize him at once?�

�Our case is not complete. The fellow is wary and cunning to the last
degree. It is not what we know, but what we can prove. If we make one
false move the villain may escape us yet.�

�What can we do?�

�There will be plenty for us to do tomorrow. Tonight we can only perform
the last offices to our poor friend.�

Together we made our way down the precipitous slope and approached the
body, black and clear against the silvered stones. The agony of those
contorted limbs struck me with a spasm of pain and blurred my eyes with
tears.

�We must send for help, Holmes! We cannot carry him all the way to the
Hall. Good heavens, are you mad?�

He had uttered a cry and bent over the body. Now he was dancing and
laughing and wringing my hand. Could this be my stern, self-contained
friend? These were hidden fires, indeed!

�A beard! A beard! The man has a beard!�

�A beard?�

�It is not the baronet--it is--why, it is my neighbour, the convict!�

With feverish haste we had turned the body over, and that dripping beard
was pointing up to the cold, clear moon. There could be no doubt about
the beetling forehead, the sunken animal eyes. It was indeed the same
face which had glared upon me in the light of the candle from over the
rock--the face of Selden, the criminal.

Then in an instant it was all clear to me. I remembered how the baronet
had told me that he had handed his old wardrobe to Barrymore. Barrymore
had passed it on in order to help Selden in his escape. Boots, shirt,
cap--it was all Sir Henry�s. The tragedy was still black enough, but
this man had at least deserved death by the laws of his country. I told
Holmes how the matter stood, my heart bubbling over with thankfulness
and joy.

�Then the clothes have been the poor devil�s death,� said he. �It is
clear enough that the hound has been laid on from some article of
Sir Henry�s--the boot which was abstracted in the hotel, in all
probability--and so ran this man down. There is one very singular thing,
however: How came Selden, in the darkness, to know that the hound was on
his trail?�

�He heard him.�

�To hear a hound upon the moor would not work a hard man like this
convict into such a paroxysm of terror that he would risk recapture
by screaming wildly for help. By his cries he must have run a long way
after he knew the animal was on his track. How did he know?�

�A greater mystery to me is why this hound, presuming that all our
conjectures are correct--�

�I presume nothing.�

�Well, then, why this hound should be loose tonight. I suppose that it
does not always run loose upon the moor. Stapleton would not let it go
unless he had reason to think that Sir Henry would be there.�

�My difficulty is the more formidable of the two, for I think that we
shall very shortly get an explanation of yours, while mine may remain
forever a mystery. The question now is, what shall we do with this poor
wretch�s body? We cannot leave it here to the foxes and the ravens.�

�I suggest that we put it in one of the huts until we can communicate
with the police.�

�Exactly. I have no doubt that you and I could carry it so far. Halloa,
Watson, what�s this? It�s the man himself, by all that�s wonderful and
audacious! Not a word to show your suspicions--not a word, or my plans
crumble to the ground.�

A figure was approaching us over the moor, and I saw the dull red glow
of a cigar. The moon shone upon him, and I could distinguish the dapper
shape and jaunty walk of the naturalist. He stopped when he saw us, and
then came on again.

�Why, Dr. Watson, that�s not you, is it? You are the last man that I
should have expected to see out on the moor at this time of night. But,
dear me, what�s this? Somebody hurt? Not--don�t tell me that it is our
friend Sir Henry!� He hurried past me and stooped over the dead man. I
heard a sharp intake of his breath and the cigar fell from his fingers.

�Who--who�s this?� he stammered.

�It is Selden, the man who escaped from Princetown.�

Stapleton turned a ghastly face upon us, but by a supreme effort he had
overcome his amazement and his disappointment. He looked sharply from
Holmes to me. �Dear me! What a very shocking affair! How did he die?�

�He appears to have broken his neck by falling over these rocks. My
friend and I were strolling on the moor when we heard a cry.�

�I heard a cry also. That was what brought me out. I was uneasy about
Sir Henry.�

�Why about Sir Henry in particular?� I could not help asking.

�Because I had suggested that he should come over. When he did not come
I was surprised, and I naturally became alarmed for his safety when I
heard cries upon the moor. By the way�--his eyes darted again from my
face to Holmes�s--�did you hear anything else besides a cry?�

�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 tonight.�

�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 him off his head.
He has rushed about the moor in a crazy state and eventually fallen over
here and broken his neck.�

�That seems the most reasonable theory,� said Stapleton, and he gave a
sigh which I took to indicate his relief. �What do you think about it,
Mr. Sherlock Holmes?�

My friend bowed his compliments. �You are quick at identification,� said
he.

�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
tomorrow.�

�Oh, you return tomorrow?�

�That is my intention.�

�I hope your visit has cast some light upon those occurrences which have
puzzled us?�

Holmes shrugged his 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 his frankest and most unconcerned manner. Stapleton
still looked hard at him. Then he turned to me.

�I would suggest carrying this poor fellow to my house, but it would
give my sister such a fright that I do not feel justified in doing it.
I think that if we put something over his face he 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 him that one black smudge on the silvered slope
which showed where the man was lying who had come so horribly to his
end.




�We�re at close grips at last,� said Holmes as we walked together across
the moor. �What a nerve the fellow has! How he pulled himself together
in the face of what must have been a paralyzing shock when he found that
the wrong man had fallen a victim to his 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 he 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 his plans now that he knows
you are here?�

�It may cause him to be more cautious, or it may drive him to desperate
measures at once. Like most clever criminals, he may be too confident in
his own cleverness and imagine that he has completely deceived us.�

�Why should we not arrest him at once?�

�My dear Watson, you were born to be a man of action. Your instinct is
always to do something energetic. But supposing, for argument�s sake,
that we had him arrested tonight, what on earth the better off should
we be for that? We could prove nothing against him. There�s the devilish
cunning of it! If he 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 master.�

�Surely we have a case.�

�Not a shadow of one--only surmise and conjecture. We should be laughed
out of court if we came with such a story and such evidence.�

�There is Sir Charles�s death.�

�Found dead without a mark upon him. You and I know that he died of
sheer fright, and we know also what frightened him, but how are we to
get twelve stolid jurymen to know it? What signs are there of a hound?
Where are the marks of its fangs? Of course we know that a hound does
not bite a dead body and that Sir Charles was dead before ever the
brute overtook him. But we have to prove all this, and we are not in a
position to do it.�

�Well, then, tonight?�

�We are not much better off tonight. Again, there was no direct
connection between the hound and the man�s death. We never saw the
hound. We heard it, but we could not prove that it was running upon this
man�s trail. There is a complete absence of motive. No, my dear fellow;
we must reconcile ourselves to the fact that we have no case at present,
and that it is worth our while to run any risk in order to establish
one.�

�And how do you propose to do so?�

�I have great hopes of what Mrs. Laura Lyons may do for us when the
position of affairs is made clear to her. And I have my own plan as
well. Sufficient for tomorrow is the evil thereof; but I hope before the
day is past to have the upper hand at last.�

I could draw nothing further from him, and he walked, lost in thought,
as far as the Baskerville gates.

�Are you coming up?�

�Yes; I see no reason for further concealment. But one last word,
Watson. Say nothing of the hound to Sir Henry. Let him think that
Selden�s death was as Stapleton would have us believe. He will have a
better nerve for the ordeal which he will have to undergo tomorrow,
when he is engaged, if I remember your report aright, to dine with these
people.�

�And so am I.�

�Then you must excuse yourself and he must go alone. That will be easily
arranged. And now, if we are too late for dinner, I think that we are
both ready for our suppers.�

Sir Henry was more pleased than surprised to see Sherlock Holmes, for he
had for some days been expecting that recent events would bring him down
from London. He did raise his eyebrows, however, when he found that my
friend had neither any luggage nor any explanations for its absence.
Between us we soon supplied his wants, and then over a belated supper
we explained to the baronet as much of our experience as it seemed
desirable that he should know. But first I had the unpleasant duty of
breaking the news to Barrymore and his wife. To him it may have been an
unmitigated relief, but she wept bitterly in her apron. To all the world
he was the man of violence, half animal and half demon; but to her he
always remained the little wilful boy of her own girlhood, the child who
had clung to her hand. Evil indeed is the man who has not one woman to
mourn him.

�I�ve been moping in the house all day since Watson went off in the
morning,� said the baronet. �I guess I should have some credit, for I
have kept my promise. If I hadn�t sworn not to go about alone I might
have had a more lively evening, for I had a message from Stapleton
asking me over there.�

�I have no doubt that you would have had a more lively evening,� said
Holmes drily. �By the way, I don�t suppose you appreciate that we have
been mourning over you as having broken your neck?�

Sir Henry opened his eyes. �How was that?�

�This poor wretch was dressed in your clothes. I fear your servant who
gave them to him may get into trouble with the police.�

�That is unlikely. There was no mark on any of them, as far as I know.�

�That�s lucky for him--in fact, it�s lucky for all of you, since you are
all on the wrong side of the law in this matter. I am not sure that as
a conscientious detective my first duty is not to arrest the whole
household. Watson�s reports are most incriminating documents.�

�But how about the case?� asked the baronet. �Have you made anything out
of the tangle? I don�t know that Watson and I are much the wiser since
we came down.�

�I think that I shall be in a position to make the situation rather more
clear to you before long. It has been an exceedingly difficult and most
complicated business. There are several points upon which we still want
light--but it is coming all the same.�

�We�ve had one experience, as Watson has no doubt told you. We heard the
hound on the moor, so I can swear that it is not all empty superstition.
I had something to do with dogs when I was out West, and I know one when
I hear one. If you can muzzle that one and put him on a chain I�ll be
ready to swear you are the greatest detective of all time.�

�I think I will muzzle him and chain him all right if you will give me
your help.�

�Whatever you tell me to do I will do.�

�Very good; and I will ask you also to do it blindly, without always
asking the reason.�

�Just as you like.�

�If you will do this I think the chances are that our little problem
will soon be solved. I have no doubt--�

He stopped suddenly and stared fixedly up over my head into the air. The
lamp beat upon his face, and so intent was it and so still that it might
have been that of a clear-cut classical statue, a personification of
alertness and expectation.

�What is it?� we both cried.

I could see as he looked down that he was repressing some internal
emotion. His features were still composed, but his eyes shone with
amused exultation.

�Excuse the admiration of a connoisseur,� said he as he waved his hand
towards the line of portraits which covered the opposite wall. �Watson
won�t allow that I know anything of art but that is mere jealousy
because our views upon the subject differ. Now, these are a really very
fine series of portraits.�

�Well, I�m glad to hear you say so,� said Sir Henry, glancing with some
surprise at my friend. �I don�t pretend to know much about these things,
and I�d be a better judge of a horse or a steer than of a picture. I
didn�t know that you found time for such things.�

�I know what is good when I see it, and I see it now. That�s a Kneller,
I�ll swear, that lady in the blue silk over yonder, and the stout
gentleman with the wig ought to be a Reynolds. They are all family
portraits, I presume?�

�Every one.�

�Do you know the names?�

�Barrymore has been coaching me in them, and I think I can say my
lessons fairly well.�

�Who is the gentleman with the telescope?�

�That is Rear-Admiral Baskerville, who served under Rodney in the West
Indies. The man with the blue coat and the roll of paper is Sir William
Baskerville, who was Chairman of Committees of the House of Commons
under Pitt.�

�And this Cavalier opposite to me--the one with the black velvet and the
lace?�

�Ah, you have a right to know about him. That is the cause of all the
mischief, the wicked Hugo, who started the Hound of the Baskervilles.
We�re not likely to forget him.�

I gazed with interest and some surprise upon the portrait.

�Dear me!� said Holmes, �he seems a quiet, meek-mannered man enough, but
I dare say that there was a lurking devil in his eyes. I had pictured
him as a more robust and ruffianly person.�

�There�s no doubt about the authenticity, for the name and the date,
1647, are on the back of the canvas.�

Holmes said little more, but the picture of the old roysterer seemed to
have a fascination for him, and his eyes were continually fixed upon it
during supper. It was not until later, when Sir Henry had gone to his
room, that I was able to follow the trend of his thoughts. He led me
back into the banqueting-hall, his bedroom candle in his hand, and he
held it up against the time-stained portrait on the wall.

�Do you see anything there?�

I looked at the broad plumed hat, the curling love-locks, the white lace
collar, and the straight, severe face which was framed between them. It
was not a brutal countenance, but it was prim, hard, and stern, with a
firm-set, thin-lipped mouth, and a coldly intolerant eye.

�Is it like anyone you know?�

�There is something of Sir Henry about the jaw.�

�Just a suggestion, perhaps. But wait an instant!� He stood upon a
chair, and, holding up the light in his left hand, he curved his right
arm over the broad hat and round the long ringlets.

�Good heavens!� I cried in amazement.

The face of Stapleton had sprung out of the canvas.

�Ha, you see it now. My eyes have been trained to examine faces and not
their trimmings. It is the first quality of a criminal investigator that
he should see through a disguise.�

�But this is marvellous. It might be his portrait.�

�Yes, it is an interesting instance of a throwback, which appears to be
both physical and spiritual. A study of family portraits is enough
to convert a man to the doctrine of reincarnation. The fellow is a
Baskerville--that is evident.�

�With designs upon the succession.�

�Exactly. This chance of the picture has supplied us with one of our
most obvious missing links. We have him, Watson, we have him, and I dare
swear that before tomorrow night he will be fluttering in our net as
helpless as one of his own butterflies. A pin, a cork, and a card, and
we add him to the Baker Street collection!� He burst into one of his
rare fits of laughter as he turned away from the picture. I have not
heard him laugh often, and it has always boded ill to somebody.

I was up betimes in the morning, but Holmes was afoot earlier still, for
I saw him as I dressed, coming up the drive.

�Yes, we should have a full day today,� he remarked, and he rubbed his
hands with the joy of action. �The nets are all in place, and the drag
is about to begin. We�ll know before the day is out whether we have
caught our big, leanjawed pike, or whether he has got through the
meshes.�

�Have you been on the moor already?�

�I have sent a report from Grimpen to Princetown as to the death of
Selden. I think I can promise that none of you will be troubled in the
matter. And I have also communicated with my faithful Cartwright, who
would certainly have pined away at the door of my hut, as a dog does at
his master�s grave, if I had not set his mind at rest about my safety.�

�What is the next move?�

�To see Sir Henry. Ah, here he is!�

�Good-morning, Holmes,� said the baronet. �You look like a general who
is planning a battle with his chief of the staff.�

�That is the exact situation. Watson was asking for orders.�

�And so do I.�

�Very good. You are engaged, as I understand, to dine with our friends
the Stapletons tonight.�

�I hope that you will come also. They are very hospitable people, and I
am sure that they would be very glad to see you.�

�I fear that Watson and I must go to London.�

�To London?�

�Yes, I think that we should be more useful there at the present
juncture.�

The baronet�s face perceptibly lengthened.

�I hoped that you were going to see me through this business. The Hall
and the moor are not very pleasant places when one is alone.�

�My dear fellow, you must trust me implicitly and do exactly what I tell
you. You can tell your friends that we should have been happy to have
come with you, but that urgent business required us to be in town. We
hope very soon to return to Devonshire. Will you 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 by what he
regarded as our desertion.

�When do you desire to go?� he asked coldly.

�Immediately after breakfast. We will drive in to Coombe Tracey, but
Watson will leave his things as a pledge that he will come back to you.
Watson, you will send a note to Stapleton to tell him that you regret
that you cannot come.�

�I have a good mind to go to London with you,� said the baronet. �Why
should I stay here alone?�

�Because it is your post of duty. Because you gave me your word that 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 intend to walk home.�

�To walk across the moor?�

�Yes.�

�But that is the very thing which you have so often cautioned me not to
do.�

�This time you may do it with safety. If I had not every confidence in
your nerve and courage I would not suggest it, but it is essential that
you should do it.�

�Then I will do it.�

�And as you value your life do not go across the moor in any direction
save along the straight path which leads from Merripit House 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 breakfast as
possible, so as to reach London in the afternoon.�

I was much astounded by this programme, though I remembered that Holmes
had said to Stapleton on the night before that his visit would terminate
next day. It had not crossed my mind however, that he would wish me to
go with him, nor could I understand how we could both be absent at a
moment which he himself declared to be critical. There was nothing for
it, however, but implicit obedience; so we bade good-bye to our rueful
friend, and a couple of hours afterwards we were at the station of
Coombe Tracey and had dispatched the trap upon its return journey. A
small boy was waiting upon the platform.

�Any orders, sir?�

�You will take this train to town, Cartwright. The moment you arrive you
will send a wire to Sir Henry Baskerville, in my name, to say that if he
finds the pocketbook which I have dropped he is to send 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 five-forty.
Lestrade.

�That is in answer to mine of this morning. He is the best of the
professionals, I think, and we may need his assistance. Now, Watson, I
think that we cannot employ our time better than by calling upon your
acquaintance, Mrs. Laura Lyons.�

His plan of campaign was beginning to be evident. He would use the
baronet in order to convince the Stapletons that we were really gone,
while we should actually return at the instant when we were likely to
be needed. That telegram from London, if mentioned by Sir Henry to the
Stapletons, must remove the last suspicions from their minds. Already I
seemed to see our nets drawing closer around that leanjawed pike.

Mrs. Laura Lyons was in her office, and Sherlock Holmes opened his
interview with a frankness and directness which considerably amazed her.

�I am investigating the circumstances which attended the death of the
late Sir Charles Baskerville,� said he. �My friend here, Dr. Watson,
has informed me of what you have communicated, and also 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 at ten
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 extraordinary one. But
I think that we shall succeed in establishing a connection, after all. I
wish to be perfectly frank with you, Mrs. Lyons. We regard this case as
one of murder, and the evidence may implicate not 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 for his
sister is really his wife.�

Mrs. Lyons had resumed her seat. Her hands were grasping the arms of her
chair, and I saw that the pink nails had turned white with the pressure
of her grip.

�His wife!� she said again. �His wife! He is not a married man.�

Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

�Prove it to me! Prove it to me! And if you can do so--!�

The fierce flash of her eyes said more than any words.

�I have come prepared to do so,� said Holmes, drawing several papers
from his pocket. �Here is a photograph of the couple taken in York four
years ago. It is indorsed �Mr. and Mrs. Vandeleur,� but you will have no
difficulty in recognizing him, and her also, if you know her by sight.
Here are three written descriptions by trustworthy witnesses of Mr. and
Mrs. Vandeleur, who at that time kept St. Oliver�s private school. Read
them and see if you can doubt the identity of these people.�

She glanced at them, and then looked up at us with the set, rigid face
of a desperate woman.

�Mr. Holmes,� she said, �this man had offered me marriage on condition
that I could get a divorce from my husband. He has lied to me, the
villain, in every conceivable way. Not one word of truth has he ever
told me. And why--why? I imagined that all was for my own sake. But now
I see that I was never anything but a tool in his hands. Why should I
preserve faith with him who never kept any with me? Why should I try to
shield him from the consequences of his own wicked acts? Ask me what you
like, and there is nothing which I shall hold back. One thing I swear
to you, and that is that when I wrote the letter I never dreamed of any
harm to the old gentleman, who had been my kindest friend.�

�I entirely believe you, madam,� said Sherlock Holmes. �The recital of
these events must be very painful to you, and perhaps it will make it
easier if I tell you what occurred, and you can check me if I make any
material mistake. The sending of this letter was suggested to you by
Stapleton?�

�He dictated it.�

�I presume that the reason he gave was that you would receive help from
Sir Charles for the legal expenses connected with your divorce?�

�Exactly.�

�And then after you had sent the letter he dissuaded you from keeping
the appointment?�

�He told me that it would hurt his self-respect that any other man
should find the money for such an object, and that though he was a poor
man himself he would devote his last penny to removing the obstacles
which divided us.�

�He appears to be a very consistent character. And then you heard
nothing until you read the reports of the death in the paper?�

�No.�

�And he made you swear to say nothing about your appointment with Sir
Charles?�

�He did. He said that the death was a very mysterious one, and that I
should certainly be suspected if the facts came out. He frightened me
into remaining silent.�

�Quite so. But you had your suspicions?�

She hesitated and looked down.

�I knew him,� she said. �But if he had kept faith with me I should
always have done so with him.�

�I think that on the whole you have had a fortunate escape,� said
Sherlock Holmes. �You have had him in your power and he knew it, and yet
you are alive. You have been walking for some months very near to the
edge of a precipice. We must wish you good-morning now, Mrs. Lyons, and
it is probable that you will very shortly hear from us again.�

�Our case becomes rounded off, and difficulty after difficulty thins
away in front of us,� said Holmes as we stood waiting for the arrival of
the express from town. �I shall soon be in the position of being able
to put into a single connected narrative one of the most singular
and sensational crimes of modern times. Students of criminology will
remember the analogous incidents in Godno, in Little Russia, in the year
�66, and of course there are the Anderson murders in North Carolina, but
this case possesses some features which are entirely its own. Even now
we have no clear case against this very wily man. But I shall be very
much surprised if it is not clear enough before we go to bed this
night.�

The London express came roaring into the station, and a small, wiry
bulldog of a man had sprung from a first-class carriage. We all three
shook hands, and I saw at once from the reverential way in which
Lestrade gazed at my companion that he had learned a good deal since
the days when they had first worked together. I could well remember
the scorn which the theories of the reasoner used then to excite in the
practical man.

�Anything good?� he asked.

�The biggest thing for years,� said Holmes. �We have two hours before
we need think of starting. I think we might employ it in getting some
dinner and then, Lestrade, we will take the London fog out of your
throat by giving you a breath of the pure night air of Dartmoor. Never
been there? Ah, well, I don�t suppose you will forget your first visit.�




One of Sherlock Holmes�s defects--if, indeed, one may call it a
defect--was that he was exceedingly loath to communicate his full plans
to any other person until the instant of their fulfilment. Partly it
came no doubt from his own masterful nature, which loved to dominate and
surprise those who were around him. Partly also from his professional
caution, which urged him never to take any chances. The result, however,
was very trying for those who were acting as his agents and assistants.
I had often suffered under it, but never more so than during that long
drive in the darkness. The great ordeal was in front of us; at last we
were about to make our final effort, and yet Holmes had said nothing,
and I could only surmise what his course of action would be. My nerves
thrilled with anticipation when at last the cold wind upon our faces and
the dark, void spaces on either side of the narrow road told me that we
were back upon the moor once again. Every stride of the horses and every
turn of the wheels was taking us nearer to our supreme adventure.

Our conversation was hampered by the presence of the driver of the hired
wagonette, so that we were forced to talk of trivial matters when our
nerves were tense with emotion and anticipation. It was a relief to me,
after that unnatural restraint, when we at last passed Frankland�s
house and knew that we were drawing near to the Hall and to the scene
of action. We did not drive up to the door but got down near the gate of
the avenue. The wagonette was paid off and ordered to return to Coombe
Tracey forthwith, while we started to walk to Merripit House.

�Are you armed, Lestrade?�

The little detective smiled. �As long as I have my trousers I have a
hip-pocket, and as long as I have my hip-pocket I have something in it.�

�Good! My friend and I are also ready for emergencies.�

�You�re mighty close about this affair, Mr. Holmes. What�s the game
now?�

�A waiting game.�

�My word, it does not seem a very cheerful place,� said the detective
with a shiver, glancing round him at the gloomy slopes of the hill and
at the huge lake of fog which lay over the Grimpen Mire. �I see the
lights of a house ahead of us.�

�That is Merripit House and the end of our journey. I must request you
to walk on tiptoe and not to talk above a whisper.�

We moved cautiously along the track as if we were bound for the house,
but Holmes halted us when we were about two hundred yards from it.

�This will do,� said he. �These rocks upon the right make an admirable
screen.�

�We are to wait here?�

�Yes, we shall make our little ambush here. Get into this hollow,
Lestrade. You have been inside the house, have you not, Watson? Can you
tell the position of the rooms? What are those latticed windows at this
end?�

�I think they are the kitchen windows.�

�And the one beyond, which shines so brightly?�

�That is certainly the dining-room.�

�The blinds are up. You know the lie of the land best. Creep forward
quietly and see what they are doing--but for heaven�s sake don�t let
them know that they are watched!�

I tiptoed down the path and stooped behind the low wall which surrounded
the stunted orchard. Creeping in its shadow I reached a point whence I
could look straight through the uncurtained window.

There were only two men in the room, Sir Henry and Stapleton. They sat
with their profiles towards me on either side of the round table. Both
of them were smoking cigars, and coffee and wine were in front of them.
Stapleton was talking with animation, but the baronet looked pale and
distrait. Perhaps the thought of that lonely walk across the ill-omened
moor was weighing heavily upon his mind.

As I watched them Stapleton rose and left the room, while Sir Henry
filled his glass again and leaned back in his chair, puffing at his
cigar. I heard the creak of a door and the crisp sound of boots upon
gravel. The steps passed along the path on the other side of the wall
under which I crouched. Looking over, I saw the naturalist pause at the
door of an out-house in the corner of the orchard. A key turned in
a lock, and as he passed in there was a curious scuffling noise from
within. He was only a minute or so inside, and then I heard the key turn
once more and he passed me and reentered the house. I saw him rejoin his
guest, and I crept quietly back to where my companions were waiting to
tell them what I had seen.

�You say, Watson, that the lady is not there?� Holmes asked when I had
finished my report.

�No.�

�Where can she be, then, since there is no light in any other room
except the kitchen?�

�I cannot think where she is.�

I have said that over the great Grimpen Mire there hung a dense, white
fog. It was drifting slowly in our direction and banked itself up like a
wall on that side of us, low but thick and well defined. The moon shone
on it, and it looked like a great shimmering ice-field, with the heads
of the distant tors as rocks borne upon its surface. Holmes�s face
was turned towards it, and he muttered impatiently as he watched its
sluggish drift.

�It�s moving towards us, Watson.�

�Is that serious?�

�Very serious, indeed--the one thing upon earth which could have
disarranged my plans. He can�t be very long, now. It is already ten
o�clock. Our success and even his life may depend upon his coming out
before the fog is over the path.�

The night was clear and fine above us. The stars shone cold and bright,
while a half-moon bathed the whole scene in a soft, uncertain light.
Before us lay the dark bulk of the house, its serrated roof and
bristling chimneys hard outlined against the silver-spangled sky. Broad
bars of golden light from the lower windows stretched across the orchard
and the moor. One of them was suddenly shut off. The servants had left
the kitchen. There only remained the lamp in the dining-room where the
two men, the murderous host and the unconscious guest, still chatted
over their cigars.

Every minute that white woolly plain which covered one-half of the moor
was drifting closer and closer to the house. Already the first thin
wisps of it were curling across the golden square of the lighted window.
The farther wall of the orchard was already invisible, and the trees
were standing out of a swirl of white vapour. As we watched it the
fog-wreaths came crawling round both corners of the house and rolled
slowly into one dense bank on which the upper floor and the roof
floated like a strange ship upon a shadowy sea. Holmes struck his hand
passionately upon the rock in front of us and stamped his feet in his
impatience.

�If he isn�t out in a quarter of an hour the path will be covered. In
half an hour we won�t be able to see our hands in front of us.�

�Shall we move farther back upon higher ground?�

�Yes, I think it would be as well.�

So as the fog-bank flowed onward we fell back before it until we were
half a mile from the house, and still that dense white sea, with the
moon silvering its upper edge, swept slowly and inexorably on.

�We are going too far,� said Holmes. �We dare not take the chance of his
being overtaken before he can reach us. At all costs we must hold our
ground where we are.� He dropped on his knees and clapped his ear to the
ground. �Thank God, I think that I hear him coming.�

A sound of quick steps broke the silence of the moor. Crouching among
the stones we stared intently at the silver-tipped bank in front of us.
The steps grew louder, and through the fog, as through a curtain, there
stepped the man whom we were awaiting. He looked round him in surprise
as he emerged into the clear, starlit night. Then he came swiftly along
the path, passed close to where we lay, and went on up the long slope
behind us. As he walked he glanced continually over either shoulder,
like a man who is ill at ease.

�Hist!� cried Holmes, and I heard the sharp click of a cocking pistol.
�Look out! It�s coming!�

There was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from somewhere in the heart
of that crawling bank. The cloud was within fifty yards of where we lay,
and we glared at it, all three, uncertain what horror was about to break
from the heart of it. I was at Holmes�s elbow, and I glanced for an
instant at his face. It was pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly
in the moonlight. But suddenly they started forward in a rigid, fixed
stare, and his lips parted in amazement. At the same instant Lestrade
gave a yell of terror and threw himself face downward upon the ground.
I sprang to my feet, my inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind paralyzed
by the dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from the shadows of
the fog. A hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a
hound as mortal eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth, its
eyes glowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap
were outlined in flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of
a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more
hellish be conceived than that dark form and savage face which broke
upon us out of the wall of fog.

With long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down the track,
following hard upon the footsteps of our friend. So paralyzed were we by
the apparition that we allowed him to pass before we had recovered our
nerve. Then Holmes and I both fired together, and the creature gave a
hideous howl, which showed that one at least had hit him. He did not
pause, however, but bounded onward. Far away on the path we saw Sir
Henry looking back, his face white in the moonlight, his hands raised in
horror, glaring helplessly at the frightful thing which was hunting him
down. But that cry of pain from the hound had blown all our fears to the
winds. If he was vulnerable he was mortal, and if we could wound him we
could kill him. Never have I seen a man run as Holmes ran that night. I
am reckoned fleet of foot, but he outpaced me as much as I outpaced the
little professional. In front of us as we flew up the track we heard
scream after scream from Sir Henry and the deep roar of the hound. I was
in time to see the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground,
and worry at his throat. But the next instant Holmes had emptied five
barrels of his revolver into the creature�s flank. With a last howl of
agony and a vicious snap in the air, it rolled upon its back, four feet
pawing furiously, and then fell limp upon its side. I stooped, panting,
and pressed my pistol to the dreadful, shimmering head, but it was
useless to press the trigger. The giant hound was dead.

Sir Henry lay insensible where he had fallen. We tore away his collar,
and Holmes breathed a prayer of gratitude when we saw that there was
no sign of a wound and that the rescue had been in time. Already our
friend�s eyelids shivered and he made a feeble effort to move. Lestrade
thrust his brandy-flask between the baronet�s teeth, and two frightened
eyes were looking up at us.

�My God!� he whispered. �What was it? What, in heaven�s name, was it?�

�It�s dead, whatever it is,� said Holmes. �We�ve laid the family ghost
once and forever.�

In mere size and strength it was a terrible creature which was lying
stretched before us. It was not a pure bloodhound and it was not a pure
mastiff; but it appeared to be a combination of the two--gaunt, savage,
and as large as a small lioness. Even now in the stillness of death,
the huge jaws seemed to be dripping with a bluish flame and the small,
deep-set, cruel eyes were ringed with fire. I placed my hand upon the
glowing muzzle, and as I held them up my own fingers smouldered and
gleamed in the darkness.

�Phosphorus,� I said.

�A cunning preparation of it,� said Holmes, sniffing at the dead animal.
�There is no smell which might have interfered with his power of scent.
We owe you a deep apology, Sir Henry, for having exposed you to this
fright. I was prepared for a hound, but not for such a creature as this.
And the fog gave us little time to receive him.�

�You have saved my life.�

�Having first endangered it. Are you strong enough to stand?�

�Give me another mouthful of that brandy and I shall be ready for
anything. So! Now, if you will help me up. What do you propose to do?�

�To leave you here. You are not fit for further adventures tonight. If
you will wait, one or other of us will go back with you to the Hall.�

He tried to stagger to his feet; but he was still ghastly pale and
trembling in every limb. We helped him to a rock, where he sat shivering
with his face buried in his hands.

�We must leave you now,� said Holmes. �The rest of our work must be
done, and every moment is of importance. We have our case, and now we
only want our man.

�It�s a thousand to one against our finding him at the house,� he
continued as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path. �Those shots
must have told him that the game was up.�

�We were some distance off, and this fog may have deadened them.�

�He followed the hound to call him off--of that you may be certain. No,
no, he�s gone by this time! But we�ll search the house and make sure.�

The front door was open, so we rushed in and hurried from room to
room to the amazement of a doddering old manservant, who met us in the
passage. There was no light save in the dining-room, but Holmes caught
up the lamp and left no corner of the house unexplored. No sign could we
see of the man whom we were chasing. On the upper floor, however, one of
the bedroom doors was locked.

�There�s someone in here,� cried Lestrade. �I can hear a movement. Open
this door!�

A faint moaning and rustling came from within. Holmes struck the door
just over the lock with the flat of his foot and it flew open. Pistol in
hand, we all three rushed into the room.

But there was no sign within it of that desperate and defiant villain
whom we expected to see. Instead we were faced by an object so strange
and so unexpected that we stood for a moment staring at it in amazement.

The room had been fashioned into a small museum, and the walls were
lined by a number of glass-topped cases full of that collection of
butterflies and moths the formation of which had been the relaxation of
this complex and dangerous man. In the centre of this room there was an
upright beam, which had been placed at some period as a support for the
old worm-eaten baulk of timber which spanned the roof. To this post a
figure was tied, so swathed and muffled in the sheets which had been
used to secure it that one could not for the moment tell whether it
was that of a man or a woman. One towel passed round the throat and was
secured at the back of the pillar. Another covered the lower part of
the face, and over it two dark eyes--eyes full of grief and shame and a
dreadful questioning--stared back at us. In a minute we had torn off
the gag, unswathed the bonds, and Mrs. Stapleton sank upon the floor in
front of us. As her beautiful head fell upon her chest I saw the clear
red weal of a whiplash across her neck.

�The brute!� cried Holmes. �Here, Lestrade, your brandy-bottle! Put her
in the chair! She has fainted from ill-usage and exhaustion.�

She opened her eyes again.

�Is he safe?� she asked. �Has he escaped?�

�He cannot escape us, madam.�

�No, no, I did not mean my husband. Sir Henry? Is he safe?�

�Yes.�

�And the hound?�

�It is dead.�

She gave a long sigh of satisfaction.

�Thank God! Thank God! Oh, this villain! See how he has treated me!�
 She shot her arms out from her sleeves, and we saw with horror that they
were all mottled with bruises. �But this is nothing--nothing! It is my
mind and soul that he has tortured and defiled. I could endure it all,
ill-usage, solitude, a life of deception, everything, as long as I could
still cling to the hope that I had his love, but now I know that in
this also I have been his dupe and his tool.� She broke into passionate
sobbing as she spoke.

�You bear him no good will, madam,� said Holmes. �Tell us then where we
shall find him. If you have ever aided him in evil, help us now and so
atone.�

�There is but one place where he can have fled,� she answered. �There is
an old tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire. It was there that
he kept his hound and there also he had made preparations so that he
might have a refuge. That is where he would fly.�

The fog-bank lay like white wool against the window. Holmes held the
lamp towards it.

�See,� said he. �No one could find his way into the Grimpen Mire
tonight.�

She laughed and clapped her hands. Her eyes and teeth gleamed with
fierce merriment.

�He may find his way in, but never out,� she cried. �How can he see the
guiding wands tonight? We planted them together, he and I, to mark the
pathway through the mire. Oh, if I could only have plucked them out
today. Then indeed you would have had him at your mercy!�

It was evident to us that all pursuit was in vain until the fog had
lifted. Meanwhile we left Lestrade in possession of the house while
Holmes and I went back with the baronet to Baskerville Hall. The story
of the Stapletons could no longer be withheld from him, but he took
the blow bravely when he learned the truth about the woman whom he had
loved. But the shock of the night�s adventures had shattered his nerves,
and before morning he lay delirious in a high fever under the care of
Dr. Mortimer. The two of them were destined to travel together round the
world before Sir Henry had become once more the hale, hearty man that he
had been before he became master of that ill-omened estate.

And now I come rapidly to the conclusion of this singular narrative, in
which I have tried to make the reader share those dark fears and vague
surmises which clouded our lives so long and ended in so tragic a
manner. On the morning after the death of the hound the fog had lifted
and we were guided by Mrs. Stapleton to the point where they had found
a pathway through the bog. It helped us to realize the horror of this
woman�s life when we saw the eagerness and joy with which she laid us
on her husband�s track. We left her standing upon the thin peninsula of
firm, peaty soil which tapered out into the widespread bog. From the
end of it a small wand planted here and there showed where the path
zigzagged from tuft to tuft of rushes among those green-scummed pits
and foul quagmires which barred the way to the stranger. Rank reeds and
lush, slimy water-plants sent an odour of decay and a heavy miasmatic
vapour onto our faces, while a false step plunged us more than once
thigh-deep into the dark, quivering mire, which shook for yards in soft
undulations around our feet. Its tenacious grip plucked at our heels as
we walked, and when we sank into it it was as if some malignant hand was
tugging us down into those obscene depths, so grim and purposeful was
the clutch in which it held us. Once only we saw a trace that someone
had passed that perilous way before us. From amid a tuft of cotton grass
which bore it up out of the slime some dark thing was projecting. Holmes
sank to his waist as he stepped from the path to seize it, and had we
not been there to drag him out he could never have set his foot
upon firm land again. He held an old black boot in the air. �Meyers,
Toronto,� was printed on the leather inside.

�It is worth a mud bath,� said he. �It is our friend Sir Henry�s missing
boot.�

�Thrown there by Stapleton in his flight.�

�Exactly. He retained it in his hand after using it to set the hound
upon the track. He fled when he knew the game was up, still clutching
it. And he hurled it away at this point of his flight. We know at least
that he came so far in safety.�

But more than that we were never destined to know, though there was much
which we might surmise. There was no chance of finding footsteps in the
mire, for the rising mud oozed swiftly in upon them, but as we at last
reached firmer ground beyond the morass we all looked eagerly for them.
But no slightest sign of them ever met our eyes. If the earth told a
true story, then Stapleton never reached that island of refuge towards
which he struggled through the fog upon that last night. Somewhere in
the heart of the great Grimpen Mire, down in the foul slime of the
huge morass which had sucked him in, this cold and cruel-hearted man is
forever buried.

Many traces we found of him in the bog-girt island where he had hid his
savage ally. A huge driving-wheel and a shaft half-filled with rubbish
showed the position of an abandoned mine. Beside it were the crumbling
remains of the cottages of the miners, driven away no doubt by the foul
reek of the surrounding swamp. In one of these a staple and chain with
a quantity of gnawed bones showed where the animal had been confined.
A skeleton with a tangle of brown hair adhering to it lay among the
debris.

�A dog!� said Holmes. �By Jove, a curly-haired spaniel. Poor Mortimer
will never see his pet again. Well, I do not know that this place
contains any secret which we have not already fathomed. He could hide
his hound, but he could not hush its voice, and hence came those cries
which even in daylight were not pleasant to hear. On an emergency he
could keep the hound in the out-house at Merripit, but it was always a
risk, and it was only on the supreme day, which he regarded as the end
of all his efforts, that he dared do it. This paste in the tin is no
doubt the luminous mixture with which the creature was daubed. It was
suggested, of course, by the story of the family hell-hound, and by the
desire to frighten old Sir Charles to death. No wonder the poor devil of
a convict ran and screamed, even as our friend did, and as we ourselves
might have done, when he saw such a creature bounding through the
darkness of the moor upon his track. It was a cunning device, for, apart
from the chance of driving your victim to his death, what peasant would
venture to inquire too closely into such a creature should he get sight
of it, as many have done, upon the moor? I said it in London, Watson,
and I say it again now, that never yet have we helped to hunt down a
more dangerous man than he who is lying yonder�--he swept his long arm
towards the huge mottled expanse of green-splotched bog which stretched
away until it merged into the russet slopes of the moor.




It was the end of November, and Holmes and I sat, upon a raw and foggy
night, on either side of a blazing fire in our sitting-room in Baker
Street. Since the tragic upshot of our visit to Devonshire he had been
engaged in two affairs of the utmost importance, in the first of which
he had exposed the atrocious conduct of Colonel Upwood in connection
with the famous card scandal of the Nonpareil Club, while in the second
he had defended the unfortunate Mme. Montpensier from the charge
of murder which hung over her in connection with the death of her
step-daughter, Mlle. Carere, the young lady who, as it will be
remembered, was found six months later alive and married in New York.
My friend was in excellent spirits over the success which had attended
a succession of difficult and important cases, so that I was able to
induce him to discuss the details of the Baskerville mystery. I had
waited patiently for the opportunity for I was aware that he would never
permit cases to overlap, and that his clear and logical mind would not
be drawn from its present work to dwell upon memories of the past. Sir
Henry and Dr. Mortimer were, however, in London, on their way to that
long voyage which had been recommended for the restoration of his
shattered nerves. They had called upon us that very afternoon, so that
it was natural that the subject should come up for discussion.

�The whole course of events,� said Holmes, �from the point of view of
the man who called himself Stapleton was simple and direct, although
to us, who had no means in the beginning of knowing the motives of
his actions and could only learn part of the facts, it all appeared
exceedingly complex. I have had the advantage of two conversations with
Mrs. Stapleton, and the case has now been so entirely cleared up that I
am not aware that there is anything which has remained a secret to us.
You will find a few notes upon the matter under the heading B in my
indexed list of cases.�

�Perhaps you would kindly give me a sketch of the course of events from
memory.�

�Certainly, though I cannot guarantee that I carry all the facts in my
mind. Intense mental concentration has a curious way of blotting out
what has passed. The barrister who has his case at his fingers� ends and
is able to argue with an expert upon his own subject finds that a week
or two of the courts will drive it all out of his head once more. So
each of my cases displaces the last, and Mlle. Carere has blurred my
recollection of Baskerville Hall. Tomorrow some other little problem may
be submitted to my notice which will in turn dispossess the fair French
lady and the infamous Upwood. So far as the case of the hound goes,
however, I will give you the course of events as nearly as I can, and
you will suggest anything which I may have forgotten.

�My inquiries show beyond all question that the family portrait did not
lie, and that this fellow was indeed a Baskerville. He was a son of that
Rodger Baskerville, the younger brother of Sir Charles, who fled with
a sinister reputation to South America, where he was said to have died
unmarried. He did, as a matter of fact, marry, and had one child, this
fellow, whose real name is the same as his father�s. He married Beryl
Garcia, one of the beauties of Costa Rica, and, having purloined a
considerable sum of public money, he changed his name to Vandeleur and
fled to England, where he established a school in the east of Yorkshire.
His reason for attempting this special line of business was that he had
struck up an acquaintance with a consumptive tutor upon the voyage
home, and that he had used this man�s ability to make the undertaking a
success. Fraser, the tutor, died however, and the school which had begun
well sank from disrepute into infamy. The Vandeleurs found it convenient
to change their name to Stapleton, and he brought the remains of his
fortune, his schemes for the future, and his taste for entomology to
the south of England. I learned at the British Museum that he was a
recognized authority upon the subject, and that the name of Vandeleur
has been permanently attached to a certain moth which he had, in his
Yorkshire days, been the first to describe.

�We now come to that portion of his life which has proved to be of such
intense interest to us. The fellow had evidently made inquiry and found
that only two lives intervened between him and a valuable estate. When
he went to Devonshire his plans were, I believe, exceedingly hazy, but
that he meant mischief from the first is evident from the way in which
he took his wife with him in the character of his sister. The idea of
using her as a decoy was clearly already in his mind, though he may not
have been certain how the details of his plot were to be arranged. He
meant in the end to have the estate, and he was ready to use any tool
or run any risk for that end. His first act was to establish himself as
near to his ancestral home as he could, and his second was to cultivate
a friendship with Sir Charles Baskerville and with the neighbours.

�The baronet himself told him about the family hound, and so prepared
the way for his own death. Stapleton, as I will continue to call him,
knew that the old man�s heart was weak and that a shock would kill him.
So much he had learned from Dr. Mortimer. He had heard also that Sir
Charles was superstitious and had taken this grim legend very seriously.
His ingenious mind instantly suggested a way by which the baronet could
be done to death, and yet it would be hardly possible to bring home the
guilt to the real murderer.

�Having conceived the idea he proceeded to carry it out with
considerable finesse. An ordinary schemer would have been content
to work with a savage hound. The use of artificial means to make the
creature diabolical was a flash of genius upon his part. The dog he
bought in London from Ross and Mangles, the dealers in Fulham Road. It
was the strongest and most savage in their possession. He brought it
down by the North Devon line and walked a great distance over the moor
so as to get it home without exciting any remarks. He had already on his
insect hunts learned to penetrate the Grimpen Mire, and so had found a
safe hiding-place for the creature. Here he kennelled it and waited his
chance.

�But it was some time coming. The old gentleman could not be decoyed
outside of his grounds at night. Several times Stapleton lurked about
with his hound, but without avail. It was during these fruitless quests
that he, or rather his ally, was seen by peasants, and that the legend
of the demon dog received a new confirmation. He had hoped that his wife
might lure Sir Charles to his ruin, but here she proved unexpectedly
independent. She would not endeavour to entangle the old gentleman in
a sentimental attachment which might deliver him over to his enemy.
Threats and even, I am sorry to say, blows refused to move her. She
would have nothing to do with it, and for a time Stapleton was at a
deadlock.

�He found a way out of his difficulties through the chance that Sir
Charles, who had conceived a friendship for him, made him the minister
of his charity in the case of this unfortunate woman, Mrs. Laura Lyons.
By representing himself as a single man he acquired complete influence
over her, and he gave her to understand that in the event of her
obtaining a divorce from her husband he would marry her. His plans were
suddenly brought to a head by his knowledge that Sir Charles was about
to leave the Hall on the advice of Dr. Mortimer, with whose opinion he
himself pretended to coincide. He must act at once, or his victim might
get beyond his power. He therefore put pressure upon Mrs. Lyons to
write this letter, imploring the old man to give her an interview on
the evening before his departure for London. He then, by a specious
argument, prevented her from going, and so had the chance for which he
had waited.

�Driving back in the evening from Coombe Tracey he was in time to get
his hound, to treat it with his infernal paint, and to bring the beast
round to the gate at which he had reason to expect that he would find
the old gentleman waiting. The dog, incited by its master, sprang over
the wicket-gate and pursued the unfortunate baronet, who fled screaming
down the yew alley. In that gloomy tunnel it must indeed have been a
dreadful sight to see that huge black creature, with its flaming jaws
and blazing eyes, bounding after its victim. He fell dead at the end
of the alley from heart disease and terror. The hound had kept upon the
grassy border while the baronet had run down the path, so that no track
but the man�s was visible. On seeing him lying still the creature had
probably approached to sniff at him, but finding him dead had turned
away again. It was then that it left the print which was actually
observed by Dr. Mortimer. The hound was called off and hurried away to
its lair in the Grimpen Mire, and a mystery was left which puzzled
the authorities, alarmed the countryside, and finally brought the case
within the scope of our observation.

�So much for the death of Sir Charles Baskerville. You perceive the
devilish cunning of it, for really it would be almost impossible to make
a case against the real murderer. His only accomplice was one who could
never give him away, and the grotesque, inconceivable nature of
the device only served to make it more effective. Both of the women
concerned in the case, Mrs. Stapleton and Mrs. Laura Lyons, were left
with a strong suspicion against Stapleton. Mrs. Stapleton knew that he
had designs upon the old man, and also of the existence of the hound.
Mrs. Lyons knew neither of these things, but had been impressed by the
death occurring at the time of an uncancelled appointment which was only
known to him. However, both of them were under his influence, and he had
nothing to fear from them. The first half of his task was successfully
accomplished but the more difficult still remained.

�It is possible that Stapleton did not know of the existence of an heir
in Canada. In any case he would very soon learn it from his friend Dr.
Mortimer, and he was told by the latter all details about the arrival of
Henry Baskerville. Stapleton�s first idea was that this young stranger
from Canada might possibly be done to death in London without coming
down to Devonshire at all. He distrusted his wife ever since she had
refused to help him in laying a trap for the old man, and he dared not
leave her long out of his sight for fear he should lose his influence
over her. It was for this reason that he took her to London with him.
They lodged, I find, at the Mexborough Private Hotel, in Craven Street,
which was actually one of those called upon by my agent in search
of evidence. Here he kept his wife imprisoned in her room while
he, disguised in a beard, followed Dr. Mortimer to Baker Street and
afterwards to the station and to the Northumberland Hotel. His wife had
some inkling of his plans; but she had such a fear of her husband--a
fear founded upon brutal ill-treatment--that she dare not write to warn
the man whom she knew to be in danger. If the letter should fall into
Stapleton�s hands her own life would not be safe. Eventually, as we
know, she adopted the expedient of cutting out the words which would
form the message, and addressing the letter in a disguised hand. It
reached the baronet, and gave him the first warning of his danger.

�It was very essential for Stapleton to get some article of Sir Henry�s
attire so that, in case he was driven to use the dog, he might always
have the means of setting him upon his track. With characteristic
promptness and audacity he set about this at once, and we cannot doubt
that the boots or chamber-maid of the hotel was well bribed to help him
in his design. By chance, however, the first boot which was procured for
him was a new one and, therefore, useless for his purpose. He then had
it returned and obtained another--a most instructive incident, since it
proved conclusively to my mind that we were dealing with a real hound,
as no other supposition could explain this anxiety to obtain an old
boot and this indifference to a new one. The more outre and grotesque an
incident is the more carefully it deserves to be examined, and the very
point which appears to complicate a case is, when duly considered and
scientifically handled, the one which is most likely to elucidate it.

�Then we had the visit from our friends next morning, shadowed always
by Stapleton in the cab. From his knowledge of our rooms and of my
appearance, as well as from his general conduct, I am inclined to think
that Stapleton�s career of crime has been by no means limited to this
single Baskerville affair. It is suggestive that during the last three
years there have been four considerable burglaries in the west country,
for none of which was any criminal ever arrested. The last of these, at
Folkestone Court, in May, was remarkable for the cold-blooded pistolling
of the page, who surprised the masked and solitary burglar. I cannot
doubt that Stapleton recruited his waning resources in this fashion, and
that for years he has been a desperate and dangerous man.

�We had an example of his readiness of resource that morning when he got
away from us so successfully, and also of his audacity in sending back
my own name to me through the cabman. From that moment he understood
that I had taken over the case in London, and that therefore there was
no chance for him there. He returned to Dartmoor and awaited the arrival
of the baronet.�

�One moment!� said I. �You have, no doubt, described the sequence
of events correctly, but there is one point which you have left
unexplained. What became of the hound when its master was in London?�

�I have given some attention to this matter and it is undoubtedly of
importance. There can be no question that Stapleton had a confidant,
though it is unlikely that he ever placed himself in his power by
sharing all his plans with him. There was an old manservant at Merripit
House, whose name was Anthony. His connection with the Stapletons can
be traced for several years, as far back as the school-mastering days,
so that he must have been aware that his master and mistress were really
husband and wife. This man has disappeared and has escaped from the
country. It is suggestive that Anthony is not a common name in England,
while Antonio is so in all Spanish or Spanish-American countries. The
man, like Mrs. Stapleton herself, spoke good English, but with a curious
lisping accent. I have myself seen this old man cross the Grimpen
Mire by the path which Stapleton had marked out. It is very probable,
therefore, that in the absence of his master it was he who cared for the
hound, though he may never have known the purpose for which the beast
was used.

�The Stapletons then went down to Devonshire, whither they were soon
followed by Sir Henry and you. One word now as to how I stood myself at
that time. It may possibly recur to your memory that when I examined
the paper upon which the printed words were fastened I made a close
inspection for the water-mark. In doing so I held it within a few inches
of my eyes, and was conscious of a faint smell of the scent known as
white jessamine. There are seventy-five perfumes, which it is very
necessary that a criminal expert should be able to distinguish from each
other, and cases have more than once within my own experience depended
upon their prompt recognition. The scent suggested the presence of a
lady, and already my thoughts began to turn towards the Stapletons. Thus
I had made certain of the hound, and had guessed at the criminal before
ever we went to the west country.

�It was my game to watch Stapleton. It was evident, however, that I
could not do this if I were with you, since he would be keenly on his
guard. I deceived everybody, therefore, yourself included, and I came
down secretly when I was supposed to be in London. My hardships were
not so great as you imagined, though such trifling details must never
interfere with the investigation of a case. I stayed for the most
part at Coombe Tracey, and only used the hut upon the moor when it was
necessary to be near the scene of action. Cartwright had come down with
me, and in his disguise as a country boy he was of great assistance
to me. I was dependent upon him for food and clean linen. When I was
watching Stapleton, Cartwright was frequently watching you, so that I
was able to keep my hand upon all the strings.

�I have already told you that your reports reached me rapidly, being
forwarded instantly from Baker Street to Coombe Tracey. They were of
great service to me, and especially that one incidentally truthful piece
of biography of Stapleton�s. I was able to establish the identity of
the man and the woman and knew at last exactly how I stood. The case
had been considerably complicated through the incident of the escaped
convict and the relations between him and the Barrymores. This also you
cleared up in a very effective way, though I had already come to the
same conclusions from my own observations.

�By the time that you discovered me upon the moor I had a complete
knowledge of the whole business, but I had not a case which could go to
a jury. Even Stapleton�s attempt upon Sir Henry that night which ended
in the death of the unfortunate convict did not help us much in proving
murder against our man. There seemed to be no alternative but to
catch him red-handed, and to do so we had to use Sir Henry, alone and
apparently unprotected, as a bait. We did so, and at the cost of a
severe shock to our client we succeeded in completing our case and
driving Stapleton to his destruction. That Sir Henry should have been
exposed to this is, I must confess, a reproach to my management of the
case, but we had no means of foreseeing the terrible and paralyzing
spectacle which the beast presented, nor could we predict the fog which
enabled him to burst upon us at such short notice. We succeeded in our
object at a cost which both the specialist and Dr. Mortimer assure me
will be a temporary one. A long journey may enable our friend to recover
not only from his shattered nerves but also from his wounded feelings.
His love for the lady was deep and sincere, and to him the saddest part
of all this black business was that he should have been deceived by her.

�It only remains to indicate the part which she had played throughout.
There can be no doubt that Stapleton exercised an influence over her
which may have been love or may have been fear, or very possibly both,
since they are by no means incompatible emotions. It was, at least,
absolutely effective. At his command she consented to pass as his
sister, though he found the limits of his power over her when he
endeavoured to make her the direct accessory to murder. She was ready to
warn Sir Henry so far as she could without implicating her husband, and
again and again she tried to do so. Stapleton himself seems to have been
capable of jealousy, and when he saw the baronet paying court to the
lady, even though it was part of his own plan, still he could not help
interrupting with a passionate outburst which revealed the fiery soul
which his self-contained manner so cleverly concealed. By encouraging
the intimacy he made it certain that Sir Henry would frequently come
to Merripit House and that he would sooner or later get the opportunity
which he desired. On the day of the crisis, however, his wife turned
suddenly against him. She had learned something of the death of the
convict, and she knew that the hound was being kept in the outhouse on
the evening that Sir Henry was coming to dinner. She taxed her husband
with his intended crime, and a furious scene followed in which he showed
her for the first time that she had a rival in his love. Her fidelity
turned in an instant to bitter hatred, and he saw that she would betray
him. He tied her up, therefore, that she might have no chance of warning
Sir Henry, and he hoped, no doubt, that when the whole countryside put
down the baronet�s death to the curse of his family, as they certainly
would do, he could win his wife back to accept an accomplished fact and
to keep silent upon what she knew. In this I fancy that in any case
he made a miscalculation, and that, if we had not been there, his doom
would none the less have been sealed. A woman of Spanish blood does
not condone such an injury so lightly. And now, my dear Watson, without
referring to my notes, I cannot give you a more detailed account of
this curious case. I do not know that anything essential has been left
unexplained.�

�He could not hope to frighten Sir Henry to death as he had done the old
uncle with his bogie hound.�

�The beast was savage and half-starved. If its appearance did not
frighten its victim to death, at least it would paralyze the resistance
which might be offered.�

�No doubt. There only remains one difficulty. If Stapleton came into the
succession, how could he explain the fact that he, the heir, had been
living unannounced under another name so close to the property? How
could he claim it without causing suspicion and inquiry?�

�It is a formidable difficulty, and I fear that you ask too much when
you expect me to solve it. The past and the present are within the field
of my inquiry, but what a man may do in the future is a hard question
to answer. Mrs. Stapleton has heard her husband discuss the problem on
several occasions. There were three possible courses. He might claim the
property from South America, establish his identity before the British
authorities there and so obtain the fortune without ever coming to
England at all, or he might adopt an elaborate disguise during the
short time that he need be in London; or, again, he might furnish an
accomplice with the proofs and papers, putting him in as heir, and
retaining a claim upon some proportion of his income. We cannot doubt
from what we know of him that he would have found some way out of the
difficulty. And now, my dear Watson, we have had some weeks of severe
work, and for one evening, I think, we may turn our thoughts into more
pleasant channels. I have a box for �Les Huguenots.� Have you heard the
De Reszkes? Might I trouble you then to be ready in half an hour, and we
can stop at Marcini�s for a little dinner on the way?�

lost.txt

                   I have wrought my simple plan
                    If I give one hour of joy
                  To the boy who's half a man,
                    Or the man who's half a boy.




            Mr. E. D. Malone desires to state that
          both the injunction for restraint and the
          libel action have been withdrawn unreservedly
          by Professor G. E. Challenger, who, being
          satisfied that no criticism or comment in
          this book is meant in an offensive spirit,
          has guaranteed that he will place no
          impediment to its publication and circulation.




Mr. Hungerton, her father, really was the most tactless person upon
earth,--a fluffy, feathery, untidy cockatoo of a man, perfectly
good-natured, but absolutely centered upon his own silly self.  If
anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been the
thought of such a father-in-law.  I am convinced that he really
believed in his heart that I came round to the Chestnuts three days a
week for the pleasure of his company, and very especially to hear his
views upon bimetallism, a subject upon which he was by way of being an
authority.

For an hour or more that evening I listened to his monotonous chirrup
about bad money driving out good, the token value of silver, the
depreciation of the rupee, and the true standards of exchange.

"Suppose," he cried with feeble violence, "that all the debts in the
world were called up simultaneously, and immediate payment insisted
upon,--what under our present conditions would happen then?"

I gave the self-evident answer that I should be a ruined man, upon
which he jumped from his chair, reproved me for my habitual levity,
which made it impossible for him to discuss any reasonable subject in
my presence, and bounced off out of the room to dress for a Masonic
meeting.

At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate had come!  All
that evening I had felt like the soldier who awaits the signal which
will send him on a forlorn hope; hope of victory and fear of repulse
alternating in his mind.

She sat with that proud, delicate profile of hers outlined against the
red curtain.  How beautiful she was!  And yet how aloof!  We had been
friends, quite good friends; but never could I get beyond the same
comradeship which I might have established with one of my
fellow-reporters upon the Gazette,--perfectly frank, perfectly kindly,
and perfectly unsexual.  My instincts are all against a woman being too
frank and at her ease with me.  It is no compliment to a man.  Where
the real sex feeling begins, timidity and distrust are its companions,
heritage from old wicked days when love and violence went often hand in
hand.  The bent head, the averted eye, the faltering voice, the wincing
figure--these, and not the unshrinking gaze and frank reply, are the
true signals of passion.  Even in my short life I had learned as much
as that--or had inherited it in that race memory which we call instinct.

Gladys was full of every womanly quality.  Some judged her to be cold
and hard; but such a thought was treason.  That delicately bronzed
skin, almost oriental in its coloring, that raven hair, the large
liquid eyes, the full but exquisite lips,--all the stigmata of passion
were there.  But I was sadly conscious that up to now I had never found
the secret of drawing it forth.  However, come what might, I should
have done with suspense and bring matters to a head to-night.  She
could but refuse me, and better be a repulsed lover than an accepted
brother.

So far my thoughts had carried me, and I was about to break the long
and uneasy silence, when two critical, dark eyes looked round at me,
and the proud head was shaken in smiling reproof.  "I have a
presentiment that you are going to propose, Ned.  I do wish you
wouldn't; for things are so much nicer as they are."

I drew my chair a little nearer.  "Now, how did you know that I was
going to propose?" I asked in genuine wonder.

"Don't women always know?  Do you suppose any woman in the world was
ever taken unawares?  But--oh, Ned, our friendship has been so good and
so pleasant!  What a pity to spoil it!  Don't you feel how splendid it
is that a young man and a young woman should be able to talk face to
face as we have talked?"

"I don't know, Gladys.  You see, I can talk face to face with--with the
station-master."  I can't imagine how that official came into the
matter; but in he trotted, and set us both laughing.  "That does not
satisfy me in the least.  I want my arms round you, and your head on my
breast, and--oh, Gladys, I want----"

She had sprung from her chair, as she saw signs that I proposed to
demonstrate some of my wants.  "You've spoiled everything, Ned," she
said.  "It's all so beautiful and natural until this kind of thing
comes in!  It is such a pity!  Why can't you control yourself?"

"I didn't invent it," I pleaded.  "It's nature.  It's love."

"Well, perhaps if both love, it may be different.  I have never felt
it."

"But you must--you, with your beauty, with your soul!  Oh, Gladys, you
were made for love!  You must love!"

"One must wait till it comes."

"But why can't you love me, Gladys?  Is it my appearance, or what?"

She did unbend a little.  She put forward a hand--such a gracious,
stooping attitude it was--and she pressed back my head.  Then she
looked into my upturned face with a very wistful smile.

"No it isn't that," she said at last.  "You're not a conceited boy by
nature, and so I can safely tell you it is not that.  It's deeper."

"My character?"

She nodded severely.

"What can I do to mend it?  Do sit down and talk it over.  No, really,
I won't if you'll only sit down!"

She looked at me with a wondering distrust which was much more to my
mind than her whole-hearted confidence.  How primitive and bestial it
looks when you put it down in black and white!--and perhaps after all
it is only a feeling peculiar to myself.  Anyhow, she sat down.

"Now tell me what's amiss with me?"

"I'm in love with somebody else," said she.

It was my turn to jump out of my chair.

"It's nobody in particular," she explained, laughing at the expression
of my face: "only an ideal.  I've never met the kind of man I mean."

"Tell me about him.  What does he look like?"

"Oh, he might look very much like you."

"How dear of you to say that!  Well, what is it that he does that I
don't do?  Just say the word,--teetotal, vegetarian, aeronaut,
theosophist, superman.  I'll have a try at it, Gladys, if you will only
give me an idea what would please you."

She laughed at the elasticity of my character.  "Well, in the first
place, I don't think my ideal would speak like that," said she.  "He
would be a harder, sterner man, not so ready to adapt himself to a
silly girl's whim.  But, above all, he must be a man who could do, who
could act, who could look Death in the face and have no fear of him, a
man of great deeds and strange experiences.  It is never a man that I
should love, but always the glories he had won; for they would be
reflected upon me.  Think of Richard Burton!  When I read his wife's
life of him I could so understand her love!  And Lady Stanley!  Did you
ever read the wonderful last chapter of that book about her husband?
These are the sort of men that a woman could worship with all her soul,
and yet be the greater, not the less, on account of her love, honored
by all the world as the inspirer of noble deeds."

She looked so beautiful in her enthusiasm that I nearly brought down
the whole level of the interview.  I gripped myself hard, and went on
with the argument.

"We can't all be Stanleys and Burtons," said I; "besides, we don't get
the chance,--at least, I never had the chance.  If I did, I should try
to take it."

"But chances are all around you.  It is the mark of the kind of man I
mean that he makes his own chances.  You can't hold him back.  I've
never met him, and yet I seem to know him so well.  There are heroisms
all round us waiting to be done.  It's for men to do them, and for
women to reserve their love as a reward for such men.  Look at that
young Frenchman who went up last week in a balloon.  It was blowing a
gale of wind; but because he was announced to go he insisted on
starting.  The wind blew him fifteen hundred miles in twenty-four
hours, and he fell in the middle of Russia.  That was the kind of man I
mean.  Think of the woman he loved, and how other women must have
envied her!  That's what I should like to be,--envied for my man."

"I'd have done it to please you."

"But you shouldn't do it merely to please me.  You should do it because
you can't help yourself, because it's natural to you, because the man
in you is crying out for heroic expression.  Now, when you described
the Wigan coal explosion last month, could you not have gone down and
helped those people, in spite of the choke-damp?"

"I did."

"You never said so."

"There was nothing worth bucking about."

"I didn't know."  She looked at me with rather more interest.  "That
was brave of you."

"I had to.  If you want to write good copy, you must be where the
things are."

"What a prosaic motive!  It seems to take all the romance out of it.
But, still, whatever your motive, I am glad that you went down that
mine."  She gave me her hand; but with such sweetness and dignity that
I could only stoop and kiss it.  "I dare say I am merely a foolish
woman with a young girl's fancies.  And yet it is so real with me, so
entirely part of my very self, that I cannot help acting upon it.  If I
marry, I do want to marry a famous man!"

"Why should you not?" I cried.  "It is women like you who brace men up.
Give me a chance, and see if I will take it!  Besides, as you say, men
ought to MAKE their own chances, and not wait until they are given.
Look at Clive--just a clerk, and he conquered India!  By George!  I'll
do something in the world yet!"

She laughed at my sudden Irish effervescence.  "Why not?" she said.
"You have everything a man could have,--youth, health, strength,
education, energy.  I was sorry you spoke.  And now I am glad--so
glad--if it wakens these thoughts in you!"

"And if I do----"

Her dear hand rested like warm velvet upon my lips.  "Not another word,
Sir!  You should have been at the office for evening duty half an hour
ago; only I hadn't the heart to remind you.  Some day, perhaps, when
you have won your place in the world, we shall talk it over again."

And so it was that I found myself that foggy November evening pursuing
the Camberwell tram with my heart glowing within me, and with the eager
determination that not another day should elapse before I should find
some deed which was worthy of my lady.  But who--who in all this wide
world could ever have imagined the incredible shape which that deed was
to take, or the strange steps by which I was led to the doing of it?

And, after all, this opening chapter will seem to the reader to have
nothing to do with my narrative; and yet there would have been no
narrative without it, for it is only when a man goes out into the world
with the thought that there are heroisms all round him, and with the
desire all alive in his heart to follow any which may come within sight
of him, that he breaks away as I did from the life he knows, and
ventures forth into the wonderful mystic twilight land where lie the
great adventures and the great rewards.  Behold me, then, at the office
of the Daily Gazette, on the staff of which I was a most insignificant
unit, with the settled determination that very night, if possible, to
find the quest which should be worthy of my Gladys!  Was it hardness,
was it selfishness, that she should ask me to risk my life for her own
glorification?  Such thoughts may come to middle age; but never to
ardent three-and-twenty in the fever of his first love.




                            

I always liked McArdle, the crabbed, old, round-backed, red-headed news
editor, and I rather hoped that he liked me.  Of course, Beaumont was
the real boss; but he lived in the rarefied atmosphere of some Olympian
height from which he could distinguish nothing smaller than an
international crisis or a split in the Cabinet.  Sometimes we saw him
passing in lonely majesty to his inner sanctum, with his eyes staring
vaguely and his mind hovering over the Balkans or the Persian Gulf.  He
was above and beyond us.  But McArdle was his first lieutenant, and it
was he that we knew.  The old man nodded as I entered the room, and he
pushed his spectacles far up on his bald forehead.

"Well, Mr. Malone, from all I hear, you seem to be doing very well,"
said he in his kindly Scotch accent.

I thanked him.

"The colliery explosion was excellent.  So was the Southwark fire.  You
have the true descreeptive touch.  What did you want to see me about?"

"To ask a favor."

He looked alarmed, and his eyes shunned mine. "Tut, tut!  What is it?"

"Do you think, Sir, that you could possibly send me on some mission for
the paper?  I would do my best to put it through and get you some good
copy."

"What sort of meesion had you in your mind, Mr. Malone?"

"Well, Sir, anything that had adventure and danger in it.  I really
would do my very best.  The more difficult it was, the better it would
suit me."

"You seem very anxious to lose your life."

"To justify my life, Sir."

"Dear me, Mr. Malone, this is very--very exalted.  I'm afraid the day
for this sort of thing is rather past.  The expense of the 'special
meesion' business hardly justifies the result, and, of course, in any
case it would only be an experienced man with a name that would command
public confidence who would get such an order.  The big blank spaces in
the map are all being filled in, and there's no room for romance
anywhere.  Wait a bit, though!" he added, with a sudden smile upon his
face.  "Talking of the blank spaces of the map gives me an idea.  What
about exposing a fraud--a modern Munchausen--and making him
rideeculous?  You could show him up as the liar that he is!  Eh, man,
it would be fine.  How does it appeal to you?"

"Anything--anywhere--I care nothing."

McArdle was plunged in thought for some minutes.

"I wonder whether you could get on friendly--or at least on talking
terms with the fellow," he said, at last.  "You seem to have a sort of
genius for establishing relations with people--seempathy, I suppose, or
animal magnetism, or youthful vitality, or something.  I am conscious
of it myself."

"You are very good, sir."

"So why should you not try your luck with Professor Challenger, of
Enmore Park?"

I dare say I looked a little startled.

"Challenger!" I cried.  "Professor Challenger, the famous zoologist!
Wasn't he the man who broke the skull of Blundell, of the Telegraph?"

The news editor smiled grimly.

"Do you mind?  Didn't you say it was adventures you were after?"

"It is all in the way of business, sir," I answered.

"Exactly.  I don't suppose he can always be so violent as that.  I'm
thinking that Blundell got him at the wrong moment, maybe, or in the
wrong fashion.  You may have better luck, or more tact in handling him.
There's something in your line there, I am sure, and the Gazette should
work it."

"I really know nothing about him," said I.  "I only remember his name
in connection with the police-court proceedings, for striking Blundell."

"I have a few notes for your guidance, Mr. Malone.  I've had my eye on
the Professor for some little time."  He took a paper from a drawer.
"Here is a summary of his record.  I give it you briefly:--

"'Challenger, George Edward.  Born: Largs, N. B., 1863.  Educ.: Largs
Academy; Edinburgh University.  British Museum Assistant, 1892.
Assistant-Keeper of Comparative Anthropology Department, 1893.
Resigned after acrimonious correspondence same year.  Winner of
Crayston Medal for Zoological Research.  Foreign Member of'--well,
quite a lot of things, about two inches of small type--'Societe Belge,
American Academy of Sciences, La Plata, etc., etc.  Ex-President
Palaeontological Society.  Section H, British Association'--so on, so
on!--'Publications: "Some Observations Upon a Series of Kalmuck
Skulls"; "Outlines of Vertebrate Evolution"; and numerous papers,
including "The underlying fallacy of Weissmannism," which caused heated
discussion at the Zoological Congress of Vienna.  Recreations: Walking,
Alpine climbing.  Address: Enmore Park, Kensington, W.'

"There, take it with you.  I've nothing more for you to-night."

I pocketed the slip of paper.

"One moment, sir," I said, as I realized that it was a pink bald head,
and not a red face, which was fronting me.  "I am not very clear yet
why I am to interview this gentleman.  What has he done?"

The face flashed back again.

"Went to South America on a solitary expedeetion two years ago.  Came
back last year.  Had undoubtedly been to South America, but refused to
say exactly where.  Began to tell his adventures in a vague way, but
somebody started to pick holes, and he just shut up like an oyster.
Something wonderful happened--or the man's a champion liar, which is
the more probable supposeetion.  Had some damaged photographs, said to
be fakes.  Got so touchy that he assaults anyone who asks questions,
and heaves reporters down the stairs.  In my opinion he's just a
homicidal megalomaniac with a turn for science.  That's your man, Mr.
Malone.  Now, off you run, and see what you can make of him.  You're
big enough to look after yourself.  Anyway, you are all safe.
Employers' Liability Act, you know."

A grinning red face turned once more into a pink oval, fringed with
gingery fluff; the interview was at an end.

I walked across to the Savage Club, but instead of turning into it I
leaned upon the railings of Adelphi Terrace and gazed thoughtfully for
a long time at the brown, oily river.  I can always think most sanely
and clearly in the open air.  I took out the list of Professor
Challenger's exploits, and I read it over under the electric lamp.
Then I had what I can only regard as an inspiration.  As a Pressman, I
felt sure from what I had been told that I could never hope to get into
touch with this cantankerous Professor.  But these recriminations,
twice mentioned in his skeleton biography, could only mean that he was
a fanatic in science.  Was there not an exposed margin there upon which
he might be accessible?  I would try.

I entered the club.  It was just after eleven, and the big room was
fairly full, though the rush had not yet set in.  I noticed a tall,
thin, angular man seated in an arm-chair by the fire.  He turned as I
drew my chair up to him.  It was the man of all others whom I should
have chosen--Tarp Henry, of the staff of Nature, a thin, dry, leathery
creature, who was full, to those who knew him, of kindly humanity.  I
plunged instantly into my subject.

"What do you know of Professor Challenger?"

"Challenger?" He gathered his brows in scientific disapproval.
"Challenger was the man who came with some cock-and-bull story from
South America."

"What story?"

"Oh, it was rank nonsense about some queer animals he had discovered.
I believe he has retracted since.  Anyhow, he has suppressed it all.
He gave an interview to Reuter's, and there was such a howl that he saw
it wouldn't do.  It was a discreditable business.  There were one or
two folk who were inclined to take him seriously, but he soon choked
them off."

"How?"

"Well, by his insufferable rudeness and impossible behavior.  There was
poor old Wadley, of the Zoological Institute.  Wadley sent a message:
'The President of the Zoological Institute presents his compliments to
Professor Challenger, and would take it as a personal favor if he would
do them the honor to come to their next meeting.'  The answer was
unprintable."

"You don't say?"

"Well, a bowdlerized version of it would run:  'Professor Challenger
presents his compliments to the President of the Zoological Institute,
and would take it as a personal favor if he would go to the devil.'"

"Good Lord!"

"Yes, I expect that's what old Wadley said.  I remember his wail at the
meeting, which began:  'In fifty years experience of scientific
intercourse----'  It quite broke the old man up."

"Anything more about Challenger?"

"Well, I'm a bacteriologist, you know.  I live in a
nine-hundred-diameter microscope.  I can hardly claim to take serious
notice of anything that I can see with my naked eye.  I'm a
frontiersman from the extreme edge of the Knowable, and I feel quite
out of place when I leave my study and come into touch with all you
great, rough, hulking creatures.  I'm too detached to talk scandal, and
yet at scientific conversaziones I HAVE heard something of Challenger,
for he is one of those men whom nobody can ignore.  He's as clever as
they make 'em--a full-charged battery of force and vitality, but a
quarrelsome, ill-conditioned faddist, and unscrupulous at that.  He had
gone the length of faking some photographs over the South American
business."

"You say he is a faddist.  What is his particular fad?"

"He has a thousand, but the latest is something about Weissmann and
Evolution.  He had a fearful row about it in Vienna, I believe."

"Can't you tell me the point?"

"Not at the moment, but a translation of the proceedings exists.  We
have it filed at the office.  Would you care to come?"

"It's just what I want.  I have to interview the fellow, and I need
some lead up to him.  It's really awfully good of you to give me a
lift.  I'll go with you now, if it is not too late."


Half an hour later I was seated in the newspaper office with a huge
tome in front of me, which had been opened at the article "Weissmann
versus Darwin," with the sub heading, "Spirited Protest at Vienna.
Lively Proceedings."  My scientific education having been somewhat
neglected, I was unable to follow the whole argument, but it was
evident that the English Professor had handled his subject in a very
aggressive fashion, and had thoroughly annoyed his Continental
colleagues.  "Protests," "Uproar," and "General appeal to the Chairman"
were three of the first brackets which caught my eye.  Most of the
matter might have been written in Chinese for any definite meaning that
it conveyed to my brain.

"I wish you could translate it into English for me," I said,
pathetically, to my help-mate.

"Well, it is a translation."

"Then I'd better try my luck with the original."

"It is certainly rather deep for a layman."

"If I could only get a single good, meaty sentence which seemed to
convey some sort of definite human idea, it would serve my turn.  Ah,
yes, this one will do.  I seem in a vague way almost to understand it.
I'll copy it out.  This shall be my link with the terrible Professor."

"Nothing else I can do?"

"Well, yes; I propose to write to him.  If I could frame the letter
here, and use your address it would give atmosphere."

"We'll have the fellow round here making a row and breaking the
furniture."

"No, no; you'll see the letter--nothing contentious, I assure you."

"Well, that's my chair and desk.  You'll find paper there.  I'd like to
censor it before it goes."

It took some doing, but I flatter myself that it wasn't such a bad job
when it was finished.  I read it aloud to the critical bacteriologist
with some pride in my handiwork.


"DEAR PROFESSOR CHALLENGER," it said, "As a humble student of Nature, I
have always taken the most profound interest in your speculations as to
the differences between Darwin and Weissmann.  I have recently had
occasion to refresh my memory by re-reading----"


"You infernal liar!" murmured Tarp Henry.


--"by re-reading your masterly address at Vienna.  That lucid and
admirable statement seems to be the last word in the matter.  There is
one sentence in it, however--namely:  'I protest strongly against the
insufferable and entirely dogmatic assertion that each separate id is a
microcosm possessed of an historical architecture elaborated slowly
through the series of generations.' Have you no desire, in view of
later research, to modify this statement?  Do you not think that it is
over-accentuated?  With your permission, I would ask the favor of an
interview, as I feel strongly upon the subject, and have certain
suggestions which I could only elaborate in a personal conversation.
With your consent, I trust to have the honor of calling at eleven
o'clock the day after to-morrow (Wednesday) morning.

"I remain, Sir, with assurances of profound respect, yours very truly,

EDWARD D. MALONE."


"How's that?" I asked, triumphantly.

"Well if your conscience can stand it----"

"It has never failed me yet."

"But what do you mean to do?"

"To get there.  Once I am in his room I may see some opening.  I may
even go the length of open confession.  If he is a sportsman he will be
tickled."

"Tickled, indeed!  He's much more likely to do the tickling.  Chain
mail, or an American football suit--that's what you'll want.  Well,
good-bye.  I'll have the answer for you here on Wednesday morning--if
he ever deigns to answer you.  He is a violent, dangerous, cantankerous
character, hated by everyone who comes across him, and the butt of the
students, so far as they dare take a liberty with him.  Perhaps it
would be best for you if you never heard from the fellow at all."




My friend's fear or hope was not destined to be realized.  When I
called on Wednesday there was a letter with the West Kensington
postmark upon it, and my name scrawled across the envelope in a
handwriting which looked like a barbed-wire railing.  The contents were
as follows:--


                              "ENMORE PARK, W.

"SIR,--I have duly received your note, in which you claim to endorse my
views, although I am not aware that they are dependent upon endorsement
either from you or anyone else.  You have ventured to use the word
'speculation' with regard to my statement upon the subject of
Darwinism, and I would call your attention to the fact that such a word
in such a connection is offensive to a degree.  The context convinces
me, however, that you have sinned rather through ignorance and
tactlessness than through malice, so I am content to pass the matter
by.  You quote an isolated sentence from my lecture, and appear to have
some difficulty in understanding it.  I should have thought that only a
sub-human intelligence could have failed to grasp the point, but if it
really needs amplification I shall consent to see you at the hour
named, though visits and visitors of every sort are exceeding
distasteful to me.  As to your suggestion that I may modify my opinion,
I would have you know that it is not my habit to do so after a
deliberate expression of my mature views.  You will kindly show the
envelope of this letter to my man, Austin, when you call, as he has to
take every precaution to shield me from the intrusive rascals who call
themselves 'journalists.'

                          "Yours faithfully,
                            "GEORGE EDWARD CHALLENGER."


This was the letter that I read aloud to Tarp Henry, who had come down
early to hear the result of my venture.  His only remark was, "There's
some new stuff, cuticura or something, which is better than arnica."
Some people have such extraordinary notions of humor.

It was nearly half-past ten before I had received my message, but a
taxicab took me round in good time for my appointment.  It was an
imposing porticoed house at which we stopped, and the heavily-curtained
windows gave every indication of wealth upon the part of this
formidable Professor.  The door was opened by an odd, swarthy, dried-up
person of uncertain age, with a dark pilot jacket and brown leather
gaiters.  I found afterwards that he was the chauffeur, who filled the
gaps left by a succession of fugitive butlers.  He looked me up and
down with a searching light blue eye.

"Expected?" he asked.

"An appointment."

"Got your letter?"

I produced the envelope.

"Right!"  He seemed to be a person of few words.  Following him down
the passage I was suddenly interrupted by a small woman, who stepped
out from what proved to be the dining-room door.  She was a bright,
vivacious, dark-eyed lady, more French than English in her type.

"One moment," she said.  "You can wait, Austin.  Step in here, sir.
May I ask if you have met my husband before?"

"No, madam, I have not had the honor."

"Then I apologize to you in advance.  I must tell you that he is a
perfectly impossible person--absolutely impossible.  If you are
forewarned you will be the more ready to make allowances."

"It is most considerate of you, madam."

"Get quickly out of the room if he seems inclined to be violent.  Don't
wait to argue with him.  Several people have been injured through doing
that.  Afterwards there is a public scandal and it reflects upon me and
all of us.  I suppose it wasn't about South America you wanted to see
him?"

I could not lie to a lady.

"Dear me!  That is his most dangerous subject.  You won't believe a
word he says--I'm sure I don't wonder.  But don't tell him so, for it
makes him very violent.  Pretend to believe him, and you may get
through all right.  Remember he believes it himself.  Of that you may
be assured.  A more honest man never lived.  Don't wait any longer or
he may suspect.  If you find him dangerous--really dangerous--ring the
bell and hold him off until I come.  Even at his worst I can usually
control him."

With these encouraging words the lady handed me over to the taciturn
Austin, who had waited like a bronze statue of discretion during our
short interview, and I was conducted to the end of the passage.  There
was a tap at a door, a bull's bellow from within, and I was face to
face with the Professor.

He sat in a rotating chair behind a broad table, which was covered with
books, maps, and diagrams.  As I entered, his seat spun round to face
me.  His appearance made me gasp.  I was prepared for something
strange, but not for so overpowering a personality as this.  It was his
size which took one's breath away--his size and his imposing presence.
His head was enormous, the largest I have ever seen upon a human being.
I am sure that his top-hat, had I ever ventured to don it, would have
slipped over me entirely and rested on my shoulders.  He had the face
and beard which I associate with an Assyrian bull; the former florid,
the latter so black as almost to have a suspicion of blue, spade-shaped
and rippling down over his chest.  The hair was peculiar, plastered
down in front in a long, curving wisp over his massive forehead.  The
eyes were blue-gray under great black tufts, very clear, very critical,
and very masterful.  A huge spread of shoulders and a chest like a
barrel were the other parts of him which appeared above the table, save
for two enormous hands covered with long black hair.  This and a
bellowing, roaring, rumbling voice made up my first impression of the
notorious Professor Challenger.

"Well?" said he, with a most insolent stare.  "What now?"

I must keep up my deception for at least a little time longer,
otherwise here was evidently an end of the interview.

"You were good enough to give me an appointment, sir," said I, humbly,
producing his envelope.

He took my letter from his desk and laid it out before him.

"Oh, you are the young person who cannot understand plain English, are
you?  My general conclusions you are good enough to approve, as I
understand?"

"Entirely, sir--entirely!"  I was very emphatic.

"Dear me!  That strengthens my position very much, does it not?  Your
age and appearance make your support doubly valuable.  Well, at least
you are better than that herd of swine in Vienna, whose gregarious
grunt is, however, not more offensive than the isolated effort of the
British hog."  He glared at me as the present representative of the
beast.

"They seem to have behaved abominably," said I.

"I assure you that I can fight my own battles, and that I have no
possible need of your sympathy.  Put me alone, sir, and with my back to
the wall.  G. E. C. is happiest then.  Well, sir, let us do what we can
to curtail this visit, which can hardly be agreeable to you, and is
inexpressibly irksome to me.  You had, as I have been led to believe,
some comments to make upon the proposition which I advanced in my
thesis."

There was a brutal directness about his methods which made evasion
difficult.  I must still make play and wait for a better opening.  It
had seemed simple enough at a distance.  Oh, my Irish wits, could they
not help me now, when I needed help so sorely?  He transfixed me with
two sharp, steely eyes.  "Come, come!" he rumbled.

"I am, of course, a mere student," said I, with a fatuous smile,
"hardly more, I might say, than an earnest inquirer.  At the same time,
it seemed to me that you were a little severe upon Weissmann in this
matter.  Has not the general evidence since that date tended to--well,
to strengthen his position?"

"What evidence?"  He spoke with a menacing calm.

"Well, of course, I am aware that there is not any what you might call
DEFINITE evidence.  I alluded merely to the trend of modern thought and
the general scientific point of view, if I might so express it."

He leaned forward with great earnestness.

"I suppose you are aware," said he, checking off points upon his
fingers, "that the cranial index is a constant factor?"

"Naturally," said I.

"And that telegony is still sub judice?"

"Undoubtedly."

"And that the germ plasm is different from the parthenogenetic egg?"

"Why, surely!" I cried, and gloried in my own audacity.

"But what does that prove?" he asked, in a gentle, persuasive voice.

"Ah, what indeed?" I murmured.  "What does it prove?"

"Shall I tell you?" he cooed.

"Pray do."

"It proves," he roared, with a sudden blast of fury, "that you are the
damnedest imposter in London--a vile, crawling journalist, who has no
more science than he has decency in his composition!"

He had sprung to his feet with a mad rage in his eyes.  Even at that
moment of tension I found time for amazement at the discovery that he
was quite a short man, his head not higher than my shoulder--a stunted
Hercules whose tremendous vitality had all run to depth, breadth, and
brain.

"Gibberish!" he cried, leaning forward, with his fingers on the table
and his face projecting.  "That's what I have been talking to you,
sir--scientific gibberish!  Did you think you could match cunning with
me--you with your walnut of a brain?  You think you are omnipotent, you
infernal scribblers, don't you?  That your praise can make a man and
your blame can break him?  We must all bow to you, and try to get a
favorable word, must we?  This man shall have a leg up, and this man
shall have a dressing down!  Creeping vermin, I know you!  You've got
out of your station.  Time was when your ears were clipped.  You've
lost your sense of proportion.  Swollen gas-bags!  I'll keep you in
your proper place.  Yes, sir, you haven't got over G. E. C.  There's
one man who is still your master.  He warned you off, but if you WILL
come, by the Lord you do it at your own risk.  Forfeit, my good Mr.
Malone, I claim forfeit!  You have played a rather dangerous game, and
it strikes me that you have lost it."

"Look here, sir," said I, backing to the door and opening it; "you can
be as abusive as you like.  But there is a limit.  You shall not
assault me."

"Shall I not?"  He was slowly advancing in a peculiarly menacing way,
but he stopped now and put his big hands into the side-pockets of a
rather boyish short jacket which he wore.  "I have thrown several of
you out of the house.  You will be the fourth or fifth.  Three pound
fifteen each--that is how it averaged.  Expensive, but very necessary.
Now, sir, why should you not follow your brethren?  I rather think you
must."  He resumed his unpleasant and stealthy advance, pointing his
toes as he walked, like a dancing master.

I could have bolted for the hall door, but it would have been too
ignominious.  Besides, a little glow of righteous anger was springing
up within me.  I had been hopelessly in the wrong before, but this
man's menaces were putting me in the right.

"I'll trouble you to keep your hands off, sir.  I'll not stand it."

"Dear me!"  His black moustache lifted and a white fang twinkled in a
sneer.  "You won't stand it, eh?"

"Don't be such a fool, Professor!" I cried.  "What can you hope for?
I'm fifteen stone, as hard as nails, and play center three-quarter
every Saturday for the London Irish.  I'm not the man----"

It was at that moment that he rushed me.  It was lucky that I had
opened the door, or we should have gone through it.  We did a
Catharine-wheel together down the passage.  Somehow we gathered up a
chair upon our way, and bounded on with it towards the street.  My
mouth was full of  his beard, our arms were locked, our bodies
intertwined, and that infernal chair radiated its legs all round us.
The watchful Austin had thrown open the hall door.  We went with a back
somersault down the front steps.  I have seen the two Macs attempt
something of the kind at the halls, but it appears to take some
practise to do it without hurting oneself.  The chair went to matchwood
at the bottom, and we rolled apart into the gutter.  He sprang to his
feet, waving his fists and wheezing like an asthmatic.

"Had enough?" he panted.

"You infernal bully!" I cried, as I gathered myself together.

Then and there we should have tried the thing out, for he was
effervescing with fight, but fortunately I was rescued from an odious
situation.  A policeman was beside us, his notebook in his hand.

"What's all this?  You ought to be ashamed" said the policeman.  It was
the most rational remark which I had heard in Enmore Park.  "Well," he
insisted, turning to me, "what is it, then?"

"This man attacked me," said I.

"Did you attack him?" asked the policeman.

The Professor breathed hard and said nothing.

"It's not the first time, either," said the policeman, severely,
shaking his head.  "You were in trouble last month for the same thing.
You've blackened this young man's eye.  Do you give him in charge, sir?"

I relented.

"No," said I, "I do not."

"What's that?" said the policeman.

"I was to blame myself.  I intruded upon him.  He gave me fair warning."

The policeman snapped up his notebook.

"Don't let us have any more such goings-on," said he.  "Now, then!
Move on, there, move on!"  This to a butcher's boy, a maid, and one or
two loafers who had collected.  He clumped heavily down the street,
driving this little flock before him.  The Professor looked at me, and
there was something humorous at the back of his eyes.

"Come in!" said he.  "I've not done with you yet."

The speech had a sinister sound, but I followed him none the less into
the house.  The man-servant, Austin, like a wooden image, closed the
door behind us.




Hardly was it shut when Mrs. Challenger darted out from the
dining-room.  The small woman was in a furious temper.  She barred her
husband's way like an enraged chicken in front of a bulldog.  It was
evident that she had seen my exit, but had not observed my return.

"You brute, George!" she screamed.  "You've hurt that nice young man."

He jerked backwards with his thumb.

"Here he is, safe and sound behind me."

She was confused, but not unduly so.

"I am so sorry, I didn't see you."

"I assure you, madam, that it is all right."

"He has marked your poor face!  Oh, George, what a brute you are!
Nothing but scandals from one end of the week to the other.  Everyone
hating and making fun of you.  You've finished my patience.  This ends
it."

"Dirty linen," he rumbled.

"It's not a secret," she cried.  "Do you suppose that the whole
street--the whole of London, for that matter----  Get away, Austin, we
don't want you here.  Do you suppose they don't all talk about you?
Where is your dignity?  You, a man who should have been Regius
Professor at a great University with a thousand students all revering
you.  Where is your dignity, George?"

"How about yours, my dear?"

"You try me too much.  A ruffian--a common brawling ruffian--that's
what you have become."

"Be good, Jessie."

"A roaring, raging bully!"

"That's done it!  Stool of penance!" said he.

To my amazement he stooped, picked her up, and placed her sitting upon
a high pedestal of black marble in the angle of the hall.  It was at
least seven feet high, and so thin that she could hardly balance upon
it.  A more absurd object than she presented cocked up there with her
face convulsed with anger, her feet dangling, and her body rigid for
fear of an upset, I could not imagine.

"Let me down!" she wailed.

"Say 'please.'"

"You brute, George!  Let me down this instant!"

"Come into the study, Mr. Malone."

"Really, sir----!" said I, looking at the lady.

"Here's Mr. Malone pleading for you, Jessie.  Say 'please,' and down
you come."

"Oh, you brute!  Please! please!"

He took her down as if she had been a canary.

"You must behave yourself, dear.  Mr. Malone is a Pressman.  He will
have it all in his rag to-morrow, and sell an extra dozen among our
neighbors.  'Strange story of high life'--you felt fairly high on that
pedestal, did you not?  Then a sub-title, 'Glimpse of a singular
menage.'  He's a foul feeder, is Mr. Malone, a carrion eater, like all
of his kind--porcus ex grege diaboli--a swine from the devil's herd.
That's it, Malone--what?"

"You are really intolerable!" said I, hotly.

He bellowed with laughter.

"We shall have a coalition presently," he boomed, looking from his wife
to me and puffing out his enormous chest.  Then, suddenly altering his
tone, "Excuse this frivolous family badinage, Mr. Malone.  I called you
back for some more serious purpose than to mix you up with our little
domestic pleasantries.  Run away, little woman, and don't fret."  He
placed a huge hand upon each of her shoulders.  "All that you say is
perfectly true.  I should be a better man if I did what you advise, but
I shouldn't be quite George Edward Challenger.  There are plenty of
better men, my dear, but only one G. E. C.  So make the best of him."
He suddenly gave her a resounding kiss, which embarrassed me even more
than his violence had done.  "Now, Mr. Malone," he continued, with a
great accession of dignity, "this way, if YOU please."

We re-entered the room which we had left so tumultuously ten minutes
before.  The Professor closed the door carefully behind us, motioned me
into an arm-chair, and pushed a cigar-box under my nose.

"Real San Juan Colorado," he said.  "Excitable people like you are the
better for narcotics.  Heavens! don't bite it!  Cut--and cut with
reverence!  Now lean back, and listen attentively to whatever I may
care to say to you.  If any remark should occur to you, you can reserve
it for some more opportune time.

"First of all, as to your return to my house after your most
justifiable expulsion"--he protruded his beard, and stared at me as one
who challenges and invites contradiction--"after, as I say, your
well-merited expulsion.  The reason lay in your answer to that most
officious policeman, in which I seemed to discern some glimmering of
good feeling upon your part--more, at any rate, than I am accustomed to
associate with your profession.  In admitting that the fault of the
incident lay with you, you gave some evidence of a certain mental
detachment and breadth of view which attracted my favorable notice.
The sub-species of the human race to which you unfortunately belong has
always been below my mental horizon.  Your words brought you suddenly
above it.  You swam up into my serious notice.  For this reason I asked
you to return with me, as I was minded to make your further
acquaintance.  You will kindly deposit your ash in the small Japanese
tray on the bamboo table which stands at your left elbow."

All this he boomed forth like a professor addressing his class.  He had
swung round his revolving chair so as to face me, and he sat all puffed
out like an enormous bull-frog, his head laid back and his eyes
half-covered by supercilious lids.  Now he suddenly turned himself
sideways, and all I could see of him was tangled hair with a red,
protruding ear.  He was scratching about among the litter of papers
upon his desk.  He faced me presently with what looked like a very
tattered sketch-book in his hand.

"I am going to talk to you about South America," said he.  "No comments
if you please.  First of all, I wish you to understand that nothing I
tell you now is to be repeated in any public way unless you have my
express permission.  That permission will, in all human probability,
never be given.  Is that clear?"

"It is very hard," said I. "Surely a judicious account----"

He replaced the notebook upon the table.

"That ends it," said he.  "I wish you a very good morning."

"No, no!" I cried.  "I submit to any conditions.  So far as I can see,
I have no choice."

"None in the world," said he.

"Well, then, I promise."

"Word of honor?"

"Word of honor."

He looked at me with doubt in his insolent eyes.

"After all, what do I know about your honor?" said he.

"Upon my word, sir," I cried, angrily, "you take very great liberties!
I have never been so insulted in my life."

He seemed more interested than annoyed at my outbreak.

"Round-headed," he muttered.  "Brachycephalic, gray-eyed, black-haired,
with suggestion of the negroid.  Celtic, I presume?"

"I am an Irishman, sir."

"Irish Irish?"

"Yes, sir."

"That, of course, explains it.  Let me see; you have given me your
promise that my confidence will be respected?  That confidence, I may
say, will be far from complete.  But I am prepared to give you a few
indications which will be of interest.  In the first place, you are
probably aware that two years ago I made a journey to South
America--one which will be classical in the scientific history of the
world?  The object of my journey was to verify some conclusions of
Wallace and of Bates, which could only be done by observing their
reported facts under the same conditions in which they had themselves
noted them.  If my expedition had no other results it would still have
been noteworthy, but a curious incident occurred to me while there
which opened up an entirely fresh line of inquiry.

"You are aware--or probably, in this half-educated age, you are not
aware--that the country round some parts of the Amazon is still only
partially explored, and that a great number of tributaries, some of
them entirely uncharted, run into the main river.  It was my business
to visit this little-known back-country and to examine its fauna, which
furnished me with the materials for several chapters for that great and
monumental work upon zoology which will be my life's justification.  I
was returning, my work accomplished, when I had occasion to spend a
night at a small Indian village at a point where a certain
tributary--the name and position of which I withhold--opens into the
main river.  The natives were Cucama Indians, an amiable but degraded
race, with mental powers hardly superior to the average Londoner.  I
had effected some cures among them upon my way up the river, and had
impressed them considerably with my personality, so that I was not
surprised to find myself eagerly awaited upon my return.  I gathered
from their signs that someone had urgent need of my medical services,
and I followed the chief to one of his huts.  When I entered I found
that the sufferer to whose aid I had been summoned had that instant
expired.  He was, to my surprise, no Indian, but a white man; indeed, I
may say a very white man, for he was flaxen-haired and had some
characteristics of an albino.  He was clad in rags, was very emaciated,
and bore every trace of prolonged hardship.  So far as I could
understand the account of the natives, he was a complete stranger to
them, and had come upon their village through the woods alone and in
the last stage of exhaustion.

"The man's knapsack lay beside the couch, and I examined the contents.
His name was written upon a tab within it--Maple White, Lake Avenue,
Detroit, Michigan.  It is a name to which I am prepared always to lift
my hat.  It is not too much to say that it will rank level with my own
when the final credit of this business comes to be apportioned.

"From the contents of the knapsack it was evident that this man had
been an artist and poet in search of effects.  There were scraps of
verse.  I do not profess to be a judge of such things, but they
appeared to me to be singularly wanting in merit.  There were also some
rather commonplace pictures of river scenery, a paint-box, a box of
colored chalks, some brushes, that curved bone which lies upon my
inkstand, a volume of Baxter's 'Moths and Butterflies,' a cheap
revolver, and a few cartridges.  Of personal equipment he either had
none or he had lost it in his journey.  Such were the total effects of
this strange American Bohemian.

"I was turning away from him when I observed that something projected
from the front of his ragged jacket.  It was this sketch-book, which
was as dilapidated then as you see it now.  Indeed, I can assure you
that a first folio of Shakespeare could not be treated with greater
reverence than this relic has been since it came into my possession.  I
hand it to you now, and I ask you to take it page by page and to
examine the contents."

He helped himself to a cigar and leaned back with a fiercely critical
pair of eyes, taking note of the effect which this document would
produce.

I had opened the volume with some expectation of a revelation, though
of what nature I could not imagine.  The first page was disappointing,
however, as it contained nothing but the picture of a very fat man in a
pea-jacket, with the legend, "Jimmy Colver on the Mail-boat," written
beneath it.  There followed several pages which were filled with small
sketches of Indians and their ways.  Then came a picture of a cheerful
and corpulent ecclesiastic in a shovel hat, sitting opposite a very
thin European, and the inscription:  "Lunch with Fra Cristofero at
Rosario."  Studies of women and babies accounted for several more
pages, and then there was an unbroken series of animal drawings with
such explanations as "Manatee upon Sandbank," "Turtles and Their Eggs,"
"Black Ajouti under a Miriti Palm"--the matter disclosing some sort of
pig-like animal; and finally came a double page of studies of
long-snouted and very unpleasant saurians.  I could make nothing of it,
and said so to the Professor.

"Surely these are only crocodiles?"

"Alligators!  Alligators!  There is hardly such a thing as a true
crocodile in South America.  The distinction between them----"

"I meant that I could see nothing unusual--nothing to justify what you
have said."

He smiled serenely.

"Try the next page," said he.

I was still unable to sympathize.  It was a full-page sketch of a
landscape roughly tinted in color--the kind of painting which an
open-air artist takes as a guide to a future more elaborate effort.
There was a pale-green foreground of feathery vegetation, which sloped
upwards and ended in a line of cliffs dark red in color, and curiously
ribbed like some basaltic formations which I have seen.  They extended
in an unbroken wall right across the background.  At one point was an
isolated pyramidal rock, crowned by a great tree, which appeared to be
separated by a cleft from the main crag.  Behind it all, a blue
tropical sky.  A thin green line of vegetation fringed the summit of
the ruddy cliff.

"Well?" he asked.

"It is no doubt a curious formation," said I "but I am not geologist
enough to say that it is wonderful."

"Wonderful!" he repeated.  "It is unique.  It is incredible.  No one on
earth has ever dreamed of such a possibility.  Now the next."

I turned it over, and gave an exclamation of surprise.  There was a
full-page picture of the most extraordinary creature that I had ever
seen.  It was the wild dream of an opium smoker, a vision of delirium.
The head was like that of a fowl, the body that of a bloated lizard,
the trailing tail was furnished with upward-turned spikes, and the
curved back was edged with a high serrated fringe, which looked like a
dozen cocks' wattles placed behind each other.  In front of this
creature was an absurd mannikin, or dwarf, in human form, who stood
staring at it.

"Well, what do you think of that?" cried the Professor, rubbing his
hands with an air of triumph.

"It is monstrous--grotesque."

"But what made him draw such an animal?"

"Trade gin, I should think."

"Oh, that's the best explanation you can give, is it?"

"Well, sir, what is yours?"

"The obvious one that the creature exists.  That is actually sketched
from the life."

I should have laughed only that I had a vision of our doing another
Catharine-wheel down the passage.

"No doubt," said I, "no doubt," as one humors an imbecile.  "I confess,
however," I added, "that this tiny human figure puzzles me.  If it were
an Indian we could set it down as evidence of some pigmy race in
America, but it appears to be a European in a sun-hat."

The Professor snorted like an angry buffalo.  "You really touch the
limit," said he.  "You enlarge my view of the possible.  Cerebral
paresis!  Mental inertia!  Wonderful!"

He was too absurd to make me angry.  Indeed, it was a waste of energy,
for if you were going to be angry with this man you would be angry all
the time.  I contented myself with smiling wearily.  "It struck me that
the man was small," said I.

"Look here!" he cried, leaning forward and dabbing a great hairy
sausage of a finger on to the picture.  "You see that plant behind the
animal; I suppose you thought it was a dandelion or a Brussels
sprout--what?  Well, it is a vegetable ivory palm, and they run to
about fifty or sixty feet.  Don't you see that the man is put in for a
purpose?  He couldn't really have stood in front of that brute and
lived to draw it.  He sketched himself in to give a scale of heights.
He was, we will say, over five feet high.  The tree is ten times
bigger, which is what one would expect."

"Good heavens!" I cried.  "Then you think the beast was---- Why,
Charing Cross station would hardly make a kennel for such a brute!"

"Apart from exaggeration, he is certainly a well-grown specimen," said
the Professor, complacently.

"But," I cried, "surely the whole experience of the human race is not
to be set aside on account of a single sketch"--I had turned over the
leaves and ascertained that there was nothing more in the book--"a
single sketch by a wandering American artist who may have done it under
hashish, or in the delirium of fever, or simply in order to gratify a
freakish imagination.  You can't, as a man of science, defend such a
position as that."

For answer the Professor took a book down from a shelf.

"This is an excellent monograph by my gifted friend, Ray Lankester!"
said he.  "There is an illustration here which would interest you.  Ah,
yes, here it is!  The inscription beneath it runs:  'Probable
appearance in life of the Jurassic Dinosaur Stegosaurus.  The hind leg
alone is twice as tall as a full-grown man.'  Well, what do you make of
that?"

He handed me the open book.  I started as I looked at the picture.  In
this reconstructed animal of a dead world there was certainly a very
great resemblance to the sketch of the unknown artist.

"That is certainly remarkable," said I.

"But you won't admit that it is final?"

"Surely it might be a coincidence, or this American may have seen a
picture of the kind and carried it in his memory.  It would be likely
to recur to a man in a delirium."

"Very good," said the Professor, indulgently; "we leave it at that.  I
will now ask you to look at this bone." He handed over the one which he
had already described as part of the dead man's possessions.  It was
about six inches long, and thicker than my thumb, with some indications
of dried cartilage at one end of it.

"To what known creature does that bone belong?" asked the Professor.

I examined it with care and tried to recall some half-forgotten
knowledge.

"It might be a very thick human collar-bone," I said.

My companion waved his hand in contemptuous deprecation.

"The human collar-bone is curved.  This is straight.  There is a groove
upon its surface showing that a great tendon played across it, which
could not be the case with a clavicle."

"Then I must confess that I don't know what it is."

"You need not be ashamed to expose your ignorance, for I don't suppose
the whole South Kensington staff could give a name to it." He took a
little bone the size of a bean out of a pill-box.  "So far as I am a
judge this human bone is the analogue of the one which you hold in your
hand.  That will give you some idea of the size of the creature.  You
will observe from the cartilage that this is no fossil specimen, but
recent.  What do you say to that?"

"Surely in an elephant----"

He winced as if in pain.

"Don't!  Don't talk of elephants in South America.  Even in these days
of Board schools----"

"Well," I interrupted, "any large South American animal--a tapir, for
example."

"You may take it, young man, that I am versed in the elements of my
business.  This is not a conceivable bone either of a tapir or of any
other creature known to zoology.  It belongs to a very large, a very
strong, and, by all analogy, a very fierce animal which exists upon the
face of the earth, but has not yet come under the notice of science.
You are still unconvinced?"

"I am at least deeply interested."

"Then your case is not hopeless.  I feel that there is reason lurking
in you somewhere, so we will patiently grope round for it.  We will now
leave the dead American and proceed with my narrative.  You can imagine
that I could hardly come away from the Amazon without probing deeper
into the matter.  There were indications as to the direction from which
the dead traveler had come.  Indian legends would alone have been my
guide, for I found that rumors of a strange land were common among all
the riverine tribes.  You have heard, no doubt, of Curupuri?"

"Never."

"Curupuri is the spirit of the woods, something terrible, something
malevolent, something to be avoided.  None can describe its shape or
nature, but it is a word of terror along the Amazon.  Now all tribes
agree as to the direction in which Curupuri lives.  It was the same
direction from which the American had come.  Something terrible lay
that way.  It was my business to find out what it was."

"What did you do?"  My flippancy was all gone.  This massive man
compelled one's attention and respect.

"I overcame the extreme reluctance of the natives--a reluctance which
extends even to talk upon the subject--and by judicious persuasion and
gifts, aided, I will admit, by some threats of coercion, I got two of
them to act as guides.  After many adventures which I need not
describe, and after traveling a distance which I will not mention, in a
direction which I withhold, we came at last to a tract of country which
has never been described, nor, indeed, visited save by my unfortunate
predecessor.  Would you kindly look at this?"

He handed me a photograph--half-plate size.

"The unsatisfactory appearance of it is due to the fact," said he,
"that on descending the river the boat was upset and the case which
contained the undeveloped films was broken, with disastrous results.
Nearly all of them were totally ruined--an irreparable loss.  This is
one of the few which partially escaped.  This explanation of
deficiencies or abnormalities you will kindly accept.  There was talk
of faking.  I am not in a mood to argue such a point."

The photograph was certainly very off-colored.  An unkind critic might
easily have misinterpreted that dim surface.  It was a dull gray
landscape, and as I gradually deciphered the details of it I realized
that it represented a long and enormously high line of cliffs exactly
like an immense cataract seen in the distance, with a sloping,
tree-clad plain in the foreground.

"I believe it is the same place as the painted picture," said I.

"It is the same place," the Professor answered.  "I found traces of the
fellow's camp.  Now look at this."

It was a nearer view of the same scene, though the photograph was
extremely defective.  I could distinctly see the isolated, tree-crowned
pinnacle of rock which was detached from the crag.

"I have no doubt of it at all," said I.

"Well, that is something gained," said he.  "We progress, do we not?
Now, will you please look at the top of that rocky pinnacle?  Do you
observe something there?"

"An enormous tree."

"But on the tree?"

"A large bird," said I.

He handed me a lens.

"Yes," I said, peering through it, "a large bird stands on the tree.
It appears to have a considerable beak.  I should say it was a pelican."

"I cannot congratulate you upon your eyesight," said the Professor.
"It is not a pelican, nor, indeed, is it a bird.  It may interest you
to know that I succeeded in shooting that particular specimen.  It was
the only absolute proof of my experiences which I was able to bring
away with me."

"You have it, then?"  Here at last was tangible corroboration.

"I had it.  It was unfortunately lost with so much else in the same
boat accident which ruined my photographs.  I clutched at it as it
disappeared in the swirl of the rapids, and part of its wing was left
in my hand.  I was insensible when washed ashore, but the miserable
remnant of my superb specimen was still intact; I now lay it before
you."

From a drawer he produced what seemed to me to be the upper portion of
the wing of a large bat.  It was at least two feet in length, a curved
bone, with a membranous veil beneath it.

"A monstrous bat!" I suggested.

"Nothing of the sort," said the Professor, severely.  "Living, as I do,
in an educated and scientific atmosphere, I could not have conceived
that the first principles of zoology were so little known.  Is it
possible that you do not know the elementary fact in comparative
anatomy, that the wing of a bird is really the forearm, while the wing
of a bat consists of three elongated fingers with membranes between?
Now, in this case, the bone is certainly not the forearm, and you can
see for yourself that this is a single membrane hanging upon a single
bone, and therefore that it cannot belong to a bat.  But if it is
neither bird nor bat, what is it?"

My small stock of knowledge was exhausted.

"I really do not know," said I.

He opened the standard work to which he had already referred me.

"Here," said he, pointing to the picture of an extraordinary flying
monster, "is an excellent reproduction of the dimorphodon, or
pterodactyl, a flying reptile of the Jurassic period.  On the next page
is a diagram of the mechanism of its wing.  Kindly compare it with the
specimen in your hand."

A wave of amazement passed over me as I looked.  I was convinced.
There could be no getting away from it.  The cumulative proof was
overwhelming.  The sketch, the photographs, the narrative, and now the
actual specimen--the evidence was complete.  I said so--I said so
warmly, for I felt that the Professor was an ill-used man.  He leaned
back in his chair with drooping eyelids and a tolerant smile, basking
in this sudden gleam of sunshine.

"It's just the very biggest thing that I ever heard of!" said I, though
it was my journalistic rather than my scientific enthusiasm that was
roused.  "It is colossal.  You are a Columbus of science who has
discovered a lost world.  I'm awfully sorry if I seemed to doubt you.
It was all so unthinkable.  But I understand evidence when I see it,
and this should be good enough for anyone."

The Professor purred with satisfaction.

"And then, sir, what did you do next?"

"It was the wet season, Mr. Malone, and my stores were exhausted.  I
explored some portion of this huge cliff, but I was unable to find any
way to scale it.  The pyramidal rock upon which I saw and shot the
pterodactyl was more accessible.  Being something of a cragsman, I did
manage to get half way to the top of that.  From that height I had a
better idea of the plateau upon the top of the crags.  It appeared to
be very large; neither to east nor to west could I see any end to the
vista of green-capped cliffs.  Below, it is a swampy, jungly region,
full of snakes, insects, and fever.  It is a natural protection to this
singular country."

"Did you see any other trace of life?"

"No, sir, I did not; but during the week that we lay encamped at the
base of the cliff we heard some very strange noises from above."

"But the creature that the American drew?  How do you account for that?"

"We can only suppose that he must have made his way to the summit and
seen it there.  We know, therefore, that there is a way up.  We know
equally that it must be a very difficult one, otherwise the creatures
would have come down and overrun the surrounding country.  Surely that
is clear?"

"But how did they come to be there?"

"I do not think that the problem is a very obscure one," said the
Professor; "there can only be one explanation.  South America is, as
you may have heard, a granite continent.  At this single point in the
interior there has been, in some far distant age, a great, sudden
volcanic upheaval.  These cliffs, I may remark, are basaltic, and
therefore plutonic.  An area, as large perhaps as Sussex, has been
lifted up en bloc with all its living contents, and cut off by
perpendicular precipices of a hardness which defies erosion from all
the rest of the continent.  What is the result?  Why, the ordinary laws
of Nature are suspended.  The various checks which influence the
struggle for existence in the world at large are all neutralized or
altered.  Creatures survive which would otherwise disappear.  You will
observe that both the pterodactyl and the stegosaurus are Jurassic, and
therefore of a great age in the order of life.  They have been
artificially conserved by those strange accidental conditions."

"But surely your evidence is conclusive.  You have only to lay it
before the proper authorities."

"So in my simplicity, I had imagined," said the Professor, bitterly.
"I can only tell you that it was not so, that I was met at every turn
by incredulity, born partly of stupidity and partly of jealousy.  It is
not my nature, sir, to cringe to any man, or to seek to prove a fact if
my word has been doubted.  After the first I have not condescended to
show such corroborative proofs as I possess.  The subject became
hateful to me--I would not speak of it.  When men like yourself, who
represent the foolish curiosity of the public, came to disturb my
privacy I was unable to meet them with dignified reserve.  By nature I
am, I admit, somewhat fiery, and under provocation I am inclined to be
violent.  I fear you may have remarked it."

I nursed my eye and was silent.

"My wife has frequently remonstrated with me upon the subject, and yet
I fancy that any man of honor would feel the same.  To-night, however,
I propose to give an extreme example of the control of the will over
the emotions.  I invite you to be present at the exhibition."  He
handed me a card from his desk.  "You will perceive that Mr. Percival
Waldron, a naturalist of some popular repute, is announced to lecture
at eight-thirty at the Zoological Institute's Hall upon 'The Record of
the Ages.' I have been specially invited to be present upon the
platform, and to move a vote of thanks to the lecturer.  While doing
so, I shall make it my business, with infinite tact and delicacy, to
throw out a few remarks which may arouse the interest of the audience
and cause some of them to desire to go more deeply into the matter.
Nothing contentious, you understand, but only an indication that there
are greater deeps beyond.  I shall hold myself strongly in leash, and
see whether by this self-restraint I attain a more favorable result."

"And I may come?" I asked eagerly.

"Why, surely," he answered, cordially.  He had an enormously massive
genial manner, which was almost as overpowering as his violence.  His
smile of benevolence was a wonderful thing, when his cheeks would
suddenly bunch into two red apples, between his half-closed eyes and
his great black beard.  "By all means, come.  It will be a comfort to
me to know that I have one ally in the hall, however inefficient and
ignorant of the subject he may be.  I fancy there will be a large
audience, for Waldron, though an absolute charlatan, has a considerable
popular following.  Now, Mr. Malone, I have given you rather more of my
time than I had intended.  The individual must not monopolize what is
meant for the world.  I shall be pleased to see you at the lecture
to-night.  In the meantime, you will understand that no public use is
to be made of any of the material that I have given you."

"But Mr. McArdle--my news editor, you know--will want to know what I
have done."

"Tell him what you like.  You can say, among other things, that if he
sends anyone else to intrude upon me I shall call upon him with a
riding-whip.  But I leave it to you that nothing of all this appears in
print.  Very good.  Then the Zoological Institute's Hall at
eight-thirty to-night."  I had a last impression of red cheeks, blue
rippling beard, and intolerant eyes, as he waved me out of the room.





What with the physical shocks incidental to my first interview with
Professor Challenger and the mental ones which accompanied the second,
I was a somewhat demoralized journalist by the time I found myself in
Enmore Park once more.  In my aching head the one thought was throbbing
that there really was truth in this man's story, that it was of
tremendous consequence, and that it would work up into inconceivable
copy for the Gazette when I could obtain permission to use it.  A
taxicab was waiting at the end of the road, so I sprang into it and
drove down to the office.  McArdle was at his post as usual.

"Well," he cried, expectantly, "what may it run to?  I'm thinking,
young man, you have been in the wars.  Don't tell me that he assaulted
you."

"We had a little difference at first."

"What a man it is!  What did you do?"

"Well, he became more reasonable and we had a chat.  But I got nothing
out of him--nothing for publication."

"I'm not so sure about that.  You got a black eye out of him, and
that's for publication.  We can't have this reign of terror, Mr.
Malone.  We must bring the man to his bearings.  I'll have a leaderette
on him to-morrow that will raise a blister.  Just give me the material
and I will engage to brand the fellow for ever.  Professor
Munchausen--how's that for an inset headline?  Sir John Mandeville
redivivus--Cagliostro--all the imposters and bullies in history.  I'll
show him up for the fraud he is."

"I wouldn't do that, sir."

"Why not?"

"Because he is not a fraud at all."

"What!" roared McArdle.  "You don't mean to say you really believe this
stuff of his about mammoths and mastodons and great sea sairpents?"

"Well, I don't know about that.  I don't think he makes any claims of
that kind.  But I do believe he has got something new."

"Then for Heaven's sake, man, write it up!"

"I'm longing to, but all I know he gave me in confidence and on
condition that I didn't."  I condensed into a few sentences the
Professor's narrative.  "That's how it stands."

McArdle looked deeply incredulous.

"Well, Mr. Malone," he said at last, "about this scientific meeting
to-night; there can be no privacy about that, anyhow.  I don't suppose
any paper will want to report it, for Waldron has been reported already
a dozen times, and no one is aware that Challenger will speak.  We may
get a scoop, if we are lucky.  You'll be there in any case, so you'll
just give us a pretty full report.  I'll keep space up to midnight."

My day was a busy one, and I had an early dinner at the Savage Club
with Tarp Henry, to whom I gave some account of my adventures.  He
listened with a sceptical smile on his gaunt face, and roared with
laughter on hearing that the Professor had convinced me.

"My dear chap, things don't happen like that in real life.  People
don't stumble upon enormous discoveries and then lose their evidence.
Leave that to the novelists.  The fellow is as full of tricks as the
monkey-house at the Zoo.  It's all bosh."

"But the American poet?"

"He never existed."

"I saw his sketch-book."

"Challenger's sketch-book."

"You think he drew that animal?"

"Of course he did.  Who else?"

"Well, then, the photographs?"

"There was nothing in the photographs.  By your own admission you only
saw a bird."

"A pterodactyl."

"That's what HE says.  He put the pterodactyl into your head."

"Well, then, the bones?"

"First one out of an Irish stew.  Second one vamped up for the
occasion.  If you are clever and know your business you can fake a bone
as easily as you can a photograph."

I began to feel uneasy.  Perhaps, after all, I had been premature in my
acquiescence.  Then I had a sudden happy thought.

"Will you come to the meeting?" I asked.

Tarp Henry looked thoughtful.

"He is not a popular person, the genial Challenger," said he.  "A lot
of people have accounts to settle with him.  I should say he is about
the best-hated man in London.  If the medical students turn out there
will be no end of a rag.  I don't want to get into a bear-garden."

"You might at least do him the justice to hear him state his own case."

"Well, perhaps it's only fair.  All right.  I'm your man for the
evening."

When we arrived at the hall we found a much greater concourse than I
had expected.  A line of electric broughams discharged their little
cargoes of white-bearded professors, while the dark stream of humbler
pedestrians, who crowded through the arched door-way, showed that the
audience would be popular as well as scientific.  Indeed, it became
evident to us as soon as we had taken our seats that a youthful and
even boyish spirit was abroad in the gallery and the back portions of
the hall.  Looking behind me, I could see rows of faces of the familiar
medical student type.  Apparently the great hospitals had each sent
down their contingent.  The behavior of the audience at present was
good-humored, but mischievous.  Scraps of popular songs were chorused
with an enthusiasm which was a strange prelude to a scientific lecture,
and there was already a tendency to personal chaff which promised a
jovial evening to others, however embarrassing it might be to the
recipients of these dubious honors.

Thus, when old Doctor Meldrum, with his well-known curly-brimmed
opera-hat, appeared upon the platform, there was such a universal query
of "Where DID you get that tile?" that he hurriedly removed it, and
concealed it furtively under his chair.  When gouty Professor Wadley
limped down to his seat there were general affectionate inquiries from
all parts of the hall as to the exact state of his poor toe, which
caused him obvious embarrassment.  The greatest demonstration of all,
however, was at the entrance of my new acquaintance, Professor
Challenger, when he passed down to take his place at the extreme end of
the front row of the platform.  Such a yell of welcome broke forth when
his black beard first protruded round the corner that I began to
suspect Tarp Henry was right in his surmise, and that this assemblage
was there not merely for the sake of the lecture, but because it had
got rumored abroad that the famous Professor would take part in the
proceedings.

There was some sympathetic laughter on his entrance among the front
benches of well-dressed spectators, as though the demonstration of the
students in this instance was not unwelcome to them.  That greeting
was, indeed, a frightful outburst of sound, the uproar of the carnivora
cage when the step of the bucket-bearing keeper is heard in the
distance.  There was an offensive tone in it, perhaps, and yet in the
main it struck me as mere riotous outcry, the noisy reception of one
who amused and interested them, rather than of one they disliked or
despised.  Challenger smiled with weary and tolerant contempt, as a
kindly man would meet the yapping of a litter of puppies.  He sat
slowly down, blew out his chest, passed his hand caressingly down his
beard, and looked with drooping eyelids and supercilious eyes at the
crowded hall before him.  The uproar of his advent had not yet died
away when Professor Ronald Murray, the chairman, and Mr. Waldron, the
lecturer, threaded their way to the front, and the proceedings began.

Professor Murray will, I am sure, excuse me if I say that he has the
common fault of most Englishmen of being inaudible.  Why on earth
people who have something to say which is worth hearing should not take
the slight trouble to learn how to make it heard is one of the strange
mysteries of modern life.  Their methods are as reasonable as to try to
pour some precious stuff from the spring to the reservoir through a
non-conducting pipe, which could by the least effort be opened.
Professor Murray made several profound remarks to his white tie and to
the water-carafe upon the table, with a humorous, twinkling aside to
the silver candlestick upon his right.  Then he sat down, and Mr.
Waldron, the famous popular lecturer, rose amid a general murmur of
applause.  He was a stern, gaunt man, with a harsh voice, and an
aggressive manner, but he had the merit of knowing how to assimilate
the ideas of other men, and to pass them on in a way which was
intelligible and even interesting to the lay public, with a happy knack
of being funny about the most unlikely objects, so that the precession
of the Equinox or the formation of a vertebrate became a highly
humorous process as treated by him.

It was a bird's-eye view of creation, as interpreted by science, which,
in language always clear and sometimes picturesque, he unfolded before
us.  He told us of the globe, a huge mass of flaming gas, flaring
through the heavens.  Then he pictured the solidification, the cooling,
the wrinkling which formed the mountains, the steam which turned to
water, the slow preparation of the stage upon which was to be played
the inexplicable drama of life.  On the origin of life itself he was
discreetly vague.  That the germs of it could hardly have survived the
original roasting was, he declared, fairly certain.  Therefore it had
come later.  Had it built itself out of the cooling, inorganic elements
of the globe?  Very likely.  Had the germs of it arrived from outside
upon a meteor?  It was hardly conceivable.  On the whole, the wisest
man was the least dogmatic upon the point.  We could not--or at least
we had not succeeded up to date in making organic life in our
laboratories out of inorganic materials.  The gulf between the dead and
the living was something which our chemistry could not as yet bridge.
But there was a higher and subtler chemistry of Nature, which, working
with great forces over long epochs, might well produce results which
were impossible for us.  There the matter must be left.

This brought the lecturer to the great ladder of animal life, beginning
low down in molluscs and feeble sea creatures, then up rung by rung
through reptiles and fishes, till at last we came to a kangaroo-rat, a
creature which brought forth its young alive, the direct ancestor of
all mammals, and presumably, therefore, of everyone in the audience.
("No, no," from a sceptical student in the back row.)  If the young
gentleman in the red tie who cried "No, no," and who presumably claimed
to have been hatched out of an egg, would wait upon him after the
lecture, he would be glad to see such a curiosity.  (Laughter.)  It was
strange to think that the climax of all the age-long process of Nature
had been the creation of that gentleman in the red tie.  But had the
process stopped?  Was this gentleman to be taken as the final type--the
be-all and end-all of development?  He hoped that he would not hurt the
feelings of the gentleman in the red tie if he maintained that,
whatever virtues that gentleman might possess in private life, still
the vast processes of the universe were not fully justified if they
were to end entirely in his production.  Evolution was not a spent
force, but one still working, and even greater achievements were in
store.

Having thus, amid a general titter, played very prettily with his
interrupter, the lecturer went back to his picture of the past, the
drying of the seas, the emergence of the sand-bank, the sluggish,
viscous life which lay upon their margins, the overcrowded lagoons, the
tendency of the sea creatures to take refuge upon the mud-flats, the
abundance of food awaiting them, their consequent enormous growth.
"Hence, ladies and gentlemen," he added, "that frightful brood of
saurians which still affright our eyes when seen in the Wealden or in
the Solenhofen slates, but which were fortunately extinct long before
the first appearance of mankind upon this planet."

"Question!" boomed a voice from the platform.

Mr. Waldron was a strict disciplinarian with a gift of acid humor, as
exemplified upon the gentleman with the red tie, which made it perilous
to interrupt him.  But this interjection appeared to him so absurd that
he was at a loss how to deal with it.  So looks the Shakespearean who
is confronted by a rancid Baconian, or the astronomer who is assailed
by a flat-earth fanatic.  He paused for a moment, and then, raising his
voice, repeated slowly the words:  "Which were extinct before the
coming of man."

"Question!" boomed the voice once more.

Waldron looked with amazement along the line of professors upon the
platform until his eyes fell upon the figure of Challenger, who leaned
back in his chair with closed eyes and an amused expression, as if he
were smiling in his sleep.

"I see!" said Waldron, with a shrug.  "It is my friend Professor
Challenger," and amid laughter he renewed his lecture as if this was a
final explanation and no more need be said.

But the incident was far from being closed.  Whatever path the lecturer
took amid the wilds of the past seemed invariably to lead him to some
assertion as to extinct or prehistoric life which instantly brought the
same bulls' bellow from the Professor.  The audience began to
anticipate it and to roar with delight when it came.  The packed
benches of students joined in, and every time Challenger's beard
opened, before any sound could come forth, there was a yell of
"Question!" from a hundred voices, and an answering counter cry of
"Order!" and "Shame!" from as many more.  Waldron, though a hardened
lecturer and a strong man, became rattled.  He hesitated, stammered,
repeated himself, got snarled in a long sentence, and finally turned
furiously upon the cause of his troubles.

"This is really intolerable!" he cried, glaring across the platform.
"I must ask you, Professor Challenger, to cease these ignorant and
unmannerly interruptions."

There was a hush over the hall, the students rigid with delight at
seeing the high gods on Olympus quarrelling among themselves.
Challenger levered his bulky figure slowly out of his chair.

"I must in turn ask you, Mr. Waldron," he said, "to cease to make
assertions which are not in strict accordance with scientific fact."

The words unloosed a tempest.  "Shame!  Shame!"  "Give him a hearing!"
"Put him out!"  "Shove him off the platform!"  "Fair play!" emerged
from a general roar of amusement or execration.  The chairman was on
his feet flapping both his hands and bleating excitedly.  "Professor
Challenger--personal--views--later," were the solid peaks above his
clouds of inaudible mutter.  The interrupter bowed, smiled, stroked his
beard, and relapsed into his chair.  Waldron, very flushed and warlike,
continued his observations.  Now and then, as he made an assertion, he
shot a venomous glance at his opponent, who seemed to be slumbering
deeply, with the same broad, happy smile upon his face.

At last the lecture came to an end--I am inclined to think that it was
a premature one, as the peroration was hurried and disconnected.  The
thread of the argument had been rudely broken, and the audience was
restless and expectant.  Waldron sat down, and, after a chirrup from
the chairman, Professor Challenger rose and advanced to the edge of the
platform.  In the interests of my paper I took down his speech verbatim.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he began, amid a sustained interruption from
the back.  "I beg pardon--Ladies, Gentlemen, and Children--I must
apologize, I had inadvertently omitted a considerable section of this
audience" (tumult, during which the Professor stood with one hand
raised and his enormous head nodding sympathetically, as if he were
bestowing a pontifical blessing upon the crowd), "I have been selected
to move a vote of thanks to Mr. Waldron for the very picturesque and
imaginative address to which we have just listened.  There are points
in it with which I disagree, and it has been my duty to indicate them
as they arose, but, none the less, Mr. Waldron has accomplished his
object well, that object being to give a simple and interesting account
of what he conceives to have been the history of our planet.  Popular
lectures are the easiest to listen to, but Mr. Waldron" (here he beamed
and blinked at the lecturer) "will excuse me when I say that they are
necessarily both superficial and misleading, since they have to be
graded to the comprehension of an ignorant audience."  (Ironical
cheering.)  "Popular lecturers are in their nature parasitic."  (Angry
gesture of protest from Mr. Waldron.)  "They exploit for fame or cash
the work which has been done by their indigent and unknown brethren.
One smallest new fact obtained in the laboratory, one brick built into
the temple of science, far outweighs any second-hand exposition which
passes an idle hour, but can leave no useful result behind it.  I put
forward this obvious reflection, not out of any desire to disparage Mr.
Waldron in particular, but that you may not lose your sense of
proportion and mistake the acolyte for the high priest." (At this point
Mr. Waldron whispered to the chairman, who half rose and said something
severely to his water-carafe.)  "But enough of this!"  (Loud and
prolonged cheers.)  "Let me pass to some subject of wider interest.
What is the particular point upon which I, as an original investigator,
have challenged our lecturer's accuracy?  It is upon the permanence of
certain types of animal life upon the earth.  I do not speak upon this
subject as an amateur, nor, I may add, as a popular lecturer, but I
speak as one whose scientific conscience compels him to adhere closely
to facts, when I say that Mr. Waldron is very wrong in supposing that
because he has never himself seen a so-called prehistoric animal,
therefore these creatures no longer exist.  They are indeed, as he has
said, our ancestors, but they are, if I may use the expression, our
contemporary ancestors, who can still be found with all their hideous
and formidable characteristics if one has but the energy and hardihood
to seek their haunts.  Creatures which were supposed to be Jurassic,
monsters who would hunt down and devour our largest and fiercest
mammals, still exist." (Cries of "Bosh!" "Prove it!" "How do YOU know?"
"Question!") "How do I know, you ask me? I know because I have visited
their secret haunts.  I know because I have seen some of them."
(Applause, uproar, and a voice, "Liar!")  "Am I a liar?" (General
hearty and noisy assent.)  "Did I hear someone say that I was a liar?
Will the person who called me a liar kindly stand up that I may know
him?"  (A voice, "Here he is, sir!" and an inoffensive little person in
spectacles, struggling violently, was held up among a group of
students.)  "Did you venture to call me a liar?"  ("No, sir, no!"
shouted the accused, and disappeared like a jack-in-the-box.)  "If any
person in this hall dares to doubt my veracity, I shall be glad to have
a few words with him after the lecture."  ("Liar!")  "Who said that?"
(Again the inoffensive one plunging desperately, was elevated high into
the air.) "If I come down among you----" (General chorus of "Come,
love, come!" which interrupted the proceedings for some moments, while
the chairman, standing up and waving both his arms, seemed to be
conducting the music.  The Professor, with his face flushed, his
nostrils dilated, and his beard bristling, was now in a proper Berserk
mood.)  "Every great discoverer has been met with the same
incredulity--the sure brand of a generation of fools.  When great facts
are laid before you, you have not the intuition, the imagination which
would help you to understand them.  You can only throw mud at the men
who have risked their lives to open new fields to science.  You
persecute the prophets!  Galileo!  Darwin, and I----" (Prolonged
cheering and complete interruption.)

All this is from my hurried notes taken at the time, which give little
notion of the absolute chaos to which the assembly had by this time
been reduced.  So terrific was the uproar that several ladies had
already beaten a hurried retreat.  Grave and reverend seniors seemed to
have caught the prevailing spirit as badly as the students, and I saw
white-bearded men rising and shaking their fists at the obdurate
Professor.  The whole great audience seethed and simmered like a
boiling pot.  The Professor took a step forward and raised both his
hands.  There was something so big and arresting and virile in the man
that the clatter and shouting died gradually away before his commanding
gesture and his masterful eyes.  He seemed to have a definite message.
They hushed to hear it.

"I will not detain you," he said.  "It is not worth it.  Truth is
truth, and the noise of a number of foolish young men--and, I fear I
must add, of their equally foolish seniors--cannot affect the matter.
I claim that I have opened a new field of science.  You dispute it."
(Cheers.)  "Then I put you to the test.  Will you accredit one or more
of your own number to go out as your representatives and test my
statement in your name?"

Mr. Summerlee, the veteran Professor of Comparative Anatomy, rose among
the audience, a tall, thin, bitter man, with the withered aspect of a
theologian.  He wished, he said, to ask Professor Challenger whether
the results to which he had alluded in his remarks had been obtained
during a journey to the headwaters of the Amazon made by him two years
before.

Professor Challenger answered that they had.

Mr. Summerlee desired to know how it was that Professor Challenger
claimed to have made discoveries in those regions which had been
overlooked by Wallace, Bates, and other previous explorers of
established scientific repute.

Professor Challenger answered that Mr. Summerlee appeared to be
confusing the Amazon with the Thames; that it was in reality a somewhat
larger river; that Mr. Summerlee might be interested to know that with
the Orinoco, which communicated with it, some fifty thousand miles of
country were opened up, and that in so vast a space it was not
impossible for one person to find what another had missed.

Mr. Summerlee declared, with an acid smile, that he fully appreciated
the difference between the Thames and the Amazon, which lay in the fact
that any assertion about the former could be tested, while about the
latter it could not.  He would be obliged if Professor Challenger would
give the latitude and the longitude of the country in which prehistoric
animals were to be found.

Professor Challenger replied that he reserved such information for good
reasons of his own, but would be prepared to give it with proper
precautions to a committee chosen from the audience.  Would Mr.
Summerlee serve on such a committee and test his story in person?

Mr. Summerlee:  "Yes, I will."  (Great cheering.)

Professor Challenger:  "Then I guarantee that I will place in your
hands such material as will enable you to find your way.  It is only
right, however, since Mr. Summerlee goes to check my statement that I
should have one or more with him who may check his.  I will not
disguise from you that there are difficulties and dangers.  Mr.
Summerlee will need a younger colleague.  May I ask for volunteers?"

It is thus that the great crisis of a man's life springs out at him.
Could I have imagined when I entered that hall that I was about to
pledge myself to a wilder adventure than had ever come to me in my
dreams?  But Gladys--was it not the very opportunity of which she
spoke?  Gladys would have told me to go.  I had sprung to my feet.  I
was speaking, and yet I had prepared no words.  Tarp Henry, my
companion, was plucking at my skirts and I heard him whispering, "Sit
down, Malone! Don't make a public ass of yourself."  At the same time I
was aware that a tall, thin man, with dark gingery hair, a few seats in
front of me, was also upon his feet.  He glared back at me with hard
angry eyes, but I refused to give way.

"I will go, Mr. Chairman," I kept repeating over and over again.

"Name!  Name!" cried the audience.

"My name is Edward Dunn Malone.  I am the reporter of the Daily
Gazette.  I claim to be an absolutely unprejudiced witness."

"What is YOUR name, sir?" the chairman asked of my tall rival.

"I am Lord John Roxton.  I have already been up the Amazon, I know all
the ground, and have special qualifications for this investigation."

"Lord John Roxton's reputation as a sportsman and a traveler is, of
course, world-famous," said the chairman; "at the same time it would
certainly be as well to have a member of the Press upon such an
expedition."

"Then I move," said Professor Challenger, "that both these gentlemen be
elected, as representatives of this meeting, to accompany Professor
Summerlee upon his journey to investigate and to report upon the truth
of my statements."

And so, amid shouting and cheering, our fate was decided, and I found
myself borne away in the human current which swirled towards the door,
with my mind half stunned by the vast new project which had risen so
suddenly before it.  As I emerged from the hall I was conscious for a
moment of a rush of laughing students--down the pavement, and of an arm
wielding a heavy umbrella, which rose and fell in the midst of them.
Then, amid a mixture of groans and cheers, Professor Challenger's
electric brougham slid from the curb, and I found myself walking under
the silvery lights of Regent Street, full of thoughts of Gladys and of
wonder as to my future.

Suddenly there was a touch at my elbow.  I turned, and found myself
looking into the humorous, masterful eyes of the tall, thin man who had
volunteered to be my companion on this strange quest.

"Mr. Malone, I understand," said he.  "We are to be companions--what?
My rooms are just over the road, in the Albany.  Perhaps you would have
the kindness to spare me half an hour, for there are one or two things
that I badly want to say to you."




Lord John Roxton and I turned down Vigo Street together and through the
dingy portals of the famous aristocratic rookery.  At the end of a long
drab passage my new acquaintance pushed open a door and turned on an
electric switch.  A number of lamps shining through tinted shades
bathed the whole great room before us in a ruddy radiance.  Standing in
the doorway and glancing round me, I had a general impression of
extraordinary comfort and elegance combined with an atmosphere of
masculine virility.  Everywhere there were mingled the luxury of the
wealthy man of taste and the careless untidiness of the bachelor.  Rich
furs and strange iridescent mats from some Oriental bazaar were
scattered upon the floor.  Pictures and prints which even my
unpractised eyes could recognize as being of great price and rarity
hung thick upon the walls.  Sketches of boxers, of ballet-girls, and of
racehorses alternated with a sensuous Fragonard, a martial Girardet,
and a dreamy Turner.  But amid these varied ornaments there were
scattered the trophies which brought back strongly to my recollection
the fact that Lord John Roxton was one of the great all-round sportsmen
and athletes of his day.  A dark-blue oar crossed with a cherry-pink
one above his mantel-piece spoke of the old Oxonian and Leander man,
while the foils and boxing-gloves above and below them were the tools
of a man who had won supremacy with each.  Like a dado round the room
was the jutting line of splendid heavy game-heads, the best of their
sort from every quarter of the world, with the rare white rhinoceros of
the Lado Enclave drooping its supercilious lip above them all.

In the center of the rich red carpet was a black and gold Louis Quinze
table, a lovely antique, now sacrilegiously desecrated with marks of
glasses and the scars of cigar-stumps.  On it stood a silver tray of
smokables and a burnished spirit-stand, from which and an adjacent
siphon my silent host proceeded to charge two high glasses.  Having
indicated an arm-chair to me and placed my refreshment near it, he
handed me a long, smooth Havana.  Then, seating himself opposite to me,
he looked at me long and fixedly with his strange, twinkling, reckless
eyes--eyes of a cold light blue, the color of a glacier lake.

Through the thin haze of my cigar-smoke I noted the details of a face
which was already familiar to me from many photographs--the
strongly-curved nose, the hollow, worn cheeks, the dark, ruddy hair,
thin at the top, the crisp, virile moustaches, the small, aggressive
tuft upon his projecting chin.  Something there was of Napoleon III.,
something of Don Quixote, and yet again something which was the essence
of the English country gentleman, the keen, alert, open-air lover of
dogs and of horses.  His skin was of a rich flower-pot red from sun and
wind.  His eyebrows were tufted and overhanging, which gave those
naturally cold eyes an almost ferocious aspect, an impression which was
increased by his strong and furrowed brow.  In figure he was spare, but
very strongly built--indeed, he had often proved that there were few
men in England capable of such sustained exertions.  His height was a
little over six feet, but he seemed shorter on account of a peculiar
rounding of the shoulders.  Such was the famous Lord John Roxton as he
sat opposite to me, biting hard upon his cigar and watching me steadily
in a long and embarrassing silence.

"Well," said he, at last, "we've gone and done it, young fellah my
lad."  (This curious phrase he pronounced as if it were all one
word--"young-fellah-me-lad.")  "Yes, we've taken a jump, you an' me.  I
suppose, now, when you went into that room there was no such notion in
your head--what?"

"No thought of it."

"The same here.  No thought of it.  And here we are, up to our necks in
the tureen.  Why, I've only been back three weeks from Uganda, and
taken a place in Scotland, and signed the lease and all.  Pretty goin's
on--what?  How does it hit you?"

"Well, it is all in the main line of my business.  I am a journalist on
the Gazette."

"Of course--you said so when you took it on.  By the way, I've got a
small job for you, if you'll help me."

"With pleasure."

"Don't mind takin' a risk, do you?"

"What is the risk?"

"Well, it's Ballinger--he's the risk.  You've heard of him?"

"No."

"Why, young fellah, where HAVE you lived?  Sir John Ballinger is the
best gentleman jock in the north country.  I could hold him on the flat
at my best, but over jumps he's my master.  Well, it's an open secret
that when he's out of trainin' he drinks hard--strikin' an average, he
calls it.  He got delirium on Toosday, and has been ragin' like a devil
ever since.  His room is above this.  The doctors say that it is all up
with the old dear unless some food is got into him, but as he lies in
bed with a revolver on his coverlet, and swears he will put six of the
best through anyone that comes near him, there's been a bit of a strike
among the serving-men.  He's a hard nail, is Jack, and a dead shot,
too, but you can't leave a Grand National winner to die like
that--what?"

"What do you mean to do, then?" I asked.

"Well, my idea was that you and I could rush him.  He may be dozin',
and at the worst he can only wing one of us, and the other should have
him.  If we can get his bolster-cover round his arms and then 'phone up
a stomach-pump, we'll give the old dear the supper of his life."

It was a rather desperate business to come suddenly into one's day's
work.  I don't think that I am a particularly brave man.  I have an
Irish imagination which makes the unknown and the untried more terrible
than they are.  On the other hand, I was brought up with a horror of
cowardice and with a terror of such a stigma.  I dare say that I could
throw myself over a precipice, like the Hun in the history books, if my
courage to do it were questioned, and yet it would surely be pride and
fear, rather than courage, which would be my inspiration.  Therefore,
although every nerve in my body shrank from the whisky-maddened figure
which I pictured in the room above, I still answered, in as careless a
voice as I could command, that I was ready to go.  Some further remark
of Lord Roxton's about the danger only made me irritable.

"Talking won't make it any better," said I. "Come on."

I rose from my chair and he from his.  Then with a little confidential
chuckle of laughter, he patted me two or three times on the chest,
finally pushing me back into my chair.

"All right, sonny my lad--you'll do," said he.  I looked up in surprise.

"I saw after Jack Ballinger myself this mornin'.  He blew a hole in the
skirt of my kimono, bless his shaky old hand, but we got a jacket on
him, and he's to be all right in a week.  I say, young fellah, I hope
you don't mind--what?  You see, between you an' me close-tiled, I look
on this South American business as a mighty serious thing, and if I
have a pal with me I want a man I can bank on.  So I sized you down,
and I'm bound to say that you came well out of it.  You see, it's all
up to you and me, for this old Summerlee man will want dry-nursin' from
the first.  By the way, are you by any chance the Malone who is
expected to get his Rugby cap for Ireland?"

"A reserve, perhaps."

"I thought I remembered your face.  Why, I was there when you got that
try against Richmond--as fine a swervin' run as I saw the whole season.
I never miss a Rugby match if I can help it, for it is the manliest
game we have left.  Well, I didn't ask you in here just to talk sport.
We've got to fix our business.  Here are the sailin's, on the first
page of the Times.  There's a Booth boat for Para next Wednesday week,
and if the Professor and you can work it, I think we should take
it--what?  Very good, I'll fix it with him.  What about your outfit?"

"My paper will see to that."

"Can you shoot?"

"About average Territorial standard."

"Good Lord! as bad as that?  It's the last thing you young fellahs
think of learnin'.  You're all bees without stings, so far as lookin'
after the hive goes.  You'll look silly, some o' these days, when
someone comes along an' sneaks the honey.  But you'll need to hold your
gun straight in South America, for, unless our friend the Professor is
a madman or a liar, we may see some queer things before we get back.
What gun have you?"

He crossed to an oaken cupboard, and as he threw it open I caught a
glimpse of glistening rows of parallel barrels, like the pipes of an
organ.

"I'll see what I can spare you out of my own battery," said he.

One by one he took out a succession of beautiful rifles, opening and
shutting them with a snap and a clang, and then patting them as he put
them back into the rack as tenderly as a mother would fondle her
children.

"This is a Bland's .577 axite express," said he.  "I got that big
fellow with it."  He glanced up at the white rhinoceros.  "Ten more
yards, and he'd would have added me to HIS collection.

         'On that conical bullet his one chance hangs,
         'Tis the weak one's advantage fair.'

Hope you know your Gordon, for he's the poet of the horse and the gun
and the man that handles both.  Now, here's a useful tool--.470,
telescopic sight, double ejector, point-blank up to three-fifty.
That's the rifle I used against the Peruvian slave-drivers three years
ago.  I was the flail of the Lord up in those parts, I may tell you,
though you won't find it in any Blue-book.  There are times, young
fellah, when every one of us must make a stand for human right and
justice, or you never feel clean again.  That's why I made a little war
on my own.  Declared it myself, waged it myself, ended it myself.  Each
of those nicks is for a slave murderer--a good row of them--what?  That
big one is for Pedro Lopez, the king of them all, that I killed in a
backwater of the Putomayo River.  Now, here's something that would do
for you."  He took out a beautiful brown-and-silver rifle.  "Well
rubbered at the stock, sharply sighted, five cartridges to the clip.
You can trust your life to that."  He handed it to me and closed the
door of his oak cabinet.

"By the way," he continued, coming back to his chair, "what do you know
of this Professor Challenger?"

"I never saw him till to-day."

"Well, neither did I.  It's funny we should both sail under sealed
orders from a man we don't know.  He seemed an uppish old bird.  His
brothers of science don't seem too fond of him, either.  How came you
to take an interest in the affair?"

I told him shortly my experiences of the morning, and he listened
intently.  Then he drew out a map of South America and laid it on the
table.

"I believe every single word he said to you was the truth," said he,
earnestly, "and, mind you, I have something to go on when I speak like
that.  South America is a place I love, and I think, if you take it
right through from Darien to Fuego, it's the grandest, richest, most
wonderful bit of earth upon this planet.  People don't know it yet, and
don't realize what it may become.  I've been up an' down it from end to
end, and had two dry seasons in those very parts, as I told you when I
spoke of the war I made on the slave-dealers.  Well, when I was up
there I heard some yarns of the same kind--traditions of Indians and
the like, but with somethin' behind them, no doubt.  The more you knew
of that country, young fellah, the more you would understand that
anythin' was possible--ANYTHIN'!  There are just some narrow
water-lanes along which folk travel, and outside that it is all
darkness.  Now, down here in the Matto Grande"--he swept his cigar over
a part of the map--"or up in this corner where three countries meet,
nothin' would surprise me.  As that chap said to-night, there are
fifty-thousand miles of water-way runnin' through a forest that is very
near the size of Europe.  You and I could be as far away from each
other as Scotland is from Constantinople, and yet each of us be in the
same great Brazilian forest.  Man has just made a track here and a
scrape there in the maze.  Why, the river rises and falls the best part
of forty feet, and half the country is a morass that you can't pass
over.  Why shouldn't somethin' new and wonderful lie in such a country?
And why shouldn't we be the men to find it out?  Besides," he added,
his queer, gaunt face shining with delight, "there's a sportin' risk in
every mile of it.  I'm like an old golf-ball--I've had all the white
paint knocked off me long ago.  Life can whack me about now, and it
can't leave a mark.  But a sportin' risk, young fellah, that's the salt
of existence.  Then it's worth livin' again.  We're all gettin' a deal
too soft and dull and comfy.  Give me the great waste lands and the
wide spaces, with a gun in my fist and somethin' to look for that's
worth findin'.  I've tried war and steeplechasin' and aeroplanes, but
this huntin' of beasts that look like a lobster-supper dream is a
brand-new sensation." He chuckled with glee at the prospect.

Perhaps I have dwelt too long upon this new acquaintance, but he is to
be my comrade for many a day, and so I have tried to set him down as I
first saw him, with his quaint personality and his queer little tricks
of speech and of thought.  It was only the need of getting in the
account of my meeting which drew me at last from his company.  I left
him seated amid his pink radiance, oiling the lock of his favorite
rifle, while he still chuckled to himself at the thought of the
adventures which awaited us.  It was very clear to me that if dangers
lay before us I could not in all England have found a cooler head or a
braver spirit with which to share them.

That night, wearied as I was after the wonderful happenings of the day,
I sat late with McArdle, the news editor, explaining to him the whole
situation, which he thought important enough to bring next morning
before the notice of Sir George Beaumont, the chief.  It was agreed
that I should write home full accounts of my adventures in the shape of
successive letters to McArdle, and that these should either be edited
for the Gazette as they arrived, or held back to be published later,
according to the wishes of Professor Challenger, since we could not yet
know what conditions he might attach to those directions which should
guide us to the unknown land.  In response to a telephone inquiry, we
received nothing more definite than a fulmination against the Press,
ending up with the remark that if we would notify our boat he would
hand us any directions which he might think it proper to give us at the
moment of starting.  A second question from us failed to elicit any
answer at all, save a plaintive bleat from his wife to the effect that
her husband was in a very violent temper already, and that she hoped we
would do nothing to make it worse.  A third attempt, later in the day,
provoked a terrific crash, and a subsequent message from the Central
Exchange that Professor Challenger's receiver had been shattered.
After that we abandoned all attempt at communication.

And now my patient readers, I can address you directly no longer.  From
now onwards (if, indeed, any continuation of this narrative should ever
reach you) it can only be through the paper which I represent.  In the
hands of the editor I leave this account of the events which have led
up to one of the most remarkable expeditions of all time, so that if I
never return to England there shall be some record as to how the affair
came about.  I am writing these last lines in the saloon of the Booth
liner Francisca, and they will go back by the pilot to the keeping of
Mr. McArdle.  Let me draw one last picture before I close the
notebook--a picture which is the last memory of the old country which I
bear away with me.  It is a wet, foggy morning in the late spring; a
thin, cold rain is falling.  Three shining mackintoshed figures are
walking down the quay, making for the gang-plank of the great liner
from which the blue-peter is flying.  In front of them a porter pushes
a trolley piled high with trunks, wraps, and gun-cases.  Professor
Summerlee, a long, melancholy figure, walks with dragging steps and
drooping head, as one who is already profoundly sorry for himself.
Lord John Roxton steps briskly, and his thin, eager face beams forth
between his hunting-cap and his muffler.  As for myself, I am glad to
have got the bustling days of preparation and the pangs of leave-taking
behind me, and I have no doubt that I show it in my bearing.  Suddenly,
just as we reach the vessel, there is a shout behind us.  It is
Professor Challenger, who had promised to see us off.  He runs after
us, a puffing, red-faced, irascible figure.

"No thank you," says he; "I should much prefer not to go aboard.  I
have only a few words to say to you, and they can very well be said
where we are.  I beg you not to imagine that I am in any way indebted
to you for making this journey.  I would have you to understand that it
is a matter of perfect indifference to me, and I refuse to entertain
the most remote sense of personal obligation.  Truth is truth, and
nothing which you can report can affect it in any way, though it may
excite the emotions and allay the curiosity of a number of very
ineffectual people.  My directions for your instruction and guidance
are in this sealed envelope.  You will open it when you reach a town
upon the Amazon which is called Manaos, but not until the date and hour
which is marked upon the outside.  Have I made myself clear?  I leave
the strict observance of my conditions entirely to your honor.  No, Mr.
Malone, I will place no restriction upon your correspondence, since the
ventilation of the facts is the object of your journey; but I demand
that you shall give no particulars as to your exact destination, and
that nothing be actually published until your return.  Good-bye, sir.
You have done something to mitigate my feelings for the loathsome
profession to which you unhappily belong.  Good-bye, Lord John.
Science is, as I understand, a sealed book to you; but you may
congratulate yourself upon the hunting-field which awaits you.  You
will, no doubt, have the opportunity of describing in the Field how you
brought down the rocketing dimorphodon.  And good-bye to you also,
Professor Summerlee.  If you are still capable of self-improvement, of
which I am frankly unconvinced, you will surely return to London a
wiser man."

So he turned upon his heel, and a minute later from the deck I could
see his short, squat figure bobbing about in the distance as he made
his way back to his train.  Well, we are well down Channel now.
There's the last bell for letters, and it's good-bye to the pilot.
We'll be "down, hull-down, on the old trail" from now on.  God bless
all we leave behind us, and send us safely back.




I will not bore those whom this narrative may reach by an account of
our luxurious voyage upon the Booth liner, nor will I tell of our
week's stay at Para (save that I should wish to acknowledge the great
kindness of the Pereira da Pinta Company in helping us to get together
our equipment).  I will also allude very briefly to our river journey,
up a wide, slow-moving, clay-tinted stream, in a steamer which was
little smaller than that which had carried us across the Atlantic.
Eventually we found ourselves through the narrows of Obidos and reached
the town of Manaos.  Here we were rescued from the limited attractions
of the local inn by Mr. Shortman, the representative of the British and
Brazilian Trading Company.  In his hospitable Fazenda we spent our time
until the day when we were empowered to open the letter of instructions
given to us by Professor Challenger.  Before I reach the surprising
events of that date I would desire to give a clearer sketch of my
comrades in this enterprise, and of the associates whom we had already
gathered together in South America.  I speak freely, and I leave the
use of my material to your own discretion, Mr. McArdle, since it is
through your hands that this report must pass before it reaches the
world.

The scientific attainments of Professor Summerlee are too well known
for me to trouble to recapitulate them.  He is better equipped for a
rough expedition of this sort than one would imagine at first sight.
His tall, gaunt, stringy figure is insensible to fatigue, and his dry,
half-sarcastic, and often wholly unsympathetic manner is uninfluenced
by any change in his surroundings.  Though in his sixty-sixth year, I
have never heard him express any dissatisfaction at the occasional
hardships which we have had to encounter.  I had regarded his presence
as an encumbrance to the expedition, but, as a matter of fact, I am now
well convinced that his power of endurance is as great as my own.  In
temper he is naturally acid and sceptical.  From the beginning he has
never concealed his belief that Professor Challenger is an absolute
fraud, that we are all embarked upon an absurd wild-goose chase and
that we are likely to reap nothing but disappointment and danger in
South America, and corresponding ridicule in England.  Such are the
views which, with much passionate distortion of his thin features and
wagging of his thin, goat-like beard, he poured into our ears all the
way from Southampton to Manaos.  Since landing from the boat he has
obtained some consolation from the beauty and variety of the insect and
bird life around him, for he is absolutely whole-hearted in his
devotion to science.  He spends his days flitting through the woods
with his shot-gun and his butterfly-net, and his evenings in mounting
the many specimens he has acquired.  Among his minor peculiarities are
that he is careless as to his attire, unclean in his person,
exceedingly absent-minded in his habits, and addicted to smoking a
short briar pipe, which is seldom out of his mouth.  He has been upon
several scientific expeditions in his youth (he was with Robertson in
Papua), and the life of the camp and the canoe is nothing fresh to him.

Lord John Roxton has some points in common with Professor Summerlee,
and others in which they are the very antithesis to each other.  He is
twenty years younger, but has something of the same spare, scraggy
physique.  As to his appearance, I have, as I recollect, described it
in that portion of my narrative which I have left behind me in London.
He is exceedingly neat and prim in his ways, dresses always with great
care in white drill suits and high brown mosquito-boots, and shaves at
least once a day.  Like most men of action, he is laconic in speech,
and sinks readily into his own thoughts, but he is always quick to
answer a question or join in a conversation, talking in a queer, jerky,
half-humorous fashion.  His knowledge of the world, and very especially
of South America, is surprising, and he has a whole-hearted belief in
the possibilities of our journey which is not to be dashed by the
sneers of Professor Summerlee.  He has a gentle voice and a quiet
manner, but behind his twinkling blue eyes there lurks a capacity for
furious wrath and implacable resolution, the more dangerous because
they are held in leash.  He spoke little of his own exploits in Brazil
and Peru, but it was a revelation to me to find the excitement which
was caused by his presence among the riverine natives, who looked upon
him as their champion and protector.  The exploits of the Red Chief, as
they called him, had become legends among them, but the real facts, as
far as I could learn them, were amazing enough.

These were that Lord John had found himself some years before in that
no-man's-land which is formed by the half-defined frontiers between
Peru, Brazil, and Columbia.  In this great district the wild rubber
tree flourishes, and has become, as in the Congo, a curse to the
natives which can only be compared to their forced labor under the
Spaniards upon the old silver mines of Darien.  A handful of villainous
half-breeds dominated the country, armed such Indians as would support
them, and turned the rest into slaves, terrorizing them with the most
inhuman tortures in order to force them to gather the india-rubber,
which was then floated down the river to Para.  Lord John Roxton
expostulated on behalf of the wretched victims, and received nothing
but threats and insults for his pains.  He then formally declared war
against Pedro Lopez, the leader of the slave-drivers, enrolled a band
of runaway slaves in his service, armed them, and conducted a campaign,
which ended by his killing with his own hands the notorious half-breed
and breaking down the system which he represented.

No wonder that the ginger-headed man with the silky voice and the free
and easy manners was now looked upon with deep interest upon the banks
of the great South American river, though the feelings he inspired were
naturally mixed, since the gratitude of the natives was equaled by the
resentment of those who desired to exploit them.  One useful result of
his former experiences was that he could talk fluently in the Lingoa
Geral, which is the peculiar talk, one-third Portuguese and two-thirds
Indian, which is current all over Brazil.

I have said before that Lord John Roxton was a South Americomaniac.  He
could not speak of that great country without ardor, and this ardor was
infectious, for, ignorant as I was, he fixed my attention and
stimulated my curiosity.  How I wish I could reproduce the glamour of
his discourses, the peculiar mixture of accurate knowledge and of racy
imagination which gave them their fascination, until even the
Professor's cynical and sceptical smile would gradually vanish from his
thin face as he listened.  He would tell the history of the mighty
river so rapidly explored (for some of the first conquerors of Peru
actually crossed the entire continent upon its waters), and yet so
unknown in regard to all that lay behind its ever-changing banks.

"What is there?" he would cry, pointing to the north.  "Wood and marsh
and unpenetrated jungle.  Who knows what it may shelter?  And there to
the south?  A wilderness of swampy forest, where no white man has ever
been.  The unknown is up against us on every side.  Outside the narrow
lines of the rivers what does anyone know?  Who will say what is
possible in such a country?  Why should old man Challenger not be
right?"  At which direct defiance the stubborn sneer would reappear
upon Professor Summerlee's face, and he would sit, shaking his sardonic
head in unsympathetic silence, behind the cloud of his briar-root pipe.


So much, for the moment, for my two white companions, whose characters
and limitations will be further exposed, as surely as my own, as this
narrative proceeds.  But already we have enrolled certain retainers who
may play no small part in what is to come.  The first is a gigantic
negro named Zambo, who is a black Hercules, as willing as any horse,
and about as intelligent.  Him we enlisted at Para, on the
recommendation of the steamship company, on whose vessels he had
learned to speak a halting English.

It was at Para also that we engaged Gomez and Manuel, two half-breeds
from up the river, just come down with a cargo of redwood.  They were
swarthy fellows, bearded and fierce, as active and wiry as panthers.
Both of them had spent their lives in those upper waters of the Amazon
which we were about to explore, and it was this recommendation which
had caused Lord John to engage them.  One of them, Gomez, had the
further advantage that he could speak excellent English.  These men
were willing to act as our personal servants, to cook, to row, or to
make themselves useful in any way at a payment of fifteen dollars a
month.  Besides these, we had engaged three Mojo Indians from Bolivia,
who are the most skilful at fishing and boat work of all the river
tribes.  The chief of these we called Mojo, after his tribe, and the
others are known as Jose and Fernando.  Three white men, then, two
half-breeds, one negro, and three Indians made up the personnel of the
little expedition which lay waiting for its instructions at Manaos
before starting upon its singular quest.

At last, after a weary week, the day had come and the hour.  I ask you
to picture the shaded sitting-room of the Fazenda St.  Ignatio, two
miles inland from the town of Manaos.  Outside lay the yellow, brassy
glare of the sunshine, with the shadows of the palm trees as black and
definite as the trees themselves.  The air was calm, full of the
eternal hum of insects, a tropical chorus of many octaves, from the
deep drone of the bee to the high, keen pipe of the mosquito.  Beyond
the veranda was a small cleared garden, bounded with cactus hedges and
adorned with clumps of flowering shrubs, round which the great blue
butterflies and the tiny humming-birds fluttered and darted in
crescents of sparkling light.  Within we were seated round the cane
table, on which lay a sealed envelope.  Inscribed upon it, in the
jagged handwriting of Professor Challenger, were the words:--


"Instructions to Lord John Roxton and party.  To be opened at Manaos
upon July 15th, at 12 o'clock precisely."


Lord John had placed his watch upon the table beside him.

"We have seven more minutes," said he.  "The old dear is very precise."

Professor Summerlee gave an acid smile as he picked up the envelope in
his gaunt hand.

"What can it possibly matter whether we open it now or in seven
minutes?" said he.  "It is all part and parcel of the same system of
quackery and nonsense, for which I regret to say that the writer is
notorious."

"Oh, come, we must play the game accordin' to rules," said Lord John.
"It's old man Challenger's show and we are here by his good will, so it
would be rotten bad form if we didn't follow his instructions to the
letter."

"A pretty business it is!" cried the Professor, bitterly.  "It struck
me as preposterous in London, but I'm bound to say that it seems even
more so upon closer acquaintance.  I don't know what is inside this
envelope, but, unless it is something pretty definite, I shall be much
tempted to take the next down-river boat and catch the Bolivia at Para.
After all, I have some more responsible work in the world than to run
about disproving the assertions of a lunatic.  Now, Roxton, surely it
is time."

"Time it is," said Lord John.  "You can blow the whistle." He took up
the envelope and cut it with his penknife.  From it he drew a folded
sheet of paper.  This he carefully opened out and flattened on the
table.  It was a blank sheet.  He turned it over.  Again it was blank.
We looked at each other in a bewildered silence, which was broken by a
discordant burst of derisive laughter from Professor Summerlee.

"It is an open admission," he cried.  "What more do you want?  The
fellow is a self-confessed humbug.  We have only to return home and
report him as the brazen imposter that he is."

"Invisible ink!" I suggested.

"I don't think!" said Lord Roxton, holding the paper to the light.
"No, young fellah my lad, there is no use deceiving yourself.  I'll go
bail for it that nothing has ever been written upon this paper."

"May I come in?" boomed a voice from the veranda.

The shadow of a squat figure had stolen across the patch of sunlight.
That voice!  That monstrous breadth of shoulder!  We sprang to our feet
with a gasp of astonishment as Challenger, in a round, boyish straw-hat
with a colored ribbon--Challenger, with his hands in his jacket-pockets
and his canvas shoes daintily pointing as he walked--appeared in the
open space before us.  He threw back his head, and there he stood in
the golden glow with all his old Assyrian luxuriance of beard, all his
native insolence of drooping eyelids and intolerant eyes.

"I fear," said he, taking out his watch, "that I am a few minutes too
late.  When I gave you this envelope I must confess that I had never
intended that you should open it, for it had been my fixed intention to
be with you before the hour.  The unfortunate delay can be apportioned
between a blundering pilot and an intrusive sandbank.  I fear that it
has given my colleague, Professor Summerlee, occasion to blaspheme."

"I am bound to say, sir," said Lord John, with some sternness of voice,
"that your turning up is a considerable relief to us, for our mission
seemed to have come to a premature end.  Even now I can't for the life
of me understand why you should have worked it in so extraordinary a
manner."

Instead of answering, Professor Challenger entered, shook hands with
myself and Lord John, bowed with ponderous insolence to Professor
Summerlee, and sank back into a basket-chair, which creaked and swayed
beneath his weight.

"Is all ready for your journey?" he asked.

"We can start to-morrow."

"Then so you shall.  You need no chart of directions now, since you
will have the inestimable advantage of my own guidance.  From the first
I had determined that I would myself preside over your investigation.
The most elaborate charts would, as you will readily admit, be a poor
substitute for my own intelligence and advice.  As to the small ruse
which I played upon you in the matter of the envelope, it is clear
that, had I told you all my intentions, I should have been forced to
resist unwelcome pressure to travel out with you."

"Not from me, sir!" exclaimed Professor Summerlee, heartily.  "So long
as there was another ship upon the Atlantic."

Challenger waved him away with his great hairy hand.

"Your common sense will, I am sure, sustain my objection and realize
that it was better that I should direct my own movements and appear
only at the exact moment when my presence was needed.  That moment has
now arrived.  You are in safe hands.  You will not now fail to reach
your destination.  From henceforth I take command of this expedition,
and I must ask you to complete your preparations to-night, so that we
may be able to make an early start in the morning.  My time is of
value, and the same thing may be said, no doubt, in a lesser degree of
your own.  I propose, therefore, that we push on as rapidly as
possible, until I have demonstrated what you have come to see."

Lord John Roxton has chartered a large steam launch, the Esmeralda,
which was to carry us up the river.  So far as climate goes, it was
immaterial what time we chose for our expedition, as the temperature
ranges from seventy-five to ninety degrees both summer and winter, with
no appreciable difference in heat.  In moisture, however, it is
otherwise; from December to May is the period of the rains, and during
this time the river slowly rises until it attains a height of nearly
forty feet above its low-water mark.  It floods the banks, extends in
great lagoons over a monstrous waste of country, and forms a huge
district, called locally the Gapo, which is for the most part too
marshy for foot-travel and too shallow for boating.  About June the
waters begin to fall, and are at their lowest at October or November.
Thus our expedition was at the time of the dry season, when the great
river and its tributaries were more or less in a normal condition.

The current of the river is a slight one, the drop being not greater
than eight inches in a mile.  No stream could be more convenient for
navigation, since the prevailing wind is south-east, and sailing boats
may make a continuous progress to the Peruvian frontier, dropping down
again with the current.  In our own case the excellent engines of the
Esmeralda could disregard the sluggish flow of the stream, and we made
as rapid progress as if we were navigating a stagnant lake.  For three
days we steamed north-westwards up a stream which even here, a thousand
miles from its mouth, was still so enormous that from its center the
two banks were mere shadows upon the distant skyline.  On the fourth
day after leaving Manaos we turned into a tributary which at its mouth
was little smaller than the main stream.  It narrowed rapidly, however,
and after two more days' steaming we reached an Indian village, where
the Professor insisted that we should land, and that the Esmeralda
should be sent back to Manaos.  We should soon come upon rapids, he
explained, which would make its further use impossible.  He added
privately that we were now approaching the door of the unknown country,
and that the fewer whom we took into our confidence the better it would
be.  To this end also he made each of us give our word of honor that we
would publish or say nothing which would give any exact clue as to the
whereabouts of our travels, while the servants were all solemnly sworn
to the same effect.  It is for this reason that I am compelled to be
vague in my narrative, and I would warn my readers that in any map or
diagram which I may give the relation of places to each other may be
correct, but the points of the compass are carefully confused, so that
in no way can it be taken as an actual guide to the country.  Professor
Challenger's reasons for secrecy may be valid or not, but we had no
choice but to adopt them, for he was prepared to abandon the whole
expedition rather than modify the conditions upon which he would guide
us.

It was August 2nd when we snapped our last link with the outer world by
bidding farewell to the Esmeralda.  Since then four days have passed,
during which we have engaged two large canoes from the Indians, made of
so light a material (skins over a bamboo framework) that we should be
able to carry them round any obstacle.  These we have loaded with all
our effects, and have engaged two additional Indians to help us in the
navigation.  I understand that they are the very two--Ataca and Ipetu
by name--who accompanied Professor Challenger upon his previous
journey.  They appeared to be terrified at the prospect of repeating
it, but the chief has patriarchal powers in these countries, and if the
bargain is good in his eyes the clansman has little choice in the
matter.

So to-morrow we disappear into the unknown.  This account I am
transmitting down the river by canoe, and it may be our last word to
those who are interested in our fate.  I have, according to our
arrangement, addressed it to you, my dear Mr. McArdle, and I leave it
to your discretion to delete, alter, or do what you like with it.  From
the assurance of Professor Challenger's manner--and in spite of the
continued scepticism of Professor Summerlee--I have no doubt that our
leader will make good his statement, and that we are really on the eve
of some most remarkable experiences.





Our friends at home may well rejoice with us, for we are at our goal,
and up to a point, at least, we have shown that the statement of
Professor Challenger can be verified.  We have not, it is true,
ascended the plateau, but it lies before us, and even Professor
Summerlee is in a more chastened mood.  Not that he will for an instant
admit that his rival could be right, but he is less persistent in his
incessant objections, and has sunk for the most part into an observant
silence.  I must hark back, however, and continue my narrative from
where I dropped it.  We are sending home one of our local Indians who
is injured, and I am committing this letter to his charge, with
considerable doubts in my mind as to whether it will ever come to hand.

When I wrote last we were about to leave the Indian village where we
had been deposited by the Esmeralda.  I have to begin my report by bad
news, for the first serious personal trouble (I pass over the incessant
bickerings between the Professors) occurred this evening, and might
have had a tragic ending.  I have spoken of our English-speaking
half-breed, Gomez--a fine worker and a willing fellow, but afflicted, I
fancy, with the vice of curiosity, which is common enough among such
men.  On the last evening he seems to have hid himself near the hut in
which we were discussing our plans, and, being observed by our huge
negro Zambo, who is as faithful as a dog and has the hatred which all
his race bear to the half-breeds, he was dragged out and carried into
our presence.  Gomez whipped out his knife, however, and but for the
huge strength of his captor, which enabled him to disarm him with one
hand, he would certainly have stabbed him.  The matter has ended in
reprimands, the opponents have been compelled to shake hands, and there
is every hope that all will be well.  As to the feuds of the two
learned men, they are continuous and bitter.  It must be admitted that
Challenger is provocative in the last degree, but Summerlee has an acid
tongue, which makes matters worse.  Last night Challenger said that he
never cared to walk on the Thames Embankment and look up the river, as
it was always sad to see one's own eventual goal.  He is convinced, of
course, that he is destined for Westminster Abbey.  Summerlee rejoined,
however, with a sour smile, by saying that he understood that Millbank
Prison had been pulled down.  Challenger's conceit is too colossal to
allow him to be really annoyed.  He only smiled in his beard and
repeated "Really!  Really!" in the pitying tone one would use to a
child.  Indeed, they are children both--the one wizened and
cantankerous, the other formidable and overbearing, yet each with a
brain which has put him in the front rank of his scientific age.
Brain, character, soul--only as one sees more of life does one
understand how distinct is each.

The very next day we did actually make our start upon this remarkable
expedition.  We found that all our possessions fitted very easily into
the two canoes, and we divided our personnel, six in each, taking the
obvious precaution in the interests of peace of putting one Professor
into each canoe.  Personally, I was with Challenger, who was in a
beatific humor, moving about as one in a silent ecstasy and beaming
benevolence from every feature.  I have had some experience of him in
other moods, however, and shall be the less surprised when the
thunderstorms suddenly come up amidst the sunshine.  If it is
impossible to be at your ease, it is equally impossible to be dull in
his company, for one is always in a state of half-tremulous doubt as to
what sudden turn his formidable temper may take.

For two days we made our way up a good-sized river some hundreds of
yards broad, and dark in color, but transparent, so that one could
usually see the bottom.  The affluents of the Amazon are, half of them,
of this nature, while the other half are whitish and opaque, the
difference depending upon the class of country through which they have
flowed.  The dark indicate vegetable decay, while the others point to
clayey soil.  Twice we came across rapids, and in each case made a
portage of half a mile or so to avoid them.  The woods on either side
were primeval, which are more easily penetrated than woods of the
second growth, and we had no great difficulty in carrying our canoes
through them.  How shall I ever forget the solemn mystery of it?  The
height of the trees and the thickness of the boles exceeded anything
which I in my town-bred life could have imagined, shooting upwards in
magnificent columns until, at an enormous distance above our heads, we
could dimly discern the spot where they threw out their side-branches
into Gothic upward curves which coalesced to form one great matted roof
of verdure, through which only an occasional golden ray of sunshine
shot downwards to trace a thin dazzling line of light amidst the
majestic obscurity.  As we walked noiselessly amid the thick, soft
carpet of decaying vegetation the hush fell upon our souls which comes
upon us in the twilight of the Abbey, and even Professor Challenger's
full-chested notes sank into a whisper.  Alone, I should have been
ignorant of the names of these giant growths, but our men of science
pointed out the cedars, the great silk cotton trees, and the redwood
trees, with all that profusion of various plants which has made this
continent the chief supplier to the human race of those gifts of Nature
which depend upon the vegetable world, while it is the most backward in
those products which come from animal life.  Vivid orchids and
wonderful colored lichens smoldered upon the swarthy tree-trunks and
where a wandering shaft of light fell full upon the golden allamanda,
the scarlet star-clusters of the tacsonia, or the rich deep blue of
ipomaea, the effect was as a dream of fairyland.  In these great wastes
of forest, life, which abhors darkness, struggles ever upwards to the
light.  Every plant, even the smaller ones, curls and writhes to the
green surface, twining itself round its stronger and taller brethren in
the effort.  Climbing plants are monstrous and luxuriant, but others
which have never been known to climb elsewhere learn the art as an
escape from that somber shadow, so that the common nettle, the jasmine,
and even the jacitara palm tree can be seen circling the stems of the
cedars and striving to reach their crowns.  Of animal life there was no
movement amid the majestic vaulted aisles which stretched from us as we
walked, but a constant movement far above our heads told of that
multitudinous world of snake and monkey, bird and sloth, which lived in
the sunshine, and looked down in wonder at our tiny, dark, stumbling
figures in the obscure depths immeasurably below them.  At dawn and at
sunset the howler monkeys screamed together and the parrakeets broke
into shrill chatter, but during the hot hours of the day only the full
drone of insects, like the beat of a distant surf, filled the ear,
while nothing moved amid the solemn vistas of stupendous trunks, fading
away into the darkness which held us in.  Once some bandy-legged,
lurching creature, an ant-eater or a bear, scuttled clumsily amid the
shadows.  It was the only sign of earth life which I saw in this great
Amazonian forest.

And yet there were indications that even human life itself was not far
from us in those mysterious recesses.  On the third day out we were
aware of a singular deep throbbing in the air, rhythmic and solemn,
coming and going fitfully throughout the morning.  The two boats were
paddling within a few yards of each other when first we heard it, and
our Indians remained motionless, as if they had been turned to bronze,
listening intently with expressions of terror upon their faces.

"What is it, then?" I asked.

"Drums," said Lord John, carelessly; "war drums.  I have heard them
before."

"Yes, sir, war drums," said Gomez, the half-breed.  "Wild Indians,
bravos, not mansos; they watch us every mile of the way; kill us if
they can."

"How can they watch us?" I asked, gazing into the dark, motionless void.

The half-breed shrugged his broad shoulders.

"The Indians know.  They have their own way.  They watch us.  They talk
the drum talk to each other.  Kill us if they can."

By the afternoon of that day--my pocket diary shows me that it was
Tuesday, August 18th--at least six or seven drums were throbbing from
various points.  Sometimes they beat quickly, sometimes slowly,
sometimes in obvious question and answer, one far to the east breaking
out in a high staccato rattle, and being followed after a pause by a
deep roll from the north.  There was something indescribably
nerve-shaking and menacing in that constant mutter, which seemed to
shape itself into the very syllables of the half-breed, endlessly
repeated, "We will kill you if we can.  We will kill you if we can."
No one ever moved in the silent woods.  All the peace and soothing of
quiet Nature lay in that dark curtain of vegetation, but away from
behind there came ever the one message from our fellow-man.  "We will
kill you if we can," said the men in the east.  "We will kill you if we
can," said the men in the north.

All day the drums rumbled and whispered, while their menace reflected
itself in the faces of our colored companions.  Even the hardy,
swaggering half-breed seemed cowed.  I learned, however, that day once
for all that both Summerlee and Challenger possessed that highest type
of bravery, the bravery of the scientific mind.  Theirs was the spirit
which upheld Darwin among the gauchos of the Argentine or Wallace among
the head-hunters of Malaya.  It is decreed by a merciful Nature that
the human brain cannot think of two things simultaneously, so that if
it be steeped in curiosity as to science it has no room for merely
personal considerations.  All day amid that incessant and mysterious
menace our two Professors watched every bird upon the wing, and every
shrub upon the bank, with many a sharp wordy contention, when the snarl
of Summerlee came quick upon the deep growl of Challenger, but with no
more sense of danger and no more reference to drum-beating Indians than
if they were seated together in the smoking-room of the Royal Society's
Club in St.  James's Street.  Once only did they condescend to discuss
them.

"Miranha or Amajuaca cannibals," said Challenger, jerking his thumb
towards the reverberating wood.

"No doubt, sir," Summerlee answered.  "Like all such tribes, I shall
expect to find them of poly-synthetic speech and of Mongolian type."

"Polysynthetic certainly," said Challenger, indulgently.  "I am not
aware that any other type of language exists in this continent, and I
have notes of more than a hundred.  The Mongolian theory I regard with
deep suspicion."

"I should have thought that even a limited knowledge of comparative
anatomy would have helped to verify it," said Summerlee, bitterly.

Challenger thrust out his aggressive chin until he was all beard and
hat-rim.  "No doubt, sir, a limited knowledge would have that effect.
When one's knowledge is exhaustive, one comes to other conclusions."
They glared at each other in mutual defiance, while all round rose the
distant whisper, "We will kill you--we will kill you if we can."

That night we moored our canoes with heavy stones for anchors in the
center of the stream, and made every preparation for a possible attack.
Nothing came, however, and with the dawn we pushed upon our way, the
drum-beating dying out behind us.  About three o'clock in the afternoon
we came to a very steep rapid, more than a mile long--the very one in
which Professor Challenger had suffered disaster upon his first
journey.  I confess that the sight of it consoled me, for it was really
the first direct corroboration, slight as it was, of the truth of his
story.  The Indians carried first our canoes and then our stores
through the brushwood, which is very thick at this point, while we four
whites, our rifles on our shoulders, walked between them and any danger
coming from the woods.  Before evening we had successfully passed the
rapids, and made our way some ten miles above them, where we anchored
for the night.  At this point I reckoned that we had come not less than
a hundred miles up the tributary from the main stream.

It was in the early forenoon of the next day that we made the great
departure.  Since dawn Professor Challenger had been acutely uneasy,
continually scanning each bank of the river.  Suddenly he gave an
exclamation of satisfaction and pointed to a single tree, which
projected at a peculiar angle over the side of the stream.

"What do you make of that?" he asked.

"It is surely an Assai palm," said Summerlee.

"Exactly.  It was an Assai palm which I took for my landmark.  The
secret opening is half a mile onwards upon the other side of the river.
There is no break in the trees.  That is the wonder and the mystery of
it.  There where you see light-green rushes instead of dark-green
undergrowth, there between the great cotton woods, that is my private
gate into the unknown.  Push through, and you will understand."

It was indeed a wonderful place.  Having reached the spot marked by a
line of light-green rushes, we poled out two canoes through them for
some hundreds of yards, and eventually emerged into a placid and
shallow stream, running clear and transparent over a sandy bottom.  It
may have been twenty yards across, and was banked in on each side by
most luxuriant vegetation.  No one who had not observed that for a
short distance reeds had taken the place of shrubs, could possibly have
guessed the existence of such a stream or dreamed of the fairyland
beyond.

For a fairyland it was--the most wonderful that the imagination of man
could conceive.  The thick vegetation met overhead, interlacing into a
natural pergola, and through this tunnel of verdure in a golden
twilight flowed the green, pellucid river, beautiful in itself, but
marvelous from the strange tints thrown by the vivid light from above
filtered and tempered in its fall.  Clear as crystal, motionless as a
sheet of glass, green as the edge of an iceberg, it stretched in front
of us under its leafy archway, every stroke of our paddles sending a
thousand ripples across its shining surface.  It was a fitting avenue
to a land of wonders.  All sign of the Indians had passed away, but
animal life was more frequent, and the tameness of the creatures showed
that they knew nothing of the hunter.  Fuzzy little black-velvet
monkeys, with snow-white teeth and gleaming, mocking eyes, chattered at
us as we passed.  With a dull, heavy splash an occasional cayman
plunged in from the bank.  Once a dark, clumsy tapir stared at us from
a gap in the bushes, and then lumbered away through the forest; once,
too, the yellow, sinuous form of a great puma whisked amid the
brushwood, and its green, baleful eyes glared hatred at us over its
tawny shoulder.  Bird life was abundant, especially the wading birds,
stork, heron, and ibis gathering in little groups, blue, scarlet, and
white, upon every log which jutted from the bank, while beneath us the
crystal water was alive with fish of every shape and color.

For three days we made our way up this tunnel of hazy green sunshine.
On the longer stretches one could hardly tell as one looked ahead where
the distant green water ended and the distant green archway began.  The
deep peace of this strange waterway was unbroken by any sign of man.

"No Indian here.  Too much afraid.  Curupuri," said Gomez.

"Curupuri is the spirit of the woods," Lord John explained.  "It's a
name for any kind of devil.  The poor beggars think that there is
something fearsome in this direction, and therefore they avoid it."

On the third day it became evident that our journey in the canoes could
not last much longer, for the stream was rapidly growing more shallow.
Twice in as many hours we stuck upon the bottom.  Finally we pulled the
boats up among the brushwood and spent the night on the bank of the
river.  In the morning Lord John and I made our way for a couple of
miles through the forest, keeping parallel with the stream; but as it
grew ever shallower we returned and reported, what Professor Challenger
had already suspected, that we had reached the highest point to which
the canoes could be brought.  We drew them up, therefore, and concealed
them among the bushes, blazing a tree with our axes, so that we should
find them again.  Then we distributed the various burdens among
us--guns, ammunition, food, a tent, blankets, and the rest--and,
shouldering our packages, we set forth upon the more laborious stage of
our journey.

An unfortunate quarrel between our pepper-pots marked the outset of our
new stage.  Challenger had from the moment of joining us issued
directions to the whole party, much to the evident discontent of
Summerlee.  Now, upon his assigning some duty to his fellow-Professor
(it was only the carrying of an aneroid barometer), the matter suddenly
came to a head.

"May I ask, sir," said Summerlee, with vicious calm, "in what capacity
you take it upon yourself to issue these orders?"

Challenger glared and bristled.

"I do it, Professor Summerlee, as leader of this expedition."

"I am compelled to tell you, sir, that I do not recognize you in that
capacity."

"Indeed!" Challenger bowed with unwieldy sarcasm.  "Perhaps you would
define my exact position."

"Yes, sir.  You are a man whose veracity is upon trial, and this
committee is here to try it.  You walk, sir, with your judges."

"Dear me!" said Challenger, seating himself on the side of one of the
canoes.  "In that case you will, of course, go on your way, and I will
follow at my leisure.  If I am not the leader you cannot expect me to
lead."

Thank heaven that there were two sane men--Lord John Roxton and
myself--to prevent the petulance and folly of our learned Professors
from sending us back empty-handed to London.  Such arguing and pleading
and explaining before we could get them mollified!  Then at last
Summerlee, with his sneer and his pipe, would move forwards, and
Challenger would come rolling and grumbling after.  By some good
fortune we discovered about this time that both our savants had the
very poorest opinion of Dr. Illingworth of Edinburgh.  Thenceforward
that was our one safety, and every strained situation was relieved by
our introducing the name of the Scotch zoologist, when both our
Professors would form a temporary alliance and friendship in their
detestation and abuse of this common rival.

Advancing in single file along the bank of the stream, we soon found
that it narrowed down to a mere brook, and finally that it lost itself
in a great green morass of sponge-like mosses, into which we sank up to
our knees.  The place was horribly haunted by clouds of mosquitoes and
every form of flying pest, so we were glad to find solid ground again
and to make a circuit among the trees, which enabled us to outflank
this pestilent morass, which droned like an organ in the distance, so
loud was it with insect life.

On the second day after leaving our canoes we found that the whole
character of the country changed.  Our road was persistently upwards,
and as we ascended the woods became thinner and lost their tropical
luxuriance.  The huge trees of the alluvial Amazonian plain gave place
to the Phoenix and coco palms, growing in scattered clumps, with thick
brushwood between.  In the damper hollows the Mauritia palms threw out
their graceful drooping fronds.  We traveled entirely by compass, and
once or twice there were differences of opinion between Challenger and
the two Indians, when, to quote the Professor's indignant words, the
whole party agreed to "trust the fallacious instincts of undeveloped
savages rather than the highest product of modern European culture."
That we were justified in doing so was shown upon the third day, when
Challenger admitted that he recognized several landmarks of his former
journey, and in one spot we actually came upon four fire-blackened
stones, which must have marked a camping-place.

The road still ascended, and we crossed a rock-studded slope which took
two days to traverse.  The vegetation had again changed, and only the
vegetable ivory tree remained, with a great profusion of wonderful
orchids, among which I learned to recognize the rare Nuttonia
Vexillaria and the glorious pink and scarlet blossoms of Cattleya and
odontoglossum.  Occasional brooks with pebbly bottoms and fern-draped
banks gurgled down the shallow gorges in the hill, and offered good
camping-grounds every evening on the banks of some rock-studded pool,
where swarms of little blue-backed fish, about the size and shape of
English trout, gave us a delicious supper.

On the ninth day after leaving the canoes, having done, as I reckon,
about a hundred and twenty miles, we began to emerge from the trees,
which had grown smaller until they were mere shrubs.  Their place was
taken by an immense wilderness of bamboo, which grew so thickly that we
could only penetrate it by cutting a pathway with the machetes and
billhooks of the Indians.  It took us a long day, traveling from seven
in the morning till eight at night, with only two breaks of one hour
each, to get through this obstacle.  Anything more monotonous and
wearying could not be imagined, for, even at the most open places, I
could not see more than ten or twelve yards, while usually my vision
was limited to the back of Lord John's cotton jacket in front of me,
and to the yellow wall within a foot of me on either side.  From above
came one thin knife-edge of sunshine, and fifteen feet over our heads
one saw the tops of the reeds swaying against the deep blue sky.  I do
not know what kind of creatures inhabit such a thicket, but several
times we heard the plunging of large, heavy animals quite close to us.
From their sounds Lord John judged them to be some form of wild cattle.
Just as night fell we cleared the belt of bamboos, and at once formed
our camp, exhausted by the interminable day.

Early next morning we were again afoot, and found that the character of
the country had changed once again.  Behind us was the wall of bamboo,
as definite as if it marked the course of a river.  In front was an
open plain, sloping slightly upwards and dotted with clumps of
tree-ferns, the whole curving before us until it ended in a long,
whale-backed ridge.  This we reached about midday, only to find a
shallow valley beyond, rising once again into a gentle incline which
led to a low, rounded sky-line.  It was here, while we crossed the
first of these hills, that an incident occurred which may or may not
have been important.

Professor Challenger, who with the two local Indians was in the van of
the party, stopped suddenly and pointed excitedly to the right.  As he
did so we saw, at the distance of a mile or so, something which
appeared to be a huge gray bird flap slowly up from the ground and skim
smoothly off, flying very low and straight, until it was lost among the
tree-ferns.

"Did you see it?" cried Challenger, in exultation.  "Summerlee, did you
see it?"

His colleague was staring at the spot where the creature had
disappeared.

"What do you claim that it was?" he asked.

"To the best of my belief, a pterodactyl."

Summerlee burst into derisive laughter "A pter-fiddlestick!" said he.
"It was a stork, if ever I saw one."

Challenger was too furious to speak.  He simply swung his pack upon his
back and continued upon his march.  Lord John came abreast of me,
however, and his face was more grave than was his wont.  He had his
Zeiss glasses in his hand.

"I focused it before it got over the trees," said he. "I won't
undertake to say what it was, but I'll risk my reputation as a
sportsman that it wasn't any bird that ever I clapped eyes on in my
life."

So there the matter stands.  Are we really just at the edge of the
unknown, encountering the outlying pickets of this lost world of which
our leader speaks?  I give you the incident as it occurred and you will
know as much as I do.  It stands alone, for we saw nothing more which
could be called remarkable.

And now, my readers, if ever I have any, I have brought you up the
broad river, and through the screen of rushes, and down the green
tunnel, and up the long slope of palm trees, and through the bamboo
brake, and across the plain of tree-ferns.  At last our destination lay
in full sight of us.  When we had crossed the second ridge we saw
before us an irregular, palm-studded plain, and then the line of high
red cliffs which I have seen in the picture.  There it lies, even as I
write, and there can be no question that it is the same.  At the
nearest point it is about seven miles from our present camp, and it
curves away, stretching as far as I can see.  Challenger struts about
like a prize peacock, and Summerlee is silent, but still sceptical.
Another day should bring some of our doubts to an end.  Meanwhile, as
Jose, whose arm was pierced by a broken bamboo, insists upon returning,
I send this letter back in his charge, and only hope that it may
eventually come to hand.  I will write again as the occasion serves.  I
have enclosed with this a rough chart of our journey, which may have
the effect of making the account rather easier to understand.




A dreadful thing has happened to us.  Who could have foreseen it?  I
cannot foresee any end to our troubles.  It may be that we are
condemned to spend our whole lives in this strange, inaccessible place.
I am still so confused that I can hardly think clearly of the facts of
the present or of the chances of the future.  To my astounded senses
the one seems most terrible and the other as black as night.

No men have ever found themselves in a worse position; nor is there any
use in disclosing to you our exact geographical situation and asking
our friends for a relief party.  Even if they could send one, our fate
will in all human probability be decided long before it could arrive in
South America.

We are, in truth, as far from any human aid as if we were in the moon.
If we are to win through, it is only our own qualities which can save
us.  I have as companions three remarkable men, men of great
brain-power and of unshaken courage.  There lies our one and only hope.
It is only when I look upon the untroubled faces of my comrades that I
see some glimmer through the darkness.  Outwardly I trust that I appear
as unconcerned as they.  Inwardly I am filled with apprehension.

Let me give you, with as much detail as I can, the sequence of events
which have led us to this catastrophe.

When I finished my last letter I stated that we were within seven miles
from an enormous line of ruddy cliffs, which encircled, beyond all
doubt, the plateau of which Professor Challenger spoke.  Their height,
as we approached them, seemed to me in some places to be greater than
he had stated--running up in parts to at least a thousand feet--and
they were curiously striated, in a manner which is, I believe,
characteristic of basaltic upheavals.  Something of the sort is to be
seen in Salisbury Crags at Edinburgh.  The summit showed every sign of
a luxuriant vegetation, with bushes near the edge, and farther back
many high trees.  There was no indication of any life that we could see.

That night we pitched our camp immediately under the cliff--a most wild
and desolate spot.  The crags above us were not merely perpendicular,
but curved outwards at the top, so that ascent was out of the question.
Close to us was the high thin pinnacle of rock which I believe I
mentioned earlier in this narrative.  It is like a broad red church
spire, the top of it being level with the plateau, but a great chasm
gaping between.  On the summit of it there grew one high tree.  Both
pinnacle and cliff were comparatively low--some five or six hundred
feet, I should think.

"It was on that," said Professor Challenger, pointing to this tree,
"that the pterodactyl was perched.  I climbed half-way up the rock
before I shot him.  I am inclined to think that a good mountaineer like
myself could ascend the rock to the top, though he would, of course, be
no nearer to the plateau when he had done so."

As Challenger spoke of his pterodactyl I glanced at Professor
Summerlee, and for the first time I seemed to see some signs of a
dawning credulity and repentance.  There was no sneer upon his thin
lips, but, on the contrary, a gray, drawn look of excitement and
amazement.  Challenger saw it, too, and reveled in the first taste of
victory.

"Of course," said he,  with his clumsy and ponderous sarcasm,
"Professor Summerlee will understand that when I speak of a pterodactyl
I mean a stork--only it is the kind of stork which has no feathers, a
leathery skin, membranous wings, and teeth in its jaws."  He grinned
and blinked and bowed until his colleague turned and walked away.

In the morning, after a frugal breakfast of coffee and manioc--we had
to be economical of our stores--we held a council of war as to the best
method of ascending to the plateau above us.

Challenger presided with a solemnity as if he were the Lord Chief
Justice on the Bench.  Picture him seated upon a rock, his absurd
boyish straw hat tilted on the back of his head, his supercilious eyes
dominating us from under his drooping lids, his great black beard
wagging as he slowly defined our present situation and our future
movements.

Beneath him you might have seen the three of us--myself, sunburnt,
young, and vigorous after our open-air tramp; Summerlee, solemn but
still critical, behind his eternal pipe; Lord John, as keen as a
razor-edge, with his supple, alert figure leaning upon his rifle, and
his eager eyes fixed eagerly upon the speaker.  Behind us were grouped
the two swarthy half-breeds and the little knot of Indians, while in
front and above us towered those huge, ruddy ribs of rocks which kept
us from our goal.

"I need not say," said our leader, "that on the occasion of my last
visit I exhausted every means of climbing the cliff, and where I failed
I do not think that anyone else is likely to succeed, for I am
something of a mountaineer.  I had none of the appliances of a
rock-climber with me, but I have taken the precaution to bring them
now.  With their aid I am positive I could climb that detached pinnacle
to the summit; but so long as the main cliff overhangs, it is vain to
attempt ascending that.  I was hurried upon my last visit by the
approach of the rainy season and by the exhaustion of my supplies.
These considerations limited my time, and I can only claim that I have
surveyed about six miles of the cliff to the east of us, finding no
possible way up.  What, then, shall we now do?"

"There seems to be only one reasonable course," said Professor
Summerlee.  "If you have explored the east, we should travel along the
base of the cliff to the west, and seek for a practicable point for our
ascent."

"That's it," said Lord John.  "The odds are that this plateau is of no
great size, and we shall travel round it until we either find an easy
way up it, or come back to the point from which we started."

"I have already explained to our young friend here," said Challenger
(he has a way of alluding to me as if I were a school child ten years
old), "that it is quite impossible that there should be an easy way up
anywhere, for the simple reason that if there were the summit would not
be isolated, and those conditions would not obtain which have effected
so singular an interference with the general laws of survival.  Yet I
admit that there may very well be places where an expert human climber
may reach the summit, and yet a cumbrous and heavy animal be unable to
descend.  It is certain that there is a point where an ascent is
possible."

"How do you know that, sir?" asked Summerlee, sharply.

"Because my predecessor, the American Maple White, actually made such
an ascent.  How otherwise could he have seen the monster which he
sketched in his notebook?"

"There you reason somewhat ahead of the proved facts," said the
stubborn Summerlee.  "I admit your plateau, because I have seen it; but
I have not as yet satisfied myself that it contains any form of life
whatever."

"What you admit, sir, or what you do not admit, is really of
inconceivably small importance.  I am glad to perceive that the plateau
itself has actually obtruded itself upon your intelligence." He glanced
up at it, and then, to our amazement, he sprang from his rock, and,
seizing Summerlee by the neck, he tilted his face into the air.  "Now
sir!" he shouted, hoarse with excitement.  "Do I help you to realize
that the plateau contains some animal life?"

I have said that a thick fringe of green overhung the edge of the
cliff.  Out of this there had emerged a black, glistening object.  As
it came slowly forth and overhung the chasm, we saw that it was a very
large snake with a peculiar flat, spade-like head.  It wavered and
quivered above us for a minute, the morning sun gleaming upon its
sleek, sinuous coils.  Then it slowly drew inwards and disappeared.

Summerlee had been so interested that he had stood unresisting while
Challenger tilted his head into the air.  Now he shook his colleague
off and came back to his dignity.

"I should be glad, Professor Challenger," said he, "if you could see
your way to make any remarks which may occur to you without seizing me
by the chin.  Even the appearance of a very ordinary rock python does
not appear to justify such a liberty."

"But there is life upon the plateau all the same," his colleague
replied in triumph.  "And now, having demonstrated this important
conclusion so that it is clear to anyone, however prejudiced or obtuse,
I am of opinion that we cannot do better than break up our camp and
travel to westward until we find some means of ascent."

The ground at the foot of the cliff was rocky and broken so that the
going was slow and difficult.  Suddenly we came, however, upon
something which cheered our hearts.  It was the site of an old
encampment, with several empty Chicago meat tins, a bottle labeled
"Brandy," a broken tin-opener, and a quantity of other travelers'
debris.  A crumpled, disintegrated newspaper revealed itself as the
Chicago Democrat, though the date had been obliterated.

"Not mine," said Challenger.  "It must be Maple White's."

Lord John had been gazing curiously at a great tree-fern which
overshadowed the encampment.  "I say, look at this," said he.  "I
believe it is meant for a sign-post."

A slip of hard wood had been nailed to the tree in such a way as to
point to the westward.

"Most certainly a sign-post," said Challenger.  "What else?  Finding
himself upon a dangerous errand, our pioneer has left this sign so that
any party which follows him may know the way he has taken.  Perhaps we
shall come upon some other indications as we proceed."

We did indeed, but they were of a terrible and most unexpected nature.
Immediately beneath the cliff there grew a considerable patch of high
bamboo, like that which we had traversed in our journey.  Many of these
stems were twenty feet high, with sharp, strong tops, so that even as
they stood they made formidable spears.  We were passing along the edge
of this cover when my eye was caught by the gleam of something white
within it.  Thrusting in my head between the stems, I found myself
gazing at a fleshless skull.  The whole skeleton was there, but the
skull had detached itself and lay some feet nearer to the open.

With a few blows from the machetes of our Indians we cleared the spot
and were able to study the details of this old tragedy.  Only a few
shreds of clothes could still be distinguished, but there were the
remains of boots upon the bony feet, and it was very clear that the
dead man was a European.  A gold watch by Hudson, of New York, and a
chain which held a stylographic pen, lay among the bones.  There was
also a silver cigarette-case, with "J. C., from A. E. S.," upon the
lid.  The state of the metal seemed to show that the catastrophe had
occurred no great time before.

"Who can he be?" asked Lord John.  "Poor devil! every bone in his body
seems to be broken."

"And the bamboo grows through his smashed ribs," said Summerlee.  "It
is a fast-growing plant, but it is surely inconceivable that this body
could have been here while the canes grew to be twenty feet in length."

"As to the man's identity," said Professor Challenger, "I have no doubt
whatever upon that point.  As I made my way up the river before I
reached you at the fazenda I instituted very particular inquiries about
Maple White.  At Para they knew nothing.  Fortunately, I had a definite
clew, for there was a particular picture in his sketch-book which
showed him taking lunch with a certain ecclesiastic at Rosario.  This
priest I was able to find, and though he proved a very argumentative
fellow, who took it absurdly amiss that I should point out to him the
corrosive effect which modern science must have upon his beliefs, he
none the less gave me some positive information.  Maple White passed
Rosario four years ago, or two years before I saw his dead body.  He
was not alone at the time, but there was a friend, an American named
James Colver, who remained in the boat and did not meet this
ecclesiastic.  I think, therefore, that there can be no doubt that we
are now looking upon the remains of this James Colver."

"Nor," said Lord John, "is there much doubt as to how he met his death.
He has fallen or been chucked from the top, and so been impaled.  How
else could he come by his broken bones, and how could he have been
stuck through by these canes with their points so high above our heads?"

A hush came over us as we stood round these shattered remains and
realized the truth of Lord John Roxton's words.  The beetling head of
the cliff projected over the cane-brake.  Undoubtedly he had fallen
from above.  But had he fallen?  Had it been an accident?  Or--already
ominous and terrible possibilities began to form round that unknown
land.

We moved off in silence, and continued to coast round the line of
cliffs, which were as even and unbroken as some of those monstrous
Antarctic ice-fields which I have seen depicted as stretching from
horizon to horizon and towering high above the mast-heads of the
exploring vessel.

In five miles we saw no rift or break.  And then suddenly we perceived
something which filled us with new hope.  In a hollow of the rock,
protected from rain, there was drawn a rough arrow in chalk, pointing
still to the westwards.

"Maple White again," said Professor Challenger.  "He had some
presentiment that worthy footsteps would follow close behind him."

"He had chalk, then?"

"A box of colored chalks was among the effects I found in his knapsack.
I remember that the white one was worn to a stump."

"That is certainly good evidence," said Summerlee.  "We can only accept
his guidance and follow on to the westward."

We had proceeded some five more miles when again we saw a white arrow
upon the rocks.  It was at a point where the face of the cliff was for
the first time split into a narrow cleft.  Inside the cleft was a
second guidance mark, which pointed right up it with the tip somewhat
elevated, as if the spot indicated were above the level of the ground.

It was a solemn place, for the walls were so gigantic and the slit of
blue sky so narrow and so obscured by a double fringe of verdure, that
only a dim and shadowy light penetrated to the bottom.  We had had no
food for many hours, and were very weary with the stony and irregular
journey, but our nerves were too strung to allow us to halt.  We
ordered the camp to be pitched, however, and, leaving the Indians to
arrange it, we four, with the two half-breeds, proceeded up the narrow
gorge.

It was not more than forty feet across at the mouth, but it rapidly
closed until it ended in an acute angle, too straight and smooth for an
ascent.  Certainly it was not this which our pioneer had attempted to
indicate.  We made our way back--the whole gorge was not more than a
quarter of a mile deep--and then suddenly the quick eyes of Lord John
fell upon what we were seeking.  High up above our heads, amid the dark
shadows, there was one circle of deeper gloom.  Surely it could only be
the opening of a cave.

The base of the cliff was heaped with loose stones at the spot, and it
was not difficult to clamber up.  When we reached it, all doubt was
removed.  Not only was it an opening into the rock, but on the side of
it there was marked once again the sign of the arrow.  Here was the
point, and this the means by which Maple White and his ill-fated
comrade had made their ascent.

We were too excited to return to the camp, but must make our first
exploration at once.  Lord John had an electric torch in his knapsack,
and this had to serve us as light.  He advanced, throwing his little
clear circlet of yellow radiance before him, while in single file we
followed at his heels.

The cave had evidently been water-worn, the sides being smooth and the
floor covered with rounded stones.  It was of such a size that a single
man could just fit through by stooping.  For fifty yards it ran almost
straight into the rock, and then it ascended at an angle of forty-five.
Presently this incline became even steeper, and we found ourselves
climbing upon hands and knees among loose rubble which slid from
beneath us.  Suddenly an exclamation broke from Lord Roxton.

"It's blocked!" said he.

Clustering behind him we saw in the yellow field of light a wall of
broken basalt which extended to the ceiling.

"The roof has fallen in!"

In vain we dragged out some of the pieces.  The only effect was that
the larger ones became detached and threatened to roll down the
gradient and crush us.  It was evident that the obstacle was far beyond
any efforts which we could make to remove it.  The road by which Maple
White had ascended was no longer available.

Too much cast down to speak, we stumbled down the dark tunnel and made
our way back to the camp.

One incident occurred, however, before we left the gorge, which is of
importance in view of what came afterwards.

We had gathered in a little group at the bottom of the chasm, some
forty feet beneath the mouth of the cave, when a huge rock rolled
suddenly downwards--and shot past us with tremendous force.  It was the
narrowest escape for one or all of us.  We could not ourselves see
whence the rock had come, but our half-breed servants, who were still
at the opening of the cave, said that it had flown past them, and must
therefore have fallen from the summit.  Looking upwards, we could see
no sign of movement above us amidst the green jungle which topped the
cliff.  There could be little doubt, however, that the stone was aimed
at us, so the incident surely pointed to humanity--and malevolent
humanity--upon the plateau.

We withdrew hurriedly from the chasm, our minds full of this new
development and its bearing upon our plans.  The situation was
difficult enough before, but if the obstructions of Nature were
increased by the deliberate opposition of man, then our case was indeed
a hopeless one.  And yet, as we looked up at that beautiful fringe of
verdure only a few hundreds of feet above our heads, there was not one
of us who could conceive the idea of returning to London until we had
explored it to its depths.

On discussing the situation, we determined that our best course was to
continue to coast round the plateau in the hope of finding some other
means of reaching the top.  The line of cliffs, which had decreased
considerably in height, had already begun to trend from west to north,
and if we could take this as representing the arc of a circle, the
whole circumference could not be very great.  At the worst, then, we
should be back in a few days at our starting-point.

We made a march that day which totaled some two-and-twenty miles,
without any change in our prospects.  I may mention that our aneroid
shows us that in the continual incline which we have ascended since we
abandoned our canoes we have risen to no less than three thousand feet
above sea-level.  Hence there is a considerable change both in the
temperature and in the vegetation.  We have shaken off some of that
horrible insect life which is the bane of tropical travel.  A few palms
still survive, and many tree-ferns, but the Amazonian trees have been
all left behind.  It was pleasant to see the convolvulus, the
passion-flower, and the begonia, all reminding me of home, here among
these inhospitable rocks.  There was a red begonia just the same color
as one that is kept in a pot in the window of a certain villa in
Streatham--but I am drifting into private reminiscence.

That night--I am still speaking of the first day of our
circumnavigation of the plateau--a great experience awaited us, and one
which for ever set at rest any doubt which we could have had as to the
wonders so near us.

You will realize as you read it, my dear Mr. McArdle, and possibly for
the first time that the paper has not sent me on a wild-goose chase,
and that there is inconceivably fine copy waiting for the world
whenever we have the Professor's leave to make use of it.  I shall not
dare to publish these articles unless I can bring back my proofs to
England, or I shall be hailed as the journalistic Munchausen of all
time.  I have no doubt that you feel the same way yourself, and that
you would not care to stake the whole credit of the Gazette upon this
adventure until we can meet the chorus of criticism and scepticism
which such articles must of necessity elicit.  So this wonderful
incident, which would make such a headline for the old paper, must
still wait its turn in the editorial drawer.

And yet it was all over in a flash, and there was no sequel to it, save
in our own convictions.

What occurred was this.  Lord John had shot an ajouti--which is a
small, pig-like animal--and, half of it having been given to the
Indians, we were cooking the other half upon our fire.  There is a
chill in the  air after dark, and we had all drawn close to the blaze.
The night was moonless, but there were some stars, and one could see
for a little distance across the plain.  Well, suddenly out of the
darkness, out of the night, there swooped something with a swish like
an aeroplane.  The whole group of us were covered for an instant by a
canopy of leathery wings, and I had a momentary vision of a long,
snake-like neck, a fierce, red, greedy eye, and a great snapping beak,
filled, to my amazement, with little, gleaming teeth.  The next instant
it was gone--and so was our dinner.  A huge black shadow, twenty feet
across, skimmed up into the air; for an instant the monster wings
blotted out the stars, and then it vanished over the brow of the cliff
above us.  We all sat in amazed silence round the fire, like the heroes
of Virgil when the Harpies came down upon them.  It was Summerlee who
was the first to speak.

"Professor Challenger," said he, in a solemn voice, which quavered with
emotion, "I owe you an apology.  Sir, I am very much in the wrong, and
I beg that you will forget what is past."

It was handsomely said, and the two men for the first time shook hands.
So much we have gained by this clear vision of our first pterodactyl.
It was worth a stolen supper to bring two such men together.

But if prehistoric life existed upon the plateau it was not
superabundant, for we had no further glimpse of it during the next
three days.  During this time we traversed a barren and forbidding
country, which alternated between stony desert and desolate marshes
full of many wild-fowl, upon the north and east of the cliffs.  From
that direction the place is really inaccessible, and, were it not for a
hardish ledge which runs at the very base of the precipice, we should
have had to turn back.  Many times we were up to our waists in the
slime and blubber of an old, semi-tropical swamp.  To make matters
worse, the place seemed to be a favorite breeding-place of the Jaracaca
snake, the most venomous and aggressive in South America.  Again and
again these horrible creatures came writhing and springing towards us
across the surface of this putrid bog, and it was only by keeping our
shot-guns for ever ready that we could feel safe from them.  One
funnel-shaped depression in the morass, of a livid green in color from
some lichen which festered in it, will always remain as a nightmare
memory in my mind.  It seems to have been a special nest of these
vermins, and the slopes were alive with them, all writhing in our
direction, for it is a peculiarity of the Jaracaca that he will always
attack man at first sight.  There were too many for us to shoot, so we
fairly took to our heels and ran until we were exhausted.  I shall
always remember as we looked back how far behind we could see the heads
and necks of our horrible pursuers rising and falling amid the reeds.
Jaracaca Swamp we named it in the map which we are constructing.

The cliffs upon the farther side had lost their ruddy tint, being
chocolate-brown in color; the vegetation was more scattered along the
top of them, and they had sunk to three or four hundred feet in height,
but in no place did we find any point where they could be ascended.  If
anything, they were more impossible than at the first point where we
had met them.  Their absolute steepness is indicated in the photograph
which I took over the stony desert.

"Surely," said I, as we discussed the situation, "the rain must find
its way down somehow.  There are bound to be water-channels in the
rocks."

"Our young friend has glimpses of lucidity," said Professor Challenger,
patting me upon the shoulder.

"The rain must go somewhere," I repeated.

"He keeps a firm grip upon actuality.  The only drawback is that we
have conclusively proved by ocular demonstration that there are no
water channels down the rocks."

"Where, then, does it go?" I persisted.

"I think it may be fairly assumed that if it does not come outwards it
must run inwards."

"Then there is a lake in the center."

"So I should suppose."

"It is more than likely that the lake may be an old crater," said
Summerlee.  "The whole formation is, of course, highly volcanic.  But,
however that may be, I should expect to find the surface of the plateau
slope inwards with a considerable sheet of water in the center, which
may drain off, by some subterranean channel, into the marshes of the
Jaracaca Swamp."

"Or evaporation might preserve an equilibrium," remarked Challenger,
and the two learned men wandered off into one of their usual scientific
arguments, which were as comprehensible as Chinese to the layman.

On the sixth day we completed our first circuit of the cliffs, and
found ourselves back at the first camp, beside the isolated pinnacle of
rock.  We were a disconsolate party, for nothing could have been more
minute than our investigation, and it was absolutely certain that there
was no single point where the most active human being could possibly
hope to scale the cliff.  The place which Maple White's chalk-marks had
indicated as his own means of access was now entirely impassable.

What were we to do now?  Our stores of provisions, supplemented by our
guns, were holding out well, but the day must come when they would need
replenishment.  In a couple of months the rains might be expected, and
we should be washed out of our camp.  The rock was harder than marble,
and any attempt at cutting a path for so great a height was more than
our time or resources would admit.  No wonder that we looked gloomily
at each other that night, and sought our blankets with hardly a word
exchanged.  I remember that as I dropped off to sleep my last
recollection was that Challenger was squatting, like a monstrous
bull-frog, by the fire, his huge head in his hands, sunk apparently in
the deepest thought, and entirely oblivious to the good-night which I
wished him.

But it was a very different Challenger who greeted us in the morning--a
Challenger with contentment and self-congratulation shining from his
whole person.  He faced us as we assembled for breakfast with a
deprecating false modesty in his eyes, as who should say, "I know that
I deserve all that you can say, but I pray you to spare my blushes by
not saying it."  His beard bristled exultantly, his chest was thrown
out, and his hand was thrust into the front of his jacket.  So, in his
fancy, may he see himself sometimes, gracing the vacant pedestal in
Trafalgar Square, and adding one more to the horrors of the London
streets.

"Eureka!" he cried, his teeth shining through his beard.  "Gentlemen,
you may congratulate me and we may congratulate each other.  The
problem is solved."

"You have found a way up?"

"I venture to think so."

"And where?"

For answer he pointed to the spire-like pinnacle upon our right.

Our faces--or mine, at least--fell as we surveyed it.  That it could be
climbed we had our companion's assurance.  But a horrible abyss lay
between it and the plateau.

"We can never get across," I gasped.

"We can at least all reach the summit," said he.  "When we are up I may
be able to show you that the resources of an inventive mind are not yet
exhausted."

After breakfast we unpacked the bundle in which our leader had brought
his climbing accessories.  From it he took a coil of the strongest and
lightest rope, a hundred and fifty feet in length, with climbing irons,
clamps, and other devices.  Lord John was an experienced mountaineer,
and Summerlee had done some rough climbing at various times, so that I
was really the novice at rock-work of the party; but my strength and
activity may have made up for my want of experience.

It was not in reality a very stiff task, though there were moments
which made my hair bristle upon my head.  The first half was perfectly
easy, but from there upwards it became continually steeper until, for
the last fifty feet, we were literally clinging with our fingers and
toes to tiny ledges and crevices in the rock.  I could not have
accomplished it, nor could Summerlee, if Challenger had not gained the
summit (it was extraordinary to see such activity in so unwieldy a
creature) and there fixed the rope round the trunk of the considerable
tree which grew there.  With this as our support, we were soon able to
scramble up the jagged wall until we found ourselves upon the small
grassy platform, some twenty-five feet each way, which formed the
summit.

The first impression which I received when I had recovered my breath
was of the extraordinary view over the country which we had traversed.
The whole Brazilian plain seemed to lie beneath us, extending away and
away until it ended in dim blue mists upon the farthest sky-line.  In
the foreground was the long slope, strewn with rocks and dotted with
tree-ferns; farther off in the middle distance, looking over the
saddle-back hill, I could just see the yellow and green mass of bamboos
through which we had passed; and then, gradually, the vegetation
increased until it formed the huge forest which extended as far as the
eyes could reach, and for a good two thousand miles beyond.

I was still drinking in this wonderful panorama when the heavy hand of
the Professor fell upon my shoulder.

"This way, my young friend," said he; "vestigia nulla retrorsum.  Never
look rearwards, but always to our glorious goal."

The level of the plateau, when I turned, was exactly that on which we
stood, and the green bank of bushes, with occasional trees, was so near
that it was difficult to realize how inaccessible it remained.  At a
rough guess the gulf was forty feet across, but, so far as I could see,
it might as well have been forty miles.  I placed one arm round the
trunk of the tree and leaned over the abyss.  Far down were the small
dark figures of our servants, looking up at us.  The wall was
absolutely precipitous, as was that which faced me.

"This is indeed curious," said the creaking voice of Professor
Summerlee.

I turned, and found that he was examining with great interest the tree
to which I clung.  That smooth bark and those small, ribbed leaves
seemed familiar to my eyes.  "Why," I cried, "it's a beech!"

"Exactly," said Summerlee.  "A fellow-countryman in a far land."

"Not only a fellow-countryman, my good sir," said Challenger, "but
also, if I may be allowed to enlarge your simile, an ally of the first
value.  This beech tree will be our saviour."

"By George!" cried Lord John, "a bridge!"

"Exactly, my friends, a bridge!  It is not for nothing that I expended
an hour last night in focusing my mind upon the situation.  I have some
recollection of once remarking to our young friend here that G. E. C.
is at his best when his back is to the wall.  Last night you will admit
that all our backs were to the wall.  But where will-power and
intellect go together, there is always a way out.  A drawbridge had to
be found which could be dropped across the abyss.  Behold it!"

It was certainly a brilliant idea.  The tree was a good sixty feet in
height, and if it only fell the right way it would easily cross the
chasm.  Challenger had slung the camp axe over his shoulder when he
ascended.  Now he handed it to me.

"Our young friend has the thews and sinews," said he.  "I think he will
be the most useful at this task.  I must beg, however, that you will
kindly refrain from thinking for yourself, and that you will do exactly
what you are told."

Under his direction I cut such gashes in the sides of the trees as
would ensure that it should fall as we desired.  It had already a
strong, natural tilt in the direction of the plateau, so that the
matter was not difficult.  Finally I set to work in earnest upon the
trunk, taking turn and turn with Lord John.  In a little over an hour
there was a loud crack, the tree swayed forward, and then crashed over,
burying its branches among the bushes on the farther side.  The severed
trunk rolled to the very edge of our platform, and for one terrible
second we all thought it was over.  It balanced itself, however, a few
inches from the edge, and there was our bridge to the unknown.

All of us, without a word, shook hands with Professor Challenger, who
raised his straw hat and bowed deeply to each in turn.

"I claim the honor," said he, "to be the first to cross to the unknown
land--a fitting subject, no doubt, for some future historical painting."

He had approached the bridge when Lord John laid his hand upon his coat.

"My dear chap," said he, "I really cannot allow it."

"Cannot allow it, sir!"  The head went back and the beard forward.

"When it is a matter of science, don't you know, I follow your lead
because you are by way of bein' a man of science.  But it's up to you
to follow me when you come into my department."

"Your department, sir?"

"We all have our professions, and soldierin' is mine.  We are,
accordin' to my ideas, invadin' a new country, which may or may not be
chock-full of enemies of sorts.  To barge blindly into it for want of a
little common sense and patience isn't my notion of management."

The remonstrance was too reasonable to be disregarded.  Challenger
tossed his head and shrugged his heavy shoulders.

"Well, sir, what do you propose?"

"For all I know there may be a tribe of cannibals waitin' for
lunch-time among those very bushes," said Lord John, looking across the
bridge.  "It's better to learn wisdom before you get into a
cookin'-pot; so we will content ourselves with hopin' that there is no
trouble waitin' for us, and at the same time we will act as if there
were.  Malone and I will go down again, therefore, and we will fetch up
the four rifles, together with Gomez and the other.  One man can then
go across and the rest will cover him with guns, until he sees that it
is safe for the whole crowd to come along."

Challenger sat down upon the cut stump and groaned his impatience; but
Summerlee and I were of one mind that Lord John was our leader when
such practical details were in question.  The climb was a more simple
thing now that the rope dangled down the face of the worst part of the
ascent.  Within an hour we had brought up the rifles and a shot-gun.
The half-breeds had ascended also, and under Lord John's orders they
had carried up a bale of provisions in case our first exploration
should be a long one.  We had each bandoliers of cartridges.

"Now, Challenger, if you really insist upon being the first man in,"
said Lord John, when every preparation was complete.

"I am much indebted to you for your gracious permission," said the
angry Professor; for never was a man so intolerant of every form of
authority.  "Since you are good enough to allow it, I shall most
certainly take it upon myself to act as pioneer upon this occasion."

Seating himself with a leg overhanging the abyss on each side, and his
hatchet slung upon his back, Challenger hopped his way across the trunk
and was soon at the other side.  He clambered up and waved his arms in
the air.

"At last!" he cried; "at last!"

I gazed anxiously at him, with a vague expectation that some terrible
fate would dart at him from the curtain of green behind him.  But all
was quiet, save that a strange, many-colored bird flew up from under
his feet and vanished among the trees.

Summerlee was the second.  His wiry energy is wonderful in so frail a
frame.  He insisted upon having two rifles slung upon his back, so that
both Professors were armed when he had made his transit.  I came next,
and tried hard not to look down into the horrible gulf over which I was
passing.  Summerlee held out the butt-end of his rifle, and an instant
later I was able to grasp his hand.  As to Lord John, he walked
across--actually walked without support!  He must have nerves of iron.

And there we were, the four of us, upon the dreamland, the lost world,
of Maple White.  To all of us it seemed the moment of our supreme
triumph.  Who could have guessed that it was the prelude to our supreme
disaster?  Let me say in a few words how the crushing blow fell upon us.

We had turned away from the edge, and had penetrated about fifty yards
of close brushwood, when there came a frightful rending crash from
behind us.  With one impulse we rushed back the way that we had come.
The bridge was gone!

Far down at the base of the cliff I saw, as I looked over, a tangled
mass of branches and splintered trunk.  It was our beech tree.  Had the
edge of the platform crumbled and let it through?  For a moment this
explanation was in all our minds.  The next, from the farther side of
the rocky pinnacle before us a swarthy face, the face of Gomez the
half-breed, was slowly protruded.  Yes, it was Gomez, but no longer the
Gomez of the demure smile and the mask-like expression.  Here was a
face with flashing eyes and distorted features, a face convulsed with
hatred and with the mad joy of gratified revenge.

"Lord Roxton!" he shouted.  "Lord John Roxton!"

"Well," said our companion, "here I am."

A shriek of laughter came across the abyss.

"Yes, there you are, you English dog, and there you will remain!  I
have waited and waited, and now has come my chance.  You found it hard
to get up; you will find it harder to get down.  You cursed fools, you
are trapped, every one of you!"

We were too astounded to speak.  We could only stand there staring in
amazement.  A great broken bough upon the grass showed whence he had
gained his leverage to tilt over our bridge.  The face had vanished,
but presently it was up again, more frantic than before.

"We nearly killed you with a stone at the cave," he cried; "but this is
better.  It is slower and more terrible.  Your bones will whiten up
there, and none will know where you lie or come to cover them.  As you
lie dying, think of Lopez, whom you shot five years ago on the Putomayo
River.  I am his brother, and, come what will I will die happy now, for
his memory has been avenged." A furious hand was shaken at us, and then
all was quiet.

Had the half-breed simply wrought his vengeance and then escaped, all
might have been well with him.  It was that foolish, irresistible Latin
impulse to be dramatic which brought his own downfall.  Roxton, the man
who had earned himself the name of the Flail of the Lord through three
countries, was not one who could be safely taunted.  The half-breed was
descending on the farther side of the pinnacle; but before he could
reach the ground Lord John had run along the edge of the plateau and
gained a point from which he could see his man.  There was a single
crack of his rifle, and, though we saw nothing, we heard the scream and
then the distant thud of the falling body.  Roxton came back to us with
a face of granite.

"I have been a blind simpleton," said he, bitterly,  "It's my folly
that has brought you all into this trouble.  I should have remembered
that these people have long memories for blood-feuds, and have been
more upon my guard."

"What about the other one?  It took two of them to lever that tree over
the edge."

"I could have shot him, but I let him go.  He may have had no part in
it.  Perhaps it would have been better if I had killed him, for he
must, as you say, have lent a hand."

Now that we had the clue to his action, each of us could cast back and
remember some sinister act upon the part of the half-breed--his
constant desire to know our plans, his arrest outside our tent when he
was over-hearing them, the furtive looks of hatred which from time to
time one or other of us had surprised.  We were still discussing it,
endeavoring to adjust our minds to these new conditions, when a
singular scene in the plain below arrested our attention.

A man in white clothes, who could only be the surviving half-breed, was
running as one does run when Death is the pacemaker.  Behind him, only
a few yards in his rear, bounded the huge ebony figure of Zambo, our
devoted negro.  Even as we looked, he sprang upon the back of the
fugitive and flung his arms round his neck.  They rolled on the ground
together.  An instant afterwards Zambo rose, looked at the prostrate
man, and then, waving his hand joyously to us, came running in our
direction.  The white figure lay motionless in the middle of the great
plain.

Our two traitors had been destroyed, but the mischief that they had
done lived after them.  By no possible means could we get back to the
pinnacle.  We had been natives of the world; now we were natives of the
plateau.  The two things were separate and apart.  There was the plain
which led to the canoes.  Yonder, beyond the violet, hazy horizon, was
the stream which led back to civilization.  But the link between was
missing.  No human ingenuity could suggest a means of bridging the
chasm which yawned between ourselves and our past lives.  One instant
had altered the whole conditions of our existence.

It was at such a moment that I learned the stuff of which my three
comrades were composed.  They were grave, it is true, and thoughtful,
but of an invincible serenity.  For the moment we could only sit among
the bushes in patience and wait the coming of Zambo.  Presently his
honest black face topped the rocks and his Herculean figure emerged
upon the top of the pinnacle.

"What I do now?" he cried.  "You tell me and I do it."

It was a question which it was easier to ask than to answer.  One thing
only was clear.  He was our one trusty link with the outside world.  On
no account must he leave us.

"No no!" he cried.  "I not leave you.  Whatever come, you always find
me here.  But no able to keep Indians.  Already they say too much
Curupuri live on this place, and they go home.  Now you leave them me
no able to keep them."

It was a fact that our Indians had shown in many ways of late that they
were weary of their journey and anxious to return.  We realized that
Zambo spoke the truth, and that it would be impossible for him to keep
them.

"Make them wait till to-morrow, Zambo," I shouted; "then I can send
letter back by them."

"Very good, sarr! I promise they wait till to-morrow," said the negro.
"But what I do for you now?"

There was plenty for him to do, and admirably the faithful fellow did
it.  First of all, under our directions, he undid the rope from the
tree-stump and threw one end of it across to us.  It was not thicker
than a clothes-line, but it was of great strength, and though we could
not make a bridge of it, we might well find it invaluable if we had any
climbing to do.  He then fastened his end of the rope to the package of
supplies which had been carried up, and we were able to drag it across.
This gave us the means of life for at least a week, even if we found
nothing else.  Finally he descended and carried up two other packets of
mixed goods--a box of ammunition and a number of other things, all of
which we got across by throwing our rope to him and hauling it back.
It was evening when he at last climbed down, with a final assurance
that he would keep the Indians till next morning.

And so it is that I have spent nearly the whole of this our first night
upon the plateau writing up our experiences by the light of a single
candle-lantern.

We supped and camped at the very edge of the cliff, quenching our
thirst with two bottles of Apollinaris which were in one of the cases.
It is vital to us to find water, but I think even Lord John himself had
had adventures enough for one day, and none of us felt inclined to make
the first push into the unknown.  We forbore to light a fire or to make
any unnecessary sound.

To-morrow (or to-day, rather, for it is already dawn as I write) we
shall make our first venture into this strange land.  When I shall be
able to write again--or if I ever shall write again--I know not.
Meanwhile, I can see that the Indians are still in their place, and I
am sure that the faithful Zambo will be here presently to get my
letter.  I only trust that it will come to hand.


P.S.--The more I think the more desperate does our position seem.  I
see no possible hope of our return.  If there were a high tree near the
edge of the plateau we might drop a return bridge across, but there is
none within fifty yards.  Our united strength could not carry a trunk
which would serve our purpose.  The rope, of course, is far too short
that we could descend by it.  No, our position is hopeless--hopeless!

The most wonderful things have happened and are continually happening
to us.  All the paper that I possess consists of five old note-books
and a lot of scraps, and I have only the one stylographic pencil; but
so long as I can move my hand I will continue to set down our
experiences and impressions, for, since we are the only men of the
whole human race to see such things, it is of enormous importance that
I should record them whilst they are fresh in my memory and before that
fate which seems to be constantly impending does actually overtake us.
Whether Zambo can at last take these letters to the river, or whether I
shall myself in some miraculous way carry them back with me, or,
finally, whether some daring explorer, coming upon our tracks with the
advantage, perhaps, of a perfected monoplane, should find this bundle
of manuscript, in any case I can see that what I am writing is destined
to immortality as a classic of true adventure.

On the morning after our being trapped upon the plateau by the
villainous Gomez we began a new stage in our experiences.  The first
incident in it was not such as to give me a very favorable opinion of
the place to which we had wandered.  As I roused myself from a short
nap after day had dawned, my eyes fell upon a most singular appearance
upon my own leg.  My trouser had slipped up, exposing a few inches of
my skin above my sock.  On this there rested a large, purplish grape.
Astonished at the sight, I leaned forward to pick it off, when, to my
horror, it burst between my finger and thumb, squirting blood in every
direction.  My cry of disgust had brought the two professors to my side.

"Most interesting," said Summerlee, bending over my shin.  "An enormous
blood-tick, as yet, I believe, unclassified."

"The first-fruits of our labors," said Challenger in his booming,
pedantic fashion.  "We cannot do less than call it Ixodes Maloni.  The
very small inconvenience of being bitten, my young friend, cannot, I am
sure, weigh with you as against the glorious privilege of having your
name inscribed in the deathless roll of zoology.  Unhappily you have
crushed this fine specimen at the moment of satiation."

"Filthy vermin!" I cried.

Professor Challenger raised his great eyebrows in protest, and placed a
soothing paw upon my shoulder.

"You should cultivate the scientific eye and the detached scientific
mind," said he.  "To a man of philosophic temperament like myself the
blood-tick, with its lancet-like proboscis and its distending stomach,
is as beautiful a work of Nature as the peacock or, for that matter,
the aurora borealis.  It pains me to hear you speak of it in so
unappreciative a fashion.  No doubt, with due diligence, we can secure
some other specimen."

"There can be no doubt of that," said Summerlee, grimly, "for one has
just disappeared behind your shirt-collar."

Challenger sprang into the air bellowing like a bull, and tore
frantically at his coat and shirt to get them off.  Summerlee and I
laughed so that we could hardly help him.  At last we exposed that
monstrous torso (fifty-four inches, by the tailor's tape).  His body
was all matted with black hair, out of which jungle we picked the
wandering tick before it had bitten him.  But the bushes round were
full of the horrible pests, and it was clear that we must shift our
camp.

But first of all it was necessary to make our arrangements with the
faithful negro, who appeared presently on the pinnacle with a number of
tins of cocoa and biscuits, which he tossed over to us.  Of the stores
which remained below he was ordered to retain as much as would keep him
for two months.  The Indians were to have the remainder as a reward for
their services and as payment for taking our letters back to the
Amazon.  Some hours later we saw them in single file far out upon the
plain, each with a bundle on his head, making their way back along the
path we had come.  Zambo occupied our little tent at the base of the
pinnacle, and there he remained, our one link with the world below.

And now we had to decide upon our immediate movements.  We shifted our
position from among the tick-laden bushes until we came to a small
clearing thickly surrounded by trees upon all sides.  There were some
flat slabs of rock in the center, with an excellent well close by, and
there we sat in cleanly comfort while we made our first plans for the
invasion of this new country.  Birds were calling among the
foliage--especially one with a peculiar whooping cry which was new to
us--but beyond these sounds there were no signs of life.

Our first care was to make some sort of list of our own stores, so that
we might know what we had to rely upon.  What with the things we had
ourselves brought up and those which Zambo had sent across on the rope,
we were fairly well supplied.  Most important of all, in view of the
dangers which might surround us, we had our four rifles and one
thousand three hundred rounds, also a shot-gun, but not more than a
hundred and fifty medium pellet cartridges.  In the matter of
provisions we had enough to last for several weeks, with a sufficiency
of tobacco and a few scientific implements, including a large telescope
and a good field-glass.  All these things we collected together in the
clearing, and as a first precaution, we cut down with our hatchet and
knives a number of thorny bushes, which we piled round in a circle some
fifteen yards in diameter.  This was to be our headquarters for the
time--our place of refuge against sudden danger and the guard-house for
our stores.  Fort Challenger, we called it.

It was midday before we had made ourselves secure, but the heat was not
oppressive, and the general character of the plateau, both in its
temperature and in its vegetation, was almost temperate.  The beech,
the oak, and even the birch were to be found among the tangle of trees
which girt us in.  One huge gingko tree, topping all the others, shot
its great limbs and maidenhair foliage over the fort which we had
constructed.  In its shade we continued our discussion, while Lord
John, who had quickly taken command in the hour of action, gave us his
views.

"So long as neither man nor beast has seen or heard us, we are safe,"
said he.  "From the time they know we are here our troubles begin.
There are no signs that they have found us out as yet.  So our game
surely is to lie low for a time and spy out the land.  We want to have
a good look at our neighbors before we get on visitin' terms."

"But we must advance," I ventured to remark.

"By all means, sonny my boy!  We will advance.  But with common sense.
We must never go so far that we can't get back to our base.  Above all,
we must never, unless it is life or death, fire off our guns."

"But YOU fired yesterday," said Summerlee.

"Well, it couldn't be helped.  However, the wind was strong and blew
outwards.  It is not likely that the sound could have traveled far into
the plateau.  By the way, what shall we call this place?  I suppose it
is up to us to give it a name?"

There were several suggestions, more or less happy, but Challenger's
was final.

"It can only have one name," said he.  "It is called after the pioneer
who discovered it.  It is Maple White Land."

Maple White Land it became, and so it is named in that chart which has
become my special task.  So it will, I trust, appear in the atlas of
the future.

The peaceful penetration of Maple White Land was the pressing subject
before us.  We had the evidence of our own eyes that the place was
inhabited by some unknown creatures, and there was that of Maple
White's sketch-book to show that more dreadful and more dangerous
monsters might still appear.  That there might also prove to be human
occupants and that they were of a malevolent character was suggested by
the skeleton impaled upon the bamboos, which could not have got there
had it not been dropped from above.  Our situation, stranded without
possibility of escape in such a land, was clearly full of danger, and
our reasons endorsed every measure of caution which Lord John's
experience could suggest.  Yet it was surely impossible that we should
halt on the edge of this world of mystery when our very souls were
tingling with impatience to push forward and to pluck the heart from it.

We therefore blocked the entrance to our zareba by filling it up with
several thorny bushes, and left our camp with the stores entirely
surrounded by this protecting hedge.  We then slowly and cautiously set
forth into the unknown, following the course of the little stream which
flowed from our spring, as it should always serve us as a guide on our
return.

Hardly had we started when we came across signs that there were indeed
wonders awaiting us.  After a few hundred yards of thick forest,
containing many trees which were quite unknown to me, but which
Summerlee, who was the botanist of the party, recognized as forms of
conifera and of cycadaceous plants which have long passed away in the
world below, we entered a region where the stream widened out and
formed a considerable bog.  High reeds of a peculiar type grew thickly
before us, which were pronounced to be equisetacea, or mare's-tails,
with tree-ferns scattered amongst them, all of them swaying in a brisk
wind.  Suddenly Lord John, who was walking first, halted with uplifted
hand.

"Look at this!" said he.  "By George, this must be the trail of the
father of all birds!"

An enormous three-toed track was imprinted in the soft mud before us.
The creature, whatever it was, had crossed the swamp and had passed on
into the forest.  We all stopped to examine that monstrous spoor.  If
it were indeed a bird--and what animal could leave such a mark?--its
foot was so much larger than an ostrich's that its height upon the same
scale must be enormous.  Lord John looked eagerly round him and slipped
two cartridges into his elephant-gun.

"I'll stake my good name as a shikarree," said he, "that the track is a
fresh one.  The creature has not passed ten minutes.  Look how the
water is still oozing into that deeper print!  By Jove!  See, here is
the mark of a little one!"

Sure enough, smaller tracks of the same general form were running
parallel to the large ones.

"But what do you make of this?" cried Professor Summerlee,
triumphantly, pointing to what looked like the huge print of a
five-fingered human hand appearing among the three-toed marks.

"Wealden!" cried Challenger, in an ecstasy.  "I've seen them in the
Wealden clay.  It is a creature walking erect upon three-toed feet, and
occasionally putting one of its five-fingered forepaws upon the ground.
Not a bird, my dear Roxton--not a bird."

"A beast?"

"No; a reptile--a dinosaur.  Nothing else could have left such a track.
They puzzled a worthy Sussex doctor some ninety years ago; but who in
the world could have hoped--hoped--to have seen a sight like that?"

His words died away into a whisper, and we all stood in motionless
amazement.  Following the tracks, we had left the morass and passed
through a screen of brushwood and trees.  Beyond was an open glade, and
in this were five of the most extraordinary creatures that I have ever
seen.  Crouching down among the bushes, we observed them at our leisure.

There were, as I say, five of them, two being adults and three young
ones.  In size they were enormous.  Even the babies were as big as
elephants, while the two large ones were far beyond all creatures I
have ever seen.  They had slate-colored skin, which was scaled like a
lizard's and shimmered where the sun shone upon it.  All five were
sitting up, balancing themselves upon their broad, powerful tails and
their huge three-toed hind-feet, while with their small five-fingered
front-feet they pulled down the branches upon which they browsed.  I do
not know that I can bring their appearance home to you better than by
saying that they looked like monstrous kangaroos, twenty feet in
length, and with skins like black crocodiles.

I do not know how long we stayed motionless gazing at this marvelous
spectacle.  A strong wind blew towards us and we were well concealed,
so there was no chance of discovery.  From time to time the little ones
played round their parents in unwieldy gambols, the great beasts
bounding into the air and falling with dull thuds upon the earth.  The
strength of the parents seemed to be limitless, for one of them, having
some difficulty in reaching a bunch of foliage which grew upon a
considerable-sized tree, put his fore-legs round the trunk and tore it
down as if it had been a sapling.  The action seemed, as I thought, to
show not only the great development of its muscles, but also the small
one of its brain, for the whole weight came crashing down upon the top
of it, and it uttered a series of shrill yelps to show that, big as it
was, there was a limit to what it could endure.  The incident made it
think, apparently, that the neighborhood was dangerous, for it slowly
lurched off through the wood, followed by its mate and its three
enormous infants.  We saw the shimmering slaty gleam of their skins
between the tree-trunks, and their heads undulating high above the
brush-wood.  Then they vanished from our sight.

I looked at my comrades.  Lord John was standing at gaze with his
finger on the trigger of his elephant-gun, his eager hunter's soul
shining from his fierce eyes.  What would he not give for one such head
to place between the two crossed oars above the mantelpiece in his
snuggery at the Albany!  And yet his reason held him in, for all our
exploration of the wonders of this unknown land depended upon our
presence being concealed from its inhabitants.  The two professors were
in silent ecstasy.  In their excitement they had unconsciously seized
each other by the hand, and stood like two little children in the
presence of a marvel, Challenger's cheeks bunched up into a seraphic
smile, and Summerlee's sardonic face softening for the moment into
wonder and reverence.

"Nunc dimittis!" he cried at last.  "What will they say in England of
this?"

"My dear Summerlee, I will tell you with great confidence exactly what
they will say in England," said Challenger.  "They will say that you
are an infernal liar and a scientific charlatan, exactly as you and
others said of me."

"In the face of photographs?"

"Faked, Summerlee!  Clumsily faked!"

"In the face of specimens?"

"Ah, there we may have them!  Malone and his filthy Fleet Street crew
may be all yelping our praises yet.  August the twenty-eighth--the day
we saw five live iguanodons in a glade of Maple White Land.  Put it
down in your diary, my young friend, and send it to your rag."

"And be ready to get the toe-end of the editorial boot in return," said
Lord John.  "Things look a bit different from the latitude of London,
young fellah my lad.  There's many a man who never tells his
adventures, for he can't hope to be believed.  Who's to blame them?
For this will seem a bit of a dream to ourselves in a month or two.
WHAT did you say they were?"

"Iguanodons," said Summerlee.  "You'll find their footmarks all over
the Hastings sands, in Kent, and in Sussex.  The South of England was
alive with them when there was plenty of good lush green-stuff to keep
them going.  Conditions have changed, and the beasts died.  Here it
seems that the conditions have not changed, and the beasts have lived."

"If ever we get out of this alive, I must have a head with me," said
Lord John.  "Lord, how some of that Somaliland-Uganda crowd would turn
a beautiful pea-green if they saw it!  I don't know what you chaps
think, but it strikes me that we are on mighty thin ice all this time."

I had the same feeling of mystery and danger around us.  In the gloom
of the trees there seemed a constant menace and as we looked up into
their shadowy foliage vague terrors crept into one's heart.  It is true
that these monstrous creatures which we had seen were lumbering,
inoffensive brutes which were unlikely to hurt anyone, but in this
world of wonders what other survivals might there not be--what fierce,
active horrors ready to pounce upon us from their lair among the rocks
or brushwood?  I knew little of prehistoric life, but I had a clear
remembrance of one book which I had read in which it spoke of creatures
who would live upon our lions and tigers as a cat lives upon mice.
What if these also were to be found in the woods of Maple White Land!

It was destined that on this very morning--our first in the new
country--we were to find out what strange hazards lay around us.  It
was a loathsome adventure, and one of which I hate to think.  If, as
Lord John said, the glade of the iguanodons will remain with us as a
dream, then surely the swamp of the pterodactyls will forever be our
nightmare.  Let me set down exactly what occurred.

We passed very slowly through the woods, partly because Lord Roxton
acted as scout before he would let us advance, and partly because at
every second step one or other of our professors would fall, with a cry
of wonder, before some flower or insect which presented him with a new
type.  We may have traveled two or three miles in all, keeping to the
right of the line of the stream, when we came upon a considerable
opening in the trees.  A belt of brushwood led up to a tangle of
rocks--the whole plateau was strewn with boulders.  We were walking
slowly towards these rocks, among bushes which reached over our waists,
when we became aware of a strange low gabbling and whistling sound,
which filled the air with a constant clamor and appeared to come from
some spot immediately before us.  Lord John held up his hand as a
signal for us to stop, and he made his way swiftly, stooping and
running, to the line of rocks.  We saw him peep over them and give a
gesture of amazement.  Then he stood staring as if forgetting us, so
utterly entranced was he by what he saw.  Finally he waved us to come
on, holding up his hand as a signal for caution.  His whole bearing
made me feel that something wonderful but dangerous lay before us.

Creeping to his side, we looked over the rocks.  The place into which
we gazed was a pit, and may, in the early days, have been one of the
smaller volcanic blow-holes of the plateau.  It was bowl-shaped and at
the bottom, some hundreds of yards from where we lay, were pools of
green-scummed, stagnant water, fringed with bullrushes.  It was a weird
place in itself, but its occupants made it seem like a scene from the
Seven Circles of Dante.  The place was a rookery of pterodactyls.
There were hundreds of them congregated within view.  All the bottom
area round the water-edge was alive with their young ones, and with
hideous mothers brooding upon their leathery, yellowish eggs.  From
this crawling flapping mass of obscene reptilian life came the shocking
clamor which filled the air and the mephitic, horrible, musty odor
which turned us sick.  But above, perched each upon its own stone,
tall, gray, and withered, more like dead and dried specimens than
actual living creatures, sat the horrible males, absolutely motionless
save for the rolling of their red eyes or an occasional snap of their
rat-trap beaks as a dragon-fly went past them.  Their huge, membranous
wings were closed by folding their fore-arms, so that they sat like
gigantic old women, wrapped in hideous web-colored shawls, and with
their ferocious heads protruding above them.  Large and small, not less
than a thousand of these filthy creatures lay in the hollow before us.

Our professors would gladly have stayed there all day, so entranced
were they by this opportunity of studying the life of a prehistoric
age.  They pointed out the fish and dead birds lying about among the
rocks as proving the nature of the food of these creatures, and I heard
them congratulating each other on having cleared up the point why the
bones of this flying dragon are found in such great numbers in certain
well-defined areas, as in the Cambridge Green-sand, since it was now
seen that, like penguins, they lived in gregarious fashion.

Finally, however, Challenger, bent upon proving some point which
Summerlee had contested, thrust his head over the rock and nearly
brought destruction upon us all.  In an instant the nearest male gave a
shrill, whistling cry, and flapped its twenty-foot span of leathery
wings as it soared up into the air.  The females and young ones huddled
together beside the water, while the whole circle of sentinels rose one
after the other and sailed off into the sky.  It was a wonderful sight
to see at least a hundred creatures of such enormous size and hideous
appearance all swooping like swallows with swift, shearing wing-strokes
above us; but soon we realized that it was not one on which we could
afford to linger.  At first the great brutes flew round in a huge ring,
as if to make sure what the exact extent of the danger might be.  Then,
the flight grew lower and the circle narrower, until they were whizzing
round and round us, the dry, rustling flap of their huge slate-colored
wings filling the air with a volume of sound that made me think of
Hendon aerodrome upon a race day.

"Make for the wood and keep together," cried Lord John, clubbing his
rifle.  "The brutes mean mischief."

The moment we attempted to retreat the circle closed in upon us, until
the tips of the wings of those nearest to us nearly touched our faces.
We beat at them with the stocks of our guns, but there was nothing
solid or vulnerable to strike.  Then suddenly out of the whizzing,
slate-colored circle a long neck shot out, and a fierce beak made a
thrust at us.  Another and another followed.  Summerlee gave a cry and
put his hand to his face, from which the blood was streaming.  I felt a
prod at the back of my neck, and turned dizzy with the shock.
Challenger fell, and as I stooped to pick him up I was again struck
from behind and dropped on the top of him.  At the same instant I heard
the crash of Lord John's elephant-gun, and, looking up, saw one of the
creatures with a broken wing struggling upon the ground, spitting and
gurgling at us with a wide-opened beak and blood-shot, goggled eyes,
like some devil in a medieval picture.  Its comrades had flown higher
at the sudden sound, and were circling above our heads.

"Now," cried Lord John, "now for our lives!"

We staggered through the brushwood, and even as we reached the trees
the harpies were on us again.  Summerlee was knocked down, but we tore
him up and rushed among the trunks.  Once there we were safe, for those
huge wings had no space for their sweep beneath the branches.  As we
limped homewards, sadly mauled and discomfited, we saw them for a long
time flying at a great height against the deep blue sky above our
heads, soaring round and round, no bigger than wood-pigeons, with their
eyes no doubt still following our progress.  At last, however, as we
reached the thicker woods they gave up the chase, and we saw them no
more.

"A most interesting and convincing experience," said Challenger, as we
halted beside the brook and he bathed a swollen knee.  "We are
exceptionally well informed, Summerlee, as to the habits of the enraged
pterodactyl."

Summerlee was wiping the blood from a cut in his forehead, while I was
tying up a nasty stab in the muscle of the neck.  Lord John had the
shoulder of his coat torn away, but the creature's teeth had only
grazed the flesh.

"It is worth noting," Challenger continued, "that our young friend has
received an undoubted stab, while Lord John's coat could only have been
torn by a bite.  In my own case, I was beaten about the head by their
wings, so we have had a remarkable exhibition of their various methods
of offence."

"It has been touch and go for our lives," said Lord John, gravely, "and
I could not think of a more rotten sort of death than to be outed by
such filthy vermin.  I was sorry to fire my rifle, but, by Jove! there
was no great choice."

"We should not be here if you hadn't," said I, with conviction.

"It may do no harm," said he.  "Among these woods there must be many
loud cracks from splitting or falling trees which would be just like
the sound of a gun.  But now, if you are of my opinion, we have had
thrills enough for one day, and had best get back to the surgical box
at the camp for some carbolic.  Who knows what venom these beasts may
have in their hideous jaws?"

But surely no men ever had just such a day since the world began.  Some
fresh surprise was ever in store for us.  When, following the course of
our brook, we at last reached our glade and saw the thorny barricade of
our camp, we thought that our adventures were at an end.  But we had
something more to think of before we could rest.  The gate of Fort
Challenger had been untouched, the walls were unbroken, and yet it had
been visited by some strange and powerful creature in our absence.  No
foot-mark showed a trace of its nature, and only the overhanging branch
of the enormous ginko tree suggested how it might have come and gone;
but of its malevolent strength there was ample evidence in the
condition of our stores.  They were strewn at random all over the
ground, and one tin of meat had been crushed into pieces so as to
extract the contents.  A case of cartridges had been shattered into
matchwood, and one of the brass shells lay shredded into pieces beside
it.  Again the feeling of vague horror came upon our souls, and we
gazed round with frightened eyes at the dark shadows which lay around
us, in all of which some fearsome shape might be lurking.  How good it
was when we were hailed by the voice of Zambo, and, going to the edge
of the plateau, saw him sitting grinning at us upon the top of the
opposite pinnacle.

"All well, Massa Challenger, all well!" he cried.  "Me stay here.  No
fear.  You always find me when you want."

His honest black face, and the immense view before us, which carried us
half-way back to the affluent of the Amazon, helped us to remember that
we really were upon this earth in the twentieth century, and had not by
some magic been conveyed to some raw planet in its earliest and wildest
state.  How difficult it was to realize that the violet line upon the
far horizon was well advanced to that great river upon which huge
steamers ran, and folk talked of the small affairs of life, while we,
marooned among the creatures of a bygone age, could but gaze towards it
and yearn for all that it meant!

One other memory remains with me of this wonderful day, and with it I
will close this letter.  The two professors, their tempers aggravated
no doubt by their injuries, had fallen out as to whether our assailants
were of the genus pterodactylus or dimorphodon, and high words had
ensued.  To avoid their wrangling I moved some little way apart, and
was seated smoking upon the trunk of a fallen tree, when Lord John
strolled over in my direction.

"I say, Malone," said he, "do you remember that place where those
beasts were?"

"Very clearly."

"A sort of volcanic pit, was it not?"

"Exactly," said I.

"Did you notice the soil?"

"Rocks."

"But round the water--where the reeds were?"

"It was a bluish soil.  It looked like clay."

"Exactly.  A volcanic tube full of blue clay."

"What of that?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," said he, and strolled back to where the voices
of the contending men of science rose in a prolonged duet, the high,
strident note of Summerlee rising and falling to the sonorous bass of
Challenger.  I should have thought no more of Lord John's remark were
it not that once again that night I heard him mutter to himself:  "Blue
clay--clay in a volcanic tube!" They were the last words I heard before
I dropped into an exhausted sleep.




Lord John Roxton was right when he thought that some specially toxic
quality might lie in the bite of the horrible creatures which had
attacked us.  On the morning after our first adventure upon the
plateau, both Summerlee and I were in great pain and fever, while
Challenger's knee was so bruised that he could hardly limp.  We kept to
our camp all day, therefore, Lord John busying himself, with such help
as we could give him, in raising the height and thickness of the thorny
walls which were our only defense.  I remember that during the whole
long day I was haunted by the feeling that we were closely observed,
though by whom or whence I could give no guess.

So strong was the impression that I told Professor Challenger of it,
who put it down to the cerebral excitement caused by my fever.  Again
and again I glanced round swiftly, with the conviction that I was about
to see something, but only to meet the dark tangle of our hedge or the
solemn and cavernous gloom of the great trees which arched above our
heads.  And yet the feeling grew ever stronger in my own mind that
something observant and something malevolent was at our very elbow.  I
thought of the Indian superstition of the Curupuri--the dreadful,
lurking spirit of the woods--and I could have imagined that his
terrible presence haunted those who had invaded his most remote and
sacred retreat.

That night (our third in Maple White Land) we had an experience which
left a fearful impression upon our minds, and made us thankful that
Lord John had worked so hard in making our retreat impregnable.  We
were all sleeping round our dying fire when we were aroused--or,
rather, I should say, shot out of our slumbers--by a succession of the
most frightful cries and screams to which I have ever listened.  I know
no sound to which I could compare this amazing tumult, which seemed to
come from some spot within a few hundred yards of our camp.  It was as
ear-splitting as any whistle of a railway-engine; but whereas the
whistle is a clear, mechanical, sharp-edged sound, this was far deeper
in volume and vibrant with the uttermost strain of agony and horror.
We clapped our hands to our ears to shut out that nerve-shaking appeal.
A cold sweat broke out over my body, and my heart turned sick at the
misery of it.  All the woes of tortured life, all its stupendous
indictment of high heaven, its innumerable sorrows, seemed to be
centered and condensed into that one dreadful, agonized cry.  And then,
under this high-pitched, ringing sound there was another, more
intermittent, a low, deep-chested laugh, a growling, throaty gurgle of
merriment which formed a grotesque accompaniment to the shriek with
which it was blended.  For three or four minutes on end the fearsome
duet continued, while all the foliage rustled with the rising of
startled birds.  Then it shut off as suddenly as it began.  For a long
time we sat in horrified silence.  Then Lord John threw a bundle of
twigs upon the fire, and their red glare lit up the intent faces of my
companions and flickered over the great boughs above our heads.

"What was it?" I whispered.

"We shall know in the morning," said Lord John.  "It  was close to
us--not farther than the glade."

"We have been privileged to overhear a prehistoric tragedy, the sort of
drama which occurred among the reeds upon the border of some Jurassic
lagoon, when the greater dragon pinned the lesser among the slime,"
said Challenger, with more solemnity than I had ever heard in his
voice.  "It was surely well for man that he came late in the order of
creation.  There were powers abroad in earlier days which no courage
and no mechanism of his could have met.  What could his sling, his
throwing-stick, or his arrow avail him against such forces as have been
loose to-night?  Even with a modern rifle it would be all odds on the
monster."

"I think I should back my little friend," said Lord John, caressing his
Express.  "But the beast would certainly have a good sporting chance."

Summerlee raised his hand.

"Hush!" he cried.  "Surely I hear something?"

From the utter silence there emerged a deep, regular pat-pat.  It was
the tread of some animal--the rhythm of soft but heavy pads placed
cautiously upon the ground.  It stole slowly round the camp, and then
halted near our gateway.  There was a low, sibilant rise and fall--the
breathing of the creature.  Only our feeble hedge separated us from
this horror of the night.  Each of us had seized his rifle, and Lord
John had pulled out a small bush to make an embrasure in the hedge.

"By George!" he whispered.  "I think I can see it!"

I stooped and peered over his shoulder through the gap.  Yes, I could
see it, too.  In the deep shadow of the tree there was a deeper shadow
yet, black, inchoate, vague--a crouching form full of savage vigor and
menace.  It was no higher than a horse, but the dim outline suggested
vast bulk and strength.  That hissing pant, as regular and full-volumed
as the exhaust of an engine, spoke of a monstrous organism.  Once, as
it moved, I thought I saw the glint of two terrible, greenish eyes.
There was an uneasy rustling, as if it were crawling slowly forward.

"I believe it is going to spring!" said I, cocking my rifle.

"Don't fire!  Don't fire!" whispered Lord John.  "The crash of a gun in
this silent night would be heard for miles.  Keep it as a last card."

"If it gets over the hedge we're done," said Summerlee, and his voice
crackled into a nervous laugh as he spoke.

"No, it must not get over," cried Lord John; "but hold your fire to the
last.  Perhaps I can make something of the fellow.  I'll chance it,
anyhow."

It was as brave an act as ever I saw a man do.  He stooped to the fire,
picked up a blazing branch, and slipped in an instant through a
sallyport which he had made in our gateway.  The thing moved forward
with a dreadful snarl.  Lord John never hesitated, but, running towards
it with a quick, light step, he dashed the flaming wood into the
brute's face.  For one moment I had a vision of a horrible mask like a
giant toad's, of a warty, leprous skin, and of a loose mouth all
beslobbered with fresh blood.  The next, there was a crash in the
underwood and our dreadful visitor was gone.

"I thought he wouldn't face the fire," said Lord John, laughing, as he
came back and threw his branch among the faggots.

"You should not have taken such a risk!" we all cried.

"There was nothin' else to be done.  If he had got among us we should
have shot each other in tryin' to down him.  On the other hand, if we
had fired through the hedge and wounded him he would soon have been on
the top of us--to say nothin' of giving ourselves away.  On the whole,
I think that we are jolly well out of it.  What was he, then?"

Our learned men looked at each other with some hesitation.

"Personally, I am unable to classify the creature with any certainty,"
said Summerlee, lighting his pipe from the fire.

"In refusing to commit yourself you are but showing a proper scientific
reserve," said Challenger, with massive condescension.  "I am not
myself prepared to go farther than to say in general terms that we have
almost certainly been in contact to-night with some form of carnivorous
dinosaur.  I have already expressed my anticipation that something of
the sort might exist upon this plateau."

"We have to bear in mind," remarked Summerlee, "that there are many
prehistoric forms which have never come down to us.  It would be rash
to suppose that we can give a name to all that we are likely to meet."

"Exactly.  A rough classification may be the best that we can attempt.
To-morrow some further evidence may help us to an identification.
Meantime we can only renew our interrupted slumbers."

"But not without a sentinel," said Lord John, with decision.  "We can't
afford to take chances in a country like this.  Two-hour spells in the
future, for each of us."

"Then I'll just finish my pipe in starting the first one," said
Professor Summerlee; and from that time onwards we never trusted
ourselves again without a watchman.

In the morning it was not long before we discovered the source of the
hideous uproar which had aroused us in the night.  The iguanodon glade
was the scene of a horrible butchery.  From the pools of blood and the
enormous lumps of flesh scattered in every direction over the green
sward we imagined at first that a number of animals had been killed,
but on examining the remains more closely we discovered that all this
carnage came from one of these unwieldy monsters, which had been
literally torn to pieces by some creature not larger, perhaps, but far
more ferocious, than itself.

Our two professors sat in absorbed argument, examining piece after
piece, which showed the marks of savage teeth and of enormous claws.

"Our judgment must still be in abeyance," said Professor Challenger,
with a huge slab of whitish-colored flesh across his knee.  "The
indications would be consistent with the presence of a saber-toothed
tiger, such as are still found among the breccia of our caverns; but
the creature actually seen was undoubtedly of a larger and more
reptilian character.  Personally, I should pronounce for allosaurus."

"Or megalosaurus," said Summerlee.

"Exactly.  Any one of the larger carnivorous dinosaurs would meet the
case.  Among them are to be found all the most terrible types of animal
life that have ever cursed the earth or blessed a museum." He laughed
sonorously at his own conceit, for, though he had little sense of
humor, the crudest pleasantry from his own lips moved him always to
roars of appreciation.

"The less noise the better," said Lord Roxton, curtly.  "We don't know
who or what may be near us.  If this fellah comes back for his
breakfast and catches us here we won't have so much to laugh at.  By
the way, what is this mark upon the iguanodon's hide?"

On the dull, scaly, slate-colored skin somewhere above the shoulder,
there was a singular black circle of some substance which looked like
asphalt.  None of us could suggest what it meant, though Summerlee was
of opinion that he had seen something similar upon one of the young
ones two days before.  Challenger said nothing, but looked pompous and
puffy, as if he could if he would, so that finally Lord John asked his
opinion direct.

"If your lordship will graciously permit me to open my mouth, I shall
be happy to express my sentiments," said he, with elaborate sarcasm.
"I am not in the habit of being taken to task in the fashion which
seems to be customary with your lordship.  I was not aware that it was
necessary to ask your permission before smiling at a harmless
pleasantry."

It was not until he had received his apology that our touchy friend
would suffer himself to be appeased.  When at last his ruffled feelings
were at ease, he addressed us at some length from his seat upon a
fallen tree, speaking, as his habit was, as if he were imparting most
precious information to a class of a thousand.

"With regard to the marking," said he, "I am inclined to agree with my
friend and colleague, Professor Summerlee, that the stains are from
asphalt.  As this plateau is, in its very nature, highly volcanic, and
as asphalt is a substance which one associates with Plutonic forces, I
cannot doubt that it exists in the free liquid state, and that the
creatures may have come in contact with it.  A much more important
problem is the question as to the existence of the carnivorous monster
which has left its traces in this glade.  We know roughly that this
plateau is not larger than an average English county.  Within this
confined space a certain number of creatures, mostly types which have
passed away in the world below, have lived together for innumerable
years.  Now, it is very clear to me that in so long a period one would
have expected that the carnivorous creatures, multiplying unchecked,
would have exhausted their food supply and have been compelled to
either modify their flesh-eating habits or die of hunger.  This we see
has not been so.  We can only imagine, therefore, that the balance of
Nature is preserved by some check which limits the numbers of these
ferocious creatures.  One of the many interesting problems, therefore,
which await our solution is to discover what that check may be and how
it operates.  I venture to trust that we may have some future
opportunity for the closer study of the carnivorous dinosaurs."

"And I venture to trust we may not," I observed.

The Professor only raised his great eyebrows, as the schoolmaster meets
the irrelevant observation of the naughty boy.

"Perhaps Professor Summerlee may have an observation to make," he said,
and the two savants ascended together into some rarefied scientific
atmosphere, where the possibilities of a modification of the birth-rate
were weighed against the decline of the food supply as a check in the
struggle for existence.

That morning we mapped out a small portion of the plateau, avoiding the
swamp of the pterodactyls, and keeping to the east of our brook instead
of to the west.  In that direction the country was still thickly
wooded, with so much undergrowth that our progress was very slow.

I have dwelt up to now upon the terrors of Maple White Land; but there
was another side to the subject, for all that morning we wandered among
lovely flowers--mostly, as I observed, white or yellow in color, these
being, as our professors explained, the primitive flower-shades.  In
many places the ground was absolutely covered with them, and as we
walked ankle-deep on that wonderful yielding carpet, the scent was
almost intoxicating in its sweetness and intensity.  The homely English
bee buzzed everywhere around us.  Many of the trees under which we
passed had their branches bowed down with fruit, some of which were of
familiar sorts, while other varieties were new.  By observing which of
them were pecked by the birds we avoided all danger of poison and added
a delicious variety to our food reserve.  In the jungle which we
traversed were numerous hard-trodden paths made by the wild beasts, and
in the more marshy places we saw a profusion of strange footmarks,
including many of the iguanodon.  Once in a grove we observed several
of these great creatures grazing, and Lord John, with his glass, was
able to report that they also were spotted with asphalt, though in a
different place to the one which we had examined in the morning.  What
this phenomenon meant we could not imagine.

We saw many small animals, such as porcupines, a scaly ant-eater, and a
wild pig, piebald in color and with long curved tusks.  Once, through a
break in the trees, we saw a clear shoulder of green hill some distance
away, and across this a large dun-colored animal was traveling at a
considerable pace.  It passed so swiftly that we were unable to say
what it was; but if it were a deer, as was claimed by Lord John, it
must have been as large as those monstrous Irish elk which are still
dug up from time to time in the bogs of my native land.

Ever since the mysterious visit which had been paid to our camp we
always returned to it with some misgivings.  However, on this occasion
we found everything in order.

That evening we had a grand discussion upon our present situation and
future plans, which I must describe at some length, as it led to a new
departure by which we were enabled to gain a more complete knowledge of
Maple White Land than might have come in many weeks of exploring.  It
was Summerlee who opened the debate.  All day he had been querulous in
manner, and now some remark of Lord John's as to what we should do on
the morrow brought all his bitterness to a head.

"What we ought to be doing to-day, to-morrow, and all the time," said
he, "is finding some way out of the trap into which we have fallen.
You are all turning your brains towards getting into this country.  I
say that we should be scheming how to get out of it."

"I am surprised, sir," boomed Challenger, stroking his majestic beard,
"that any man of science should commit himself to so ignoble a
sentiment.  You are in a land which offers such an inducement to the
ambitious naturalist as none ever has since the world began, and you
suggest leaving it before we have acquired more than the most
superficial knowledge of it or of its contents.  I expected better
things of you, Professor Summerlee."

"You must remember," said Summerlee, sourly, "that I have a large class
in London who are at present at the mercy of an extremely inefficient
locum tenens.  This makes my situation different from yours, Professor
Challenger, since, so far as I know, you have never been entrusted with
any responsible educational work."

"Quite so," said Challenger.  "I have felt it to be a sacrilege to
divert a brain which is capable of the highest original research to any
lesser object.  That is why I have sternly set my face against any
proffered scholastic appointment."

"For example?" asked Summerlee, with a sneer; but Lord John hastened to
change the conversation.

"I must say," said he, "that I think it would be a mighty poor thing to
go back to London before I know a great deal more of this place than I
do at present."

"I could never dare to walk into the back office of my paper and face
old McArdle," said I.  (You will excuse the frankness of this report,
will you not, sir?)  "He'd never forgive me for leaving such
unexhausted copy behind me.  Besides, so far as I can see it is not
worth discussing, since we can't get down, even if we wanted."

"Our young friend makes up for many obvious mental lacunae by some
measure of primitive common sense," remarked Challenger.  "The
interests of his deplorable profession are immaterial to us; but, as he
observes, we cannot get down in any case, so it is a waste of energy to
discuss it."

"It is a waste of energy to do anything else," growled Summerlee from
behind his pipe.  "Let me remind you that we came here upon a perfectly
definite mission, entrusted to us at the meeting of the Zoological
Institute in London.  That mission was to test the truth of Professor
Challenger's statements.  Those statements, as I am bound to admit, we
are now in a position to endorse.  Our ostensible work is therefore
done.  As to the detail which remains to be worked out upon this
plateau, it is so enormous that only a large expedition, with a very
special equipment, could hope to cope with it.  Should we attempt to do
so ourselves, the only possible result must be that we shall never
return with the important contribution to science which we have already
gained.  Professor Challenger has devised means for getting us on to
this plateau when it appeared to be inaccessible; I think that we
should now call upon him to use the same ingenuity in getting us back
to the world from which we came."

I confess that as Summerlee stated his view it struck me as altogether
reasonable.  Even Challenger was affected by the consideration that his
enemies would never stand confuted if the confirmation of his
statements should never reach those who had doubted them.

"The problem of the descent is at first sight a formidable one," said
he, "and yet I cannot doubt that the intellect can solve it.  I am
prepared to agree with our colleague that a protracted stay in Maple
White Land is at present inadvisable, and that the question of our
return will soon have to be faced.  I absolutely refuse to leave,
however, until we have made at least a superficial examination of this
country, and are able to take back with us something in the nature of a
chart."

Professor Summerlee gave a snort of impatience.

"We have spent two long days in exploration," said he, "and we are no
wiser as to the actual geography of the place than when we started.  It
is clear that it is all thickly wooded, and it would take months to
penetrate it and to learn the relations of one part to another.  If
there were some central peak it would be different, but it all slopes
downwards, so far as we can see.  The farther we go the less likely it
is that we will get any general view."

It was at that moment that I had my inspiration.  My eyes chanced to
light upon the enormous gnarled trunk of the gingko tree which cast its
huge branches over us.  Surely, if its bole exceeded that of all
others, its height must do the same.  If the rim of the plateau was
indeed the highest point, then why should this mighty tree not prove to
be a watchtower which commanded the whole country?  Now, ever since I
ran wild as a lad in Ireland I have been a bold and skilled
tree-climber.  My comrades might be my masters on the rocks, but I knew
that I would be supreme among those branches.  Could I only get my legs
on to the lowest of the giant off-shoots, then it would be strange
indeed if I could not make my way to the top.  My comrades were
delighted at my idea.

"Our young friend," said Challenger, bunching up the red apples of his
cheeks, "is capable of acrobatic exertions which would be impossible to
a man of a more solid, though possibly of a more commanding,
appearance.  I applaud his resolution."

"By George, young fellah, you've put your hand on it!" said Lord John,
clapping me on the back.  "How we never came to think of it before I
can't imagine!  There's not more than an hour of daylight left, but if
you take your notebook you may be able to get some rough sketch of the
place.  If we put these three ammunition cases under the branch, I will
soon hoist you on to it."

He stood on the boxes while I faced the trunk, and was gently raising
me when Challenger sprang forward and gave me such a thrust with his
huge hand that he fairly shot me into the tree.  With both arms
clasping the branch, I scrambled  hard with my feet until I had worked,
first my body, and then my knees, onto it.  There were three excellent
off-shoots, like huge rungs of a ladder, above my head, and a tangle of
convenient branches beyond, so that I clambered onwards with such speed
that I soon lost sight of the ground and had nothing but foliage
beneath me.  Now and then I encountered a check, and once I had to shin
up a creeper for eight or ten feet, but I made excellent progress, and
the booming of Challenger's voice seemed to be a great distance beneath
me. The tree was, however, enormous, and, looking upwards, I could see
no thinning of the leaves above my head.  There was some thick,
bush-like clump which seemed to be a parasite upon a branch up which I
was swarming.  I leaned my head round it in order to see what was
beyond, and I nearly fell out of the tree in my surprise and horror at
what I saw.

A face was gazing into mine--at the distance of only a foot or two.
The creature that owned it had been crouching behind the parasite, and
had looked round it at the same instant that I did.  It was a human
face--or at least it was far more human than any monkey's that I have
ever seen.  It was long, whitish, and blotched with pimples, the nose
flattened, and the lower jaw projecting, with a bristle of coarse
whiskers round the chin.  The eyes, which were under thick and heavy
brows, were bestial and ferocious, and as it opened its mouth to snarl
what sounded like a curse at me I observed that it had curved, sharp
canine teeth.  For an instant I read hatred and menace in the evil
eyes.  Then, as quick as a flash, came an expression of overpowering
fear.  There was a crash of broken boughs as it dived wildly down into
the tangle of green.  I caught a glimpse of a hairy body like that of a
reddish pig, and then it was gone amid a swirl of leaves and branches.

"What's the matter?" shouted Roxton from below.  "Anything wrong with
you?"

"Did you see it?" I cried, with my arms round the branch and all my
nerves tingling.

"We heard a row, as if your foot had slipped.  What was it?"

I was so shocked at the sudden and strange appearance of this ape-man
that I hesitated whether I should not climb down again and tell my
experience to my companions.  But I was already so far up the great
tree that it seemed a humiliation to return without having carried out
my mission.

After a long pause, therefore, to recover my breath and my courage, I
continued my ascent.  Once I put my weight upon a rotten branch and
swung for a few seconds by my hands, but in the main it was all easy
climbing.  Gradually the leaves thinned around me, and I was aware,
from the wind upon my face, that I had topped all the trees of the
forest.  I was determined, however, not to look about me before I had
reached the very highest point, so I scrambled on until I had got so
far that the topmost branch was bending beneath my weight.  There I
settled into a convenient fork, and, balancing myself securely, I found
myself looking down at a most wonderful panorama of this strange
country in which we found ourselves.

The sun was just above the western sky-line, and the evening was a
particularly bright and clear one, so that the whole extent of the
plateau was visible beneath me.  It was, as seen from this height, of
an oval contour, with a breadth of about thirty miles and a width of
twenty.  Its general shape was that of a shallow funnel, all the sides
sloping down to a considerable lake in the center.  This lake may have
been ten miles in circumference, and lay very green and beautiful in
the evening light, with a thick fringe of reeds at its edges, and with
its surface broken by several yellow sandbanks, which gleamed golden in
the mellow sunshine.  A number of long dark objects, which were too
large for alligators and too long for canoes, lay upon the edges of
these patches of sand.  With my glass I could clearly see that they
were alive, but what their nature might be I could not imagine.

From the side of the plateau on which we were, slopes of woodland, with
occasional glades, stretched down for five or six miles to the central
lake.  I could see at my very feet the glade of the iguanodons, and
farther off was a round opening in the trees which marked the swamp of
the pterodactyls.  On the side facing me, however, the plateau
presented a very different aspect.  There the basalt cliffs of the
outside were reproduced upon the inside, forming an escarpment about
two hundred feet high, with a woody slope beneath it.  Along the base
of these red cliffs, some distance above the ground, I could see a
number of dark holes through the glass, which I conjectured to be the
mouths of caves.  At the opening of one of these something white was
shimmering, but I was unable to make out what it was.  I sat charting
the country until the sun had set and it was so dark that I could no
longer distinguish details.  Then I climbed down to my companions
waiting for me so eagerly at the bottom of the great tree.  For once I
was the hero of the expedition.  Alone I had thought of it, and alone I
had done it; and here was the chart which would save us a month's blind
groping among unknown dangers.  Each of them shook me solemnly by the
hand.

But before they discussed the details of my map I had to tell them of
my encounter with the ape-man among the branches.

"He has been there all the time," said I.

"How do you know that?" asked Lord John.

"Because I have never been without that feeling that something
malevolent was watching us. I mentioned it to you, Professor
Challenger."

"Our young friend certainly said something of the kind.  He is also the
one among us who is endowed with that Celtic temperament which would
make him sensitive to such impressions."

"The whole theory of telepathy----" began Summerlee, filling his pipe.

"Is too vast to be now discussed," said Challenger, with decision.
"Tell me, now," he added, with the air of a bishop addressing a
Sunday-school, "did you happen to observe whether the creature could
cross its thumb over its palm?"

"No, indeed."

"Had it a tail?"

"No."

"Was the foot prehensile?"

"I do not think it could have made off so fast among the branches if it
could not get a grip with its feet."

"In South America there are, if my memory serves me--you will check the
observation, Professor Summerlee--some thirty-six species of monkeys,
but the anthropoid ape is unknown.  It is clear, however, that he
exists in this country, and that he is not the hairy, gorilla-like
variety, which is never seen out of Africa or the East."  (I was
inclined to interpolate, as I looked at him, that I had seen his first
cousin in Kensington.)  "This is a whiskered and colorless type, the
latter characteristic pointing to the fact that he spends his days in
arboreal seclusion.  The question which we have to face is whether he
approaches more closely to the ape or the man.  In the latter case, he
may well approximate to what the vulgar have called the 'missing link.'
The solution of this problem is our immediate duty."

"It is nothing of the sort," said Summerlee, abruptly.  "Now that,
through the intelligence and activity of Mr. Malone" (I cannot help
quoting the words), "we have got our chart, our one and only immediate
duty is to get ourselves safe and sound out of this awful place."

"The flesh-pots of civilization," groaned Challenger.

"The ink-pots of civilization, sir.  It is our task to put on record
what we have seen, and to leave the further exploration to others.  You
all agreed as much before Mr. Malone got us the chart."

"Well," said Challenger, "I admit that my mind will be more at ease
when I am assured that the result of our expedition has been conveyed
to our friends.  How we are to get down from this place I have not as
yet an idea.  I have never yet encountered any problem, however, which
my inventive brain was unable to solve, and I promise you that
to-morrow I will turn my attention to the question of our descent."
And so the matter was allowed to rest.

But that evening, by the light of the fire and of a single candle, the
first map of the lost world was elaborated.  Every detail which I had
roughly noted from my watch-tower was drawn out in its relative place.
Challenger's pencil hovered over the great blank which marked the lake.

"What shall we call it?" he asked.

"Why should you not take the chance of perpetuating your own name?"
said Summerlee, with his usual touch of acidity.

"I trust, sir, that my name will have other and more personal claims
upon posterity," said Challenger, severely.  "Any ignoramus can hand
down his worthless memory by imposing it upon a mountain or a river.  I
need no such monument."

Summerlee, with a twisted smile, was about to make some fresh assault
when Lord John hastened to intervene.

"It's up to you, young fellah, to name the lake," said he.  "You saw it
first, and, by George, if you choose to put 'Lake Malone' on it, no one
has a better right."

"By all means.  Let our young friend give it a name," said Challenger.

"Then," said I, blushing, I dare say, as I said it, "let it be named
Lake Gladys."

"Don't you think the Central Lake would be more descriptive?" remarked
Summerlee.

"I should prefer Lake Gladys."

Challenger looked at me sympathetically, and shook his great head in
mock disapproval.  "Boys will be boys," said he.  "Lake Gladys let it
be."



I have said--or perhaps I have not said, for my memory plays me sad
tricks these days--that I glowed with pride when three such men as my
comrades thanked me for having saved, or at least greatly helped, the
situation.  As the youngster of the party, not merely in years, but in
experience, character, knowledge, and all that goes to make a man, I
had been overshadowed from the first.  And now I was coming into my
own.  I warmed at the thought.  Alas! for the pride which goes before a
fall!  That little glow of self-satisfaction, that added measure of
self-confidence, were to lead me on that very night to the most
dreadful experience of my life, ending with a shock which turns my
heart sick when I think of it.

It came about in this way.  I had been unduly excited by the adventure
of the tree, and sleep seemed to be impossible.  Summerlee was on
guard, sitting hunched over our small fire, a quaint, angular figure,
his rifle across his knees and his pointed, goat-like beard wagging
with each weary nod of his head.  Lord John lay silent, wrapped in the
South American poncho which he wore, while Challenger snored with a
roll and rattle which reverberated through the woods.  The full moon
was shining brightly, and the air was crisply cold.  What a night for a
walk!  And then suddenly came the thought, "Why not?"  Suppose I stole
softly away, suppose I made my way down to the central lake, suppose I
was back at breakfast with some record of the place--would I not in
that case be thought an even more worthy associate?  Then, if Summerlee
carried the day and some means of escape were found, we should return
to London with first-hand knowledge of the central mystery of the
plateau, to which I alone, of all men, would have penetrated.  I thought
of Gladys, with her "There are heroisms all round us."  I seemed to hear
her voice as she said it.  I thought also of McArdle.  What a three
column article for the paper!  What a foundation for a career!  A
correspondentship in the next great war might be within my reach.  I
clutched at a gun--my pockets were full of cartridges--and, parting the
thorn bushes at the gate of our zareba, quickly slipped out.  My last
glance showed me the unconscious Summerlee, most futile of sentinels,
still nodding away like a queer mechanical toy in front of the
smouldering fire.

I had not gone a hundred yards before I deeply repented my rashness.  I
may have said somewhere in this chronicle that I am too imaginative to
be a really courageous man, but that I have an overpowering fear of
seeming afraid.  This was the power which now carried me onwards.  I
simply could not slink back with nothing done.  Even if my comrades
should not have missed me, and should never know of my weakness, there
would still remain some intolerable self-shame in my own soul.  And yet
I shuddered at the position in which I found myself, and would have
given all I possessed at that moment to have been honorably free of the
whole business.

It was dreadful in the forest.  The trees grew so thickly and their
foliage spread so widely that I could see nothing of the moon-light
save that here and there the high branches made a tangled filigree
against the starry sky.  As the eyes became more used to the obscurity
one learned that there were different degrees of darkness among the
trees--that some were dimly visible, while between and among them there
were coal-black shadowed patches, like the mouths of caves, from which
I shrank in horror as I passed.  I thought of the despairing yell of
the tortured iguanodon--that dreadful cry which had echoed through the
woods.  I thought, too, of the glimpse I had in the light of Lord
John's torch of that bloated, warty, blood-slavering muzzle.  Even now
I was on its hunting-ground.  At any instant it might spring upon me
from the shadows--this nameless and horrible monster.  I stopped, and,
picking a cartridge from my pocket, I opened the breech of my gun.  As
I touched the lever my heart leaped within me.  It was the shot-gun,
not the rifle, which I had taken!

Again the impulse to return swept over me.  Here, surely, was a most
excellent reason for my failure--one for which no one would think the
less of me.  But again the foolish pride fought against that very word.
I could not--must not--fail.  After all, my rifle would probably have
been as useless as a shot-gun against such dangers as I might meet.  If
I were to go back to camp to change my weapon I could hardly expect to
enter and to leave again without being seen.  In that case there would
be explanations, and my attempt would no longer be all my own.  After a
little hesitation, then, I screwed up my courage and continued upon my
way, my useless gun under my arm.

The darkness of the forest had been alarming, but even worse was the
white, still flood of moonlight in the open glade of the iguanodons.
Hid among the bushes, I looked out at it.  None of the great brutes
were in sight.  Perhaps the tragedy which had befallen one of them had
driven them from their feeding-ground.  In the misty, silvery night I
could see no sign of any living thing.  Taking courage, therefore, I
slipped rapidly across it, and among the jungle on the farther side I
picked up once again the brook which was my guide.  It was a cheery
companion, gurgling and chuckling as it ran, like the dear old
trout-stream in the West Country where I have fished at night in my
boyhood.  So long as I followed it down I must come to the lake, and so
long as I followed it back I must come to the camp.  Often I had to
lose sight of it on account of the tangled brush-wood, but I was always
within earshot of its tinkle and splash.

As one descended the slope the woods became thinner, and bushes, with
occasional high trees, took the place of the forest.  I could make good
progress, therefore, and I could see without being seen.  I passed
close to the pterodactyl swamp, and as I did so, with a dry, crisp,
leathery rattle of wings, one of these great creatures--it was twenty
feet at least from tip to tip--rose up from somewhere near me and
soared into the air.  As it passed across the face of the moon the
light shone clearly through the membranous wings, and it looked like a
flying skeleton against the white, tropical radiance.  I crouched low
among the bushes, for I knew from past experience that with a single
cry the creature could bring a hundred of its loathsome mates about my
ears.  It was not until it had settled again that I dared to steal
onwards upon my journey.

The night had been exceedingly still, but as I advanced I became
conscious of a low, rumbling sound, a continuous murmur, somewhere in
front of me.  This grew louder as I proceeded, until at last it was
clearly quite close to me.  When I stood still the sound was constant,
so that it seemed to come from some stationary cause.  It was like a
boiling kettle or the bubbling of some great pot.  Soon I came upon the
source of it, for in the center of a small clearing I found a lake--or
a pool, rather, for it was not larger than the basin of the Trafalgar
Square fountain--of some black, pitch-like stuff, the surface of which
rose and fell in great blisters of bursting gas.  The air above it was
shimmering with heat, and the ground round was so hot that I could
hardly bear to lay my hand on it.  It was clear that the great volcanic
outburst which had raised this strange plateau so many years ago had
not yet entirely spent its forces.  Blackened rocks and mounds of lava
I had already seen everywhere peeping out from amid the luxuriant
vegetation which draped them, but this asphalt pool in the jungle was
the first sign that we had of actual existing activity on the slopes of
the ancient crater.  I had no time to examine it further for I had need
to hurry if I were to be back in camp in the morning.

It was a fearsome walk, and one which will be with me so long as memory
holds.  In the great moonlight clearings I slunk along among the
shadows on the margin.  In the jungle I crept forward, stopping with a
beating heart whenever I heard, as I often did, the crash of breaking
branches as some wild beast went past.  Now and then great shadows
loomed up for an instant and were gone--great, silent shadows which
seemed to prowl upon padded feet.  How often I stopped with the
intention of returning, and yet every time my pride conquered my fear,
and sent me on again until my object should be attained.

At last (my watch showed that it was one in the morning) I saw the
gleam of water amid the openings of the jungle, and ten minutes later I
was among the reeds upon the borders of the central lake.  I was
exceedingly dry, so I lay down and took a long draught of its waters,
which were fresh and cold.  There was a broad pathway with many tracks
upon it at the spot which I had found, so that it was clearly one of
the drinking-places of the animals.  Close to the water's edge there
was a huge isolated block of lava.  Up this I climbed, and, lying on
the top, I had an excellent view in every direction.

The first thing which I saw filled me with amazement.  When I described
the view from the summit of the great tree, I said that on the farther
cliff I could see a number of dark spots, which appeared to be the
mouths of caves.  Now, as I looked up at the same cliffs, I saw discs
of light in every direction, ruddy, clearly-defined patches, like the
port-holes of a liner in the darkness.  For a moment I thought it was
the lava-glow from some volcanic action; but this could not be so.  Any
volcanic action would surely be down in the hollow and not high among
the rocks.  What, then, was the alternative?  It was wonderful, and yet
it must surely be.  These ruddy spots must be the reflection of fires
within the caves--fires which could only be lit by the hand of man.
There were human beings, then, upon the plateau.  How gloriously my
expedition was justified!  Here was news indeed for us to bear back
with us to London!

For a long time I lay and watched these red, quivering blotches of
light.  I suppose they were ten miles off from me, yet even at that
distance one could observe how, from time to time, they twinkled or
were obscured as someone passed before them.  What would I not have
given to be able to crawl up to them, to peep in, and to take back some
word to my comrades as to the appearance and character of the race who
lived in so strange a place!  It was out of the question for the
moment, and yet surely we could not leave the plateau until we had some
definite knowledge upon the point.

Lake Gladys--my own lake--lay like a sheet of quicksilver before me,
with a reflected moon shining brightly in the center of it.  It was
shallow, for in many places I saw low sandbanks protruding above the
water.  Everywhere upon the still surface I could see signs of life,
sometimes mere rings and ripples in the water, sometimes the gleam of a
great silver-sided fish in the air, sometimes the arched, slate-colored
back of some passing monster.  Once upon a yellow sandbank I saw a
creature like a huge swan, with a clumsy body and a high, flexible
neck, shuffling about upon the margin.  Presently it plunged in, and
for some time I could see the arched neck and darting head undulating
over the water.  Then it dived, and I saw it no more.

My attention was soon drawn away from these distant sights and brought
back to what was going on at my very feet.  Two creatures like large
armadillos had come down to the drinking-place, and were squatting at
the edge of the water, their long, flexible tongues like red ribbons
shooting in and out as they lapped.  A huge deer, with branching horns,
a magnificent creature which carried itself like a king, came down with
its doe and two fawns and drank beside the armadillos.  No such deer
exist anywhere else upon earth, for the moose or elks which I have seen
would hardly have reached its shoulders.  Presently it gave a warning
snort, and was off with its family among the reeds, while the
armadillos also scuttled for shelter.  A new-comer, a most monstrous
animal, was coming down the path.

For a moment I wondered where I could have seen that ungainly shape,
that arched back with triangular fringes along it, that strange
bird-like head held close to the ground.  Then it came back, to me.  It
was the stegosaurus--the very creature which Maple White had preserved
in his sketch-book, and which had been the first object which arrested
the attention of Challenger!  There he was--perhaps the very specimen
which the American artist had encountered.  The ground shook beneath
his tremendous weight, and his gulpings of water resounded through the
still night.  For five minutes he was so close to my rock that by
stretching out my hand I could have touched the hideous waving hackles
upon his back.  Then he lumbered away and was lost among the boulders.

Looking at my watch, I saw that it was half-past two o'clock, and high
time, therefore, that I started upon my homeward journey.  There was no
difficulty about the direction in which I should return for all along I
had kept the little brook upon my left, and it opened into the central
lake within a stone's-throw of the boulder upon which I had been lying.
I set off, therefore, in high spirits, for I felt that I had done good
work and was bringing back a fine budget of news for my companions.
Foremost of all, of course, were the sight of the fiery caves and the
certainty that some troglodytic race inhabited them.  But besides that
I could speak from experience of the central lake.  I could testify
that it was full of strange creatures, and I had seen several land
forms of primeval life which we had not before encountered.  I
reflected as I walked that few men in the world could have spent a
stranger night or added more to human knowledge in the course of it.

I was plodding up the slope, turning these thoughts over in my mind,
and had reached a point which may have been half-way to home, when my
mind was brought back to my own position by a strange noise behind me.
It was something between a snore and a growl, low, deep, and
exceedingly menacing.  Some strange creature was evidently near me, but
nothing could be seen, so I hastened more rapidly upon my way.  I had
traversed half a mile or so when suddenly the sound was repeated, still
behind me, but louder and more menacing than before.  My heart stood
still within me as it flashed across me that the beast, whatever it
was, must surely be after ME.   My skin grew cold and my hair rose at
the thought.  That these monsters should tear each other to pieces was
a part of the strange struggle for existence, but that they should turn
upon modern man, that they should deliberately track and hunt down the
predominant human, was a staggering and fearsome thought.  I remembered
again the blood-beslobbered face which we had seen in the glare of Lord
John's torch, like some horrible vision from the deepest circle of
Dante's hell.  With my knees shaking beneath me, I stood and glared
with starting eyes down the moonlit path which lay behind me.  All was
quiet as in a dream landscape.  Silver clearings and the black patches
of the bushes--nothing else could I see.  Then from out of the silence,
imminent and threatening, there came once more that low, throaty
croaking, far louder and closer than before.  There could no longer be
a doubt.  Something was on my trail, and was closing in upon me every
minute.

I stood like a man paralyzed, still staring at the ground which I had
traversed.  Then suddenly I saw it.  There was movement among the
bushes at the far end of the clearing which I had just traversed.  A
great dark shadow disengaged itself and hopped out into the clear
moonlight.  I say "hopped" advisedly, for the beast moved like a
kangaroo, springing along in an erect position upon its powerful hind
legs, while its front ones were held bent in front of it.  It was of
enormous size and power, like an erect elephant, but its movements, in
spite of its bulk, were exceedingly alert.  For a moment, as I saw its
shape, I hoped that it was an iguanodon, which I knew to be harmless,
but, ignorant as I was, I soon saw that this was a very different
creature.  Instead of the gentle, deer-shaped head of the great
three-toed leaf-eater, this beast had a broad, squat, toad-like face
like that which had alarmed us in our camp.  His ferocious cry and the
horrible energy of his pursuit both assured me that this was surely one
of the great flesh-eating dinosaurs, the most terrible beasts which
have ever walked this earth.  As the huge brute loped along it dropped
forward upon its fore-paws and brought its nose to the ground every
twenty yards or so.  It was smelling out my trail.  Sometimes, for an
instant, it was at fault.  Then it would catch it up again and come
bounding swiftly along the path I had taken.

Even now when I think of that nightmare the sweat breaks out upon my
brow.  What could I do?  My useless fowling-piece was in my hand.  What
help could I get from that?  I looked desperately round for some rock
or tree, but I was in a bushy jungle with nothing higher than a sapling
within sight, while I knew that the creature behind me could tear down
an ordinary tree as though it were a reed.  My only possible chance lay
in flight.  I could not move swiftly over the rough, broken ground, but
as I looked round me in despair I saw a well-marked, hard-beaten path
which ran across in front of me.  We had seen several of the sort, the
runs of various wild beasts, during our expeditions.  Along this I
could perhaps hold my own, for I was a fast runner, and in excellent
condition.  Flinging away my useless gun, I set myself to do such a
half-mile as I have never done before or since.  My limbs ached, my
chest heaved, I felt that my throat would burst for want of air, and
yet with that horror behind me I ran and I ran and ran.  At last I
paused, hardly able to move.  For a moment I thought that I had thrown
him off.  The path lay still behind me.  And then suddenly, with a
crashing and a rending, a thudding of giant feet and a panting of
monster lungs the beast was upon me once more.  He was at my very
heels.  I was lost.

Madman that I was to linger so long before I fled!  Up to then he had
hunted by scent, and his movement was slow.  But he had actually seen
me as I started to run.  From then onwards he had hunted by sight, for
the path showed him where I had gone.  Now, as he came round the curve,
he was springing in great bounds.  The moonlight shone upon his huge
projecting eyes, the row of enormous teeth in his open mouth, and the
gleaming fringe of claws upon his short, powerful forearms.  With a
scream of terror I turned and rushed wildly down the path.  Behind me
the thick, gasping breathing of the creature sounded louder and louder.
His heavy footfall was beside me.  Every instant I expected to feel his
grip upon my back.  And then suddenly there came a crash--I was falling
through space, and everything beyond was darkness and rest.

As I emerged from my unconsciousness--which could not, I think, have
lasted more than a few minutes--I was aware of a most dreadful and
penetrating smell.  Putting out my hand in the darkness I came upon
something which felt like a huge lump of meat, while my other hand
closed upon a large bone.  Up above me there was a circle of starlit
sky, which showed me that I was lying at the bottom of a deep pit.
Slowly I staggered to my feet and felt myself all over.  I was stiff
and sore from head to foot, but there was no limb which would not move,
no joint which would not bend.  As the circumstances of my fall came
back into my confused brain, I looked up in terror, expecting to see
that dreadful head silhouetted against the paling sky.  There was no
sign of the monster, however, nor could I hear any sound from above.  I
began to walk slowly round, therefore, feeling in every direction to
find out what this strange place could be into which I had been so
opportunely precipitated.

It was, as I have said, a pit, with sharply-sloping walls and a level
bottom about twenty feet across.  This bottom was littered with great
gobbets of flesh, most of which was in the last state of putridity.
The atmosphere was poisonous and horrible.  After tripping and
stumbling over these lumps of decay, I came suddenly against something
hard, and I found that an upright post was firmly fixed in the center
of the hollow.  It was so high that I could not reach the top of it
with my hand, and it appeared to be covered with grease.

Suddenly I remembered that I had a tin box of wax-vestas in my pocket.
Striking one of them, I was able at last to form some opinion of this
place into which I had fallen.  There could be no question as to its
nature.  It was a trap--made by the hand of man.  The post in the
center, some nine feet long, was sharpened at the upper end, and was
black with the stale blood of the creatures who had been impaled upon
it.  The remains scattered about were fragments of the victims, which
had been cut away in order to clear the stake for the next who might
blunder in.  I remembered that Challenger had declared that man could
not exist upon the plateau, since with his feeble weapons he could not
hold his own against the monsters who roamed over it.  But now it was
clear enough how it could be done.  In their narrow-mouthed caves the
natives, whoever they might be, had refuges into which the huge
saurians could not penetrate, while with their developed brains they
were capable of setting such traps, covered with branches, across the
paths which marked the run of the animals as would destroy them in
spite of all their strength and activity.  Man was always the master.

The sloping wall of the pit was not difficult for an active man to
climb, but I hesitated long before I trusted myself within reach of the
dreadful creature which had so nearly destroyed me.  How did I know
that he was not lurking in the nearest clump of bushes, waiting for my
reappearance?  I took heart, however, as I recalled a conversation
between Challenger and Summerlee upon the habits of the great saurians.
Both were agreed that the monsters were practically brainless, that
there was no room for reason in their tiny cranial cavities, and that
if they have disappeared from the rest of the world it was assuredly on
account of their own stupidity, which made it impossible for them to
adapt themselves to changing conditions.

To lie in wait for me now would mean that the creature had appreciated
what had happened to me, and this in turn would argue some power
connecting cause and effect.  Surely it was more likely that a
brainless creature, acting solely by vague predatory instinct, would
give up the chase when I disappeared, and, after a pause of
astonishment, would wander away in search of some other prey?  I
clambered to the edge of the pit and looked over.  The stars were
fading, the sky was whitening, and the cold wind of morning blew
pleasantly upon my face.  I could see or hear nothing of my enemy.
Slowly I climbed out and sat for a while upon the ground, ready to
spring back into my refuge if any danger should appear.  Then,
reassured by the absolute stillness and by the growing light, I took my
courage in both hands and stole back along the path which I had come.
Some distance down it I picked up my gun, and shortly afterwards struck
the brook which was my guide.  So, with many a frightened backward
glance, I made for home.

And suddenly there came something to remind me of my absent companions.
In the clear, still morning air there sounded far away the sharp, hard
note of a single rifle-shot.  I paused and listened, but there was
nothing more.  For a moment I was shocked at the thought that some
sudden danger might have befallen them.  But then a simpler and more
natural explanation came to my mind.  It was now broad daylight.  No
doubt my absence had been noticed.  They had imagined, that I was lost
in the woods, and had fired this shot to guide me home.  It is true
that we had made a strict resolution against firing, but if it seemed
to them that I might be in danger they would not hesitate.  It was for
me now to hurry on as fast as possible, and so to reassure them.

I was weary and spent, so my progress was not so fast as I wished; but
at last I came into regions which I knew.  There was the swamp of the
pterodactyls upon my left; there in front of me was the glade of the
iguanodons.  Now I was in the last belt of trees which separated me
from Fort Challenger.  I raised my voice in a cheery shout to allay
their fears.  No answering greeting came back to me.  My heart sank at
that ominous stillness.  I quickened my pace into a run.  The zareba
rose before me, even as I had left it, but the gate was open.  I rushed
in.  In the cold, morning light it was a fearful sight which met my
eyes.  Our effects were scattered in wild confusion over the ground; my
comrades had disappeared, and close to the smouldering ashes of our
fire the grass was stained crimson with a hideous pool of blood.

I was so stunned by this sudden shock that for a time I must have
nearly lost my reason.  I have a vague recollection, as one remembers a
bad dream, of rushing about through the woods all round the empty camp,
calling wildly for my companions.  No answer came back from the silent
shadows.  The horrible thought that I might never see them again, that
I might find myself abandoned all alone in that dreadful place, with no
possible way of descending into the world below, that I might live and
die in that nightmare country, drove me to desperation.  I could have
torn my hair and beaten my head in my despair.  Only now did I realize
how I had learned to lean upon my companions, upon the serene
self-confidence of Challenger, and upon the masterful, humorous
coolness of Lord John Roxton.  Without them I was like a child in the
dark, helpless and powerless.  I did not know which way to turn or what
I should do first.

After a period, during which I sat in bewilderment, I set myself to try
and discover what sudden misfortune could have befallen my companions.
The whole disordered appearance of the camp showed that there had been
some sort of attack, and the rifle-shot no doubt marked the time when
it had occurred.  That there should have been only one shot showed that
it had been all over in an instant.  The rifles still lay upon the
ground, and one of them--Lord John's--had the empty cartridge in the
breech.  The blankets of Challenger and of Summerlee beside the fire
suggested that they had been asleep at the time.  The cases of
ammunition and of food were scattered about in a wild litter, together
with our unfortunate cameras and plate-carriers, but none of them were
missing.  On the other hand, all the exposed provisions--and I
remembered that there were a considerable quantity of them--were gone.
They were animals, then, and not natives, who had made the inroad, for
surely the latter would have left nothing behind.

But if animals, or some single terrible animal, then what had become of
my comrades?  A ferocious beast would surely have destroyed them and
left their remains.  It is true that there was that one hideous pool of
blood, which told of violence.  Such a monster as had pursued me during
the night could have carried away a victim as easily as a cat would a
mouse.  In that case the others would have followed in pursuit.  But
then they would assuredly have taken their rifles with them.  The more
I tried to think it out with my confused and weary brain the less could
I find any plausible explanation.  I searched round in the forest, but
could see no tracks which could help me to a conclusion.  Once I lost
myself, and it was only by good luck, and after an hour of wandering,
that I found the camp once more.

Suddenly a thought came to me and brought some little comfort to my
heart.  I was not absolutely alone in the world.  Down at the bottom of
the cliff, and within call of me, was waiting the faithful Zambo.  I
went to the edge of the plateau and looked over.  Sure enough, he was
squatting among his blankets beside his fire in his little camp.  But,
to my amazement, a second man was seated in front of him.  For an
instant my heart leaped for joy, as I thought that one of my comrades
had made his way safely down.  But a second glance dispelled the hope.
The rising sun shone red upon the man's skin.  He was an Indian.  I
shouted loudly and waved my handkerchief.  Presently Zambo looked up,
waved his hand, and turned to ascend the pinnacle.  In a short time he
was standing close to me and listening with deep distress to the story
which I told him.

"Devil got them for sure, Massa Malone," said he.  "You got into the
devil's country, sah, and he take you all to himself.  You take advice,
Massa Malone, and come down quick, else he get you as well."

"How can I come down, Zambo?"

"You get creepers from trees, Massa Malone.  Throw them over here.  I
make fast to this stump, and so you have bridge."

"We have thought of that.  There are no creepers here which could bear
us."

"Send for ropes, Massa Malone."

"Who can I send, and where?"

"Send to Indian villages, sah.  Plenty hide rope in Indian village.
Indian down below; send him."

"Who is he?

"One of our Indians.  Other ones beat him and take away his pay.  He
come back to us.  Ready now to take letter, bring rope,--anything."

To take a letter!  Why not?  Perhaps he might bring help; but in any
case he would ensure that our lives were not spent for nothing, and
that news of all that we had won for Science should reach our friends
at home.  I had two completed letters already waiting.  I would spend
the day in writing a third, which would bring my experiences absolutely
up to date.  The Indian could bear this back to the world.  I ordered
Zambo, therefore, to come again in the evening, and I spent my
miserable and lonely day in recording my own adventures of the night
before.  I also drew up a note, to be given to any white merchant or
captain of a steam-boat whom the Indian could find, imploring them to
see that ropes were sent to us, since our lives must depend upon it.
These documents I threw to Zambo in the evening, and also my purse,
which contained three English sovereigns.  These were to be given to
the Indian, and he was promised twice as much if he returned with the
ropes.

So now you will understand, my dear Mr. McArdle, how this communication
reaches you, and you will also know the truth, in case you never hear
again from your unfortunate correspondent.  To-night I am too weary and
too depressed to make my plans.  To-morrow I must think out some way by
which I shall keep in touch with this camp, and yet search round for
any traces of my unhappy friends.

Just as the sun was setting upon that melancholy night I saw the lonely
figure of the Indian upon the vast plain beneath me, and I watched him,
our one faint hope of salvation, until he disappeared in the rising
mists of evening which lay, rose-tinted from the setting sun, between
the far-off river and me.

It was quite dark when I at last turned back to our stricken camp, and
my last vision as I went was the red gleam of Zambo's fire, the one
point of light in the wide world below, as was his faithful presence in
my own shadowed soul.  And yet I felt happier than I had done since
this crushing blow had fallen upon me, for it was good to think that
the world should know what we had done, so that at the worst our names
should not perish with our bodies, but should go down to posterity
associated with the result of our labors.

It was an awesome thing to sleep in that ill-fated camp; and yet it was
even more unnerving to do so in the jungle.  One or the other it must
be.  Prudence, on the one hand, warned me that I should remain on
guard, but exhausted Nature, on the other, declared that I should do
nothing of the kind.  I climbed up on to a limb of the great gingko
tree, but there was no secure perch on its rounded surface, and I
should certainly have fallen off and broken my neck the moment I began
to doze.  I got down, therefore, and pondered over what I should do.
Finally, I closed the door of the zareba, lit three separate fires in a
triangle, and having eaten a hearty supper dropped off into a profound
sleep, from which I had a strange and most welcome awakening.  In the
early morning, just as day was breaking, a hand was laid upon my arm,
and starting up, with all my nerves in a tingle and my hand feeling for
a rifle, I gave a cry of joy as in the cold gray light I saw Lord John
Roxton kneeling beside me.

It was he--and yet it was not he.  I had left him calm in his bearing,
correct in his person, prim in his dress.  Now he was pale and
wild-eyed, gasping as he breathed like one who has run far and fast.
His gaunt face was scratched and bloody, his clothes were hanging in
rags, and his hat was gone.  I stared in amazement, but he gave me no
chance for questions.  He was grabbing at our stores all the time he
spoke.

"Quick, young fellah!  Quick!" he cried.  "Every moment counts.  Get
the rifles, both of them.  I have the other two.  Now, all the
cartridges you can gather.  Fill up your pockets.  Now, some food.
Half a dozen tins will do.  That's all right!  Don't wait to talk or
think.  Get a move on, or we are done!"

Still half-awake, and unable to imagine what it all might mean, I found
myself hurrying madly after him through the wood, a rifle under each
arm and a pile of various stores in my hands.  He dodged in and out
through the thickest of the scrub until he came to a dense clump of
brush-wood.  Into this he rushed, regardless of thorns, and threw
himself into the heart of it, pulling me down by his side.

"There!" he panted.  "I think we are safe here.  They'll make for the
camp as sure as fate.  It will be their first idea.  But this should
puzzle 'em."

"What is it all?" I asked, when I had got my breath.  "Where are the
professors?  And who is it that is after us?"

"The ape-men," he cried.  "My God, what brutes!  Don't raise your
voice, for they have long ears--sharp eyes, too, but no power of scent,
so far as I could judge, so I don't think they can sniff us out.  Where
have you been, young fellah?  You were well out of it."

In a few sentences I whispered what I had done.

"Pretty bad," said he, when he had heard of the dinosaur and the pit.
"It isn't quite the place for a rest cure.  What?  But I had no idea
what its possibilities were until those devils got hold of us.  The
man-eatin' Papuans had me once, but they are Chesterfields compared to
this crowd."

"How did it happen?" I asked.

"It was in the early mornin'.  Our learned friends were just stirrin'.
Hadn't even begun to argue yet.  Suddenly it rained apes.  They came
down as thick as apples out of a tree.  They had been assemblin' in the
dark, I suppose, until that great tree over our heads was heavy with
them.  I shot one of them through the belly, but before we knew where
we were they had us spread-eagled on our backs.  I call them apes, but
they carried sticks and stones in their hands and jabbered talk to each
other, and ended up by tyin' our hands with creepers, so they are ahead
of any beast that I have seen in my wanderin's.  Ape-men--that's what
they are--Missin' Links, and I wish they had stayed missin'.  They
carried off their wounded comrade--he was bleedin' like a pig--and then
they sat around us, and if ever I saw frozen murder it was in their
faces.  They were big fellows, as big as a man and a deal stronger.
Curious glassy gray eyes they have, under red tufts, and they just sat
and gloated and gloated.  Challenger is no chicken, but even he was
cowed.  He managed to struggle to his feet, and yelled out at them to
have done with it and get it over.  I think he had gone a bit off his
head at the suddenness of it, for he raged and cursed at them like a
lunatic.  If they had been a row of his favorite Pressmen he could not
have slanged them worse."

"Well, what did they do?"  I was enthralled by the strange story which
my companion was whispering into my ear, while all the time his keen
eyes were shooting in every direction and his hand grasping his cocked
rifle.

"I thought it was the end of us, but instead of that it started them on
a new line.  They all jabbered and chattered together.  Then one of
them stood out beside Challenger.  You'll smile, young fellah, but 'pon
my word they might have been kinsmen.  I couldn't have believed it if I
hadn't seen it with my own eyes.  This old ape-man--he was their
chief--was a sort of red Challenger, with every one of our friend's
beauty points, only just a trifle more so.  He had the short body, the
big shoulders, the round chest, no neck, a great ruddy frill of a
beard, the tufted eyebrows, the 'What do you want, damn you!' look
about the eyes, and the whole catalogue.  When the ape-man stood by
Challenger and put his paw on his shoulder, the thing was complete.
Summerlee was a bit hysterical, and he laughed till he cried.  The
ape-men laughed too--or at least they put up the devil of a
cacklin'--and they set to work to drag us off through the forest.  They
wouldn't touch the guns and things--thought them dangerous, I
expect--but they carried away all our loose food.  Summerlee and I got
some rough handlin' on the way--there's my skin and my clothes to prove
it--for they took us a bee-line through the brambles, and their own
hides are like leather.  But Challenger was all right.  Four of them
carried him shoulder high, and he went like a Roman emperor.  What's
that?"

It was a strange clicking noise in the distance not unlike castanets.

"There they go!" said my companion, slipping cartridges into the second
double barrelled "Express."  "Load them all up, young fellah my lad,
for we're not going to be taken alive, and don't you think it!  That's
the row they make when they are excited.  By George! they'll have
something to excite them if they put us up.  The 'Last Stand of the
Grays' won't be in it.   'With their rifles grasped in their stiffened
hands, mid a ring of the dead and dyin',' as some fathead sings.  Can
you hear them now?"

"Very far away."

"That little lot will do no good, but I expect their search parties are
all over the wood.  Well, I was telling you my tale of woe.  They got
us soon to this town of theirs--about a thousand huts of branches and
leaves in a great grove of trees near the edge of the cliff.  It's
three or four miles from here.  The filthy beasts fingered me all over,
and I feel as if I should never be clean again.  They tied us up--the
fellow who handled me could tie like a bosun--and there we lay with our
toes up, beneath a tree, while a great brute stood guard over us with a
club in his hand.  When I say 'we' I mean Summerlee and myself.  Old
Challenger was up a tree, eatin' pines and havin' the time of his life.
I'm bound to say that he managed to get some fruit to us, and with his
own hands he loosened our bonds.  If you'd seen him sitting up in that
tree hob-nobbin' with his twin brother--and singin' in that rollin'
bass of his, 'Ring out, wild bells,' cause music of any kind seemed to
put 'em in a good humor, you'd have smiled; but we weren't in much mood
for laughin', as you can guess.  They were inclined, within limits, to
let him do what he liked, but they drew the line pretty sharply at us.
It was a mighty consolation to us all to know that you were runnin'
loose and had the archives in your keepin'.

"Well, now, young fellah, I'll tell you what will surprise you.  You
say you saw signs of men, and fires, traps, and the like.  Well, we
have seen the natives themselves.  Poor devils they were, down-faced
little chaps, and had enough to make them so.  It seems that the humans
hold one side of this plateau--over yonder, where you saw the
caves--and the ape-men hold this side, and there is bloody war between
them all the time.  That's the situation, so far as I could follow it.
Well, yesterday the ape-men got hold of a dozen of the humans and
brought them in as prisoners.  You never heard such a jabberin' and
shriekin' in your life.  The men were little red fellows, and had been
bitten and clawed so that they could hardly walk.  The ape-men put two
of them to death there and then--fairly pulled the arm off one of
them--it was perfectly beastly.  Plucky little chaps they are, and
hardly gave a squeak.  But it turned us absolutely sick.  Summerlee
fainted, and even Challenger had as much as he could stand.  I think
they have cleared, don't you?"

We listened intently, but nothing save the calling of the birds broke
the deep peace of the forest.  Lord Roxton went on with his story.

"I think you have had the escape of your life, young fellah my lad.  It
was catchin' those Indians that put you clean out of their heads, else
they would have been back to the camp for you as sure as fate and
gathered you in.  Of course, as you said, they have been watchin' us
from the beginnin' out of that tree, and they knew perfectly well that
we were one short.  However, they could think only of this new haul; so
it was I, and not a bunch of apes, that dropped in on you in the
morning.  Well, we had a horrid business afterwards.  My God!  what a
nightmare the whole thing is!  You remember the great bristle of sharp
canes down below where we found the skeleton of the American?  Well,
that is just under ape-town, and that's the jumpin'-off place of their
prisoners.  I expect there's heaps of skeletons there, if we looked for
'em.  They have a sort of clear parade-ground on the top, and they make
a proper ceremony about it.  One by one the poor devils have to jump,
and the game is to see whether they are merely dashed to pieces or
whether they get skewered on the canes.  They took us out to see it,
and the whole tribe lined up on the edge.  Four of the Indians jumped,
and the canes went through 'em like knittin' needles through a pat of
butter.  No wonder we found that poor Yankee's skeleton with the canes
growin' between his ribs.  It was horrible--but it was doocedly
interestin' too.  We were all fascinated to see them take the dive,
even when we thought it would be our turn next on the spring-board.

"Well, it wasn't.  They kept six of the Indians up for to-day--that's
how I understood it--but I fancy we were to be the star performers in
the show.  Challenger might get off, but Summerlee and I were in the
bill.  Their language is more than half signs, and it was not hard to
follow them.  So I thought it was time we made a break for it.  I had
been plottin' it out a bit, and had one or two things clear in my mind.
It was all on me, for Summerlee was useless and Challenger not much
better.  The only time they got together they got slangin' because they
couldn't agree upon the scientific classification of these red-headed
devils that had got hold of us.  One said it was the dryopithecus of
Java, the other said it was pithecanthropus.  Madness, I call
it--Loonies, both.  But, as I say, I had thought out one or two points
that were helpful.  One was that these brutes could not run as fast as
a man in the open.  They have short, bandy legs, you see, and heavy
bodies.  Even Challenger could give a few yards in a hundred to the
best of them, and you or I would be a perfect Shrubb.  Another point
was that they knew nothin' about guns.  I don't believe they ever
understood how the fellow I shot came by his hurt.  If we could get at
our guns there was no sayin' what we could do.

"So I broke away early this mornin', gave my guard a kick in the tummy
that laid him out, and sprinted for the camp.  There I got you and the
guns, and here we are."

"But the professors!" I cried, in consternation.

"Well, we must just go back and fetch 'em.  I couldn't bring 'em with
me.  Challenger was up the tree, and Summerlee was not fit for the
effort.  The only chance was to get the guns and try a rescue.  Of
course they may scupper them at once in revenge.  I don't think they
would touch Challenger, but I wouldn't answer for Summerlee.  But they
would have had him in any case.  Of that I am certain.  So I haven't
made matters any worse by boltin'.  But we are honor bound to go back
and have them out or see it through with them.  So you can make up your
soul, young fellah my lad, for it will be one way or the other before
evenin'."

I have tried to imitate here Lord Roxton's jerky talk, his short,
strong sentences, the half-humorous, half-reckless tone that ran
through it all.  But he was a born leader.  As danger thickened his
jaunty manner would increase, his speech become more racy, his cold
eyes glitter into ardent life, and his Don Quixote moustache bristle
with joyous excitement.  His love of danger, his intense appreciation
of the drama of an adventure--all the more intense for being held
tightly in--his consistent view that every peril in life is a form of
sport, a fierce game betwixt you and Fate, with Death as a forfeit,
made him a wonderful companion at such hours.  If it were not for our
fears as to the fate of our companions, it would have been a positive
joy to throw myself with such a man into such an affair.  We were
rising from our brushwood hiding-place when suddenly I felt his grip
upon my arm.

"By George!" he whispered, "here they come!"

From where we lay we could look down a brown aisle, arched with green,
formed by the trunks and branches.  Along this a party of the ape-men
were passing.  They went in single file, with bent legs and rounded
backs, their hands occasionally touching the ground, their heads
turning to left and right as they trotted along.  Their crouching gait
took away from their height, but I should put them at five feet or so,
with long arms and enormous chests.  Many of them carried sticks, and
at the distance they looked like a line of very hairy and deformed
human beings.  For a moment I caught this clear glimpse of them.  Then
they were lost among the bushes.

"Not this time," said Lord John, who had caught up his rifle.  "Our
best chance is to lie quiet until they have given up the search.  Then
we shall see whether we can't get back to their town and hit 'em where
it hurts most.  Give 'em an hour and we'll march."

We filled in the time by opening one of our food tins and making sure
of our breakfast.  Lord Roxton had had nothing but some fruit since the
morning before and ate like a starving man.  Then, at last, our pockets
bulging with cartridges and a rifle in each hand, we started off upon
our mission of rescue.  Before leaving it we carefully marked our
little hiding-place among the brush-wood and its bearing to Fort
Challenger, that we might find it again if we needed it.  We slunk
through the bushes in silence until we came to the very edge of the
cliff, close to the old camp.  There we halted, and Lord John gave me
some idea of his plans.

"So long as we are among the thick trees these swine are our masters,"
said he.  "They can see us and we cannot see them.  But in the open it
is different.  There we can move faster than they.  So we must stick to
the open all we can.  The edge of the plateau has fewer large trees
than further inland.  So that's our line of advance.  Go slowly, keep
your eyes open and your rifle ready.  Above all, never let them get you
prisoner while there is a cartridge left--that's my last word to you,
young fellah."

When we reached the edge of the cliff I looked over and saw our good
old black Zambo sitting smoking on a rock below us.  I would have given
a great deal to have hailed him and told him how we were placed, but it
was too dangerous, lest we should be heard.  The woods seemed to be
full of the ape-men; again and again we heard their curious clicking
chatter.  At such times we plunged into the nearest clump of bushes and
lay still until the sound had passed away.  Our advance, therefore, was
very slow, and two hours at least must have passed before I saw by Lord
John's cautious movements that we must be close to our destination.  He
motioned to me to lie still, and he crawled forward himself.  In a
minute he was back again, his face quivering with eagerness.

"Come!" said he.  "Come quick! I hope to the Lord we are not too late
already!"

I found myself shaking with nervous excitement as I scrambled forward
and lay down beside him, looking out through the bushes at a clearing
which stretched before us.

It was a sight which I shall never forget until my dying day--so weird,
so impossible, that I do not know how I am to make you realize it, or
how in a few years I shall bring myself to believe in it if I live to
sit once more on a lounge in the Savage Club and look out on the drab
solidity of the Embankment.  I know that it will seem then to be some
wild nightmare, some delirium of fever.  Yet I will set it down now,
while it is still fresh in my memory, and one at least, the man who lay
in the damp grasses by my side, will know if I have lied.

A wide, open space lay before us--some hundreds of yards across--all
green turf and low bracken growing to the very edge of the cliff.
Round this clearing there was a semi-circle of trees with curious huts
built of foliage piled one above the other among the branches.  A
rookery, with every nest a little house, would best convey the idea.
The openings of these huts and the branches of the trees were thronged
with a dense mob of ape-people, whom from their size I took to be the
females and infants of the tribe.  They formed the background of the
picture, and were all looking out with eager interest at the same scene
which fascinated and bewildered us.

In the open, and near the edge of the cliff, there had assembled a
crowd of some hundred of these shaggy, red-haired creatures, many of
them of immense size, and all of them horrible to look upon.  There was
a certain discipline among them, for none of them attempted to break
the line which had been formed.  In front there stood a small group of
Indians--little, clean-limbed, red fellows, whose skins glowed like
polished bronze in the strong sunlight.  A tall, thin white man was
standing beside them, his head bowed, his arms folded, his whole
attitude expressive of his horror and dejection.  There was no
mistaking the angular form of Professor Summerlee.

In front of and around this dejected group of prisoners were several
ape-men, who watched them closely and made all escape impossible.
Then, right out from all the others and close to the edge of the cliff,
were two figures, so strange, and under other circumstances so
ludicrous, that they absorbed my attention.  The one was our comrade,
Professor Challenger.  The remains of his coat still hung in strips
from his shoulders, but his shirt had been all torn out, and his great
beard merged itself in the black tangle which covered his mighty chest.
He had lost his hat, and his hair, which had grown long in our
wanderings, was flying in wild disorder.  A single day seemed to have
changed him from the highest product of modern civilization to the most
desperate savage in South America.  Beside him stood his master, the
king of the ape-men.  In all things he was, as Lord John had said, the
very image of our Professor, save that his coloring was red instead of
black.  The same short, broad figure, the same heavy shoulders, the
same forward hang of the arms, the same bristling beard merging itself
in the hairy chest.  Only above the eyebrows, where the sloping
forehead and low, curved skull of the ape-man were in sharp contrast to
the broad brow and magnificent cranium of the European, could one see
any marked difference.  At every other point the king was an absurd
parody of the Professor.

All this, which takes me so long to describe, impressed itself upon me
in a few seconds.  Then we had very different things to think of, for
an active drama was in progress.  Two of the ape-men had seized one of
the Indians out of the group and dragged him forward to the edge of the
cliff.  The king raised his hand as a signal.  They caught the man by
his leg and arm, and swung him three times backwards and forwards with
tremendous violence.  Then, with a frightful heave they shot the poor
wretch over the precipice.  With such force did they throw him that he
curved high in the air before beginning to drop.  As he vanished from
sight, the whole assembly, except the guards, rushed forward to the
edge of the precipice, and there was a long pause of absolute silence,
broken by a mad yell of delight.  They sprang about, tossing their
long, hairy arms in the air and howling with exultation.  Then they
fell back from the edge, formed themselves again into line, and waited
for the next victim.

This time it was Summerlee.  Two of his guards caught him by the wrists
and pulled him brutally to the front.  His thin figure and long limbs
struggled and fluttered like a chicken being dragged from a coop.
Challenger had turned to the king and waved his hands frantically
before him.  He was begging, pleading, imploring for his comrade's
life.  The ape-man pushed him roughly aside and shook his head.  It was
the last conscious movement he was to make upon earth.  Lord John's
rifle cracked, and the king sank down, a tangled red sprawling thing,
upon the ground.

"Shoot into the thick of them!  Shoot! sonny, shoot!" cried my
companion.

There are strange red depths in the soul of the most commonplace man.
I am tenderhearted by nature, and have found my eyes moist many a time
over the scream of a wounded hare.  Yet the blood lust was on me now.
I found myself on my feet emptying one magazine, then the other,
clicking open the breech to re-load, snapping it to again, while
cheering and yelling with pure ferocity and joy of slaughter as I did
so.  With our four guns the two of us made a horrible havoc.  Both the
guards who held Summerlee were down, and he was staggering about like a
drunken man in his amazement, unable to realize that he was a free man.
The dense mob of ape-men ran about in bewilderment, marveling whence
this storm of death was coming or what it might mean.  They waved,
gesticulated, screamed, and tripped up over those who had fallen.
Then, with a sudden impulse, they all rushed in a howling crowd to the
trees for shelter, leaving the ground behind them spotted with their
stricken comrades.  The prisoners were left for the moment standing
alone in the middle of the clearing.

Challenger's quick brain had grasped the situation.  He seized the
bewildered Summerlee by the arm, and they both ran towards us.  Two of
their guards bounded after them and fell to two bullets from Lord John.
We ran forward into the open to meet our friends, and pressed a loaded
rifle into the hands of each.  But Summerlee was at the end of his
strength.  He could hardly totter.  Already the ape-men were recovering
from their panic.  They were coming through the brushwood and
threatening to cut us off.  Challenger and I ran Summerlee along, one
at each of his elbows, while Lord John covered our retreat, firing
again and again as savage heads snarled at us out of the bushes.  For a
mile or more the chattering brutes were at our very heels.  Then the
pursuit slackened, for they learned our power and would no longer face
that unerring rifle.  When we had at last reached the camp, we looked
back and found ourselves alone.

So it seemed to us; and yet we were mistaken.  We had hardly closed the
thornbush door of our zareba, clasped each other's hands, and thrown
ourselves panting upon the ground beside our spring, when we heard a
patter of feet and then a gentle, plaintive crying from outside our
entrance.  Lord Roxton rushed forward, rifle in hand, and threw it
open.  There, prostrate upon their faces, lay the little red figures of
the four surviving Indians, trembling with fear of us and yet imploring
our protection.  With an expressive sweep of his hands one of them
pointed to the woods around them, and indicated that they were full of
danger.  Then, darting forward, he threw his arms round Lord John's
legs, and rested his face upon them.

"By George!" cried our peer, pulling at his moustache in great
perplexity, "I say--what the deuce are we to do with these people?  Get
up, little chappie, and take your face off my boots."

Summerlee was sitting up and stuffing some tobacco into his old briar.

"We've got to see them safe," said he.  "You've pulled us all out of
the jaws of death.  My word! it was a good bit of work!"

"Admirable!" cried Challenger.  "Admirable!  Not only we as
individuals, but European science collectively, owe you a deep debt of
gratitude for what you have done.  I do not hesitate to say that the
disappearance of Professor Summerlee and myself would have left an
appreciable gap in modern zoological history.  Our young friend here
and you have done most excellently well."

He beamed at us with the old paternal smile, but European science would
have been somewhat amazed could they have seen their chosen child, the
hope of the future, with his tangled, unkempt head, his bare chest, and
his tattered clothes.  He had one of the meat-tins between his knees,
and sat with a large piece of cold Australian mutton between his
fingers.  The Indian looked up at him, and then, with a little yelp,
cringed to the ground and clung to Lord John's leg.

"Don't you be scared, my bonnie boy," said Lord John, patting the
matted head in front of him.  "He can't stick your appearance,
Challenger; and, by George! I don't wonder.  All right, little chap,
he's only a human, just the same as the rest of us."

"Really, sir!" cried the Professor.

"Well, it's lucky for you, Challenger, that you ARE a little out of the
ordinary.  If you hadn't been so like the king----"

"Upon my word, Lord John, you allow yourself great latitude."

"Well, it's a fact."

"I beg, sir, that you will change the subject.  Your remarks are
irrelevant and unintelligible.  The question before us is what are we
to do with these Indians?  The obvious thing is to escort them home, if
we knew where their home was."

"There is no difficulty about that," said I.  "They live in the caves
on the other side of the central lake."

"Our young friend here knows where they live.  I gather that it is some
distance."

"A good twenty miles," said I.

Summerlee gave a groan.

"I, for one, could never get there.  Surely I hear those brutes still
howling upon our track."

As he spoke, from the dark recesses of the woods we heard far away the
jabbering cry of the ape-men.  The Indians once more set up a feeble
wail of fear.

"We must move, and move quick!" said Lord John.  "You help Summerlee,
young fellah.  These Indians will carry stores.  Now, then, come along
before they can see us."

In less than half-an-hour we had reached our brushwood retreat and
concealed ourselves.  All day we heard the excited calling of the
ape-men in the direction of our old camp, but none of them came our
way, and the tired fugitives, red and white, had a long, deep sleep.  I
was dozing myself in the evening when someone plucked my sleeve, and I
found Challenger kneeling beside me.

"You keep a diary of these events, and you expect eventually to publish
it, Mr. Malone," said he, with solemnity.

"I am only here as a Press reporter," I answered.

"Exactly.  You may have heard some rather fatuous remarks of Lord John
Roxton's which seemed to imply that there was some--some
resemblance----"

"Yes, I heard them."

"I need not say that any publicity given to such an idea--any levity in
your narrative of what occurred--would be exceedingly offensive to me."

"I will keep well within the truth."

"Lord John's observations are frequently exceedingly fanciful, and he
is capable of attributing the most absurd reasons to the respect which
is always shown by the most undeveloped races to dignity and character.
You follow my meaning?"

"Entirely."

"I leave the matter to your discretion."  Then, after a long pause, he
added:  "The king of the ape-men was really a creature of great
distinction--a most remarkably handsome and intelligent personality.
Did it not strike you?"

"A most remarkable creature," said I.

And the Professor, much eased in his mind, settled down to his slumber
once more.




We had imagined that our pursuers, the ape-men, knew nothing of our
brush-wood hiding-place, but we were soon to find out our mistake.
There was no sound in the woods--not a leaf moved upon the trees, and
all was peace around us--but we should have been warned by our first
experience how cunningly and how patiently these creatures can watch
and wait until their chance comes.  Whatever fate may be mine through
life, I am very sure that I shall never be nearer death than I was that
morning.  But I will tell you the thing in its due order.

We all awoke exhausted after the terrific emotions and scanty food of
yesterday.  Summerlee was still so weak that it was an effort for him
to stand; but the old man was full of a sort of surly courage which
would never admit defeat.  A council was held, and it was agreed that
we should wait quietly for an hour or two where we were, have our
much-needed breakfast, and then make our way across the plateau and
round the central lake to the caves where my observations had shown
that the Indians lived.  We relied upon the fact that we could count
upon the good word of those whom we had rescued to ensure a warm
welcome from their fellows.  Then, with our mission accomplished and
possessing a fuller knowledge of the secrets of Maple White Land, we
should turn our whole thoughts to the vital problem of our escape and
return.  Even Challenger was ready to admit that we should then have
done all for which we had come, and that our first duty from that time
onwards was to carry back to civilization the amazing discoveries we
had made.

We were able now to take a more leisurely view of the Indians whom we
had rescued.  They were small men, wiry, active, and well-built, with
lank black hair tied up in a bunch behind their heads with a leathern
thong, and leathern also were their loin-clothes.  Their faces were
hairless, well formed, and good-humored.  The lobes of their ears,
hanging ragged and bloody, showed that they had been pierced for some
ornaments which their captors had torn out.  Their speech, though
unintelligible to us, was fluent among themselves, and as they pointed
to each other and uttered the word "Accala" many times over, we
gathered that this was the name of the nation.  Occasionally, with
faces which were convulsed with fear and hatred, they shook their
clenched hands at the woods round and cried:  "Doda!  Doda!" which was
surely their term for their enemies.

"What do you make of them, Challenger?" asked Lord John.  "One thing is
very clear to me, and that is that the little chap with the front of
his head shaved is a chief among them."

It was indeed evident that this man stood apart from the others, and
that they never ventured to address him without every sign of deep
respect.  He seemed to be the youngest of them all, and yet, so proud
and high was his spirit that, upon Challenger laying his great hand
upon his head, he started like a spurred horse and, with a quick flash
of his dark eyes, moved further away from the Professor.  Then, placing
his hand upon his breast and holding himself with great dignity, he
uttered the word "Maretas" several times.  The Professor, unabashed,
seized the nearest Indian by the shoulder and proceeded to lecture upon
him as if he were a potted specimen in a class-room.

"The type of these people," said he in his sonorous fashion, "whether
judged by cranial capacity, facial angle, or any other test, cannot be
regarded as a low one; on the contrary, we must place it as
considerably higher in the scale than many South American tribes which
I can mention.  On no possible supposition can we explain the evolution
of such a race in this place.  For that matter, so great a gap
separates these ape-men from the primitive animals which have survived
upon this plateau, that it is inadmissible to think that they could
have developed where we find them."

"Then where the dooce did they drop from?" asked Lord John.

"A question which will, no doubt, be eagerly discussed in every
scientific society in Europe and America," the Professor answered.  "My
own reading of the situation for what it is worth--" he inflated his
chest enormously and looked insolently around him at the words--"is
that evolution has advanced under the peculiar conditions of this
country up to the vertebrate stage, the old types surviving and living
on in company with the newer ones.  Thus we find such modern creatures
as the tapir--an animal with quite a respectable length of
pedigree--the great deer, and the ant-eater in the companionship of
reptilian forms of jurassic type.  So much is clear.  And now come the
ape-men and the Indian.  What is the scientific mind to think of their
presence?  I can only account for it by an invasion from outside.  It
is probable that there existed an anthropoid ape in South America, who
in past ages found his way to this place, and that he developed into
the creatures we have seen, some of which"--here he looked hard at
me--"were of an appearance and shape which, if it had been accompanied
by corresponding intelligence, would, I do not hesitate to say, have
reflected credit upon any living race.  As to the Indians I cannot
doubt that they are more recent immigrants from below.  Under the
stress of famine or of conquest they have made their way up here.
Faced by ferocious creatures which they had never before seen, they
took refuge in the caves which our young friend has described, but they
have no doubt had a bitter fight to hold their own against wild beasts,
and especially against the ape-men who would regard them as intruders,
and wage a merciless war upon them with a cunning which the larger
beasts would lack.  Hence the fact that their numbers appear to be
limited.  Well, gentlemen, have I read you the riddle aright, or is
there any point which you would query?"

Professor Summerlee for once was too depressed to argue, though he
shook his head violently as a token of general disagreement.  Lord John
merely scratched his scanty locks with the remark that he couldn't put
up a fight as he wasn't in the same weight or class.  For my own part I
performed my usual role of bringing things down to a strictly prosaic
and practical level by the remark that one of the Indians was missing.

"He has gone to fetch some water," said Lord Roxton.  "We fitted him up
with an empty beef tin and he is off."

"To the old camp?" I asked.

"No, to the brook.  It's among the trees there.  It can't be more than
a couple of hundred yards.  But the beggar is certainly taking his
time."

"I'll go and look after him," said I.  I picked up my rifle and
strolled in the direction of the brook, leaving my friends to lay out
the scanty breakfast.  It may seem to you rash that even for so short a
distance I should quit the shelter of our friendly thicket, but you
will remember that we were many miles from Ape-town, that so far as we
knew the creatures had not discovered our retreat, and that in any case
with a rifle in my hands I had no fear of them.  I had not yet learned
their cunning or their strength.

I could hear the murmur of our brook somewhere ahead of me, but there
was a tangle of trees and brushwood between me and it.  I was making my
way through this at a point which was just out of sight of my
companions, when, under one of the trees, I noticed something red
huddled among the bushes.  As I approached it, I was shocked to see
that it was the dead body of the missing Indian.  He lay upon his side,
his limbs drawn up, and his head screwed round at a most unnatural
angle, so that he seemed to be looking straight over his own shoulder.
I gave a cry to warn my friends that something was amiss, and running
forwards I stooped over the body.  Surely my guardian angel was very
near me then, for some instinct of fear, or it may have been some faint
rustle of leaves, made me glance upwards.  Out of the thick green
foliage which hung low over my head, two long muscular arms covered
with reddish hair were slowly descending.  Another instant and the
great stealthy hands would have been round my throat.  I sprang
backwards, but quick as I was, those hands were quicker still.  Through
my sudden spring they missed a fatal grip, but one of them caught the
back of my neck and the other one my face.  I threw my hands up to
protect my throat, and the next moment the huge paw had slid down my
face and closed over them.  I was lifted lightly from the ground, and I
felt an intolerable pressure forcing my head back and back until the
strain upon the cervical spine was more than I could bear.  My senses
swam, but I still tore at the hand and forced it out from my chin.
Looking up I saw a frightful face with cold inexorable light blue eyes
looking down into mine.  There was something hypnotic in those terrible
eyes.  I could struggle no longer.  As the creature felt me grow limp
in his grasp, two white canines gleamed for a moment at each side of
the vile mouth, and the grip tightened still more upon my chin, forcing
it always upwards and back.  A thin, oval-tinted mist formed before my
eyes and little silvery bells tinkled in my ears.  Dully and far off I
heard the crack of a rifle and was feebly aware of the shock as I was
dropped to the earth, where I lay without sense or motion.

I awoke to find myself on my back upon the grass in our lair within the
thicket.  Someone had brought the water from the brook, and Lord John
was sprinkling my head with it, while Challenger and Summerlee were
propping me up, with concern in their faces.  For a moment I had a
glimpse of the human spirits behind their scientific masks.  It was
really shock, rather than any injury, which had prostrated me, and in
half-an-hour, in spite of aching head and stiff neck, I was sitting up
and ready for anything.

"But you've had the escape of your life, young fellah my lad," said
Lord Roxton.  "When I heard your cry and ran forward, and saw your head
twisted half-off and your stohwassers kickin' in the air, I thought we
were one short.  I missed the beast in my flurry, but he dropped you
all right and was off like a streak.  By George!  I wish I had fifty
men with rifles.  I'd clear out the whole infernal gang of them and
leave this country a bit cleaner than we found it."

It was clear now that the ape-men had in some way marked us down, and
that we were watched on every side.  We had not so much to fear from
them during the day, but they would be very likely to rush us by night;
so the sooner we got away from their neighborhood the better.  On three
sides of us was absolute forest, and there we might find ourselves in
an ambush.  But on the fourth side--that which sloped down in the
direction of the lake--there was only low scrub, with scattered trees
and occasional open glades.  It was, in fact, the route which I had
myself taken in my solitary journey, and it led us straight for the
Indian caves.  This then must for every reason be our road.

One great regret we had, and that was to leave our old camp behind us,
not only for the sake of the stores which remained there, but even more
because we were losing touch with Zambo, our link with the outside
world.  However, we had a fair supply of cartridges and all our guns,
so, for a time at least, we could look after ourselves, and we hoped
soon to have a chance of returning and restoring our communications
with our negro.  He had faithfully promised to stay where he was, and
we had not a doubt that he would be as good as his word.

It was in the early afternoon that we started upon our journey.  The
young chief walked at our head as our guide, but refused indignantly to
carry any burden.  Behind him came the two surviving Indians with our
scanty possessions upon their backs.  We four white men walked in the
rear with rifles loaded and ready.  As we started there broke from the
thick silent woods behind us a sudden great ululation of the ape-men,
which may have been a cheer of triumph at our departure or a jeer of
contempt at our flight.  Looking back we saw only the dense screen of
trees, but that long-drawn yell told us how many of our enemies lurked
among them.  We saw no sign of pursuit, however, and soon we had got
into more open country and beyond their power.

As I tramped along, the rearmost of the four, I could not help smiling
at the appearance of my three companions in front.  Was this the
luxurious Lord John Roxton who had sat that evening in the Albany
amidst his Persian rugs and his pictures in the pink radiance of the
tinted lights?  And was this the imposing Professor who had swelled
behind the great desk in his massive study at Enmore Park?  And,
finally, could this be the austere and prim figure which had risen
before the meeting at the Zoological Institute?  No three tramps that
one could have met in a Surrey lane could have looked more hopeless and
bedraggled.  We had, it is true, been only a week or so upon the top of
the plateau, but all our spare clothing was in our camp below, and the
one week had been a severe one upon us all, though least to me who had
not to endure the handling of the ape-men.  My three friends had all
lost their hats, and had now bound handkerchiefs round their heads,
their clothes hung in ribbons about them, and their unshaven grimy
faces were hardly to be recognized.  Both Summerlee and Challenger were
limping heavily, while I still dragged my feet from weakness after the
shock of the morning, and my neck was as stiff as a board from the
murderous grip that held it.  We were indeed a sorry crew, and I did
not wonder to see our Indian companions glance back at us occasionally
with horror and amazement on their faces.

In the late afternoon we reached the margin of the lake, and as we
emerged from the bush and saw the sheet of water stretching before us
our native friends set up a shrill cry of joy and pointed eagerly in
front of them.  It was indeed a wonderful sight which lay before us.
Sweeping over the glassy surface was a great flotilla of canoes coming
straight for the shore upon which we stood.  They were some miles out
when we first saw them, but they shot forward with great swiftness, and
were soon so near that the rowers could distinguish our persons.
Instantly a thunderous shout of delight burst from them, and we saw
them rise from their seats, waving their paddles and spears madly in
the air.  Then bending to their work once more, they flew across the
intervening water, beached their boats upon the sloping sand, and
rushed up to us, prostrating themselves with loud cries of greeting
before the young chief.  Finally one of them, an elderly man, with a
necklace and bracelet of great lustrous glass beads and the skin of
some beautiful mottled amber-colored animal slung over his shoulders,
ran forward and embraced most tenderly the youth whom we had saved.  He
then looked at us and asked some questions, after which he stepped up
with much dignity and embraced us also each in turn.  Then, at his
order, the whole tribe lay down upon the ground before us in homage.
Personally I felt shy and uncomfortable at this obsequious adoration,
and I read the same feeling in the faces of Roxton and Summerlee, but
Challenger expanded like a flower in the sun.

"They may be undeveloped types," said he, stroking his beard and
looking round at them, "but their deportment in the presence of their
superiors might be a lesson to some of our more advanced Europeans.
Strange how correct are the instincts of the natural man!"

It was clear that the natives had come out upon the war-path, for every
man carried his spear--a long bamboo tipped with bone--his bow and
arrows, and some sort of club or stone battle-axe slung at his side.
Their dark, angry glances at the woods from which we had come, and the
frequent repetition of the word "Doda," made it clear enough that this
was a rescue party who had set forth to save or revenge the old chief's
son, for such we gathered that the youth must be.  A council was now
held by the whole tribe squatting in a circle, whilst we sat near on a
slab of basalt and watched their proceedings.  Two or three warriors
spoke, and finally our young friend made a spirited harangue with such
eloquent features and gestures that we could understand it all as
clearly as if we had known his language.

"What is the use of returning?" he said.  "Sooner or later the thing
must be done.  Your comrades have been murdered.  What if I have
returned safe?  These others have been done to death.  There is no
safety for any of us.  We are assembled now and ready." Then he pointed
to us.  "These strange men are our friends.  They are great fighters,
and they hate the ape-men even as we do.  They command," here he
pointed up to heaven, "the thunder and the lightning.  When shall we
have such a chance again?  Let us go forward, and either die now or
live for the future in safety.  How else shall we go back unashamed to
our women?"

The little red warriors hung upon the words of the speaker, and when he
had finished they burst into a roar of applause, waving their rude
weapons in the air.  The old chief stepped forward to us, and asked us
some questions, pointing at the same time to the woods.  Lord John made
a sign to him that he should wait for an answer and then he turned to
us.

"Well, it's up to you to say what you will do," said he; "for my part I
have a score to settle with these monkey-folk, and if it ends by wiping
them off the face of the earth I don't see that the earth need fret
about it.  I'm goin' with our little red pals and I mean to see them
through the scrap.  What do you say, young fellah?"

"Of course I will come."

"And you, Challenger?"

"I will assuredly co-operate."

"And you, Summerlee?"

"We seem to be drifting very far from the object of this expedition,
Lord John.  I assure you that I little thought when I left my
professional chair in London that it was for the purpose of heading a
raid of savages upon a colony of anthropoid apes."

"To such base uses do we come," said Lord John, smiling.  "But we are
up against it, so what's the decision?"

"It seems a most questionable step," said Summerlee, argumentative to
the last, "but if you are all going, I hardly see how I can remain
behind."

"Then it is settled," said Lord John, and turning to the chief he
nodded and slapped his rifle.

The old fellow clasped our hands, each in turn, while his men cheered
louder than ever.  It was too late to advance that night, so the
Indians settled down into a rude bivouac.  On all sides their fires
began to glimmer and smoke.  Some of them who had disappeared into the
jungle came back presently driving a young iguanodon before them.  Like
the others, it had a daub of asphalt upon its shoulder, and it was only
when we saw one of the natives step forward with the air of an owner
and give his consent to the beast's slaughter that we understood at
last that these great creatures were as much private property as a herd
of cattle, and that these symbols which had so perplexed us were
nothing more than the marks of the owner.  Helpless, torpid, and
vegetarian, with great limbs but a minute brain, they could be rounded
up and driven by a child.  In a few minutes the huge beast had been cut
up and slabs of him were hanging over a dozen camp fires, together with
great scaly ganoid fish which had been speared in the lake.

Summerlee had lain down and slept upon the sand, but we others roamed
round the edge of the water, seeking to learn something more of this
strange country.  Twice we found pits of blue clay, such as we had
already seen in the swamp of the pterodactyls.  These were old volcanic
vents, and for some reason excited the greatest interest in Lord John.
What attracted Challenger, on the other hand, was a bubbling, gurgling
mud geyser, where some strange gas formed great bursting bubbles upon
the surface.  He thrust a hollow reed into it and cried out with
delight like a schoolboy then he was able, on touching it with a
lighted match, to cause a sharp explosion and a blue flame at the far
end of the tube.  Still more pleased was he when, inverting a leathern
pouch over the end of the reed, and so filling it with the gas, he was
able to send it soaring up into the air.

"An inflammable gas, and one markedly lighter than the atmosphere.  I
should say beyond doubt that it contained a considerable proportion of
free hydrogen.  The resources of G. E. C. are not yet exhausted, my
young friend.  I may yet show you how a great mind molds all Nature to
its use." He swelled with some secret purpose, but would say no more.

There was nothing which we could see upon the shore which seemed to me
so wonderful as the great sheet of water before us.  Our numbers and
our noise had frightened all living creatures away, and save for a few
pterodactyls, which soared round high above our heads while they waited
for the carrion, all was still around the camp.  But it was different
out upon the rose-tinted waters of the central lake.  It boiled and
heaved with strange life.  Great slate-colored backs and high serrated
dorsal fins shot up with a fringe of silver, and then rolled down into
the depths again.  The sand-banks far out were spotted with uncouth
crawling forms, huge turtles, strange saurians, and one great flat
creature like a writhing, palpitating mat of black greasy leather,
which flopped its way slowly to the lake.  Here and there high serpent
heads projected out of the water, cutting swiftly through it with a
little collar of foam in front, and a long swirling wake behind, rising
and falling in graceful, swan-like undulations as they went.  It was
not until one of these creatures wriggled on to a sand-bank within a
few hundred yards of us, and exposed a barrel-shaped body and huge
flippers behind the long serpent neck, that Challenger, and Summerlee,
who had joined us, broke out into their duet of wonder and admiration.

"Plesiosaurus!  A fresh-water plesiosaurus!" cried Summerlee.  "That I
should have lived to see such a sight!  We are blessed, my dear
Challenger, above all zoologists since the world began!"

It was not until the night had fallen, and the fires of our savage
allies glowed red in the shadows, that our two men of science could be
dragged away from the fascinations of that primeval lake.  Even in the
darkness as we lay upon the strand, we heard from time to time the
snort and plunge of the huge creatures who lived therein.

At earliest dawn our camp was astir and an hour later we had started
upon our memorable expedition.  Often in my dreams have I thought that
I might live to be a war correspondent.  In what wildest one could I
have conceived the nature of the campaign which it should be my lot to
report!  Here then is my first despatch from a field of battle:

Our numbers had been reinforced during the night by a fresh batch of
natives from the caves, and we may have been four or five hundred
strong when we made our advance.  A fringe of scouts was thrown out in
front, and behind them the whole force in a solid column made their way
up the long slope of the bush country until we were near the edge of
the forest.  Here they spread out into a long straggling line of
spearmen and bowmen.  Roxton and Summerlee took their position upon the
right flank, while Challenger and I were on the left.  It was a host of
the stone age that we were accompanying to battle--we with the last
word of the gunsmith's art from St. James' Street and the Strand.

We had not long to wait for our enemy.  A wild shrill clamor rose from
the edge of the wood and suddenly a body of ape-men rushed out with
clubs and stones, and made for the center of the Indian line.  It was a
valiant move but a foolish one, for the great bandy-legged creatures
were slow of foot, while their opponents were as active as cats.  It
was horrible to see the fierce brutes with foaming mouths and glaring
eyes, rushing and grasping, but forever missing their elusive enemies,
while arrow after arrow buried itself in their hides.  One great fellow
ran past me roaring with pain, with a dozen darts sticking from his
chest and ribs.  In mercy I put a bullet through his skull, and he fell
sprawling among the aloes.  But this was the only shot fired, for the
attack had been on the center of the line, and the Indians there had
needed no help of ours in repulsing it.  Of all the ape-men who had
rushed out into the open, I do not think that one got back to cover.

But the matter was more deadly when we came among the trees.  For an
hour or more after we entered the wood, there was a desperate struggle
in which for a time we hardly held our own.  Springing out from among
the scrub the ape-men with huge clubs broke in upon the Indians and
often felled three or four of them before they could be speared.  Their
frightful blows shattered everything upon which they fell.  One of them
knocked Summerlee's rifle to matchwood and the next would have crushed
his skull had an Indian not stabbed the beast to the heart.  Other
ape-men in the trees above us hurled down stones and logs of wood,
occasionally dropping bodily on to our ranks and fighting furiously
until they were felled.  Once our allies broke under the pressure, and
had it not been for the execution done by our rifles they would
certainly have taken to their heels.  But they were gallantly rallied
by their old chief and came on with such a rush that the ape-men began
in turn to give way.  Summerlee was weaponless, but I was emptying my
magazine as quick as I could fire, and on the further flank we heard
the continuous cracking of our companion's rifles.

Then in a moment came the panic and the collapse.  Screaming and
howling, the great creatures rushed away in all directions through the
brushwood, while our allies yelled in their savage delight, following
swiftly after their flying enemies.  All the feuds of countless
generations, all the hatreds and cruelties of their narrow history, all
the memories of ill-usage and persecution were to be purged that day.
At last man was to be supreme and the man-beast to find forever his
allotted place.  Fly as they would the fugitives were too slow to
escape from the active savages, and from every side in the tangled
woods we heard the exultant yells, the twanging of bows, and the crash
and thud as ape-men were brought down from their hiding-places in the
trees.

I was following the others, when I found that Lord John and Challenger
had come across to join us.

"It's over," said Lord John.  "I think we can leave the tidying up to
them.  Perhaps the less we see of it the better we shall sleep."

Challenger's eyes were shining with the lust of slaughter.

"We have been privileged," he cried, strutting about like a gamecock,
"to be present at one of the typical decisive battles of history--the
battles which have determined the fate of the world.  What, my friends,
is the conquest of one nation by another?  It is meaningless.  Each
produces the same result.  But those fierce fights, when in the dawn of
the ages the cave-dwellers held their own against the tiger folk, or
the elephants first found that they had a master, those were the real
conquests--the victories that count.  By this strange turn of fate we
have seen and helped to decide even such a contest.  Now upon this
plateau the future must ever be for man."

It needed a robust faith in the end to justify such tragic means.  As
we advanced together through the woods we found the ape-men lying
thick, transfixed with spears or arrows.  Here and there a little group
of shattered Indians marked where one of the anthropoids had turned to
bay, and sold his life dearly.  Always in front of us we heard the
yelling and roaring which showed the direction of the pursuit.  The
ape-men had been driven back to their city, they had made a last stand
there, once again they had been broken, and now we were in time to see
the final fearful scene of all.  Some eighty or a hundred males, the
last survivors, had been driven across that same little clearing which
led to the edge of the cliff, the scene of our own exploit two days
before.  As we arrived the Indians, a semicircle of spearmen, had
closed in on them, and in a minute it was over, Thirty or forty died
where they stood.  The others, screaming and clawing, were thrust over
the precipice, and went hurtling down, as their prisoners had of old,
on to the sharp bamboos six hundred feet below.  It was as Challenger
had said, and the reign of man was assured forever in Maple White Land.
The males were exterminated, Ape Town was destroyed, the females and
young were driven away to live in bondage, and the long rivalry of
untold centuries had reached its bloody end.

For us the victory brought much advantage.  Once again we were able to
visit our camp and get at our stores.  Once more also we were able to
communicate with Zambo, who had been terrified by the spectacle from
afar of an avalanche of apes falling from the edge of the cliff.

"Come away, Massas, come away!" he cried, his eyes starting from his
head.  "The debbil get you sure if you stay up there."

"It is the voice of sanity!" said Summerlee with conviction.  "We have
had adventures enough and they are neither suitable to our character or
our position.  I hold you to your word, Challenger.  From now  onwards
you devote your energies to getting us out of this horrible country and
back once more to civilization."



I write this from day to day, but I trust that before I come to the end
of it, I may be able to say that the light shines, at last, through our
clouds.  We are held here with no clear means of making our escape, and
bitterly we chafe against it. Yet, I can well imagine that the day may
come when we may be glad that we were kept, against our will, to see
something more of the wonders of this singular place, and of the
creatures who inhabit it.

The victory of the Indians and the annihilation of the ape-men, marked
the turning point of our fortunes.  From then onwards, we were in truth
masters of the plateau, for the natives looked upon us with a mixture
of fear and gratitude, since by our strange powers we had aided them to
destroy their hereditary foe.  For their own sakes they would, perhaps,
be glad to see the departure of such formidable and incalculable
people, but they have not themselves suggested any way by which we may
reach the plains below.  There had been, so far as we could follow
their signs, a tunnel by which the place could be approached, the lower
exit of which we had seen from below.  By this, no doubt, both ape-men
and Indians had at different epochs reached the top, and Maple White
with his companion had taken the same way.  Only the year before,
however, there had been a terrific earthquake, and the upper end of the
tunnel had fallen in and completely disappeared.  The Indians now could
only shake their heads and shrug their shoulders when we expressed by
signs our desire to descend.  It may be that they cannot, but it may
also be that they will not, help us to get away.

At the end of the victorious campaign the surviving ape-folk were
driven across the plateau (their wailings were horrible) and
established in the neighborhood of the Indian caves, where they would,
from now onwards, be a servile race under the eyes of their masters.
It was a rude, raw, primeval version of the Jews in Babylon or the
Israelites in Egypt.  At night we could hear from amid the trees the
long-drawn cry, as some primitive Ezekiel mourned for fallen greatness
and recalled the departed glories of Ape Town.  Hewers of wood and
drawers of water, such were they from now onwards.

We had returned across the plateau with our allies two days after the
battle, and made our camp at the foot of their cliffs.  They would have
had us share their caves with them, but Lord John would by no means
consent to it considering that to do so would put us in their power if
they were treacherously disposed.  We kept our independence, therefore,
and had our weapons ready for any emergency, while preserving the most
friendly relations.  We also continually visited their caves, which
were most remarkable places, though whether made by man or by Nature we
have never been able to determine.  They were all on the one stratum,
hollowed out of some soft rock which lay between the volcanic basalt
forming the ruddy cliffs above them, and the hard granite which formed
their base.

The openings were about eighty feet above the ground, and were led up
to by long stone stairs, so narrow and steep that no large animal could
mount them.  Inside they were warm and dry, running in straight
passages of varying length into the side of the hill, with smooth gray
walls decorated with many excellent pictures done with charred sticks
and representing the various animals of the plateau.  If every living
thing were swept from the country the future explorer would find upon
the walls of these caves ample evidence of the strange fauna--the
dinosaurs, iguanodons, and fish lizards--which had lived so recently
upon earth.

Since we had learned that the huge iguanodons were kept as tame herds
by their owners, and were simply walking meat-stores, we had conceived
that man, even with his primitive weapons, had established his
ascendancy upon the plateau.  We were soon to discover that it was not
so, and that he was still there upon tolerance.

It was on the third day after our forming our camp near the Indian
caves that the tragedy occurred.  Challenger and Summerlee had gone off
together that day to the lake where some of the natives, under their
direction, were engaged in harpooning specimens of the great lizards.
Lord John and I had remained in our camp, while a number of the Indians
were scattered about upon the grassy slope in front of the caves
engaged in different ways.  Suddenly there was a shrill cry of alarm,
with the word "Stoa" resounding from a hundred tongues.  From every
side men, women, and children were rushing wildly for shelter, swarming
up the staircases and into the caves in a mad stampede.

Looking up, we could see them waving their arms from the rocks above
and beckoning to us to join them in their refuge.  We had both seized
our magazine rifles and ran out to see what the danger could be.
Suddenly from the near belt of trees there broke forth a group of
twelve or fifteen Indians, running for their lives, and at their very
heels two of those frightful monsters which had disturbed our camp and
pursued me upon my solitary journey.  In shape they were like horrible
toads, and moved in a succession of springs, but in size they were of
an incredible bulk, larger than the largest elephant.  We had never
before seen them save at night,  and indeed they are nocturnal animals
save when disturbed in their lairs, as these had been.  We now stood
amazed at the sight, for their blotched and warty skins were of a
curious fish-like iridescence, and the sunlight struck them with an
ever-varying rainbow bloom as they moved.

We had little time to watch them, however, for in an instant they had
overtaken the fugitives and were making a dire slaughter among them.
Their method was to fall forward with their full weight upon each in
turn, leaving him crushed and mangled, to bound on after the others.
The wretched Indians screamed with terror, but were helpless, run as
they would, before the relentless purpose and horrible activity of
these monstrous creatures.  One after another they went down, and there
were not half-a-dozen surviving by the time my companion and I could
come to their help.  But our aid was of little avail and only involved
us in the same peril.  At the range of a couple of hundred yards we
emptied our magazines, firing bullet after bullet into the beasts, but
with no more effect than if we were pelting them with pellets of paper.
Their slow reptilian natures cared nothing for wounds, and the springs
of their lives, with no special brain center but scattered throughout
their spinal cords, could not be tapped by any modern weapons.  The
most that we could do was to check their progress by distracting their
attention with the flash and roar of our guns, and so to give both the
natives and ourselves time to reach the steps which led to safety.  But
where the conical explosive bullets of the twentieth century were of no
avail, the poisoned arrows of the natives, dipped in the juice of
strophanthus and steeped afterwards in decayed carrion, could succeed.
Such arrows were of little avail to the hunter who attacked the beast,
because their action in that torpid circulation was slow, and before
its powers failed it could certainly overtake and slay its assailant.
But now, as the two monsters hounded us to the very foot of the stairs,
a drift of darts came whistling from every chink in the cliff above
them.  In a minute they were feathered with them, and yet with no sign
of pain they clawed and slobbered with impotent rage at the steps which
would lead them to their victims, mounting clumsily up for a few yards
and then sliding down again to the ground.  But at last the poison
worked.  One of them gave a deep rumbling groan and dropped his huge
squat head on to the earth.  The other bounded round in an eccentric
circle with shrill, wailing cries, and then lying down writhed in agony
for some minutes before it also stiffened and lay still.  With yells of
triumph the Indians came flocking down from their caves and danced a
frenzied dance of victory round the dead bodies, in mad joy that two
more of the most dangerous of all their enemies had been slain.  That
night they cut up and removed the bodies, not to eat--for the poison
was still active--but lest they should breed a pestilence.  The great
reptilian hearts, however, each as large as a cushion, still lay there,
beating slowly and steadily, with a gentle rise and fall, in horrible
independent life.  It was only upon the third day that the ganglia ran
down and the dreadful things were still.

Some day, when I have a better desk than a meat-tin and more helpful
tools than a worn stub of pencil and a last, tattered note-book, I will
write some fuller account of the Accala Indians--of our life amongst
them, and of the glimpses which we had of the strange conditions of
wondrous Maple White Land.  Memory, at least, will never fail me, for
so long as the breath of life is in me, every hour and every action of
that period will stand out as hard and clear as do the first strange
happenings of our childhood.  No new impressions could efface those
which are so deeply cut.  When the time comes I will describe that
wondrous moonlit night upon the great lake when a young
ichthyosaurus--a strange creature, half seal, half fish, to look at,
with bone-covered eyes on each side of his snout, and a third eye fixed
upon the top of his head--was entangled in an Indian net, and nearly
upset our canoe before we towed it ashore; the same night that a green
water-snake shot out from the rushes and carried off in its coils the
steersman of Challenger's canoe.  I will tell, too, of the great
nocturnal white thing--to this day we do not know whether it was beast
or reptile--which lived in a vile swamp to the east of the lake, and
flitted about with a faint phosphorescent glimmer in the darkness.  The
Indians were so terrified at it that they would not go near the place,
and, though we twice made expeditions and saw it each time, we could
not make our way through the deep marsh in which it lived.  I can only
say that it seemed to be larger than a cow and had the strangest musky
odor.  I will tell also of the huge bird which chased Challenger to the
shelter of the rocks one day--a great running bird, far taller than an
ostrich, with a vulture-like neck and cruel head which made it a
walking death.  As Challenger climbed to safety one dart of that savage
curving beak shore off the heel of his boot as if it had been cut with
a chisel.  This time at least modern weapons prevailed and the great
creature, twelve feet from head to foot--phororachus its name,
according to our panting but exultant Professor--went down before Lord
Roxton's rifle in a flurry of waving feathers and kicking limbs, with
two remorseless yellow eyes glaring up from the midst of it.  May I
live to see that flattened vicious skull in its own niche amid the
trophies of the Albany.  Finally, I will assuredly give some account of
the toxodon, the giant ten-foot guinea pig, with projecting chisel
teeth, which we killed as it drank in the gray of the morning by the
side of the lake.

All this I shall some day write at fuller length, and amidst these more
stirring days I would tenderly sketch in these lovely summer evenings,
when with the deep blue sky above us we lay in good comradeship among
the long grasses by the wood and marveled at the strange fowl that
swept over us and the quaint new creatures which crept from their
burrows to watch us, while above us the boughs of the bushes were heavy
with luscious fruit, and below us strange and lovely flowers peeped at
us from among the herbage; or those long moonlit nights when we lay out
upon the shimmering surface of the great lake and watched with wonder
and awe the huge circles rippling out from the sudden splash of some
fantastic monster; or the greenish gleam, far down in the deep water,
of some strange creature upon the confines of darkness.  These are the
scenes which my mind and my pen will dwell upon in every detail at some
future day.

But, you will ask, why these experiences and why this delay, when you
and your comrades should have been occupied day and night in the
devising of some means by which you could return to the outer world?
My answer is, that there was not one of us who was not working for this
end, but that our work had been in vain.  One fact we had very speedily
discovered:  The Indians would do nothing to help us.  In every other
way they were our friends--one might almost say our devoted slaves--but
when it was suggested that they should help us to make and carry a
plank which would bridge the chasm, or when we wished to get from them
thongs of leather or liana to weave ropes which might help us, we were
met by a good-humored, but an invincible, refusal.  They would smile,
twinkle their eyes, shake their heads, and there was the end of it.
Even the old chief met us with the same obstinate denial, and it was
only Maretas, the youngster whom we had saved, who looked wistfully at
us and told us by his gestures that he was grieved for our thwarted
wishes.  Ever since their crowning triumph with the ape-men they looked
upon us as supermen, who bore victory in the tubes of strange weapons,
and they believed that so long as we remained with them good fortune
would be theirs.  A little red-skinned wife and a cave of our own were
freely offered to each of us if we would but forget our own people and
dwell forever upon the plateau.  So far all had been kindly, however
far apart our desires might be; but we felt well assured that our
actual plans of a descent must be kept secret, for we had reason to
fear that at the last they might try to hold us by force.

In spite of the danger from dinosaurs (which is not great save at
night, for, as I may have said before, they are mostly nocturnal in
their habits) I have twice in the last three weeks been over to our old
camp in order to see our negro who still kept watch and ward below the
cliff.  My eyes strained eagerly across the great plain in the hope of
seeing afar off the help for which we had prayed.  But the long
cactus-strewn levels still stretched away, empty and bare, to the
distant line of the cane-brake.

"They will soon come now, Massa Malone.  Before another week pass
Indian come back and bring rope and fetch you down."  Such was the
cheery cry of our excellent Zambo.

I had one strange experience as I came from this second visit which had
involved my being away for a night from my companions.  I was returning
along the well-remembered route, and had reached a spot within a mile
or so of the marsh of the pterodactyls, when I saw an extraordinary
object approaching me.  It was a man who walked inside a framework made
of bent canes so that he was enclosed on all sides in a bell-shaped
cage.  As I drew nearer I was more amazed still to see that it was Lord
John Roxton.  When he saw me he slipped from under his curious
protection and came towards me laughing, and yet, as I thought, with
some confusion in his manner.

"Well, young fellah," said he, "who would have thought of meetin' you
up here?"

"What in the world are you doing?" I asked.

"Visitin' my friends, the pterodactyls," said  he.

"But why?"

"Interestin' beasts, don't you think?  But unsociable!  Nasty rude ways
with strangers, as you may remember.  So I rigged this framework which
keeps them from bein' too pressin' in their attentions."

"But what do you want in the swamp?"

He looked at me with a very questioning eye, and I read hesitation in
his face.

"Don't you think other people besides Professors can want to know
things?" he said at last.  "I'm studyin' the pretty dears.  That's
enough for you."

"No offense," said I.

His good-humor returned and he laughed.

"No offense, young fellah.  I'm goin' to get a young devil chick for
Challenger.  That's one of my jobs.  No, I don't want your company.
I'm safe in this cage, and you are not.  So long, and I'll be back in
camp by night-fall."

He turned away and I left him wandering on through the wood with his
extraordinary cage around him.

If Lord John's behavior at this time was strange, that of Challenger
was more so.  I may say that he seemed to possess an extraordinary
fascination for the Indian women, and that he always carried a large
spreading palm branch with which he beat them off as if they were
flies, when their attentions became too pressing.  To see him walking
like a comic opera Sultan, with this badge of authority in his hand,
his black beard bristling in front of him, his toes pointing at each
step, and a train of wide-eyed Indian girls behind him, clad in their
slender drapery of bark cloth, is one of the most grotesque of all the
pictures which I will carry back with me.  As to Summerlee, he was
absorbed in the insect and bird life of the plateau, and spent his
whole time (save that considerable portion which was devoted to abusing
Challenger for not getting us out of our difficulties) in cleaning and
mounting his specimens.

Challenger had been in the habit of walking off by himself every
morning and returning from time to time with looks of portentous
solemnity, as one who bears the full weight of a great enterprise upon
his shoulders.  One day, palm branch in hand, and his crowd of adoring
devotees behind him, he led us down to his hidden work-shop and took us
into the secret of his plans.

The place was a small clearing in the center of a palm grove.  In this
was one of those boiling mud geysers which I have already described.
Around its edge were scattered a number of leathern thongs cut from
iguanodon hide, and a large collapsed membrane which proved to be the
dried and scraped stomach of one of the great fish lizards from the
lake.  This huge sack had been sewn up at one end and only a small
orifice left at the other.  Into this opening several bamboo canes had
been inserted and the other ends of these canes were in contact with
conical clay funnels which collected the gas bubbling up through the
mud of the geyser.  Soon the flaccid organ began to slowly expand and
show such a tendency to upward movements that Challenger fastened the
cords which held it to the trunks of the surrounding trees.  In half an
hour a good-sized gas-bag had been formed, and the jerking and
straining upon the thongs showed that it was capable of considerable
lift.  Challenger, like a glad father in the presence of his
first-born, stood smiling and stroking his beard, in silent,
self-satisfied content as he gazed at the creation of his brain.  It
was Summerlee who first broke the silence.

"You don't mean us to go up in that thing, Challenger?" said he, in an
acid voice.

"I mean, my dear Summerlee, to give you such a demonstration of its
powers that after seeing it you will, I am sure, have no hesitation in
trusting yourself to it."

"You can put it right out of your head now, at once," said Summerlee
with decision, "nothing on earth would induce me to commit such a
folly.  Lord John, I trust that you will not countenance such madness?"

"Dooced ingenious, I call it," said our peer.  "I'd like to see how it
works."

"So you shall," said Challenger.  "For some days I have exerted my
whole brain force upon the problem of how we shall descend from these
cliffs.  We have satisfied ourselves that we cannot climb down and that
there is no tunnel.  We are also unable to construct any kind of bridge
which may take us back to the pinnacle from which we came.  How then
shall I find a means to convey us?  Some little time ago I had remarked
to our young friend here that free hydrogen was evolved from the
geyser.  The idea of a balloon naturally followed.  I was, I will
admit, somewhat baffled by the difficulty of discovering an envelope to
contain the gas, but the contemplation of the immense entrails of these
reptiles supplied me with a solution to the problem.  Behold the
result!"

He put one hand in the front of his ragged jacket and pointed proudly
with the other.

By this time the gas-bag had swollen to a goodly rotundity and was
jerking strongly upon its lashings.

"Midsummer madness!" snorted Summerlee.

Lord John was delighted with the whole idea.  "Clever old dear, ain't
he?" he whispered to me, and then louder to Challenger.  "What about a
car?"

"The car will be my next care.  I have already planned how it is to be
made and attached.  Meanwhile I will simply show you how capable my
apparatus is of supporting the weight of each of us."

"All of us, surely?"

"No, it is part of my plan that each in turn shall descend as in a
parachute, and the balloon be drawn back by means which I shall have no
difficulty in perfecting.  If it will support the weight of one and let
him gently down, it will have done all that is required of it.  I will
now show you its capacity in that direction."

He brought out a lump of basalt of a considerable size, constructed in
the middle so that a cord could be easily attached to it.  This cord
was the one which we had brought with us on to the plateau after we had
used it for climbing the pinnacle.  It was over a hundred feet long,
and though it was thin it was very strong.  He had prepared a sort of
collar of leather with many straps depending from it.  This collar was
placed over the dome of the balloon, and the hanging thongs were
gathered together below, so that the pressure of any weight would be
diffused over a considerable surface.  Then the lump of basalt was
fastened to the thongs, and the rope was allowed to hang from the end
of it, being passed three times round the Professor's arm.

"I will now," said Challenger, with a smile of pleased anticipation,
"demonstrate the carrying power of my balloon." As he said so he cut
with a knife the various lashings that held it.

Never was our expedition in more imminent danger of complete
annihilation.  The inflated membrane shot up with frightful velocity
into the air.  In an instant Challenger was pulled off his feet and
dragged after it.  I had just time to throw my arms round his ascending
waist when I was myself whipped up into the air.  Lord John had me with
a rat-trap grip round the legs, but I felt that he also was coming off
the ground.  For a moment I had a vision of four adventurers floating
like a string of sausages over the land that they had explored.  But,
happily, there were limits to the strain which the rope would stand,
though none apparently to the lifting powers of this infernal machine.
There was a sharp crack, and we were in a heap upon the ground with
coils of rope all over us.  When we were able to stagger to our feet we
saw far off in the deep blue sky one dark spot where the lump of basalt
was speeding upon its way.

"Splendid!" cried the undaunted Challenger, rubbing his injured arm.
"A most thorough and satisfactory demonstration!  I could not have
anticipated such a success.  Within a week, gentlemen, I promise that a
second balloon will be prepared, and that you can count upon taking in
safety and comfort the first stage of our homeward journey." So far I
have written each of the foregoing events as it occurred.  Now I am
rounding off my narrative from the old camp, where Zambo has waited so
long, with all our difficulties and dangers left like a dream behind us
upon the summit of those vast ruddy crags which tower above our heads.
We have descended in safety, though in a most unexpected fashion, and
all is well with us.  In six weeks or two months we shall be in London,
and it is possible that this letter may not reach you much earlier than
we do ourselves.  Already our hearts yearn and our spirits fly towards
the great mother city which holds so much that is dear to us.

It was on the very evening of our perilous adventure with Challenger's
home-made balloon that the change came in our fortunes.  I have said
that the one person from whom we had had some sign of sympathy in our
attempts to get away was the young chief whom we had rescued.  He alone
had no desire to hold us against our will in a strange land.  He had
told us as much by his expressive language of signs.  That evening,
after dusk, he came down to our little camp, handed me (for some reason
he had always shown his attentions to me, perhaps because I was the one
who was nearest his age) a small roll of the bark of a tree, and then
pointing solemnly up at the row of caves above him, he had put his
finger to his lips as a sign of secrecy and had stolen back again to
his people.

I took the slip of bark to the firelight and we examined it together.
It was about a foot square, and on the inner side there was a singular
arrangement of lines, which I here reproduce:


They were neatly done in charcoal upon the white surface, and looked to
me at first sight like some sort of rough musical score.

"Whatever it is, I can swear that it is of importance to us," said I.
"I could read that on his face as he gave it."

"Unless we have come upon a primitive practical joker," Summerlee
suggested, "which I should think would be one of the most elementary
developments of man."

"It is clearly some sort of script," said Challenger.

"Looks like a guinea puzzle competition," remarked Lord John, craning
his neck to have a look at it.  Then suddenly he stretched out his hand
and seized the puzzle.

"By George!" he cried, "I believe I've got it.  The boy guessed right
the very first time.  See here!  How many marks are on that paper?
Eighteen.  Well, if you come to think of it there are eighteen cave
openings on the hill-side above us."

"He pointed up to the caves when he gave it to me," said I.

"Well, that settles it.  This is a chart of the caves.  What!  Eighteen
of them all in a row, some short, some deep, some branching, same as we
saw them.  It's a map, and here's a cross on it. What's the cross for?
It is placed to mark one that is much deeper than the others."

"One that goes through," I cried.

"I believe our young friend has read the riddle," said Challenger.  "If
the cave does not go through I do not understand why this person, who
has every reason to mean us well, should have drawn our attention to
it.  But if it does go through and comes out at the corresponding point
on the other side, we should not have more than a hundred feet to
descend."

"A hundred feet!" grumbled Summerlee.

"Well, our rope is still more than a hundred feet long," I cried.
"Surely we could get down."

"How about the Indians in the cave?" Summerlee objected.

"There are no Indians in any of the caves above our heads," said I.
"They are all used as barns and store-houses.  Why should we not go up
now at once and spy out the land?"

There is a dry bituminous wood upon the plateau--a species of
araucaria, according to our botanist--which is always used by the
Indians for torches.  Each of us picked up a faggot of this, and we
made our way up weed-covered steps to the particular cave which was
marked in the drawing.  It was, as I had said, empty, save for a great
number of enormous bats, which flapped round our heads as we advanced
into it.  As we had no desire to draw the attention of the Indians to
our proceedings, we stumbled along in the dark until we had gone round
several curves and penetrated a considerable distance into the cavern.
Then, at last, we lit our torches.  It was a beautiful dry tunnel with
smooth gray walls covered with native symbols, a curved roof which
arched over our heads, and white glistening sand beneath our feet.  We
hurried eagerly along it until, with a deep groan of bitter
disappointment, we were brought to a halt.  A sheer wall of rock had
appeared before us, with no chink through which a mouse could have
slipped.  There was no escape for us there.

We stood with bitter hearts staring at this unexpected obstacle.  It
was not the result of any convulsion, as in the case of the ascending
tunnel.  The end wall was exactly like the side ones.  It was, and had
always been, a cul-de-sac.

"Never mind, my friends," said the indomitable Challenger.  "You have
still my firm promise of a balloon."

Summerlee groaned.

"Can we be in the wrong cave?" I suggested.

"No use, young fellah," said Lord John, with his finger on the chart.
"Seventeen from the right and second from the left.  This is the cave
sure enough."

I looked at the mark to which his finger pointed, and I gave a sudden
cry of joy.

"I believe I have it!  Follow me!  Follow me!"

I hurried back along the way we had come, my torch in my hand.  "Here,"
said I, pointing to some matches upon the ground, "is where we lit up."

"Exactly."

"Well, it is marked as a forked cave, and in the darkness we passed the
fork before the torches were lit.  On the right side as we go out we
should find the longer arm."

It was as I had said.  We had not gone thirty yards before a great
black opening loomed in the wall.  We turned into it to find that we
were in a much larger passage than before.  Along it we hurried in
breathless impatience for many hundreds of yards.  Then, suddenly, in
the black darkness of the arch in front of us we saw a gleam of dark
red light.  We stared in amazement.  A sheet of steady flame seemed to
cross the passage and to bar our way.  We hastened towards it.  No
sound, no heat, no movement came from it, but still the great luminous
curtain glowed before us, silvering all the cave and turning the sand
to powdered jewels, until as we drew closer it discovered a circular
edge.

"The moon, by George!" cried Lord John.  "We are through, boys!  We are
through!"

It was indeed the full moon which shone straight down the aperture
which opened upon the cliffs.  It was a small rift, not larger than a
window, but it was enough for all our purposes.  As we craned our necks
through it we could see that the descent was not a very difficult one,
and that the level ground was no very great way below us.  It was no
wonder that from below we had not observed the place, as the cliffs
curved overhead and an ascent at the spot would have seemed so
impossible as to discourage close inspection.  We satisfied ourselves
that with the help of our rope we could find our way down, and then
returned, rejoicing, to our camp to make our preparations for the next
evening.

What we did we had to do quickly and secretly, since even at this last
hour the Indians might hold us back.  Our stores we would leave behind
us, save only our guns and cartridges.  But Challenger had some
unwieldy stuff which he ardently desired to take with him, and one
particular package, of which I may not speak, which gave us more labor
than any.  Slowly the day passed, but when the darkness fell we were
ready for our departure.  With much labor we got our things up the
steps, and then, looking back, took one last long survey of that
strange land, soon I fear to be vulgarized, the prey of hunter and
prospector, but to each of us a dreamland of glamour and romance, a
land where we had dared much, suffered much, and learned much--OUR
land, as we shall ever fondly call it.  Along upon our left the
neighboring caves each threw out its ruddy cheery firelight into the
gloom.  From the slope below us rose the voices of the Indians as they
laughed and sang.  Beyond was the long sweep of the woods, and in the
center, shimmering vaguely through the gloom, was the great lake, the
mother of strange monsters.  Even as we looked a high whickering cry,
the call of some weird animal, rang clear out of the darkness.  It was
the very voice of Maple White Land bidding us good-bye.  We turned and
plunged into the cave which led to home.

Two hours later, we, our packages, and all we owned, were at the foot
of the cliff.  Save for Challenger's luggage we had never a difficulty.
Leaving it all where we descended, we started at once for Zambo's camp.
In the early morning we approached it, but only to find, to our
amazement, not one fire but a dozen upon the plain.  The rescue party
had arrived.  There were twenty Indians from the river, with stakes,
ropes, and all that could be useful for bridging the chasm.  At least
we shall have no difficulty now in carrying our packages, when
to-morrow we begin to make our way back to the Amazon.

And so, in humble and thankful mood, I close this account.  Our eyes
have seen great wonders and our souls are chastened by what we have
endured.  Each is in his own way a better and deeper man.  It may be
that when we reach Para we shall stop to refit.  If we do, this letter
will be a mail ahead.  If not, it will reach London on the very day
that I do.  In either case, my dear Mr. McArdle, I hope very soon to
shake you by the hand.




I should wish to place upon record here our gratitude to all our
friends upon the Amazon for the very great kindness and hospitality
which was shown to us upon our return journey.  Very particularly would
I thank Senhor Penalosa and other officials of the Brazilian Government
for the special arrangements by which we were helped upon our way, and
Senhor Pereira of Para, to whose forethought we owe the complete outfit
for a decent appearance in the civilized world which we found ready for
us at that town.  It seemed a poor return for all the courtesy which we
encountered that we should deceive our hosts and benefactors, but under
the circumstances we had really no alternative, and I hereby tell them
that they will only waste their time and their money if they attempt to
follow upon our traces.  Even the names have been altered in our
accounts, and I am very sure that no one, from the most careful study
of them, could come within a thousand miles of our unknown land.

The excitement which had been caused through those parts of South
America which we had to traverse was imagined by us to be purely local,
and I can assure our friends in England that we had no notion of the
uproar which the mere rumor of our experiences had caused through
Europe.  It was not until the Ivernia was within five hundred miles of
Southampton that the wireless messages from paper after paper and
agency after agency, offering huge prices for a short return message as
to our actual results, showed us how strained was the attention not
only of the scientific world but of the general public.  It was agreed
among us, however, that no definite statement should be given to the
Press until we had met the members of the Zoological Institute, since
as delegates it was our clear duty to give our first report to the body
from which we had received our commission of investigation.  Thus,
although we found Southampton full of Pressmen, we absolutely refused
to give any information, which had the natural effect of focussing
public attention upon the meeting which was advertised for the evening
of November 7th.  For this gathering, the Zoological Hall which had
been the scene of the inception of our task was found to be far too
small, and it was only in the Queen's Hall in Regent Street that
accommodation could be found.  It is now common knowledge the promoters
might have ventured upon the Albert Hall and still found their space
too scanty.

It was for the second evening after our arrival that the great meeting
had been fixed.  For the first, we had each, no doubt, our own pressing
personal affairs to absorb us.  Of mine I cannot yet speak.  It may be
that as it stands further from me I may think of it, and even speak of
it, with less emotion.  I have shown the reader in the beginning of
this narrative where lay the springs of my action.  It is but right,
perhaps, that I should carry on the tale and show also the results.
And yet the day may come when I would not have it otherwise.  At least
I have been driven forth to take part in a wondrous adventure, and I
cannot but be thankful to the force that drove me.

And now I turn to the last supreme eventful moment of our adventure.
As I was racking my brain as to how I should best describe it, my eyes
fell upon the issue of my own Journal for the morning of the 8th of
November with the full and excellent account of my friend and
fellow-reporter Macdona.  What can I do better than transcribe his
narrative--head-lines and all?  I admit that the paper was exuberant in
the matter, out of compliment to its own enterprise in sending a
correspondent, but the other great dailies were hardly less full in
their account.  Thus, then, friend Mac in his report:


                           THE NEW WORLD
                 GREAT MEETING AT THE QUEEN'S HALL
                          SCENES OF UPROAR
                       EXTRAORDINARY INCIDENT
                            WHAT WAS IT?
                 NOCTURNAL RIOT IN REGENT STREET
                             (Special)


"The much-discussed meeting of the Zoological Institute, convened to
hear the report of the Committee of Investigation sent out last year to
South America to test the assertions made by Professor Challenger as to
the continued existence of prehistoric life upon that Continent, was
held last night in the greater Queen's Hall, and it is safe to say that
it is likely to be a red letter date in the history of Science, for the
proceedings were of so remarkable and sensational a character that no
one present is ever likely to forget them."  (Oh, brother scribe
Macdona, what a monstrous opening sentence!)  "The tickets were
theoretically confined to members and their friends, but the latter is
an elastic term, and long before eight o'clock, the hour fixed for the
commencement of the proceedings, all parts of the Great Hall were
tightly packed.  The general public, however, which most unreasonably
entertained a grievance at having been excluded, stormed the doors at a
quarter to eight, after a prolonged melee in which several people were
injured, including Inspector Scoble of H. Division, whose leg was
unfortunately broken.  After this unwarrantable invasion, which not
only filled every passage, but even intruded upon the space set apart
for the Press, it is estimated that nearly five thousand people awaited
the arrival of the travelers.  When they eventually appeared, they took
their places in the front of a platform which already contained all the
leading scientific men, not only of this country, but of France and of
Germany.  Sweden was also represented, in the person of Professor
Sergius, the famous Zoologist of the University of Upsala.  The
entrance of the four heroes of the occasion was the signal for a
remarkable demonstration of welcome, the whole audience rising and
cheering for some minutes.  An acute observer might, however, have
detected some signs of dissent amid the applause, and gathered that the
proceedings were likely to become more lively than harmonious.  It may
safely be prophesied, however, that no one could have foreseen the
extraordinary turn which they were actually to take.

"Of the appearance of the four wanderers little need be said, since
their photographs have for some time been appearing in all the papers.
They bear few traces of the hardships which they are said to have
undergone.  Professor Challenger's beard may be more shaggy, Professor
Summerlee's features more ascetic, Lord John Roxton's figure more
gaunt, and all three may be burned to a darker tint than when they left
our shores, but each appeared to be in most excellent health.  As to
our own representative, the well-known athlete and international Rugby
football player, E. D.  Malone, he looks trained to a hair, and as he
surveyed the crowd a smile of good-humored contentment pervaded his
honest but homely face."  (All right, Mac, wait till I get you alone!)

"When quiet had been restored and the audience resumed their seats
after the ovation which they had given to the travelers, the chairman,
the Duke of Durham, addressed the meeting.  'He would not,' he said,
'stand for more than a moment between that vast assembly and the treat
which lay before them.  It was not for him to anticipate what Professor
Summerlee, who was the spokesman of the committee, had to say to them,
but it was common rumor that their expedition had been crowned by
extraordinary success.'  (Applause.)  'Apparently the age of romance
was not dead, and there was common ground upon which the wildest
imaginings of the novelist could meet the actual scientific
investigations of the searcher for truth.  He would only add, before he
sat down, that he rejoiced--and all of them would rejoice--that these
gentlemen had returned safe and sound from their difficult and
dangerous task, for it cannot be denied that any disaster to such an
expedition would have inflicted a well-nigh irreparable loss to the
cause of Zoological science.' (Great applause, in which Professor
Challenger was observed to join.)

"Professor Summerlee's rising was the signal for another extraordinary
outbreak of enthusiasm, which broke out again at intervals throughout
his address.  That address will not be given in extenso in these
columns, for the reason that a full account of the whole adventures of
the expedition is being published as a supplement from the pen of our
own special correspondent.  Some general indications will therefore
suffice. Having described the genesis of their journey, and paid a
handsome tribute to his friend Professor Challenger, coupled with an
apology for the incredulity with which his assertions, now fully
vindicated, had been received, he gave the actual course of their
journey, carefully withholding such information as would aid the public
in any attempt to locate this remarkable plateau.  Having described, in
general terms, their course from the main river up to the time that
they actually reached the base of the cliffs, he enthralled his hearers
by his account of the difficulties encountered by the expedition in
their repeated attempts to mount them, and finally described how they
succeeded in their desperate endeavors, which cost the lives of their
two devoted half-breed servants." (This amazing reading of the affair
was the result of Summerlee's endeavors to avoid raising any
questionable matter at the meeting.)

"Having conducted his audience in fancy to the summit, and marooned
them there by reason of the fall of their bridge, the Professor
proceeded to describe both the horrors and the attractions of that
remarkable land.  Of personal adventures he said little, but laid
stress upon the rich harvest reaped by Science in the observations of
the wonderful beast, bird, insect, and plant life of the plateau.
Peculiarly rich in the coleoptera and in the lepidoptera, forty-six new
species of the one and ninety-four of the other had been secured in the
course of a few weeks.  It was, however, in the larger animals, and
especially in the larger animals supposed to have been long extinct,
that the interest of the public was naturally centered.  Of these he
was able to give a goodly list, but had little doubt that it would be
largely extended when the place had been more thoroughly investigated.
He and his companions had seen at least a dozen creatures, most of them
at a distance, which corresponded with nothing at present known to
Science.  These would in time be duly classified and examined.  He
instanced a snake, the cast skin of which, deep purple in color, was
fifty-one feet in length, and mentioned a white creature, supposed to
be mammalian, which gave forth well-marked phosphorescence in the
darkness; also a large black moth, the bite of which was supposed by
the Indians to be highly poisonous.  Setting aside these entirely new
forms of life, the plateau was very rich in known prehistoric forms,
dating back in some cases to early Jurassic times.  Among these he
mentioned the gigantic and grotesque stegosaurus, seen once by Mr.
Malone at a drinking-place by the lake, and drawn in the sketch-book of
that adventurous American who had first penetrated this unknown world.
He described also the iguanodon and the pterodactyl--two of the first
of the wonders which they had encountered.  He then thrilled the
assembly by some account of the terrible carnivorous dinosaurs, which
had on more than one occasion pursued members of the party, and which
were the most formidable of all the creatures which they had
encountered.  Thence he passed to the huge and ferocious bird, the
phororachus, and to the great elk which still roams upon this upland.
It was not, however, until he sketched the mysteries of the central
lake that the full interest and enthusiasm of the audience were
aroused.  One had to pinch oneself to be sure that one was awake as one
heard this sane and practical Professor in cold measured tones
describing the monstrous three-eyed fish-lizards and the huge
water-snakes which inhabit this enchanted sheet of water.  Next he
touched upon the Indians, and upon the extraordinary colony of
anthropoid apes, which might be looked upon as an advance upon the
pithecanthropus of Java, and as coming therefore nearer than any known
form to that hypothetical creation, the missing link.  Finally he
described, amongst some merriment, the ingenious but highly dangerous
aeronautic invention of Professor Challenger, and wound up a most
memorable address by an account of the methods by which the committee
did at last find their way back to civilization.

"It had been hoped that the proceedings would end there, and that a
vote of thanks and congratulation, moved by Professor Sergius, of
Upsala University, would be duly seconded and carried; but it was soon
evident that the course of events was not destined to flow so smoothly.
Symptoms of opposition had been evident from time to time during the
evening, and now Dr. James Illingworth, of Edinburgh, rose in the
center of the hall.  Dr. Illingworth asked whether an amendment should
not be taken before a resolution.

"THE CHAIRMAN:  'Yes, sir, if there must be an amendment.'

"DR. ILLINGWORTH:  'Your Grace, there must be an amendment.'

"THE CHAIRMAN:  'Then let us take it at once.'

"PROFESSOR SUMMERLEE (springing to his feet):  'Might I explain, your
Grace, that this man is my personal enemy ever since our controversy in
the Quarterly Journal of Science as to the true nature of Bathybius?'

"THE CHAIRMAN:  'I fear I cannot go into personal matters.  Proceed.'

"Dr. Illingworth was imperfectly heard in part of his remarks on
account of the strenuous opposition of the friends of the explorers.
Some attempts were also made to pull him down.  Being a man of enormous
physique, however, and possessed of a very powerful voice, he dominated
the tumult and succeeded in finishing his speech.  It was clear, from
the moment of his rising, that he had a number of friends and
sympathizers in the hall, though they formed a minority in the
audience.  The attitude of the greater part of the public might be
described as one of attentive neutrality.

"Dr. Illingworth began his remarks by expressing his high appreciation
of the scientific work both of Professor Challenger and of Professor
Summerlee.  He much regretted that any personal bias should have been
read into his remarks, which were entirely dictated by his desire for
scientific truth.  His position, in fact, was substantially the same as
that taken up by Professor Summerlee at the last meeting.  At that last
meeting Professor Challenger had made certain assertions which had been
queried by his colleague.  Now this colleague came forward himself with
the same assertions and expected them to remain unquestioned.  Was this
reasonable?  ('Yes,' 'No,' and prolonged interruption, during which
Professor Challenger was heard from the Press box to ask leave from the
chairman to put Dr. Illingworth into the street.) A year ago one man
said certain things.  Now four men said other and more startling ones.
Was this to constitute a final proof where the matters in question were
of the most revolutionary and incredible character?  There had been
recent examples of travelers arriving from the unknown with certain
tales which had been too readily accepted.  Was the London Zoological
Institute to place itself in this position?  He admitted that the
members of the committee were men of character.  But human nature was
very complex.  Even Professors might be misled by the desire for
notoriety.  Like moths, we all love best to flutter in the light.
Heavy-game shots liked to be in a position to cap the tales of their
rivals, and journalists were not averse from sensational coups, even
when imagination had to aid fact in the process.  Each member of the
committee had his own motive for making the most of his results.
('Shame! shame!')  He had no desire to be offensive.  ('You are!' and
interruption.)  The corroboration of these wondrous tales was really of
the most slender description.  What did it amount to?  Some
photographs. {Was it possible that in this age of ingenious
manipulation photographs could be accepted as evidence?}  What more?
We have a story of a flight and a descent by ropes which precluded the
production of larger specimens.  It was ingenious, but not convincing.
It was understood that Lord John Roxton claimed to have the skull of a
phororachus.  He could only say that he would like to see that skull.

"LORD JOHN ROXTON:  'Is this fellow calling me a liar?' (Uproar.)

"THE CHAIRMAN:  'Order! order!  Dr. Illingworth, I must direct you to
bring your remarks to a conclusion and to move your amendment.'

"DR. ILLINGWORTH:  'Your Grace, I have more to say, but I bow to your
ruling.  I move, then, that, while Professor Summerlee be thanked for
his interesting address, the whole matter shall be regarded as
'non-proven,' and shall be referred back to a larger, and possibly more
reliable Committee of Investigation.'

"It is difficult to describe the confusion caused by this amendment.  A
large section of the audience expressed their indignation at such a
slur upon the travelers by noisy shouts of dissent and cries of, 'Don't
put it!'  'Withdraw!'  'Turn him out!'  On the other hand, the
malcontents--and it cannot be denied that they were fairly
numerous--cheered for the amendment, with cries of 'Order!' 'Chair!'
and 'Fair play!'  A scuffle broke out in the back benches, and blows
were freely exchanged among the medical students who crowded that part
of the hall.  It was only the moderating influence of the presence of
large numbers of ladies which prevented an absolute riot.  Suddenly,
however, there was a pause, a hush, and then complete silence.
Professor Challenger was on his feet.  His appearance and manner are
peculiarly arresting, and as he raised his hand for order the whole
audience settled down expectantly to give him a hearing.

"'It will be within the recollection of many present,' said Professor
Challenger, 'that similar foolish and unmannerly scenes marked the last
meeting at which I have been able to address them.  On that occasion
Professor Summerlee was the chief offender, and though he is now
chastened and contrite, the matter could not be entirely forgotten.  I
have heard to-night similar, but even more offensive, sentiments from
the person who has just sat down, and though it is a conscious effort
of self-effacement to come down to that person's mental level, I will
endeavor to do so, in order to allay any reasonable doubt which could
possibly exist in the minds of anyone.'  (Laughter and interruption.)
'I need not remind this audience that, though Professor Summerlee, as
the head of the Committee of Investigation, has been put up to speak
to-night, still it is I who am the real prime mover in this business,
and that it is mainly to me that any successful result must be
ascribed.  I have safely conducted these three gentlemen to the spot
mentioned, and I have, as you have heard, convinced them of the
accuracy of my previous account.  We had hoped that we should find upon
our return that no one was so dense as to dispute our joint
conclusions.  Warned, however, by my previous experience, I have not
come without such proofs as may convince a reasonable man.  As
explained by Professor Summerlee, our cameras have been tampered with
by the ape-men when they ransacked our camp, and most of our negatives
ruined.' (Jeers, laughter, and 'Tell us another!' from the back.)  'I
have mentioned the ape-men, and I cannot forbear from saying that some
of the sounds which now meet my ears bring back most vividly to my
recollection my experiences with those interesting creatures.'
(Laughter.)  'In spite of the destruction of so many invaluable
negatives, there still remains in our collection a certain number of
corroborative photographs showing the conditions of life upon the
plateau.  Did they accuse them of having forged these photographs?' (A
voice, 'Yes,' and considerable interruption which ended in several men
being put out of the hall.)  'The negatives were open to the inspection
of experts.  But what other evidence had they?  Under the conditions of
their escape it was naturally impossible to bring a large amount of
baggage, but they had rescued Professor Summerlee's collections of
butterflies and beetles, containing many new species.  Was this not
evidence?'  (Several voices, 'No.') 'Who said no?'

"DR. ILLINGWORTH (rising):  'Our point is that such a collection might
have been made in other places than a prehistoric plateau.' (Applause.)

"PROFESSOR CHALLENGER:  'No doubt, sir, we have to bow to your
scientific authority, although I must admit that the name is
unfamiliar.  Passing, then, both the photographs and the entomological
collection, I come to the varied and accurate information which we
bring with us upon points which have never before been elucidated.  For
example, upon the domestic habits of the pterodactyl--'(A voice:
'Bosh,' and uproar)--'I say, that upon the domestic habits of the
pterodactyl we can throw a flood of light.  I can exhibit to you from
my portfolio a picture of that creature taken from life which would
convince you----'

"DR. ILLINGWORTH:  'No picture could convince us of anything.'

"PROFESSOR CHALLENGER:  'You would require to see the thing itself?'

"DR. ILLINGWORTH:  'Undoubtedly.'

"PROFESSOR CHALLENGER:  'And you would accept that?'

"DR. ILLINGWORTH (laughing):  'Beyond a doubt.'

"It was at this point that the sensation of the evening arose--a
sensation so dramatic that it can never have been paralleled in the
history of scientific gatherings.  Professor Challenger raised his hand
in the air as a signal, and at once our colleague, Mr. E. D. Malone,
was observed to rise and to make his way to the back of the platform.
An instant later he re-appeared in company of a gigantic negro, the two
of them bearing between them a large square packing-case.  It was
evidently of great weight, and was slowly carried forward and placed in
front of the Professor's chair.  All sound had hushed in the audience
and everyone was absorbed in the spectacle before them.  Professor
Challenger drew off the top of the case, which formed a sliding lid.
Peering down into the box he snapped his fingers several times and was
heard from the Press seat to say, 'Come, then, pretty, pretty!' in a
coaxing voice.  An instant later, with a scratching, rattling sound, a
most horrible and loathsome creature appeared from below and perched
itself upon the side of the case.  Even the unexpected fall of the Duke
of Durham into the orchestra, which occurred at this moment, could not
distract the petrified attention of the vast audience.  The face of the
creature was like the wildest gargoyle that the imagination of a mad
medieval builder could have conceived.  It was malicious, horrible,
with two small red eyes as bright as points of burning coal.  Its long,
savage mouth, which was held half-open, was full of a double row of
shark-like teeth.  Its shoulders were humped, and round them were
draped what appeared to be a faded gray shawl.  It was the devil of our
childhood in person.  There was a turmoil in the audience--someone
screamed, two ladies in the front row fell senseless from their chairs,
and there was a general movement upon the platform to follow their
chairman into the orchestra.  For a moment there was danger of a
general panic.  Professor Challenger threw up his hands to still the
commotion, but the movement alarmed the creature beside him.  Its
strange shawl suddenly unfurled, spread, and fluttered as a pair of
leathery wings.  Its owner grabbed at its legs, but too late to hold
it.  It had sprung from the perch and was circling slowly round the
Queen's Hall with a dry, leathery flapping of its ten-foot wings, while
a putrid and insidious odor pervaded the room.  The cries of the people
in the galleries, who were alarmed at the near approach of those
glowing eyes and that murderous beak, excited the creature to a frenzy.
Faster and faster it flew, beating against walls and chandeliers in a
blind frenzy of alarm.  'The window!  For heaven's sake shut that
window!' roared the Professor from the platform, dancing and wringing
his hands in an agony of apprehension.  Alas, his warning was too late!
In a moment the creature, beating and bumping along the wall like a
huge moth within a gas-shade, came upon the opening, squeezed its
hideous bulk through it, and was gone.  Professor Challenger fell back
into his chair with his face buried in his hands, while the audience
gave one long, deep sigh of relief as they realized that the incident
was over.

"Then--oh! how shall one describe what took place then--when the full
exuberance of the majority and the full reaction of the minority united
to make one great wave of enthusiasm, which rolled from the back of the
hall, gathering volume as it came, swept over the orchestra, submerged
the platform, and carried the four heroes away upon its crest?"  (Good
for you, Mac!)  "If the audience had done less than justice, surely it
made ample amends.  Every one was on his feet.  Every one was moving,
shouting, gesticulating.  A dense crowd of cheering men were round the
four travelers.  'Up with them! up with them!' cried a hundred voices.
In a moment four figures shot up above the crowd.  In vain they strove
to break loose.  They were held in their lofty places of honor.  It
would have been hard to let them down if it had been wished, so dense
was the crowd around them.  'Regent Street!  Regent Street!' sounded
the voices.  There was a swirl in the packed multitude, and a slow
current, bearing the four upon their shoulders, made for the door.  Out
in the street the scene was extraordinary.  An assemblage of not less
than a hundred thousand people was waiting.  The close-packed throng
extended from the other side of the Langham Hotel to Oxford Circus.  A
roar of acclamation greeted the four adventurers as they appeared, high
above the heads of the people, under the vivid electric lamps outside
the hall.  'A procession!  A procession!' was the cry.  In a dense
phalanx, blocking the streets from side to side, the crowd set forth,
taking the route of Regent Street, Pall Mall, St. James's Street, and
Piccadilly.  The whole central traffic of London was held up, and many
collisions were reported between the demonstrators upon the one side
and the police and taxi-cabmen upon the other.  Finally, it was not
until after midnight that the four travelers were released at the
entrance to Lord John Roxton's chambers in the Albany, and that the
exuberant crowd, having sung 'They are Jolly Good Fellows' in chorus,
concluded their program with 'God Save the King.' So ended one of the
most remarkable evenings that London has seen for a considerable time."

So far my friend Macdona; and it may be taken as a fairly accurate, if
florid, account of the proceedings.  As to the main incident, it was a
bewildering surprise to the audience, but not, I need hardly say, to
us.  The reader will remember how I met Lord John Roxton upon the very
occasion when, in his protective crinoline, he had gone to bring the
"Devil's chick" as he called it, for Professor Challenger.  I have
hinted also at the trouble which the Professor's baggage gave us when
we left the plateau, and had I described our voyage I might have said a
good deal of the worry we had to coax with putrid fish the appetite of
our filthy companion.  If I have not said much about it before, it was,
of course, that the Professor's earnest desire was that no possible
rumor of the unanswerable argument which we carried should be allowed
to leak out until the moment came when his enemies were to be confuted.

One word as to the fate of the London pterodactyl.  Nothing can be said
to be certain upon this point.  There is the evidence of two frightened
women that it perched upon the roof of the Queen's Hall and remained
there like a diabolical statue for some hours.  The next day it came
out in the evening papers that Private Miles, of the Coldstream Guards,
on duty outside Marlborough House, had deserted his post without leave,
and was therefore courtmartialed.  Private Miles' account, that he
dropped his rifle and took to his heels down the Mall because on
looking up he had suddenly seen the devil between him and the moon, was
not accepted by the Court, and yet it may have a direct bearing upon
the point at issue.  The only other evidence which I can adduce is from
the log of the SS. Friesland, a Dutch-American liner, which asserts
that at nine next morning, Start Point being at the time ten miles upon
their starboard quarter, they were passed by something between a flying
goat and a monstrous bat, which was heading at a prodigious pace south
and west.  If its homing instinct led it upon the right line, there can
be no doubt that somewhere out in the wastes of the Atlantic the last
European pterodactyl found its end.

And Gladys--oh, my Gladys!--Gladys of the mystic lake, now to be
re-named the Central, for never shall she have immortality through me.
Did I not always see some hard fiber in her nature?  Did I not, even at
the time when I was proud to obey her behest, feel that it was surely a
poor love which could drive a lover to his death or the danger of it?
Did I not, in my truest thoughts, always recurring and always
dismissed, see past the beauty of the face, and, peering into the soul,
discern the twin shadows of selfishness and of fickleness glooming at
the back of it?  Did she love the heroic and the spectacular for its
own noble sake, or was it for the glory which might, without effort or
sacrifice, be reflected upon herself?  Or are these thoughts the vain
wisdom which comes after the event?  It was the shock of my life.  For
a moment it had turned me to a cynic.  But already, as I write, a week
has passed, and we have had our momentous interview with Lord John
Roxton and--well, perhaps things might be worse.

Let me tell it in a few words.  No letter or telegram had come to me at
Southampton, and I reached the little villa at Streatham about ten
o'clock that night in a fever of alarm.  Was she dead or alive?  Where
were all my nightly dreams of the open arms, the smiling face, the
words of praise for her man who had risked his life to humor her whim?
Already I was down from the high peaks and standing flat-footed upon
earth.  Yet some good reasons given might still lift me to the clouds
once more.  I rushed down the garden path, hammered at the door, heard
the voice of Gladys within, pushed past the staring maid, and strode
into the sitting-room.  She was seated in a low settee under the shaded
standard lamp by the piano.  In three steps I was across the room and
had both her hands in mine.

"Gladys!" I cried, "Gladys!"

She looked up with amazement in her face.  She was altered in some
subtle way.  The expression of her eyes, the hard upward stare, the set
of the lips, was new to me.  She drew back her hands.

"What do you mean?" she said.

"Gladys!" I cried.  "What is the matter?  You are my Gladys, are you
not--little Gladys Hungerton?"

"No," said she, "I am Gladys Potts.  Let me introduce you to my
husband."

How absurd life is!  I found myself mechanically bowing and shaking
hands with a little ginger-haired man who was coiled up in the deep
arm-chair which had once been sacred to my own use.  We bobbed and
grinned in front of each other.

"Father lets us stay here.  We are getting our house ready," said
Gladys.

"Oh, yes," said I.

"You didn't get my letter at Para, then?"

"No, I got no letter."

"Oh, what a pity!  It would have made all clear."

"It is quite clear," said I.

"I've told William all about you," said she.  "We have no secrets.  I
am so sorry about it.  But it couldn't have been so very deep, could
it, if you could go off to the other end of the world and leave me here
alone.  You're not crabby, are you?"

"No, no, not at all.  I think I'll go."

"Have some refreshment," said the little man, and he added, in a
confidential way, "It's always like this, ain't it?  And must be unless
you had polygamy, only the other way round; you understand." He laughed
like an idiot, while I made for the door.

I was through it, when a sudden fantastic impulse came upon me, and I
went back to my successful rival, who looked nervously at the electric
push.

"Will you answer a question?" I asked.

"Well, within reason," said he.

"How did you do it?  Have you searched for hidden treasure, or
discovered a pole, or done time on a pirate, or flown the Channel, or
what?  Where is the glamour of romance?  How did you get it?"

He stared at me with a hopeless expression upon his vacuous,
good-natured, scrubby little face.

"Don't you think all this is a little too personal?" he said.

"Well, just one question," I cried.  "What are you?  What is your
profession?"

"I am a solicitor's clerk," said he.  "Second man at Johnson and
Merivale's, 41 Chancery Lane."

"Good-night!" said I, and vanished, like all disconsolate and
broken-hearted heroes, into the darkness, with grief and rage and
laughter all simmering within me like a boiling pot.

One more little scene, and I have done.  Last night we all supped at
Lord John Roxton's rooms, and sitting together afterwards we smoked in
good comradeship and talked our adventures over.  It was strange under
these altered surroundings to see the old, well-known faces and
figures.  There was Challenger, with his smile of condescension, his
drooping eyelids, his intolerant eyes, his aggressive beard, his huge
chest, swelling and puffing as he laid down the law to Summerlee.  And
Summerlee, too, there he was with his short briar between his thin
moustache and his gray goat's-beard, his worn face protruded in eager
debate as he queried all Challenger's propositions.  Finally, there was
our host, with his rugged, eagle face, and his cold, blue, glacier eyes
with always a shimmer of devilment and of humor down in the depths of
them.  Such is the last picture of them that I have carried away.

It was after supper, in his own sanctum--the room of the pink radiance
and the innumerable trophies--that Lord John Roxton had something to
say to us.  From a cupboard he had brought an old cigar-box, and this
he laid before him on the table.

"There's one thing," said he, "that maybe I should have spoken about
before this, but I wanted to know a little more clearly where I was.
No use to raise hopes and let them down again.  But it's facts, not
hopes, with us now.  You may remember that day we found the pterodactyl
rookery in the swamp--what?  Well, somethin' in the lie of the land
took my notice.  Perhaps it has escaped you, so I will tell you.  It
was a volcanic vent full of blue clay." The Professors nodded.

"Well, now, in the whole world I've only had to do with one place that
was a volcanic vent of blue clay.  That was the great De Beers Diamond
Mine of Kimberley--what?  So you see I got diamonds into my head.  I
rigged up a contraption to hold off those stinking beasts, and I spent
a happy day there with a spud.  This is what I got."

He opened his cigar-box, and tilting it over he poured about twenty or
thirty rough stones, varying from the size of beans to that of
chestnuts, on the table.

"Perhaps you think I should have told you then.  Well, so I should,
only I know there are a lot of traps for the unwary, and that stones
may be of any size and yet of little value where color and consistency
are clean off.  Therefore, I brought them back, and on the first day at
home I took one round to Spink's, and asked him to have it roughly cut
and valued."

He took a pill-box from his pocket, and spilled out of it a beautiful
glittering diamond, one of the finest stones that I have ever seen.

"There's the result," said he.  "He prices the lot at a minimum of two
hundred thousand pounds.  Of course it is fair shares between us.  I
won't hear of anythin' else.  Well, Challenger, what will you do with
your fifty thousand?"

"If you really persist in your generous view," said the Professor, "I
should found a private museum, which has long been one of my dreams."

"And you, Summerlee?"

"I would retire from teaching, and so find time for my final
classification of the chalk fossils."

"I'll use my own," said Lord John Roxton, "in fitting a well-formed
expedition and having another look at the dear old plateau.  As to you,
young fellah, you, of course, will spend yours in gettin' married."

"Not just yet," said I, with a rueful smile.  "I think, if you will
have me, that I would rather go with you."

Lord Roxton said nothing, but a brown hand was stretched out to me
across the table.

war.txt

   �But who shall dwell in these worlds if they be inhabited?
    . . . Are we or they Lords of the World? . . . And
    how are all things made for man?�

                    KEPLER (quoted in _The Anatomy of Melancholy_)



 

No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century
that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences
greater than man�s and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied
themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and
studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might
scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of
water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe
about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire
over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do
the same. No one gave a thought to the older worlds of space as sources
of human danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life
upon them as impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some of
the mental habits of those departed days. At most terrestrial men
fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to
themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise. Yet across the
gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the
beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic,
regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their
plans against us. And early in the twentieth century came the great
disillusionment.

The planet Mars, I scarcely need remind the reader, revolves about the
sun at a mean distance of 140,000,000 miles, and the light and heat it
receives from the sun is barely half of that received by this world. It
must be, if the nebular hypothesis has any truth, older than our world;
and long before this earth ceased to be molten, life upon its surface
must have begun its course. The fact that it is scarcely one seventh of
the volume of the earth must have accelerated its cooling to the
temperature at which life could begin. It has air and water and all
that is necessary for the support of animated existence.

Yet so vain is man, and so blinded by his vanity, that no writer, up to
the very end of the nineteenth century, expressed any idea that
intelligent life might have developed there far, or indeed at all,
beyond its earthly level. Nor was it generally understood that since
Mars is older than our earth, with scarcely a quarter of the
superficial area and remoter from the sun, it necessarily follows that
it is not only more distant from time�s beginning but nearer its end.

The secular cooling that must someday overtake our planet has already
gone far indeed with our neighbour. Its physical condition is still
largely a mystery, but we know now that even in its equatorial region
the midday temperature barely approaches that of our coldest winter.
Its air is much more attenuated than ours, its oceans have shrunk until
they cover but a third of its surface, and as its slow seasons change
huge snowcaps gather and melt about either pole and periodically
inundate its temperate zones. That last stage of exhaustion, which to
us is still incredibly remote, has become a present-day problem for the
inhabitants of Mars. The immediate pressure of necessity has brightened
their intellects, enlarged their powers, and hardened their hearts. And
looking across space with instruments, and intelligences such as we
have scarcely dreamed of, they see, at its nearest distance only
35,000,000 of miles sunward of them, a morning star of hope, our own
warmer planet, green with vegetation and grey with water, with a cloudy
atmosphere eloquent of fertility, with glimpses through its drifting
cloud wisps of broad stretches of populous country and narrow,
navy-crowded seas.

And we men, the creatures who inhabit this earth, must be to them at
least as alien and lowly as are the monkeys and lemurs to us. The
intellectual side of man already admits that life is an incessant
struggle for existence, and it would seem that this too is the belief
of the minds upon Mars. Their world is far gone in its cooling and this
world is still crowded with life, but crowded only with what they
regard as inferior animals. To carry warfare sunward is, indeed, their
only escape from the destruction that, generation after generation,
creeps upon them.

And before we judge of them too harshly we must remember what ruthless
and utter destruction our own species has wrought, not only upon
animals, such as the vanished bison and the dodo, but upon its inferior
races. The Tasmanians, in spite of their human likeness, were entirely
swept out of existence in a war of extermination waged by European
immigrants, in the space of fifty years. Are we such apostles of mercy
as to complain if the Martians warred in the same spirit?

The Martians seem to have calculated their descent with amazing
subtlety�their mathematical learning is evidently far in excess of
ours�and to have carried out their preparations with a well-nigh
perfect unanimity. Had our instruments permitted it, we might have seen
the gathering trouble far back in the nineteenth century. Men like
Schiaparelli watched the red planet�it is odd, by-the-bye, that for
countless centuries Mars has been the star of war�but failed to
interpret the fluctuating appearances of the markings they mapped so
well. All that time the Martians must have been getting ready.

During the opposition of 1894 a great light was seen on the illuminated
part of the disk, first at the Lick Observatory, then by Perrotin of
Nice, and then by other observers. English readers heard of it first in
the issue of _Nature_ dated August 2. I am inclined to think that this
blaze may have been the casting of the huge gun, in the vast pit sunk
into their planet, from which their shots were fired at us. Peculiar
markings, as yet unexplained, were seen near the site of that outbreak
during the next two oppositions.

The storm burst upon us six years ago now. As Mars approached
opposition, Lavelle of Java set the wires of the astronomical exchange
palpitating with the amazing intelligence of a huge outbreak of
incandescent gas upon the planet. It had occurred towards midnight of
the twelfth; and the spectroscope, to which he had at once resorted,
indicated a mass of flaming gas, chiefly hydrogen, moving with an
enormous velocity towards this earth. This jet of fire had become
invisible about a quarter past twelve. He compared it to a colossal
puff of flame suddenly and violently squirted out of the planet, �as
flaming gases rushed out of a gun.�

A singularly appropriate phrase it proved. Yet the next day there was
nothing of this in the papers except a little note in the _Daily
Telegraph_, and the world went in ignorance of one of the gravest
dangers that ever threatened the human race. I might not have heard of
the eruption at all had I not met Ogilvy, the well-known astronomer, at
Ottershaw. He was immensely excited at the news, and in the excess of
his feelings invited me up to take a turn with him that night in a
scrutiny of the red planet.

In spite of all that has happened since, I still remember that vigil
very distinctly: the black and silent observatory, the shadowed lantern
throwing a feeble glow upon the floor in the corner, the steady ticking
of the clockwork of the telescope, the little slit in the roof�an
oblong profundity with the stardust streaked across it. Ogilvy moved
about, invisible but audible. Looking through the telescope, one saw a
circle of deep blue and the little round planet swimming in the field.
It seemed such a little thing, so bright and small and still, faintly
marked with transverse stripes, and slightly flattened from the perfect
round. But so little it was, so silvery warm�a pin�s head of light! It
was as if it quivered, but really this was the telescope vibrating with
the activity of the clockwork that kept the planet in view.

As I watched, the planet seemed to grow larger and smaller and to
advance and recede, but that was simply that my eye was tired. Forty
millions of miles it was from us�more than forty millions of miles of
void. Few people realise the immensity of vacancy in which the dust of
the material universe swims.

Near it in the field, I remember, were three faint points of light,
three telescopic stars infinitely remote, and all around it was the
unfathomable darkness of empty space. You know how that blackness looks
on a frosty starlight night. In a telescope it seems far profounder.
And invisible to me because it was so remote and small, flying swiftly
and steadily towards me across that incredible distance, drawing nearer
every minute by so many thousands of miles, came the Thing they were
sending us, the Thing that was to bring so much struggle and calamity
and death to the earth. I never dreamed of it then as I watched; no one
on earth dreamed of that unerring missile.

That night, too, there was another jetting out of gas from the distant
planet. I saw it. A reddish flash at the edge, the slightest projection
of the outline just as the chronometer struck midnight; and at that I
told Ogilvy and he took my place. The night was warm and I was thirsty,
and I went stretching my legs clumsily and feeling my way in the
darkness, to the little table where the siphon stood, while Ogilvy
exclaimed at the streamer of gas that came out towards us.

That night another invisible missile started on its way to the earth
from Mars, just a second or so under twenty-four hours after the first
one. I remember how I sat on the table there in the blackness, with
patches of green and crimson swimming before my eyes. I wished I had a
light to smoke by, little suspecting the meaning of the minute gleam I
had seen and all that it would presently bring me. Ogilvy watched till
one, and then gave it up; and we lit the lantern and walked over to his
house. Down below in the darkness were Ottershaw and Chertsey and all
their hundreds of people, sleeping in peace.

He was full of speculation that night about the condition of Mars, and
scoffed at the vulgar idea of its having inhabitants who were
signalling us. His idea was that meteorites might be falling in a heavy
shower upon the planet, or that a huge volcanic explosion was in
progress. He pointed out to me how unlikely it was that organic
evolution had taken the same direction in the two adjacent planets.

�The chances against anything manlike on Mars are a million to one,� he
said.

Hundreds of observers saw the flame that night and the night after
about midnight, and again the night after; and so for ten nights, a
flame each night. Why the shots ceased after the tenth no one on earth
has attempted to explain. It may be the gases of the firing caused the
Martians inconvenience. Dense clouds of smoke or dust, visible through
a powerful telescope on earth as little grey, fluctuating patches,
spread through the clearness of the planet�s atmosphere and obscured
its more familiar features.

Even the daily papers woke up to the disturbances at last, and popular
notes appeared here, there, and everywhere concerning the volcanoes
upon Mars. The seriocomic periodical _Punch_, I remember, made a happy
use of it in the political cartoon. And, all unsuspected, those
missiles the Martians had fired at us drew earthward, rushing now at a
pace of many miles a second through the empty gulf of space, hour by
hour and day by day, nearer and nearer. It seems to me now almost
incredibly wonderful that, with that swift fate hanging over us, men
could go about their petty concerns as they did. I remember how
jubilant Markham was at securing a new photograph of the planet for the
illustrated paper he edited in those days. People in these latter times
scarcely realise the abundance and enterprise of our nineteenth-century
papers. For my own part, I was much occupied in learning to ride the
bicycle, and busy upon a series of papers discussing the probable
developments of moral ideas as civilisation progressed.

One night (the first missile then could scarcely have been 10,000,000
miles away) I went for a walk with my wife. It was starlight and I
explained the Signs of the Zodiac to her, and pointed out Mars, a
bright dot of light creeping zenithward, towards which so many
telescopes were pointed. It was a warm night. Coming home, a party of
excursionists from Chertsey or Isleworth passed us singing and playing
music. There were lights in the upper windows of the houses as the
people went to bed. From the railway station in the distance came the
sound of shunting trains, ringing and rumbling, softened almost into
melody by the distance. My wife pointed out to me the brightness of the
red, green, and yellow signal lights hanging in a framework against the
sky. It seemed so safe and tranquil.


Then came the night of the first falling star. It was seen early in the
morning, rushing over Winchester eastward, a line of flame high in the
atmosphere. Hundreds must have seen it, and taken it for an ordinary
falling star. Albin described it as leaving a greenish streak behind it
that glowed for some seconds. Denning, our greatest authority on
meteorites, stated that the height of its first appearance was about
ninety or one hundred miles. It seemed to him that it fell to earth
about one hundred miles east of him.

I was at home at that hour and writing in my study; and although my
French windows face towards Ottershaw and the blind was up (for I loved
in those days to look up at the night sky), I saw nothing of it. Yet
this strangest of all things that ever came to earth from outer space
must have fallen while I was sitting there, visible to me had I only
looked up as it passed. Some of those who saw its flight say it
travelled with a hissing sound. I myself heard nothing of that. Many
people in Berkshire, Surrey, and Middlesex must have seen the fall of
it, and, at most, have thought that another meteorite had descended. No
one seems to have troubled to look for the fallen mass that night.

But very early in the morning poor Ogilvy, who had seen the shooting
star and who was persuaded that a meteorite lay somewhere on the common
between Horsell, Ottershaw, and Woking, rose early with the idea of
finding it. Find it he did, soon after dawn, and not far from the
sand-pits. An enormous hole had been made by the impact of the
projectile, and the sand and gravel had been flung violently in every
direction over the heath, forming heaps visible a mile and a half away.
The heather was on fire eastward, and a thin blue smoke rose against
the dawn.

The Thing itself lay almost entirely buried in sand, amidst the
scattered splinters of a fir tree it had shivered to fragments in its
descent. The uncovered part had the appearance of a huge cylinder,
caked over and its outline softened by a thick scaly dun-coloured
incrustation. It had a diameter of about thirty yards. He approached
the mass, surprised at the size and more so at the shape, since most
meteorites are rounded more or less completely. It was, however, still
so hot from its flight through the air as to forbid his near approach.
A stirring noise within its cylinder he ascribed to the unequal cooling
of its surface; for at that time it had not occurred to him that it
might be hollow.

He remained standing at the edge of the pit that the Thing had made for
itself, staring at its strange appearance, astonished chiefly at its
unusual shape and colour, and dimly perceiving even then some evidence
of design in its arrival. The early morning was wonderfully still, and
the sun, just clearing the pine trees towards Weybridge, was already
warm. He did not remember hearing any birds that morning, there was
certainly no breeze stirring, and the only sounds were the faint
movements from within the cindery cylinder. He was all alone on the
common.

Then suddenly he noticed with a start that some of the grey clinker,
the ashy incrustation that covered the meteorite, was falling off the
circular edge of the end. It was dropping off in flakes and raining
down upon the sand. A large piece suddenly came off and fell with a
sharp noise that brought his heart into his mouth.

For a minute he scarcely realised what this meant, and, although the
heat was excessive, he clambered down into the pit close to the bulk to
see the Thing more clearly. He fancied even then that the cooling of
the body might account for this, but what disturbed that idea was the
fact that the ash was falling only from the end of the cylinder.

And then he perceived that, very slowly, the circular top of the
cylinder was rotating on its body. It was such a gradual movement that
he discovered it only through noticing that a black mark that had been
near him five minutes ago was now at the other side of the
circumference. Even then he scarcely understood what this indicated,
until he heard a muffled grating sound and saw the black mark jerk
forward an inch or so. Then the thing came upon him in a flash. The
cylinder was artificial�hollow�with an end that screwed out! Something
within the cylinder was unscrewing the top!

�Good heavens!� said Ogilvy. �There�s a man in it�men in it! Half
roasted to death! Trying to escape!�

At once, with a quick mental leap, he linked the Thing with the flash
upon Mars.

The thought of the confined creature was so dreadful to him that he
forgot the heat and went forward to the cylinder to help turn. But
luckily the dull radiation arrested him before he could burn his hands
on the still-glowing metal. At that he stood irresolute for a moment,
then turned, scrambled out of the pit, and set off running wildly into
Woking. The time then must have been somewhere about six o�clock. He
met a waggoner and tried to make him understand, but the tale he told
and his appearance were so wild�his hat had fallen off in the pit�that
the man simply drove on. He was equally unsuccessful with the potman
who was just unlocking the doors of the public-house by Horsell Bridge.
The fellow thought he was a lunatic at large and made an unsuccessful
attempt to shut him into the taproom. That sobered him a little; and
when he saw Henderson, the London journalist, in his garden, he called
over the palings and made himself understood.

�Henderson,� he called, �you saw that shooting star last night?�

�Well?� said Henderson.

�It�s out on Horsell Common now.�

�Good Lord!� said Henderson. �Fallen meteorite! That�s good.�

�But it�s something more than a meteorite. It�s a cylinder�an
artificial cylinder, man! And there�s something inside.�

Henderson stood up with his spade in his hand.

�What�s that?� he said. He was deaf in one ear.

Ogilvy told him all that he had seen. Henderson was a minute or so
taking it in. Then he dropped his spade, snatched up his jacket, and
came out into the road. The two men hurried back at once to the common,
and found the cylinder still lying in the same position. But now the
sounds inside had ceased, and a thin circle of bright metal showed
between the top and the body of the cylinder. Air was either entering
or escaping at the rim with a thin, sizzling sound.

They listened, rapped on the scaly burnt metal with a stick, and,
meeting with no response, they both concluded the man or men inside
must be insensible or dead.

Of course the two were quite unable to do anything. They shouted
consolation and promises, and went off back to the town again to get
help. One can imagine them, covered with sand, excited and disordered,
running up the little street in the bright sunlight just as the shop
folks were taking down their shutters and people were opening their
bedroom windows. Henderson went into the railway station at once, in
order to telegraph the news to London. The newspaper articles had
prepared men�s minds for the reception of the idea.

By eight o�clock a number of boys and unemployed men had already
started for the common to see the �dead men from Mars.� That was the
form the story took. I heard of it first from my newspaper boy about a
quarter to nine when I went out to get my _Daily Chronicle_. I was
naturally startled, and lost no time in going out and across the
Ottershaw bridge to the sand-pits.



I found a little crowd of perhaps twenty people surrounding the huge
hole in which the cylinder lay. I have already described the appearance
of that colossal bulk, embedded in the ground. The turf and gravel
about it seemed charred as if by a sudden explosion. No doubt its
impact had caused a flash of fire. Henderson and Ogilvy were not there.
I think they perceived that nothing was to be done for the present, and
had gone away to breakfast at Henderson�s house.

There were four or five boys sitting on the edge of the Pit, with their
feet dangling, and amusing themselves�until I stopped them�by throwing
stones at the giant mass. After I had spoken to them about it, they
began playing at �touch� in and out of the group of bystanders.

Among these were a couple of cyclists, a jobbing gardener I employed
sometimes, a girl carrying a baby, Gregg the butcher and his little
boy, and two or three loafers and golf caddies who were accustomed to
hang about the railway station. There was very little talking. Few of
the common people in England had anything but the vaguest astronomical
ideas in those days. Most of them were staring quietly at the big table
like end of the cylinder, which was still as Ogilvy and Henderson had
left it. I fancy the popular expectation of a heap of charred corpses
was disappointed at this inanimate bulk. Some went away while I was
there, and other people came. I clambered into the pit and fancied I
heard a faint movement under my feet. The top had certainly ceased to
rotate.

It was only when I got thus close to it that the strangeness of this
object was at all evident to me. At the first glance it was really no
more exciting than an overturned carriage or a tree blown across the
road. Not so much so, indeed. It looked like a rusty gas float. It
required a certain amount of scientific education to perceive that the
grey scale of the Thing was no common oxide, that the yellowish-white
metal that gleamed in the crack between the lid and the cylinder had an
unfamiliar hue. �Extra-terrestrial� had no meaning for most of the
onlookers.

At that time it was quite clear in my own mind that the Thing had come
from the planet Mars, but I judged it improbable that it contained any
living creature. I thought the unscrewing might be automatic. In spite
of Ogilvy, I still believed that there were men in Mars. My mind ran
fancifully on the possibilities of its containing manuscript, on the
difficulties in translation that might arise, whether we should find
coins and models in it, and so forth. Yet it was a little too large for
assurance on this idea. I felt an impatience to see it opened. About
eleven, as nothing seemed happening, I walked back, full of such
thought, to my home in Maybury. But I found it difficult to get to work
upon my abstract investigations.

In the afternoon the appearance of the common had altered very much.
The early editions of the evening papers had startled London with
enormous headlines:

�A MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM MARS.�


�REMARKABLE STORY FROM WOKING,�


and so forth. In addition, Ogilvy�s wire to the Astronomical Exchange
had roused every observatory in the three kingdoms.

There were half a dozen flys or more from the Woking station standing
in the road by the sand-pits, a basket-chaise from Chobham, and a
rather lordly carriage. Besides that, there was quite a heap of
bicycles. In addition, a large number of people must have walked, in
spite of the heat of the day, from Woking and Chertsey, so that there
was altogether quite a considerable crowd�one or two gaily dressed
ladies among the others.

It was glaringly hot, not a cloud in the sky nor a breath of wind, and
the only shadow was that of the few scattered pine trees. The burning
heather had been extinguished, but the level ground towards Ottershaw
was blackened as far as one could see, and still giving off vertical
streamers of smoke. An enterprising sweet-stuff dealer in the Chobham
Road had sent up his son with a barrow-load of green apples and ginger
beer.

Going to the edge of the pit, I found it occupied by a group of about
half a dozen men�Henderson, Ogilvy, and a tall, fair-haired man that I
afterwards learned was Stent, the Astronomer Royal, with several
workmen wielding spades and pickaxes. Stent was giving directions in a
clear, high-pitched voice. He was standing on the cylinder, which was
now evidently much cooler; his face was crimson and streaming with
perspiration, and something seemed to have irritated him.

A large portion of the cylinder had been uncovered, though its lower
end was still embedded. As soon as Ogilvy saw me among the staring
crowd on the edge of the pit he called to me to come down, and asked me
if I would mind going over to see Lord Hilton, the lord of the manor.

The growing crowd, he said, was becoming a serious impediment to their
excavations, especially the boys. They wanted a light railing put up,
and help to keep the people back. He told me that a faint stirring was
occasionally still audible within the case, but that the workmen had
failed to unscrew the top, as it afforded no grip to them. The case
appeared to be enormously thick, and it was possible that the faint
sounds we heard represented a noisy tumult in the interior.

I was very glad to do as he asked, and so become one of the privileged
spectators within the contemplated enclosure. I failed to find Lord
Hilton at his house, but I was told he was expected from London by the
six o�clock train from Waterloo; and as it was then about a quarter
past five, I went home, had some tea, and walked up to the station to
waylay him.


IV.

THE CYLINDER OPENS.

When I returned to the common the sun was setting. Scattered groups
were hurrying from the direction of Woking, and one or two persons were
returning. The crowd about the pit had increased, and stood out black
against the lemon yellow of the sky�a couple of hundred people,
perhaps. There were raised voices, and some sort of struggle appeared
to be going on about the pit. Strange imaginings passed through my
mind. As I drew nearer I heard Stent�s voice:

�Keep back! Keep back!�

A boy came running towards me.

�It�s a-movin�,� he said to me as he passed; �a-screwin� and a-screwin�
out. I don�t like it. I�m a-goin� �ome, I am.�

I went on to the crowd. There were really, I should think, two or three
hundred people elbowing and jostling one another, the one or two ladies
there being by no means the least active.

�He�s fallen in the pit!� cried some one.

�Keep back!� said several.

The crowd swayed a little, and I elbowed my way through. Every one
seemed greatly excited. I heard a peculiar humming sound from the pit.

�I say!� said Ogilvy; �help keep these idiots back. We don�t know
what�s in the confounded thing, you know!�

I saw a young man, a shop assistant in Woking I believe he was,
standing on the cylinder and trying to scramble out of the hole again.
The crowd had pushed him in.

The end of the cylinder was being screwed out from within. Nearly two
feet of shining screw projected. Somebody blundered against me, and I
narrowly missed being pitched onto the top of the screw. I turned, and
as I did so the screw must have come out, for the lid of the cylinder
fell upon the gravel with a ringing concussion. I stuck my elbow into
the person behind me, and turned my head towards the Thing again. For a
moment that circular cavity seemed perfectly black. I had the sunset in
my eyes.

I think everyone expected to see a man emerge�possibly something a
little unlike us terrestrial men, but in all essentials a man. I know I
did. But, looking, I presently saw something stirring within the
shadow: greyish billowy movements, one above another, and then two
luminous disks�like eyes. Then something resembling a little grey
snake, about the thickness of a walking stick, coiled up out of the
writhing middle, and wriggled in the air towards me�and then another.

A sudden chill came over me. There was a loud shriek from a woman
behind. I half turned, keeping my eyes fixed upon the cylinder still,
from which other tentacles were now projecting, and began pushing my
way back from the edge of the pit. I saw astonishment giving place to
horror on the faces of the people about me. I heard inarticulate
exclamations on all sides. There was a general movement backwards. I
saw the shopman struggling still on the edge of the pit. I found myself
alone, and saw the people on the other side of the pit running off,
Stent among them. I looked again at the cylinder, and ungovernable
terror gripped me. I stood petrified and staring.

A big greyish rounded bulk, the size, perhaps, of a bear, was rising
slowly and painfully out of the cylinder. As it bulged up and caught
the light, it glistened like wet leather.

Two large dark-coloured eyes were regarding me steadfastly. The mass
that framed them, the head of the thing, was rounded, and had, one
might say, a face. There was a mouth under the eyes, the lipless brim
of which quivered and panted, and dropped saliva. The whole creature
heaved and pulsated convulsively. A lank tentacular appendage gripped
the edge of the cylinder, another swayed in the air.

Those who have never seen a living Martian can scarcely imagine the
strange horror of its appearance. The peculiar V-shaped mouth with its
pointed upper lip, the absence of brow ridges, the absence of a chin
beneath the wedgelike lower lip, the incessant quivering of this mouth,
the Gorgon groups of tentacles, the tumultuous breathing of the lungs
in a strange atmosphere, the evident heaviness and painfulness of
movement due to the greater gravitational energy of the earth�above
all, the extraordinary intensity of the immense eyes�were at once
vital, intense, inhuman, crippled and monstrous. There was something
fungoid in the oily brown skin, something in the clumsy deliberation of
the tedious movements unspeakably nasty. Even at this first encounter,
this first glimpse, I was overcome with disgust and dread.

Suddenly the monster vanished. It had toppled over the brim of the
cylinder and fallen into the pit, with a thud like the fall of a great
mass of leather. I heard it give a peculiar thick cry, and forthwith
another of these creatures appeared darkly in the deep shadow of the
aperture.

I turned and, running madly, made for the first group of trees, perhaps
a hundred yards away; but I ran slantingly and stumbling, for I could
not avert my face from these things.

There, among some young pine trees and furze bushes, I stopped,
panting, and waited further developments. The common round the
sand-pits was dotted with people, standing like myself in a
half-fascinated terror, staring at these creatures, or rather at the
heaped gravel at the edge of the pit in which they lay. And then, with
a renewed horror, I saw a round, black object bobbing up and down on
the edge of the pit. It was the head of the shopman who had fallen in,
but showing as a little black object against the hot western sun. Now
he got his shoulder and knee up, and again he seemed to slip back until
only his head was visible. Suddenly he vanished, and I could have
fancied a faint shriek had reached me. I had a momentary impulse to go
back and help him that my fears overruled.

Everything was then quite invisible, hidden by the deep pit and the
heap of sand that the fall of the cylinder had made. Anyone coming
along the road from Chobham or Woking would have been amazed at the
sight�a dwindling multitude of perhaps a hundred people or more
standing in a great irregular circle, in ditches, behind bushes, behind
gates and hedges, saying little to one another and that in short,
excited shouts, and staring, staring hard at a few heaps of sand. The
barrow of ginger beer stood, a queer derelict, black against the
burning sky, and in the sand-pits was a row of deserted vehicles with
their horses feeding out of nosebags or pawing the ground.


V.

THE HEAT-RAY.

After the glimpse I had had of the Martians emerging from the cylinder
in which they had come to the earth from their planet, a kind of
fascination paralysed my actions. I remained standing knee-deep in the
heather, staring at the mound that hid them. I was a battleground of
fear and curiosity.

I did not dare to go back towards the pit, but I felt a passionate
longing to peer into it. I began walking, therefore, in a big curve,
seeking some point of vantage and continually looking at the sand-heaps
that hid these new-comers to our earth. Once a leash of thin black
whips, like the arms of an octopus, flashed across the sunset and was
immediately withdrawn, and afterwards a thin rod rose up, joint by
joint, bearing at its apex a circular disk that spun with a wobbling
motion. What could be going on there?

Most of the spectators had gathered in one or two groups�one a little
crowd towards Woking, the other a knot of people in the direction of
Chobham. Evidently they shared my mental conflict. There were few near
me. One man I approached�he was, I perceived, a neighbour of mine,
though I did not know his name�and accosted. But it was scarcely a time
for articulate conversation.

�What ugly _brutes_!� he said. �Good God! What ugly brutes!� He
repeated this over and over again.

�Did you see a man in the pit?� I said; but he made no answer to that.
We became silent, and stood watching for a time side by side, deriving,
I fancy, a certain comfort in one another�s company. Then I shifted my
position to a little knoll that gave me the advantage of a yard or more
of elevation and when I looked for him presently he was walking towards
Woking.

The sunset faded to twilight before anything further happened. The
crowd far away on the left, towards Woking, seemed to grow, and I heard
now a faint murmur from it. The little knot of people towards Chobham
dispersed. There was scarcely an intimation of movement from the pit.

It was this, as much as anything, that gave people courage, and I
suppose the new arrivals from Woking also helped to restore confidence.
At any rate, as the dusk came on a slow, intermittent movement upon the
sand-pits began, a movement that seemed to gather force as the
stillness of the evening about the cylinder remained unbroken. Vertical
black figures in twos and threes would advance, stop, watch, and
advance again, spreading out as they did so in a thin irregular
crescent that promised to enclose the pit in its attenuated horns. I,
too, on my side began to move towards the pit.

Then I saw some cabmen and others had walked boldly into the sand-pits,
and heard the clatter of hoofs and the gride of wheels. I saw a lad
trundling off the barrow of apples. And then, within thirty yards of
the pit, advancing from the direction of Horsell, I noted a little
black knot of men, the foremost of whom was waving a white flag.

This was the Deputation. There had been a hasty consultation, and since
the Martians were evidently, in spite of their repulsive forms,
intelligent creatures, it had been resolved to show them, by
approaching them with signals, that we too were intelligent.

Flutter, flutter, went the flag, first to the right, then to the left.
It was too far for me to recognise anyone there, but afterwards I
learned that Ogilvy, Stent, and Henderson were with others in this
attempt at communication. This little group had in its advance dragged
inward, so to speak, the circumference of the now almost complete
circle of people, and a number of dim black figures followed it at
discreet distances.

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and a quantity of luminous
greenish smoke came out of the pit in three distinct puffs, which drove
up, one after the other, straight into the still air.

This smoke (or flame, perhaps, would be the better word for it) was so
bright that the deep blue sky overhead and the hazy stretches of brown
common towards Chertsey, set with black pine trees, seemed to darken
abruptly as these puffs arose, and to remain the darker after their
dispersal. At the same time a faint hissing sound became audible.

Beyond the pit stood the little wedge of people with the white flag at
its apex, arrested by these phenomena, a little knot of small vertical
black shapes upon the black ground. As the green smoke arose, their
faces flashed out pallid green, and faded again as it vanished. Then
slowly the hissing passed into a humming, into a long, loud, droning
noise. Slowly a humped shape rose out of the pit, and the ghost of a
beam of light seemed to flicker out from it.

Forthwith flashes of actual flame, a bright glare leaping from one to
another, sprang from the scattered group of men. It was as if some
invisible jet impinged upon them and flashed into white flame. It was
as if each man were suddenly and momentarily turned to fire.

Then, by the light of their own destruction, I saw them staggering and
falling, and their supporters turning to run.

I stood staring, not as yet realising that this was death leaping from
man to man in that little distant crowd. All I felt was that it was
something very strange. An almost noiseless and blinding flash of
light, and a man fell headlong and lay still; and as the unseen shaft
of heat passed over them, pine trees burst into fire, and every dry
furze bush became with one dull thud a mass of flames. And far away
towards Knaphill I saw the flashes of trees and hedges and wooden
buildings suddenly set alight.

It was sweeping round swiftly and steadily, this flaming death, this
invisible, inevitable sword of heat. I perceived it coming towards me
by the flashing bushes it touched, and was too astounded and stupefied
to stir. I heard the crackle of fire in the sand-pits and the sudden
squeal of a horse that was as suddenly stilled. Then it was as if an
invisible yet intensely heated finger were drawn through the heather
between me and the Martians, and all along a curving line beyond the
sand-pits the dark ground smoked and crackled. Something fell with a
crash far away to the left where the road from Woking station opens out
on the common. Forth-with the hissing and humming ceased, and the
black, dome-like object sank slowly out of sight into the pit.

All this had happened with such swiftness that I had stood motionless,
dumbfounded and dazzled by the flashes of light. Had that death swept
through a full circle, it must inevitably have slain me in my surprise.
But it passed and spared me, and left the night about me suddenly dark
and unfamiliar.

The undulating common seemed now dark almost to blackness, except where
its roadways lay grey and pale under the deep blue sky of the early
night. It was dark, and suddenly void of men. Overhead the stars were
mustering, and in the west the sky was still a pale, bright, almost
greenish blue. The tops of the pine trees and the roofs of Horsell came
out sharp and black against the western afterglow. The Martians and
their appliances were altogether invisible, save for that thin mast
upon which their restless mirror wobbled. Patches of bush and isolated
trees here and there smoked and glowed still, and the houses towards
Woking station were sending up spires of flame into the stillness of
the evening air.

Nothing was changed save for that and a terrible astonishment. The
little group of black specks with the flag of white had been swept out
of existence, and the stillness of the evening, so it seemed to me, had
scarcely been broken.

It came to me that I was upon this dark common, helpless, unprotected,
and alone. Suddenly, like a thing falling upon me from without,
came�fear.

With an effort I turned and began a stumbling run through the heather.

The fear I felt was no rational fear, but a panic terror not only of
the Martians, but of the dusk and stillness all about me. Such an
extraordinary effect in unmanning me it had that I ran weeping silently
as a child might do. Once I had turned, I did not dare to look back.

I remember I felt an extraordinary persuasion that I was being played
with, that presently, when I was upon the very verge of safety, this
mysterious death�as swift as the passage of light�would leap after me
from the pit about the cylinder, and strike me down.



It is still a matter of wonder how the Martians are able to slay men so
swiftly and so silently. Many think that in some way they are able to
generate an intense heat in a chamber of practically absolute
non-conductivity. This intense heat they project in a parallel beam
against any object they choose, by means of a polished parabolic mirror
of unknown composition, much as the parabolic mirror of a lighthouse
projects a beam of light. But no one has absolutely proved these
details. However it is done, it is certain that a beam of heat is the
essence of the matter. Heat, and invisible, instead of visible, light.
Whatever is combustible flashes into flame at its touch, lead runs like
water, it softens iron, cracks and melts glass, and when it falls upon
water, incontinently that explodes into steam.

That night nearly forty people lay under the starlight about the pit,
charred and distorted beyond recognition, and all night long the common
from Horsell to Maybury was deserted and brightly ablaze.

The news of the massacre probably reached Chobham, Woking, and
Ottershaw about the same time. In Woking the shops had closed when the
tragedy happened, and a number of people, shop people and so forth,
attracted by the stories they had heard, were walking over the Horsell
Bridge and along the road between the hedges that runs out at last upon
the common. You may imagine the young people brushed up after the
labours of the day, and making this novelty, as they would make any
novelty, the excuse for walking together and enjoying a trivial
flirtation. You may figure to yourself the hum of voices along the road
in the gloaming. . . .

As yet, of course, few people in Woking even knew that the cylinder had
opened, though poor Henderson had sent a messenger on a bicycle to the
post office with a special wire to an evening paper.

As these folks came out by twos and threes upon the open, they found
little knots of people talking excitedly and peering at the spinning
mirror over the sand-pits, and the newcomers were, no doubt, soon
infected by the excitement of the occasion.

By half past eight, when the Deputation was destroyed, there may have
been a crowd of three hundred people or more at this place, besides
those who had left the road to approach the Martians nearer. There were
three policemen too, one of whom was mounted, doing their best, under
instructions from Stent, to keep the people back and deter them from
approaching the cylinder. There was some booing from those more
thoughtless and excitable souls to whom a crowd is always an occasion
for noise and horse-play.

Stent and Ogilvy, anticipating some possibilities of a collision, had
telegraphed from Horsell to the barracks as soon as the Martians
emerged, for the help of a company of soldiers to protect these strange
creatures from violence. After that they returned to lead that
ill-fated advance. The description of their death, as it was seen by
the crowd, tallies very closely with my own impressions: the three
puffs of green smoke, the deep humming note, and the flashes of flame.

But that crowd of people had a far narrower escape than mine. Only the
fact that a hummock of heathery sand intercepted the lower part of the
Heat-Ray saved them. Had the elevation of the parabolic mirror been a
few yards higher, none could have lived to tell the tale. They saw the
flashes and the men falling and an invisible hand, as it were, lit the
bushes as it hurried towards them through the twilight. Then, with a
whistling note that rose above the droning of the pit, the beam swung
close over their heads, lighting the tops of the beech trees that line
the road, and splitting the bricks, smashing the windows, firing the
window frames, and bringing down in crumbling ruin a portion of the
gable of the house nearest the corner.

In the sudden thud, hiss, and glare of the igniting trees, the
panic-stricken crowd seems to have swayed hesitatingly for some
moments. Sparks and burning twigs began to fall into the road, and
single leaves like puffs of flame. Hats and dresses caught fire. Then
came a crying from the common. There were shrieks and shouts, and
suddenly a mounted policeman came galloping through the confusion with
his hands clasped over his head, screaming.

�They�re coming!� a woman shrieked, and incontinently everyone was
turning and pushing at those behind, in order to clear their way to
Woking again. They must have bolted as blindly as a flock of sheep.
Where the road grows narrow and black between the high banks the crowd
jammed, and a desperate struggle occurred. All that crowd did not
escape; three persons at least, two women and a little boy, were
crushed and trampled there, and left to die amid the terror and the
darkness.


For my own part, I remember nothing of my flight except the stress of
blundering against trees and stumbling through the heather. All about
me gathered the invisible terrors of the Martians; that pitiless sword
of heat seemed whirling to and fro, flourishing overhead before it
descended and smote me out of life. I came into the road between the
crossroads and Horsell, and ran along this to the crossroads.

At last I could go no further; I was exhausted with the violence of my
emotion and of my flight, and I staggered and fell by the wayside. That
was near the bridge that crosses the canal by the gasworks. I fell and
lay still.

I must have remained there some time.

I sat up, strangely perplexed. For a moment, perhaps, I could not
clearly understand how I came there. My terror had fallen from me like
a garment. My hat had gone, and my collar had burst away from its
fastener. A few minutes before, there had only been three real things
before me�the immensity of the night and space and nature, my own
feebleness and anguish, and the near approach of death. Now it was as
if something turned over, and the point of view altered abruptly. There
was no sensible transition from one state of mind to the other. I was
immediately the self of every day again�a decent, ordinary citizen. The
silent common, the impulse of my flight, the starting flames, were as
if they had been in a dream. I asked myself had these latter things
indeed happened? I could not credit it.

I rose and walked unsteadily up the steep incline of the bridge. My
mind was blank wonder. My muscles and nerves seemed drained of their
strength. I dare say I staggered drunkenly. A head rose over the arch,
and the figure of a workman carrying a basket appeared. Beside him ran
a little boy. He passed me, wishing me good night. I was minded to
speak to him, but did not. I answered his greeting with a meaningless
mumble and went on over the bridge.

Over the Maybury arch a train, a billowing tumult of white, firelit
smoke, and a long caterpillar of lighted windows, went flying
south�clatter, clatter, clap, rap, and it had gone. A dim group of
people talked in the gate of one of the houses in the pretty little row
of gables that was called Oriental Terrace. It was all so real and so
familiar. And that behind me! It was frantic, fantastic! Such things, I
told myself, could not be.

Perhaps I am a man of exceptional moods. I do not know how far my
experience is common. At times I suffer from the strangest sense of
detachment from myself and the world about me; I seem to watch it all
from the outside, from somewhere inconceivably remote, out of time, out
of space, out of the stress and tragedy of it all. This feeling was
very strong upon me that night. Here was another side to my dream.

But the trouble was the blank incongruity of this serenity and the
swift death flying yonder, not two miles away. There was a noise of
business from the gasworks, and the electric lamps were all alight. I
stopped at the group of people.

�What news from the common?� said I.

There were two men and a woman at the gate.

�Eh?� said one of the men, turning.

�What news from the common?� I said.

�Ain�t yer just _been_ there?� asked the men.

�People seem fair silly about the common,� said the woman over the
gate. �What�s it all abart?�

�Haven�t you heard of the men from Mars?� said I; �the creatures from
Mars?�

�Quite enough,� said the woman over the gate. �Thenks�; and all three
of them laughed.

I felt foolish and angry. I tried and found I could not tell them what
I had seen. They laughed again at my broken sentences.

�You�ll hear more yet,� I said, and went on to my home.

I startled my wife at the doorway, so haggard was I. I went into the
dining room, sat down, drank some wine, and so soon as I could collect
myself sufficiently I told her the things I had seen. The dinner, which
was a cold one, had already been served, and remained neglected on the
table while I told my story.

�There is one thing,� I said, to allay the fears I had aroused; �they
are the most sluggish things I ever saw crawl. They may keep the pit
and kill people who come near them, but they cannot get out of it. . .
. But the horror of them!�

�Don�t, dear!� said my wife, knitting her brows and putting her hand on
mine.

�Poor Ogilvy!� I said. �To think he may be lying dead there!�

My wife at least did not find my experience incredible. When I saw how
deadly white her face was, I ceased abruptly.

�They may come here,� she said again and again.

I pressed her to take wine, and tried to reassure her.

�They can scarcely move,� I said.

I began to comfort her and myself by repeating all that Ogilvy had told
me of the impossibility of the Martians establishing themselves on the
earth. In particular I laid stress on the gravitational difficulty. On
the surface of the earth the force of gravity is three times what it is
on the surface of Mars. A Martian, therefore, would weigh three times
more than on Mars, albeit his muscular strength would be the same. His
own body would be a cope of lead to him, therefore. That, indeed, was
the general opinion. Both _The Times_ and the _Daily Telegraph_, for
instance, insisted on it the next morning, and both overlooked, just as
I did, two obvious modifying influences.

The atmosphere of the earth, we now know, contains far more oxygen or
far less argon (whichever way one likes to put it) than does Mars�. The
invigorating influences of this excess of oxygen upon the Martians
indisputably did much to counterbalance the increased weight of their
bodies. And, in the second place, we all overlooked the fact that such
mechanical intelligence as the Martian possessed was quite able to
dispense with muscular exertion at a pinch.

But I did not consider these points at the time, and so my reasoning
was dead against the chances of the invaders. With wine and food, the
confidence of my own table, and the necessity of reassuring my wife, I
grew by insensible degrees courageous and secure.

�They have done a foolish thing,� said I, fingering my wineglass. �They
are dangerous because, no doubt, they are mad with terror. Perhaps they
expected to find no living things�certainly no intelligent living
things.�

�A shell in the pit,� said I, �if the worst comes to the worst, will
kill them all.�

The intense excitement of the events had no doubt left my perceptive
powers in a state of erethism. I remember that dinner table with
extraordinary vividness even now. My dear wife�s sweet anxious face
peering at me from under the pink lamp shade, the white cloth with its
silver and glass table furniture�for in those days even philosophical
writers had many little luxuries�the crimson-purple wine in my glass,
are photographically distinct. At the end of it I sat, tempering nuts
with a cigarette, regretting Ogilvy�s rashness, and denouncing the
short-sighted timidity of the Martians.

So some respectable dodo in the Mauritius might have lorded it in his
nest, and discussed the arrival of that shipful of pitiless sailors in
want of animal food. �We will peck them to death tomorrow, my dear.�

I did not know it, but that was the last civilised dinner I was to eat
for very many strange and terrible days.



The most extraordinary thing to my mind, of all the strange and
wonderful things that happened upon that Friday, was the dovetailing of
the commonplace habits of our social order with the first beginnings of
the series of events that was to topple that social order headlong. If
on Friday night you had taken a pair of compasses and drawn a circle
with a radius of five miles round the Woking sand-pits, I doubt if you
would have had one human being outside it, unless it were some relation
of Stent or of the three or four cyclists or London people lying dead
on the common, whose emotions or habits were at all affected by the
new-comers. Many people had heard of the cylinder, of course, and
talked about it in their leisure, but it certainly did not make the
sensation that an ultimatum to Germany would have done.

In London that night poor Henderson�s telegram describing the gradual
unscrewing of the shot was judged to be a canard, and his evening
paper, after wiring for authentication from him and receiving no
reply�the man was killed�decided not to print a special edition.

Even within the five-mile circle the great majority of people were
inert. I have already described the behaviour of the men and women to
whom I spoke. All over the district people were dining and supping;
working men were gardening after the labours of the day, children were
being put to bed, young people were wandering through the lanes
love-making, students sat over their books.

Maybe there was a murmur in the village streets, a novel and dominant
topic in the public-houses, and here and there a messenger, or even an
eye-witness of the later occurrences, caused a whirl of excitement, a
shouting, and a running to and fro; but for the most part the daily
routine of working, eating, drinking, sleeping, went on as it had done
for countless years�as though no planet Mars existed in the sky. Even
at Woking station and Horsell and Chobham that was the case.

In Woking junction, until a late hour, trains were stopping and going
on, others were shunting on the sidings, passengers were alighting and
waiting, and everything was proceeding in the most ordinary way. A boy
from the town, trenching on Smith�s monopoly, was selling papers with
the afternoon�s news. The ringing impact of trucks, the sharp whistle
of the engines from the junction, mingled with their shouts of �Men
from Mars!� Excited men came into the station about nine o�clock with
incredible tidings, and caused no more disturbance than drunkards might
have done. People rattling Londonwards peered into the darkness outside
the carriage windows, and saw only a rare, flickering, vanishing spark
dance up from the direction of Horsell, a red glow and a thin veil of
smoke driving across the stars, and thought that nothing more serious
than a heath fire was happening. It was only round the edge of the
common that any disturbance was perceptible. There were half a dozen
villas burning on the Woking border. There were lights in all the
houses on the common side of the three villages, and the people there
kept awake till dawn.

A curious crowd lingered restlessly, people coming and going but the
crowd remaining, both on the Chobham and Horsell bridges. One or two
adventurous souls, it was afterwards found, went into the darkness and
crawled quite near the Martians; but they never returned, for now and
again a light-ray, like the beam of a warship�s searchlight swept the
common, and the Heat-Ray was ready to follow. Save for such, that big
area of common was silent and desolate, and the charred bodies lay
about on it all night under the stars, and all the next day. A noise of
hammering from the pit was heard by many people.

So you have the state of things on Friday night. In the centre,
sticking into the skin of our old planet Earth like a poisoned dart,
was this cylinder. But the poison was scarcely working yet. Around it
was a patch of silent common, smouldering in places, and with a few
dark, dimly seen objects lying in contorted attitudes here and there.
Here and there was a burning bush or tree. Beyond was a fringe of
excitement, and farther than that fringe the inflammation had not crept
as yet. In the rest of the world the stream of life still flowed as it
had flowed for immemorial years. The fever of war that would presently
clog vein and artery, deaden nerve and destroy brain, had still to
develop.

All night long the Martians were hammering and stirring, sleepless,
indefatigable, at work upon the machines they were making ready, and
ever and again a puff of greenish-white smoke whirled up to the starlit
sky.

About eleven a company of soldiers came through Horsell, and deployed
along the edge of the common to form a cordon. Later a second company
marched through Chobham to deploy on the north side of the common.
Several officers from the Inkerman barracks had been on the common
earlier in the day, and one, Major Eden, was reported to be missing.
The colonel of the regiment came to the Chobham bridge and was busy
questioning the crowd at midnight. The military authorities were
certainly alive to the seriousness of the business. About eleven, the
next morning�s papers were able to say, a squadron of hussars, two
Maxims, and about four hundred men of the Cardigan regiment started
from Aldershot.

A few seconds after midnight the crowd in the Chertsey road, Woking,
saw a star fall from heaven into the pine woods to the northwest. It
had a greenish colour, and caused a silent brightness like summer
lightning. This was the second cylinder.


IX.

THE FIGHTING BEGINS.

Saturday lives in my memory as a day of suspense. It was a day of
lassitude too, hot and close, with, I am told, a rapidly fluctuating
barometer. I had slept but little, though my wife had succeeded in
sleeping, and I rose early. I went into my garden before breakfast and
stood listening, but towards the common there was nothing stirring but
a lark.

The milkman came as usual. I heard the rattle of his chariot and I went
round to the side gate to ask the latest news. He told me that during
the night the Martians had been surrounded by troops, and that guns
were expected. Then�a familiar, reassuring note�I heard a train running
towards Woking.

�They aren�t to be killed,� said the milkman, �if that can possibly be
avoided.�

I saw my neighbour gardening, chatted with him for a time, and then
strolled in to breakfast. It was a most unexceptional morning. My
neighbour was of opinion that the troops would be able to capture or to
destroy the Martians during the day.

�It�s a pity they make themselves so unapproachable,� he said. �It
would be curious to know how they live on another planet; we might
learn a thing or two.�

He came up to the fence and extended a handful of strawberries, for his
gardening was as generous as it was enthusiastic. At the same time he
told me of the burning of the pine woods about the Byfleet Golf Links.

�They say,� said he, �that there�s another of those blessed things
fallen there�number two. But one�s enough, surely. This lot�ll cost the
insurance people a pretty penny before everything�s settled.� He
laughed with an air of the greatest good humour as he said this. The
woods, he said, were still burning, and pointed out a haze of smoke to
me. �They will be hot under foot for days, on account of the thick soil
of pine needles and turf,� he said, and then grew serious over �poor
Ogilvy.�

After breakfast, instead of working, I decided to walk down towards the
common. Under the railway bridge I found a group of soldiers�sappers, I
think, men in small round caps, dirty red jackets unbuttoned, and
showing their blue shirts, dark trousers, and boots coming to the calf.
They told me no one was allowed over the canal, and, looking along the
road towards the bridge, I saw one of the Cardigan men standing
sentinel there. I talked with these soldiers for a time; I told them of
my sight of the Martians on the previous evening. None of them had seen
the Martians, and they had but the vaguest ideas of them, so that they
plied me with questions. They said that they did not know who had
authorised the movements of the troops; their idea was that a dispute
had arisen at the Horse Guards. The ordinary sapper is a great deal
better educated than the common soldier, and they discussed the
peculiar conditions of the possible fight with some acuteness. I
described the Heat-Ray to them, and they began to argue among
themselves.

�Crawl up under cover and rush �em, say I,� said one.

�Get aht!� said another. �What�s cover against this �ere �eat? Sticks
to cook yer! What we got to do is to go as near as the ground�ll let
us, and then drive a trench.�

�Blow yer trenches! You always want trenches; you ought to ha� been
born a rabbit Snippy.�

�Ain�t they got any necks, then?� said a third, abruptly�a little,
contemplative, dark man, smoking a pipe.

I repeated my description.

�Octopuses,� said he, �that�s what I calls �em. Talk about fishers of
men�fighters of fish it is this time!�

�It ain�t no murder killing beasts like that,� said the first speaker.

�Why not shell the darned things strite off and finish �em?� said the
little dark man. �You carn tell what they might do.�

�Where�s your shells?� said the first speaker. �There ain�t no time. Do
it in a rush, that�s my tip, and do it at once.�

So they discussed it. After a while I left them, and went on to the
railway station to get as many morning papers as I could.

But I will not weary the reader with a description of that long morning
and of the longer afternoon. I did not succeed in getting a glimpse of
the common, for even Horsell and Chobham church towers were in the
hands of the military authorities. The soldiers I addressed didn�t know
anything; the officers were mysterious as well as busy. I found people
in the town quite secure again in the presence of the military, and I
heard for the first time from Marshall, the tobacconist, that his son
was among the dead on the common. The soldiers had made the people on
the outskirts of Horsell lock up and leave their houses.

I got back to lunch about two, very tired for, as I have said, the day
was extremely hot and dull; and in order to refresh myself I took a
cold bath in the afternoon. About half past four I went up to the
railway station to get an evening paper, for the morning papers had
contained only a very inaccurate description of the killing of Stent,
Henderson, Ogilvy, and the others. But there was little I didn�t know.
The Martians did not show an inch of themselves. They seemed busy in
their pit, and there was a sound of hammering and an almost continuous
streamer of smoke. Apparently they were busy getting ready for a
struggle. �Fresh attempts have been made to signal, but without
success,� was the stereotyped formula of the papers. A sapper told me
it was done by a man in a ditch with a flag on a long pole. The
Martians took as much notice of such advances as we should of the
lowing of a cow.

I must confess the sight of all this armament, all this preparation,
greatly excited me. My imagination became belligerent, and defeated the
invaders in a dozen striking ways; something of my schoolboy dreams of
battle and heroism came back. It hardly seemed a fair fight to me at
that time. They seemed very helpless in that pit of theirs.

About three o�clock there began the thud of a gun at measured intervals
from Chertsey or Addlestone. I learned that the smouldering pine wood
into which the second cylinder had fallen was being shelled, in the
hope of destroying that object before it opened. It was only about
five, however, that a field gun reached Chobham for use against the
first body of Martians.

About six in the evening, as I sat at tea with my wife in the
summerhouse talking vigorously about the battle that was lowering upon
us, I heard a muffled detonation from the common, and immediately after
a gust of firing. Close on the heels of that came a violent rattling
crash, quite close to us, that shook the ground; and, starting out upon
the lawn, I saw the tops of the trees about the Oriental College burst
into smoky red flame, and the tower of the little church beside it
slide down into ruin. The pinnacle of the mosque had vanished, and the
roof line of the college itself looked as if a hundred-ton gun had been
at work upon it. One of our chimneys cracked as if a shot had hit it,
flew, and a piece of it came clattering down the tiles and made a heap
of broken red fragments upon the flower bed by my study window.

I and my wife stood amazed. Then I realised that the crest of Maybury
Hill must be within range of the Martians� Heat-Ray now that the
college was cleared out of the way.

At that I gripped my wife�s arm, and without ceremony ran her out into
the road. Then I fetched out the servant, telling her I would go
upstairs myself for the box she was clamouring for.

�We can�t possibly stay here,� I said; and as I spoke the firing
reopened for a moment upon the common.

�But where are we to go?� said my wife in terror.

I thought perplexed. Then I remembered her cousins at Leatherhead.

�Leatherhead!� I shouted above the sudden noise.

She looked away from me downhill. The people were coming out of their
houses, astonished.

�How are we to get to Leatherhead?� she said.

Down the hill I saw a bevy of hussars ride under the railway bridge;
three galloped through the open gates of the Oriental College; two
others dismounted, and began running from house to house. The sun,
shining through the smoke that drove up from the tops of the trees,
seemed blood red, and threw an unfamiliar lurid light upon everything.

�Stop here,� said I; �you are safe here�; and I started off at once for
the Spotted Dog, for I knew the landlord had a horse and dog cart. I
ran, for I perceived that in a moment everyone upon this side of the
hill would be moving. I found him in his bar, quite unaware of what was
going on behind his house. A man stood with his back to me, talking to
him.

�I must have a pound,� said the landlord, �and I�ve no one to drive
it.�

�I�ll give you two,� said I, over the stranger�s shoulder.

�What for?�

�And I�ll bring it back by midnight,� I said.

�Lord!� said the landlord; �what�s the hurry? I�m selling my bit of a
pig. Two pounds, and you bring it back? What�s going on now?�

I explained hastily that I had to leave my home, and so secured the dog
cart. At the time it did not seem to me nearly so urgent that the
landlord should leave his. I took care to have the cart there and then,
drove it off down the road, and, leaving it in charge of my wife and
servant, rushed into my house and packed a few valuables, such plate as
we had, and so forth. The beech trees below the house were burning
while I did this, and the palings up the road glowed red. While I was
occupied in this way, one of the dismounted hussars came running up. He
was going from house to house, warning people to leave. He was going on
as I came out of my front door, lugging my treasures, done up in a
tablecloth. I shouted after him:

�What news?�

He turned, stared, bawled something about �crawling out in a thing like
a dish cover,� and ran on to the gate of the house at the crest. A
sudden whirl of black smoke driving across the road hid him for a
moment. I ran to my neighbour�s door and rapped to satisfy myself of
what I already knew, that his wife had gone to London with him and had
locked up their house. I went in again, according to my promise, to get
my servant�s box, lugged it out, clapped it beside her on the tail of
the dog cart, and then caught the reins and jumped up into the driver�s
seat beside my wife. In another moment we were clear of the smoke and
noise, and spanking down the opposite slope of Maybury Hill towards Old
Woking.

In front was a quiet sunny landscape, a wheat field ahead on either
side of the road, and the Maybury Inn with its swinging sign. I saw the
doctor�s cart ahead of me. At the bottom of the hill I turned my head
to look at the hillside I was leaving. Thick streamers of black smoke
shot with threads of red fire were driving up into the still air, and
throwing dark shadows upon the green treetops eastward. The smoke
already extended far away to the east and west�to the Byfleet pine
woods eastward, and to Woking on the west. The road was dotted with
people running towards us. And very faint now, but very distinct
through the hot, quiet air, one heard the whirr of a machine-gun that
was presently stilled, and an intermittent cracking of rifles.
Apparently the Martians were setting fire to everything within range of
their Heat-Ray.

I am not an expert driver, and I had immediately to turn my attention
to the horse. When I looked back again the second hill had hidden the
black smoke. I slashed the horse with the whip, and gave him a loose
rein until Woking and Send lay between us and that quivering tumult. I
overtook and passed the doctor between Woking and Send.


X.

IN THE STORM.

Leatherhead is about twelve miles from Maybury Hill. The scent of hay
was in the air through the lush meadows beyond Pyrford, and the hedges
on either side were sweet and gay with multitudes of dog-roses. The
heavy firing that had broken out while we were driving down Maybury
Hill ceased as abruptly as it began, leaving the evening very peaceful
and still. We got to Leatherhead without misadventure about nine
o�clock, and the horse had an hour�s rest while I took supper with my
cousins and commended my wife to their care.

My wife was curiously silent throughout the drive, and seemed oppressed
with forebodings of evil. I talked to her reassuringly, pointing out
that the Martians were tied to the pit by sheer heaviness, and at the
utmost could but crawl a little out of it; but she answered only in
monosyllables. Had it not been for my promise to the innkeeper, she
would, I think, have urged me to stay in Leatherhead that night. Would
that I had! Her face, I remember, was very white as we parted.

For my own part, I had been feverishly excited all day. Something very
like the war fever that occasionally runs through a civilised community
had got into my blood, and in my heart I was not so very sorry that I
had to return to Maybury that night. I was even afraid that that last
fusillade I had heard might mean the extermination of our invaders from
Mars. I can best express my state of mind by saying that I wanted to be
in at the death.

It was nearly eleven when I started to return. The night was
unexpectedly dark; to me, walking out of the lighted passage of my
cousins� house, it seemed indeed black, and it was as hot and close as
the day. Overhead the clouds were driving fast, albeit not a breath
stirred the shrubs about us. My cousins� man lit both lamps. Happily, I
knew the road intimately. My wife stood in the light of the doorway,
and watched me until I jumped up into the dog cart. Then abruptly she
turned and went in, leaving my cousins side by side wishing me good
hap.

I was a little depressed at first with the contagion of my wife�s
fears, but very soon my thoughts reverted to the Martians. At that time
I was absolutely in the dark as to the course of the evening�s
fighting. I did not know even the circumstances that had precipitated
the conflict. As I came through Ockham (for that was the way I
returned, and not through Send and Old Woking) I saw along the western
horizon a blood-red glow, which as I drew nearer, crept slowly up the
sky. The driving clouds of the gathering thunderstorm mingled there
with masses of black and red smoke.

Ripley Street was deserted, and except for a lighted window or so the
village showed not a sign of life; but I narrowly escaped an accident
at the corner of the road to Pyrford, where a knot of people stood with
their backs to me. They said nothing to me as I passed. I do not know
what they knew of the things happening beyond the hill, nor do I know
if the silent houses I passed on my way were sleeping securely, or
deserted and empty, or harassed and watching against the terror of the
night.

From Ripley until I came through Pyrford I was in the valley of the
Wey, and the red glare was hidden from me. As I ascended the little
hill beyond Pyrford Church the glare came into view again, and the
trees about me shivered with the first intimation of the storm that was
upon me. Then I heard midnight pealing out from Pyrford Church behind
me, and then came the silhouette of Maybury Hill, with its tree-tops
and roofs black and sharp against the red.

Even as I beheld this a lurid green glare lit the road about me and
showed the distant woods towards Addlestone. I felt a tug at the reins.
I saw that the driving clouds had been pierced as it were by a thread
of green fire, suddenly lighting their confusion and falling into the
field to my left. It was the third falling star!

Close on its apparition, and blindingly violet by contrast, danced out
the first lightning of the gathering storm, and the thunder burst like
a rocket overhead. The horse took the bit between his teeth and bolted.

A moderate incline runs towards the foot of Maybury Hill, and down this
we clattered. Once the lightning had begun, it went on in as rapid a
succession of flashes as I have ever seen. The thunderclaps, treading
one on the heels of another and with a strange crackling accompaniment,
sounded more like the working of a gigantic electric machine than the
usual detonating reverberations. The flickering light was blinding and
confusing, and a thin hail smote gustily at my face as I drove down the
slope.

At first I regarded little but the road before me, and then abruptly my
attention was arrested by something that was moving rapidly down the
opposite slope of Maybury Hill. At first I took it for the wet roof of
a house, but one flash following another showed it to be in swift
rolling movement. It was an elusive vision�a moment of bewildering
darkness, and then, in a flash like daylight, the red masses of the
Orphanage near the crest of the hill, the green tops of the pine trees,
and this problematical object came out clear and sharp and bright.

And this Thing I saw! How can I describe it? A monstrous tripod, higher
than many houses, striding over the young pine trees, and smashing them
aside in its career; a walking engine of glittering metal, striding now
across the heather; articulate ropes of steel dangling from it, and the
clattering tumult of its passage mingling with the riot of the thunder.
A flash, and it came out vividly, heeling over one way with two feet in
the air, to vanish and reappear almost instantly as it seemed, with the
next flash, a hundred yards nearer. Can you imagine a milking stool
tilted and bowled violently along the ground? That was the impression
those instant flashes gave. But instead of a milking stool imagine it a
great body of machinery on a tripod stand.

Then suddenly the trees in the pine wood ahead of me were parted, as
brittle reeds are parted by a man thrusting through them; they were
snapped off and driven headlong, and a second huge tripod appeared,
rushing, as it seemed, headlong towards me. And I was galloping hard to
meet it! At the sight of the second monster my nerve went altogether.
Not stopping to look again, I wrenched the horse�s head hard round to
the right and in another moment the dog cart had heeled over upon the
horse; the shafts smashed noisily, and I was flung sideways and fell
heavily into a shallow pool of water.

I crawled out almost immediately, and crouched, my feet still in the
water, under a clump of furze. The horse lay motionless (his neck was
broken, poor brute!) and by the lightning flashes I saw the black bulk
of the overturned dog cart and the silhouette of the wheel still
spinning slowly. In another moment the colossal mechanism went striding
by me, and passed uphill towards Pyrford.

Seen nearer, the Thing was incredibly strange, for it was no mere
insensate machine driving on its way. Machine it was, with a ringing
metallic pace, and long, flexible, glittering tentacles (one of which
gripped a young pine tree) swinging and rattling about its strange
body. It picked its road as it went striding along, and the brazen hood
that surmounted it moved to and fro with the inevitable suggestion of a
head looking about. Behind the main body was a huge mass of white metal
like a gigantic fisherman�s basket, and puffs of green smoke squirted
out from the joints of the limbs as the monster swept by me. And in an
instant it was gone.

So much I saw then, all vaguely for the flickering of the lightning, in
blinding highlights and dense black shadows.

As it passed it set up an exultant deafening howl that drowned the
thunder��Aloo! Aloo!��and in another minute it was with its companion,
half a mile away, stooping over something in the field. I have no doubt
this Thing in the field was the third of the ten cylinders they had
fired at us from Mars.

For some minutes I lay there in the rain and darkness watching, by the
intermittent light, these monstrous beings of metal moving about in the
distance over the hedge tops. A thin hail was now beginning, and as it
came and went their figures grew misty and then flashed into clearness
again. Now and then came a gap in the lightning, and the night
swallowed them up.

I was soaked with hail above and puddle water below. It was some time
before my blank astonishment would let me struggle up the bank to a
drier position, or think at all of my imminent peril.

Not far from me was a little one-roomed squatter�s hut of wood,
surrounded by a patch of potato garden. I struggled to my feet at last,
and, crouching and making use of every chance of cover, I made a run
for this. I hammered at the door, but I could not make the people hear
(if there were any people inside), and after a time I desisted, and,
availing myself of a ditch for the greater part of the way, succeeded
in crawling, unobserved by these monstrous machines, into the pine
woods towards Maybury.

Under cover of this I pushed on, wet and shivering now, towards my own
house. I walked among the trees trying to find the footpath. It was
very dark indeed in the wood, for the lightning was now becoming
infrequent, and the hail, which was pouring down in a torrent, fell in
columns through the gaps in the heavy foliage.

If I had fully realised the meaning of all the things I had seen I
should have immediately worked my way round through Byfleet to Street
Cobham, and so gone back to rejoin my wife at Leatherhead. But that
night the strangeness of things about me, and my physical wretchedness,
prevented me, for I was bruised, weary, wet to the skin, deafened and
blinded by the storm.

I had a vague idea of going on to my own house, and that was as much
motive as I had. I staggered through the trees, fell into a ditch and
bruised my knees against a plank, and finally splashed out into the
lane that ran down from the College Arms. I say splashed, for the storm
water was sweeping the sand down the hill in a muddy torrent. There in
the darkness a man blundered into me and sent me reeling back.

He gave a cry of terror, sprang sideways, and rushed on before I could
gather my wits sufficiently to speak to him. So heavy was the stress of
the storm just at this place that I had the hardest task to win my way
up the hill. I went close up to the fence on the left and worked my way
along its palings.

Near the top I stumbled upon something soft, and, by a flash of
lightning, saw between my feet a heap of black broadcloth and a pair of
boots. Before I could distinguish clearly how the man lay, the flicker
of light had passed. I stood over him waiting for the next flash. When
it came, I saw that he was a sturdy man, cheaply but not shabbily
dressed; his head was bent under his body, and he lay crumpled up close
to the fence, as though he had been flung violently against it.

Overcoming the repugnance natural to one who had never before touched a
dead body, I stooped and turned him over to feel for his heart. He was
quite dead. Apparently his neck had been broken. The lightning flashed
for a third time, and his face leaped upon me. I sprang to my feet. It
was the landlord of the Spotted Dog, whose conveyance I had taken.

I stepped over him gingerly and pushed on up the hill. I made my way by
the police station and the College Arms towards my own house. Nothing
was burning on the hillside, though from the common there still came a
red glare and a rolling tumult of ruddy smoke beating up against the
drenching hail. So far as I could see by the flashes, the houses about
me were mostly uninjured. By the College Arms a dark heap lay in the
road.

Down the road towards Maybury Bridge there were voices and the sound of
feet, but I had not the courage to shout or to go to them. I let myself
in with my latchkey, closed, locked and bolted the door, staggered to
the foot of the staircase, and sat down. My imagination was full of
those striding metallic monsters, and of the dead body smashed against
the fence.

I crouched at the foot of the staircase with my back to the wall,
shivering violently.


I have already said that my storms of emotion have a trick of
exhausting themselves. After a time I discovered that I was cold and
wet, and with little pools of water about me on the stair carpet. I got
up almost mechanically, went into the dining room and drank some
whisky, and then I was moved to change my clothes.

After I had done that I went upstairs to my study, but why I did so I
do not know. The window of my study looks over the trees and the
railway towards Horsell Common. In the hurry of our departure this
window had been left open. The passage was dark, and, by contrast with
the picture the window frame enclosed, the side of the room seemed
impenetrably dark. I stopped short in the doorway.

The thunderstorm had passed. The towers of the Oriental College and the
pine trees about it had gone, and very far away, lit by a vivid red
glare, the common about the sand-pits was visible. Across the light
huge black shapes, grotesque and strange, moved busily to and fro.

It seemed indeed as if the whole country in that direction was on
fire�a broad hillside set with minute tongues of flame, swaying and
writhing with the gusts of the dying storm, and throwing a red
reflection upon the cloud scud above. Every now and then a haze of
smoke from some nearer conflagration drove across the window and hid
the Martian shapes. I could not see what they were doing, nor the clear
form of them, nor recognise the black objects they were busied upon.
Neither could I see the nearer fire, though the reflections of it
danced on the wall and ceiling of the study. A sharp, resinous tang of
burning was in the air.

I closed the door noiselessly and crept towards the window. As I did
so, the view opened out until, on the one hand, it reached to the
houses about Woking station, and on the other to the charred and
blackened pine woods of Byfleet. There was a light down below the hill,
on the railway, near the arch, and several of the houses along the
Maybury road and the streets near the station were glowing ruins. The
light upon the railway puzzled me at first; there were a black heap and
a vivid glare, and to the right of that a row of yellow oblongs. Then I
perceived this was a wrecked train, the fore part smashed and on fire,
the hinder carriages still upon the rails.

Between these three main centres of light�the houses, the train, and
the burning county towards Chobham�stretched irregular patches of dark
country, broken here and there by intervals of dimly glowing and
smoking ground. It was the strangest spectacle, that black expanse set
with fire. It reminded me, more than anything else, of the Potteries at
night. At first I could distinguish no people at all, though I peered
intently for them. Later I saw against the light of Woking station a
number of black figures hurrying one after the other across the line.

And this was the little world in which I had been living securely for
years, this fiery chaos! What had happened in the last seven hours I
still did not know; nor did I know, though I was beginning to guess,
the relation between these mechanical colossi and the sluggish lumps I
had seen disgorged from the cylinder. With a queer feeling of
impersonal interest I turned my desk chair to the window, sat down, and
stared at the blackened country, and particularly at the three gigantic
black things that were going to and fro in the glare about the
sand-pits.

They seemed amazingly busy. I began to ask myself what they could be.
Were they intelligent mechanisms? Such a thing I felt was impossible.
Or did a Martian sit within each, ruling, directing, using, much as a
man�s brain sits and rules in his body? I began to compare the things
to human machines, to ask myself for the first time in my life how an
ironclad or a steam engine would seem to an intelligent lower animal.

The storm had left the sky clear, and over the smoke of the burning
land the little fading pinpoint of Mars was dropping into the west,
when a soldier came into my garden. I heard a slight scraping at the
fence, and rousing myself from the lethargy that had fallen upon me, I
looked down and saw him dimly, clambering over the palings. At the
sight of another human being my torpor passed, and I leaned out of the
window eagerly.

�Hist!� said I, in a whisper.

He stopped astride of the fence in doubt. Then he came over and across
the lawn to the corner of the house. He bent down and stepped softly.

�Who�s there?� he said, also whispering, standing under the window and
peering up.

�Where are you going?� I asked.

�God knows.�

�Are you trying to hide?�

�That�s it.�

�Come into the house,� I said.

I went down, unfastened the door, and let him in, and locked the door
again. I could not see his face. He was hatless, and his coat was
unbuttoned.

�My God!� he said, as I drew him in.

�What has happened?� I asked.

�What hasn�t?� In the obscurity I could see he made a gesture of
despair. �They wiped us out�simply wiped us out,� he repeated again and
again.

He followed me, almost mechanically, into the dining room.

�Take some whisky,� I said, pouring out a stiff dose.

He drank it. Then abruptly he sat down before the table, put his head
on his arms, and began to sob and weep like a little boy, in a perfect
passion of emotion, while I, with a curious forgetfulness of my own
recent despair, stood beside him, wondering.

It was a long time before he could steady his nerves to answer my
questions, and then he answered perplexingly and brokenly. He was a
driver in the artillery, and had only come into action about seven. At
that time firing was going on across the common, and it was said the
first party of Martians were crawling slowly towards their second
cylinder under cover of a metal shield.

Later this shield staggered up on tripod legs and became the first of
the fighting-machines I had seen. The gun he drove had been unlimbered
near Horsell, in order to command the sand-pits, and its arrival it was
that had precipitated the action. As the limber gunners went to the
rear, his horse trod in a rabbit hole and came down, throwing him into
a depression of the ground. At the same moment the gun exploded behind
him, the ammunition blew up, there was fire all about him, and he found
himself lying under a heap of charred dead men and dead horses.

�I lay still,� he said, �scared out of my wits, with the fore quarter
of a horse atop of me. We�d been wiped out. And the smell�good God!
Like burnt meat! I was hurt across the back by the fall of the horse,
and there I had to lie until I felt better. Just like parade it had
been a minute before�then stumble, bang, swish!�

�Wiped out!� he said.

He had hid under the dead horse for a long time, peeping out furtively
across the common. The Cardigan men had tried a rush, in skirmishing
order, at the pit, simply to be swept out of existence. Then the
monster had risen to its feet and had begun to walk leisurely to and
fro across the common among the few fugitives, with its headlike hood
turning about exactly like the head of a cowled human being. A kind of
arm carried a complicated metallic case, about which green flashes
scintillated, and out of the funnel of this there smoked the Heat-Ray.

In a few minutes there was, so far as the soldier could see, not a
living thing left upon the common, and every bush and tree upon it that
was not already a blackened skeleton was burning. The hussars had been
on the road beyond the curvature of the ground, and he saw nothing of
them. He heard the Maxims rattle for a time and then become still. The
giant saved Woking station and its cluster of houses until the last;
then in a moment the Heat-Ray was brought to bear, and the town became
a heap of fiery ruins. Then the Thing shut off the Heat-Ray, and
turning its back upon the artilleryman, began to waddle away towards
the smouldering pine woods that sheltered the second cylinder. As it
did so a second glittering Titan built itself up out of the pit.

The second monster followed the first, and at that the artilleryman
began to crawl very cautiously across the hot heather ash towards
Horsell. He managed to get alive into the ditch by the side of the
road, and so escaped to Woking. There his story became ejaculatory. The
place was impassable. It seems there were a few people alive there,
frantic for the most part and many burned and scalded. He was turned
aside by the fire, and hid among some almost scorching heaps of broken
wall as one of the Martian giants returned. He saw this one pursue a
man, catch him up in one of its steely tentacles, and knock his head
against the trunk of a pine tree. At last, after nightfall, the
artilleryman made a rush for it and got over the railway embankment.

Since then he had been skulking along towards Maybury, in the hope of
getting out of danger Londonward. People were hiding in trenches and
cellars, and many of the survivors had made off towards Woking village
and Send. He had been consumed with thirst until he found one of the
water mains near the railway arch smashed, and the water bubbling out
like a spring upon the road.

That was the story I got from him, bit by bit. He grew calmer telling
me and trying to make me see the things he had seen. He had eaten no
food since midday, he told me early in his narrative, and I found some
mutton and bread in the pantry and brought it into the room. We lit no
lamp for fear of attracting the Martians, and ever and again our hands
would touch upon bread or meat. As he talked, things about us came
darkly out of the darkness, and the trampled bushes and broken rose
trees outside the window grew distinct. It would seem that a number of
men or animals had rushed across the lawn. I began to see his face,
blackened and haggard, as no doubt mine was also.

When we had finished eating we went softly upstairs to my study, and I
looked again out of the open window. In one night the valley had become
a valley of ashes. The fires had dwindled now. Where flames had been
there were now streamers of smoke; but the countless ruins of shattered
and gutted houses and blasted and blackened trees that the night had
hidden stood out now gaunt and terrible in the pitiless light of dawn.
Yet here and there some object had had the luck to escape�a white
railway signal here, the end of a greenhouse there, white and fresh
amid the wreckage. Never before in the history of warfare had
destruction been so indiscriminate and so universal. And shining with
the growing light of the east, three of the metallic giants stood about
the pit, their cowls rotating as though they were surveying the
desolation they had made.

It seemed to me that the pit had been enlarged, and ever and again
puffs of vivid green vapour streamed up and out of it towards the
brightening dawn�streamed up, whirled, broke, and vanished.

Beyond were the pillars of fire about Chobham. They became pillars of
bloodshot smoke at the first touch of day.


XII.

WHAT I SAW OF THE DESTRUCTION OF WEYBRIDGE AND SHEPPERTON.

As the dawn grew brighter we withdrew from the window from which we had
watched the Martians, and went very quietly downstairs.

The artilleryman agreed with me that the house was no place to stay in.
He proposed, he said, to make his way Londonward, and thence rejoin his
battery�No. 12, of the Horse Artillery. My plan was to return at once
to Leatherhead; and so greatly had the strength of the Martians
impressed me that I had determined to take my wife to Newhaven, and go
with her out of the country forthwith. For I already perceived clearly
that the country about London must inevitably be the scene of a
disastrous struggle before such creatures as these could be destroyed.

Between us and Leatherhead, however, lay the third cylinder, with its
guarding giants. Had I been alone, I think I should have taken my
chance and struck across country. But the artilleryman dissuaded me:
�It�s no kindness to the right sort of wife,� he said, �to make her a
widow�; and in the end I agreed to go with him, under cover of the
woods, northward as far as Street Cobham before I parted with him.
Thence I would make a big detour by Epsom to reach Leatherhead.

I should have started at once, but my companion had been in active
service and he knew better than that. He made me ransack the house for
a flask, which he filled with whisky; and we lined every available
pocket with packets of biscuits and slices of meat. Then we crept out
of the house, and ran as quickly as we could down the ill-made road by
which I had come overnight. The houses seemed deserted. In the road lay
a group of three charred bodies close together, struck dead by the
Heat-Ray; and here and there were things that people had dropped�a
clock, a slipper, a silver spoon, and the like poor valuables. At the
corner turning up towards the post office a little cart, filled with
boxes and furniture, and horseless, heeled over on a broken wheel. A
cash box had been hastily smashed open and thrown under the debris.

Except the lodge at the Orphanage, which was still on fire, none of the
houses had suffered very greatly here. The Heat-Ray had shaved the
chimney tops and passed. Yet, save ourselves, there did not seem to be
a living soul on Maybury Hill. The majority of the inhabitants had
escaped, I suppose, by way of the Old Woking road�the road I had taken
when I drove to Leatherhead�or they had hidden.

We went down the lane, by the body of the man in black, sodden now from
the overnight hail, and broke into the woods at the foot of the hill.
We pushed through these towards the railway without meeting a soul. The
woods across the line were but the scarred and blackened ruins of
woods; for the most part the trees had fallen, but a certain proportion
still stood, dismal grey stems, with dark brown foliage instead of
green.

On our side the fire had done no more than scorch the nearer trees; it
had failed to secure its footing. In one place the woodmen had been at
work on Saturday; trees, felled and freshly trimmed, lay in a clearing,
with heaps of sawdust by the sawing-machine and its engine. Hard by was
a temporary hut, deserted. There was not a breath of wind this morning,
and everything was strangely still. Even the birds were hushed, and as
we hurried along I and the artilleryman talked in whispers and looked
now and again over our shoulders. Once or twice we stopped to listen.

After a time we drew near the road, and as we did so we heard the
clatter of hoofs and saw through the tree stems three cavalry soldiers
riding slowly towards Woking. We hailed them, and they halted while we
hurried towards them. It was a lieutenant and a couple of privates of
the 8th Hussars, with a stand like a theodolite, which the artilleryman
told me was a heliograph.

�You are the first men I�ve seen coming this way this morning,� said
the lieutenant. �What�s brewing?�

His voice and face were eager. The men behind him stared curiously. The
artilleryman jumped down the bank into the road and saluted.

�Gun destroyed last night, sir. Have been hiding. Trying to rejoin
battery, sir. You�ll come in sight of the Martians, I expect, about
half a mile along this road.�

�What the dickens are they like?� asked the lieutenant.

�Giants in armour, sir. Hundred feet high. Three legs and a body like
�luminium, with a mighty great head in a hood, sir.�

�Get out!� said the lieutenant. �What confounded nonsense!�

�You�ll see, sir. They carry a kind of box, sir, that shoots fire and
strikes you dead.�

�What d�ye mean�a gun?�

�No, sir,� and the artilleryman began a vivid account of the Heat-Ray.
Halfway through, the lieutenant interrupted him and looked up at me. I
was still standing on the bank by the side of the road.

�It�s perfectly true,� I said.

�Well,� said the lieutenant, �I suppose it�s my business to see it too.
Look here��to the artilleryman��we�re detailed here clearing people out
of their houses. You�d better go along and report yourself to
Brigadier-General Marvin, and tell him all you know. He�s at Weybridge.
Know the way?�

�I do,� I said; and he turned his horse southward again.

�Half a mile, you say?� said he.

�At most,� I answered, and pointed over the treetops southward. He
thanked me and rode on, and we saw them no more.

Farther along we came upon a group of three women and two children in
the road, busy clearing out a labourer�s cottage. They had got hold of
a little hand truck, and were piling it up with unclean-looking bundles
and shabby furniture. They were all too assiduously engaged to talk to
us as we passed.

By Byfleet station we emerged from the pine trees, and found the
country calm and peaceful under the morning sunlight. We were far
beyond the range of the Heat-Ray there, and had it not been for the
silent desertion of some of the houses, the stirring movement of
packing in others, and the knot of soldiers standing on the bridge over
the railway and staring down the line towards Woking, the day would
have seemed very like any other Sunday.

Several farm waggons and carts were moving creakily along the road to
Addlestone, and suddenly through the gate of a field we saw, across a
stretch of flat meadow, six twelve-pounders standing neatly at equal
distances pointing towards Woking. The gunners stood by the guns
waiting, and the ammunition waggons were at a business-like distance.
The men stood almost as if under inspection.

�That�s good!� said I. �They will get one fair shot, at any rate.�

The artilleryman hesitated at the gate.

�I shall go on,� he said.

Farther on towards Weybridge, just over the bridge, there were a number
of men in white fatigue jackets throwing up a long rampart, and more
guns behind.

�It�s bows and arrows against the lightning, anyhow,� said the
artilleryman. �They �aven�t seen that fire-beam yet.�

The officers who were not actively engaged stood and stared over the
treetops southwestward, and the men digging would stop every now and
again to stare in the same direction.

Byfleet was in a tumult; people packing, and a score of hussars, some
of them dismounted, some on horseback, were hunting them about. Three
or four black government waggons, with crosses in white circles, and an
old omnibus, among other vehicles, were being loaded in the village
street. There were scores of people, most of them sufficiently
sabbatical to have assumed their best clothes. The soldiers were having
the greatest difficulty in making them realise the gravity of their
position. We saw one shrivelled old fellow with a huge box and a score
or more of flower pots containing orchids, angrily expostulating with
the corporal who would leave them behind. I stopped and gripped his
arm.

�Do you know what�s over there?� I said, pointing at the pine tops that
hid the Martians.

�Eh?� said he, turning. �I was explainin� these is vallyble.�

�Death!� I shouted. �Death is coming! Death!� and leaving him to digest
that if he could, I hurried on after the artillery-man. At the corner I
looked back. The soldier had left him, and he was still standing by his
box, with the pots of orchids on the lid of it, and staring vaguely
over the trees.

No one in Weybridge could tell us where the headquarters were
established; the whole place was in such confusion as I had never seen
in any town before. Carts, carriages everywhere, the most astonishing
miscellany of conveyances and horseflesh. The respectable inhabitants
of the place, men in golf and boating costumes, wives prettily dressed,
were packing, river-side loafers energetically helping, children
excited, and, for the most part, highly delighted at this astonishing
variation of their Sunday experiences. In the midst of it all the
worthy vicar was very pluckily holding an early celebration, and his
bell was jangling out above the excitement.

I and the artilleryman, seated on the step of the drinking fountain,
made a very passable meal upon what we had brought with us. Patrols of
soldiers�here no longer hussars, but grenadiers in white�were warning
people to move now or to take refuge in their cellars as soon as the
firing began. We saw as we crossed the railway bridge that a growing
crowd of people had assembled in and about the railway station, and the
swarming platform was piled with boxes and packages. The ordinary
traffic had been stopped, I believe, in order to allow of the passage
of troops and guns to Chertsey, and I have heard since that a savage
struggle occurred for places in the special trains that were put on at
a later hour.

We remained at Weybridge until midday, and at that hour we found
ourselves at the place near Shepperton Lock where the Wey and Thames
join. Part of the time we spent helping two old women to pack a little
cart. The Wey has a treble mouth, and at this point boats are to be
hired, and there was a ferry across the river. On the Shepperton side
was an inn with a lawn, and beyond that the tower of Shepperton
Church�it has been replaced by a spire�rose above the trees.

Here we found an excited and noisy crowd of fugitives. As yet the
flight had not grown to a panic, but there were already far more people
than all the boats going to and fro could enable to cross. People came
panting along under heavy burdens; one husband and wife were even
carrying a small outhouse door between them, with some of their
household goods piled thereon. One man told us he meant to try to get
away from Shepperton station.

There was a lot of shouting, and one man was even jesting. The idea
people seemed to have here was that the Martians were simply formidable
human beings, who might attack and sack the town, to be certainly
destroyed in the end. Every now and then people would glance nervously
across the Wey, at the meadows towards Chertsey, but everything over
there was still.

Across the Thames, except just where the boats landed, everything was
quiet, in vivid contrast with the Surrey side. The people who landed
there from the boats went tramping off down the lane. The big ferryboat
had just made a journey. Three or four soldiers stood on the lawn of
the inn, staring and jesting at the fugitives, without offering to
help. The inn was closed, as it was now within prohibited hours.

�What�s that?� cried a boatman, and �Shut up, you fool!� said a man
near me to a yelping dog. Then the sound came again, this time from the
direction of Chertsey, a muffled thud�the sound of a gun.

The fighting was beginning. Almost immediately unseen batteries across
the river to our right, unseen because of the trees, took up the
chorus, firing heavily one after the other. A woman screamed. Everyone
stood arrested by the sudden stir of battle, near us and yet invisible
to us. Nothing was to be seen save flat meadows, cows feeding
unconcernedly for the most part, and silvery pollard willows motionless
in the warm sunlight.

�The sojers�ll stop �em,� said a woman beside me, doubtfully. A
haziness rose over the treetops.

Then suddenly we saw a rush of smoke far away up the river, a puff of
smoke that jerked up into the air and hung; and forthwith the ground
heaved under foot and a heavy explosion shook the air, smashing two or
three windows in the houses near, and leaving us astonished.

�Here they are!� shouted a man in a blue jersey. �Yonder! D�yer see
them? Yonder!�

Quickly, one after the other, one, two, three, four of the armoured
Martians appeared, far away over the little trees, across the flat
meadows that stretched towards Chertsey, and striding hurriedly towards
the river. Little cowled figures they seemed at first, going with a
rolling motion and as fast as flying birds.

Then, advancing obliquely towards us, came a fifth. Their armoured
bodies glittered in the sun as they swept swiftly forward upon the
guns, growing rapidly larger as they drew nearer. One on the extreme
left, the remotest that is, flourished a huge case high in the air, and
the ghostly, terrible Heat-Ray I had already seen on Friday night smote
towards Chertsey, and struck the town.

At sight of these strange, swift, and terrible creatures the crowd near
the water�s edge seemed to me to be for a moment horror-struck. There
was no screaming or shouting, but a silence. Then a hoarse murmur and a
movement of feet�a splashing from the water. A man, too frightened to
drop the portmanteau he carried on his shoulder, swung round and sent
me staggering with a blow from the corner of his burden. A woman thrust
at me with her hand and rushed past me. I turned with the rush of the
people, but I was not too terrified for thought. The terrible Heat-Ray
was in my mind. To get under water! That was it!

�Get under water!� I shouted, unheeded.

I faced about again, and rushed towards the approaching Martian, rushed
right down the gravelly beach and headlong into the water. Others did
the same. A boatload of people putting back came leaping out as I
rushed past. The stones under my feet were muddy and slippery, and the
river was so low that I ran perhaps twenty feet scarcely waist-deep.
Then, as the Martian towered overhead scarcely a couple of hundred
yards away, I flung myself forward under the surface. The splashes of
the people in the boats leaping into the river sounded like
thunderclaps in my ears. People were landing hastily on both sides of
the river. But the Martian machine took no more notice for the moment
of the people running this way and that than a man would of the
confusion of ants in a nest against which his foot has kicked. When,
half suffocated, I raised my head above water, the Martian�s hood
pointed at the batteries that were still firing across the river, and
as it advanced it swung loose what must have been the generator of the
Heat-Ray.

In another moment it was on the bank, and in a stride wading halfway
across. The knees of its foremost legs bent at the farther bank, and in
another moment it had raised itself to its full height again, close to
the village of Shepperton. Forthwith the six guns which, unknown to
anyone on the right bank, had been hidden behind the outskirts of that
village, fired simultaneously. The sudden near concussion, the last
close upon the first, made my heart jump. The monster was already
raising the case generating the Heat-Ray as the first shell burst six
yards above the hood.

I gave a cry of astonishment. I saw and thought nothing of the other
four Martian monsters; my attention was riveted upon the nearer
incident. Simultaneously two other shells burst in the air near the
body as the hood twisted round in time to receive, but not in time to
dodge, the fourth shell.

The shell burst clean in the face of the Thing. The hood bulged,
flashed, was whirled off in a dozen tattered fragments of red flesh and
glittering metal.

�Hit!� shouted I, with something between a scream and a cheer.

I heard answering shouts from the people in the water about me. I could
have leaped out of the water with that momentary exultation.

The decapitated colossus reeled like a drunken giant; but it did not
fall over. It recovered its balance by a miracle, and, no longer
heeding its steps and with the camera that fired the Heat-Ray now
rigidly upheld, it reeled swiftly upon Shepperton. The living
intelligence, the Martian within the hood, was slain and splashed to
the four winds of heaven, and the Thing was now but a mere intricate
device of metal whirling to destruction. It drove along in a straight
line, incapable of guidance. It struck the tower of Shepperton Church,
smashing it down as the impact of a battering ram might have done,
swerved aside, blundered on and collapsed with tremendous force into
the river out of my sight.

A violent explosion shook the air, and a spout of water, steam, mud,
and shattered metal shot far up into the sky. As the camera of the
Heat-Ray hit the water, the latter had immediately flashed into steam.
In another moment a huge wave, like a muddy tidal bore but almost
scaldingly hot, came sweeping round the bend upstream. I saw people
struggling shorewards, and heard their screaming and shouting faintly
above the seething and roar of the Martian�s collapse.

For a moment I heeded nothing of the heat, forgot the patent need of
self-preservation. I splashed through the tumultuous water, pushing
aside a man in black to do so, until I could see round the bend. Half a
dozen deserted boats pitched aimlessly upon the confusion of the waves.
The fallen Martian came into sight downstream, lying across the river,
and for the most part submerged.

Thick clouds of steam were pouring off the wreckage, and through the
tumultuously whirling wisps I could see, intermittently and vaguely,
the gigantic limbs churning the water and flinging a splash and spray
of mud and froth into the air. The tentacles swayed and struck like
living arms, and, save for the helpless purposelessness of these
movements, it was as if some wounded thing were struggling for its life
amid the waves. Enormous quantities of a ruddy-brown fluid were
spurting up in noisy jets out of the machine.

My attention was diverted from this death flurry by a furious yelling,
like that of the thing called a siren in our manufacturing towns. A
man, knee-deep near the towing path, shouted inaudibly to me and
pointed. Looking back, I saw the other Martians advancing with gigantic
strides down the riverbank from the direction of Chertsey. The
Shepperton guns spoke this time unavailingly.

At that I ducked at once under water, and, holding my breath until
movement was an agony, blundered painfully ahead under the surface as
long as I could. The water was in a tumult about me, and rapidly
growing hotter.

When for a moment I raised my head to take breath and throw the hair
and water from my eyes, the steam was rising in a whirling white fog
that at first hid the Martians altogether. The noise was deafening.
Then I saw them dimly, colossal figures of grey, magnified by the mist.
They had passed by me, and two were stooping over the frothing,
tumultuous ruins of their comrade.

The third and fourth stood beside him in the water, one perhaps two
hundred yards from me, the other towards Laleham. The generators of the
Heat-Rays waved high, and the hissing beams smote down this way and
that.

The air was full of sound, a deafening and confusing conflict of
noises�the clangorous din of the Martians, the crash of falling houses,
the thud of trees, fences, sheds flashing into flame, and the crackling
and roaring of fire. Dense black smoke was leaping up to mingle with
the steam from the river, and as the Heat-Ray went to and fro over
Weybridge its impact was marked by flashes of incandescent white, that
gave place at once to a smoky dance of lurid flames. The nearer houses
still stood intact, awaiting their fate, shadowy, faint and pallid in
the steam, with the fire behind them going to and fro.

For a moment perhaps I stood there, breast-high in the almost boiling
water, dumbfounded at my position, hopeless of escape. Through the reek
I could see the people who had been with me in the river scrambling out
of the water through the reeds, like little frogs hurrying through
grass from the advance of a man, or running to and fro in utter dismay
on the towing path.

Then suddenly the white flashes of the Heat-Ray came leaping towards
me. The houses caved in as they dissolved at its touch, and darted out
flames; the trees changed to fire with a roar. The Ray flickered up and
down the towing path, licking off the people who ran this way and that,
and came down to the water�s edge not fifty yards from where I stood.
It swept across the river to Shepperton, and the water in its track
rose in a boiling weal crested with steam. I turned shoreward.

In another moment the huge wave, well-nigh at the boiling-point had
rushed upon me. I screamed aloud, and scalded, half blinded, agonised,
I staggered through the leaping, hissing water towards the shore. Had
my foot stumbled, it would have been the end. I fell helplessly, in
full sight of the Martians, upon the broad, bare gravelly spit that
runs down to mark the angle of the Wey and Thames. I expected nothing
but death.

I have a dim memory of the foot of a Martian coming down within a score
of yards of my head, driving straight into the loose gravel, whirling
it this way and that and lifting again; of a long suspense, and then of
the four carrying the debris of their comrade between them, now clear
and then presently faint through a veil of smoke, receding
interminably, as it seemed to me, across a vast space of river and
meadow. And then, very slowly, I realised that by a miracle I had
escaped.


XIII.

HOW I FELL IN WITH THE CURATE.

After getting this sudden lesson in the power of terrestrial weapons,
the Martians retreated to their original position upon Horsell Common;
and in their haste, and encumbered with the debris of their smashed
companion, they no doubt overlooked many such a stray and negligible
victim as myself. Had they left their comrade and pushed on forthwith,
there was nothing at that time between them and London but batteries of
twelve-pounder guns, and they would certainly have reached the capital
in advance of the tidings of their approach; as sudden, dreadful, and
destructive their advent would have been as the earthquake that
destroyed Lisbon a century ago.

But they were in no hurry. Cylinder followed cylinder on its
interplanetary flight; every twenty-four hours brought them
reinforcement. And meanwhile the military and naval authorities, now
fully alive to the tremendous power of their antagonists, worked with
furious energy. Every minute a fresh gun came into position until,
before twilight, every copse, every row of suburban villas on the hilly
slopes about Kingston and Richmond, masked an expectant black muzzle.
And through the charred and desolated area�perhaps twenty square miles
altogether�that encircled the Martian encampment on Horsell Common,
through charred and ruined villages among the green trees, through the
blackened and smoking arcades that had been but a day ago pine
spinneys, crawled the devoted scouts with the heliographs that were
presently to warn the gunners of the Martian approach. But the Martians
now understood our command of artillery and the danger of human
proximity, and not a man ventured within a mile of either cylinder,
save at the price of his life.

It would seem that these giants spent the earlier part of the afternoon
in going to and fro, transferring everything from the second and third
cylinders�the second in Addlestone Golf Links and the third at
Pyrford�to their original pit on Horsell Common. Over that, above the
blackened heather and ruined buildings that stretched far and wide,
stood one as sentinel, while the rest abandoned their vast
fighting-machines and descended into the pit. They were hard at work
there far into the night, and the towering pillar of dense green smoke
that rose therefrom could be seen from the hills about Merrow, and
even, it is said, from Banstead and Epsom Downs.

And while the Martians behind me were thus preparing for their next
sally, and in front of me Humanity gathered for the battle, I made my
way with infinite pains and labour from the fire and smoke of burning
Weybridge towards London.

I saw an abandoned boat, very small and remote, drifting down-stream;
and throwing off the most of my sodden clothes, I went after it, gained
it, and so escaped out of that destruction. There were no oars in the
boat, but I contrived to paddle, as well as my parboiled hands would
allow, down the river towards Halliford and Walton, going very
tediously and continually looking behind me, as you may well
understand. I followed the river, because I considered that the water
gave me my best chance of escape should these giants return.

The hot water from the Martian�s overthrow drifted downstream with me,
so that for the best part of a mile I could see little of either bank.
Once, however, I made out a string of black figures hurrying across the
meadows from the direction of Weybridge. Halliford, it seemed, was
deserted, and several of the houses facing the river were on fire. It
was strange to see the place quite tranquil, quite desolate under the
hot blue sky, with the smoke and little threads of flame going straight
up into the heat of the afternoon. Never before had I seen houses
burning without the accompaniment of an obstructive crowd. A little
farther on the dry reeds up the bank were smoking and glowing, and a
line of fire inland was marching steadily across a late field of hay.

For a long time I drifted, so painful and weary was I after the
violence I had been through, and so intense the heat upon the water.
Then my fears got the better of me again, and I resumed my paddling.
The sun scorched my bare back. At last, as the bridge at Walton was
coming into sight round the bend, my fever and faintness overcame my
fears, and I landed on the Middlesex bank and lay down, deadly sick,
amid the long grass. I suppose the time was then about four or five
o�clock. I got up presently, walked perhaps half a mile without meeting
a soul, and then lay down again in the shadow of a hedge. I seem to
remember talking, wanderingly, to myself during that last spurt. I was
also very thirsty, and bitterly regretful I had drunk no more water. It
is a curious thing that I felt angry with my wife; I cannot account for
it, but my impotent desire to reach Leatherhead worried me excessively.

I do not clearly remember the arrival of the curate, so that probably I
dozed. I became aware of him as a seated figure in soot-smudged shirt
sleeves, and with his upturned, clean-shaven face staring at a faint
flickering that danced over the sky. The sky was what is called a
mackerel sky�rows and rows of faint down-plumes of cloud, just tinted
with the midsummer sunset.

I sat up, and at the rustle of my motion he looked at me quickly.

�Have you any water?� I asked abruptly.

He shook his head.

�You have been asking for water for the last hour,� he said.

For a moment we were silent, taking stock of each other. I dare say he
found me a strange enough figure, naked, save for my water-soaked
trousers and socks, scalded, and my face and shoulders blackened by the
smoke. His face was a fair weakness, his chin retreated, and his hair
lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls on his low forehead; his eyes were
rather large, pale blue, and blankly staring. He spoke abruptly,
looking vacantly away from me.

�What does it mean?� he said. �What do these things mean?�

I stared at him and made no answer.

He extended a thin white hand and spoke in almost a complaining tone.

�Why are these things permitted? What sins have we done? The morning
service was over, I was walking through the roads to clear my brain for
the afternoon, and then�fire, earthquake, death! As if it were Sodom
and Gomorrah! All our work undone, all the work�� What are these
Martians?�

�What are we?� I answered, clearing my throat.

He gripped his knees and turned to look at me again. For half a minute,
perhaps, he stared silently.

�I was walking through the roads to clear my brain,� he said. �And
suddenly�fire, earthquake, death!�

He relapsed into silence, with his chin now sunken almost to his knees.

Presently he began waving his hand.

�All the work�all the Sunday schools�What have we done�what has
Weybridge done? Everything gone�everything destroyed. The church! We
rebuilt it only three years ago. Gone! Swept out of existence! Why?�

Another pause, and he broke out again like one demented.

�The smoke of her burning goeth up for ever and ever!� he shouted.

His eyes flamed, and he pointed a lean finger in the direction of
Weybridge.

By this time I was beginning to take his measure. The tremendous
tragedy in which he had been involved�it was evident he was a fugitive
from Weybridge�had driven him to the very verge of his reason.

�Are we far from Sunbury?� I said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

�What are we to do?� he asked. �Are these creatures everywhere? Has the
earth been given over to them?�

�Are we far from Sunbury?�

�Only this morning I officiated at early celebration���

�Things have changed,� I said, quietly. �You must keep your head. There
is still hope.�

�Hope!�

�Yes. Plentiful hope�for all this destruction!�

I began to explain my view of our position. He listened at first, but
as I went on the interest dawning in his eyes gave place to their
former stare, and his regard wandered from me.

�This must be the beginning of the end,� he said, interrupting me. �The
end! The great and terrible day of the Lord! When men shall call upon
the mountains and the rocks to fall upon them and hide them�hide them
from the face of Him that sitteth upon the throne!�

I began to understand the position. I ceased my laboured reasoning,
struggled to my feet, and, standing over him, laid my hand on his
shoulder.

�Be a man!� said I. �You are scared out of your wits! What good is
religion if it collapses under calamity? Think of what earthquakes and
floods, wars and volcanoes, have done before to men! Did you think God
had exempted Weybridge? He is not an insurance agent.�

For a time he sat in blank silence.

�But how can we escape?� he asked, suddenly. �They are invulnerable,
they are pitiless.�

�Neither the one nor, perhaps, the other,� I answered. �And the
mightier they are the more sane and wary should we be. One of them was
killed yonder not three hours ago.�

�Killed!� he said, staring about him. �How can God�s ministers be
killed?�

�I saw it happen.� I proceeded to tell him. �We have chanced to come in
for the thick of it,� said I, �and that is all.�

�What is that flicker in the sky?� he asked abruptly.

I told him it was the heliograph signalling�that it was the sign of
human help and effort in the sky.

�We are in the midst of it,� I said, �quiet as it is. That flicker in
the sky tells of the gathering storm. Yonder, I take it are the
Martians, and Londonward, where those hills rise about Richmond and
Kingston and the trees give cover, earthworks are being thrown up and
guns are being placed. Presently the Martians will be coming this way
again.�

And even as I spoke he sprang to his feet and stopped me by a gesture.

�Listen!� he said.

From beyond the low hills across the water came the dull resonance of
distant guns and a remote weird crying. Then everything was still. A
cockchafer came droning over the hedge and past us. High in the west
the crescent moon hung faint and pale above the smoke of Weybridge and
Shepperton and the hot, still splendour of the sunset.

�We had better follow this path,� I said, �northward.�


XIV.

IN LONDON.

My younger brother was in London when the Martians fell at Woking. He
was a medical student working for an imminent examination, and he heard
nothing of the arrival until Saturday morning. The morning papers on
Saturday contained, in addition to lengthy special articles on the
planet Mars, on life in the planets, and so forth, a brief and vaguely
worded telegram, all the more striking for its brevity.

The Martians, alarmed by the approach of a crowd, had killed a number
of people with a quick-firing gun, so the story ran. The telegram
concluded with the words: �Formidable as they seem to be, the Martians
have not moved from the pit into which they have fallen, and, indeed,
seem incapable of doing so. Probably this is due to the relative
strength of the earth�s gravitational energy.� On that last text their
leader-writer expanded very comfortingly.

Of course all the students in the crammer�s biology class, to which my
brother went that day, were intensely interested, but there were no
signs of any unusual excitement in the streets. The afternoon papers
puffed scraps of news under big headlines. They had nothing to tell
beyond the movements of troops about the common, and the burning of the
pine woods between Woking and Weybridge, until eight. Then the _St.
James�s Gazette_, in an extra-special edition, announced the bare fact
of the interruption of telegraphic communication. This was thought to
be due to the falling of burning pine trees across the line. Nothing
more of the fighting was known that night, the night of my drive to
Leatherhead and back.

My brother felt no anxiety about us, as he knew from the description in
the papers that the cylinder was a good two miles from my house. He
made up his mind to run down that night to me, in order, as he says, to
see the Things before they were killed. He dispatched a telegram, which
never reached me, about four o�clock, and spent the evening at a music
hall.

In London, also, on Saturday night there was a thunderstorm, and my
brother reached Waterloo in a cab. On the platform from which the
midnight train usually starts he learned, after some waiting, that an
accident prevented trains from reaching Woking that night. The nature
of the accident he could not ascertain; indeed, the railway authorities
did not clearly know at that time. There was very little excitement in
the station, as the officials, failing to realise that anything further
than a breakdown between Byfleet and Woking junction had occurred, were
running the theatre trains which usually passed through Woking round by
Virginia Water or Guildford. They were busy making the necessary
arrangements to alter the route of the Southampton and Portsmouth
Sunday League excursions. A nocturnal newspaper reporter, mistaking my
brother for the traffic manager, to whom he bears a slight resemblance,
waylaid and tried to interview him. Few people, excepting the railway
officials, connected the breakdown with the Martians.

I have read, in another account of these events, that on Sunday morning
�all London was electrified by the news from Woking.� As a matter of
fact, there was nothing to justify that very extravagant phrase. Plenty
of Londoners did not hear of the Martians until the panic of Monday
morning. Those who did took some time to realise all that the hastily
worded telegrams in the Sunday papers conveyed. The majority of people
in London do not read Sunday papers.

The habit of personal security, moreover, is so deeply fixed in the
Londoner�s mind, and startling intelligence so much a matter of course
in the papers, that they could read without any personal tremors:
�About seven o�clock last night the Martians came out of the cylinder,
and, moving about under an armour of metallic shields, have completely
wrecked Woking station with the adjacent houses, and massacred an
entire battalion of the Cardigan Regiment. No details are known. Maxims
have been absolutely useless against their armour; the field guns have
been disabled by them. Flying hussars have been galloping into
Chertsey. The Martians appear to be moving slowly towards Chertsey or
Windsor. Great anxiety prevails in West Surrey, and earthworks are
being thrown up to check the advance Londonward.� That was how the
_Sunday Sun_ put it, and a clever and remarkably prompt �handbook�
article in the _Referee_ compared the affair to a menagerie suddenly
let loose in a village.

No one in London knew positively of the nature of the armoured
Martians, and there was still a fixed idea that these monsters must be
sluggish: �crawling,� �creeping painfully��such expressions occurred in
almost all the earlier reports. None of the telegrams could have been
written by an eyewitness of their advance. The Sunday papers printed
separate editions as further news came to hand, some even in default of
it. But there was practically nothing more to tell people until late in
the afternoon, when the authorities gave the press agencies the news in
their possession. It was stated that the people of Walton and
Weybridge, and all the district were pouring along the roads
Londonward, and that was all.

My brother went to church at the Foundling Hospital in the morning,
still in ignorance of what had happened on the previous night. There he
heard allusions made to the invasion, and a special prayer for peace.
Coming out, he bought a _Referee_. He became alarmed at the news in
this, and went again to Waterloo station to find out if communication
were restored. The omnibuses, carriages, cyclists, and innumerable
people walking in their best clothes seemed scarcely affected by the
strange intelligence that the newsvendors were disseminating. People
were interested, or, if alarmed, alarmed only on account of the local
residents. At the station he heard for the first time that the Windsor
and Chertsey lines were now interrupted. The porters told him that
several remarkable telegrams had been received in the morning from
Byfleet and Chertsey stations, but that these had abruptly ceased. My
brother could get very little precise detail out of them.

�There�s fighting going on about Weybridge� was the extent of their
information.

The train service was now very much disorganised. Quite a number of
people who had been expecting friends from places on the South-Western
network were standing about the station. One grey-headed old gentleman
came and abused the South-Western Company bitterly to my brother. �It
wants showing up,� he said.

One or two trains came in from Richmond, Putney, and Kingston,
containing people who had gone out for a day�s boating and found the
locks closed and a feeling of panic in the air. A man in a blue and
white blazer addressed my brother, full of strange tidings.

�There�s hosts of people driving into Kingston in traps and carts and
things, with boxes of valuables and all that,� he said. �They come from
Molesey and Weybridge and Walton, and they say there�s been guns heard
at Chertsey, heavy firing, and that mounted soldiers have told them to
get off at once because the Martians are coming. We heard guns firing
at Hampton Court station, but we thought it was thunder. What the
dickens does it all mean? The Martians can�t get out of their pit, can
they?�

My brother could not tell him.

Afterwards he found that the vague feeling of alarm had spread to the
clients of the underground railway, and that the Sunday excursionists
began to return from all over the South-Western �lung��Barnes,
Wimbledon, Richmond Park, Kew, and so forth�at unnaturally early hours;
but not a soul had anything more than vague hearsay to tell of.
Everyone connected with the terminus seemed ill-tempered.

About five o�clock the gathering crowd in the station was immensely
excited by the opening of the line of communication, which is almost
invariably closed, between the South-Eastern and the South-Western
stations, and the passage of carriage trucks bearing huge guns and
carriages crammed with soldiers. These were the guns that were brought
up from Woolwich and Chatham to cover Kingston. There was an exchange
of pleasantries: �You�ll get eaten!� �We�re the beast-tamers!� and so
forth. A little while after that a squad of police came into the
station and began to clear the public off the platforms, and my brother
went out into the street again.

The church bells were ringing for evensong, and a squad of Salvation
Army lassies came singing down Waterloo Road. On the bridge a number of
loafers were watching a curious brown scum that came drifting down the
stream in patches. The sun was just setting, and the Clock Tower and
the Houses of Parliament rose against one of the most peaceful skies it
is possible to imagine, a sky of gold, barred with long transverse
stripes of reddish-purple cloud. There was talk of a floating body. One
of the men there, a reservist he said he was, told my brother he had
seen the heliograph flickering in the west.

In Wellington Street my brother met a couple of sturdy roughs who had
just been rushed out of Fleet Street with still-wet newspapers and
staring placards. �Dreadful catastrophe!� they bawled one to the other
down Wellington Street. �Fighting at Weybridge! Full description!
Repulse of the Martians! London in Danger!� He had to give threepence
for a copy of that paper.

Then it was, and then only, that he realised something of the full
power and terror of these monsters. He learned that they were not
merely a handful of small sluggish creatures, but that they were minds
swaying vast mechanical bodies; and that they could move swiftly and
smite with such power that even the mightiest guns could not stand
against them.

They were described as �vast spiderlike machines, nearly a hundred feet
high, capable of the speed of an express train, and able to shoot out a
beam of intense heat.� Masked batteries, chiefly of field guns, had
been planted in the country about Horsell Common, and especially
between the Woking district and London. Five of the machines had been
seen moving towards the Thames, and one, by a happy chance, had been
destroyed. In the other cases the shells had missed, and the batteries
had been at once annihilated by the Heat-Rays. Heavy losses of soldiers
were mentioned, but the tone of the dispatch was optimistic.

The Martians had been repulsed; they were not invulnerable. They had
retreated to their triangle of cylinders again, in the circle about
Woking. Signallers with heliographs were pushing forward upon them from
all sides. Guns were in rapid transit from Windsor, Portsmouth,
Aldershot, Woolwich�even from the north; among others, long wire-guns
of ninety-five tons from Woolwich. Altogether one hundred and sixteen
were in position or being hastily placed, chiefly covering London.
Never before in England had there been such a vast or rapid
concentration of military material.

Any further cylinders that fell, it was hoped, could be destroyed at
once by high explosives, which were being rapidly manufactured and
distributed. No doubt, ran the report, the situation was of the
strangest and gravest description, but the public was exhorted to avoid
and discourage panic. No doubt the Martians were strange and terrible
in the extreme, but at the outside there could not be more than twenty
of them against our millions.

The authorities had reason to suppose, from the size of the cylinders,
that at the outside there could not be more than five in each
cylinder�fifteen altogether. And one at least was disposed of�perhaps
more. The public would be fairly warned of the approach of danger, and
elaborate measures were being taken for the protection of the people in
the threatened southwestern suburbs. And so, with reiterated assurances
of the safety of London and the ability of the authorities to cope with
the difficulty, this quasi-proclamation closed.

This was printed in enormous type on paper so fresh that it was still
wet, and there had been no time to add a word of comment. It was
curious, my brother said, to see how ruthlessly the usual contents of
the paper had been hacked and taken out to give this place.

All down Wellington Street people could be seen fluttering out the pink
sheets and reading, and the Strand was suddenly noisy with the voices
of an army of hawkers following these pioneers. Men came scrambling off
buses to secure copies. Certainly this news excited people intensely,
whatever their previous apathy. The shutters of a map shop in the
Strand were being taken down, my brother said, and a man in his Sunday
raiment, lemon-yellow gloves even, was visible inside the window
hastily fastening maps of Surrey to the glass.

Going on along the Strand to Trafalgar Square, the paper in his hand,
my brother saw some of the fugitives from West Surrey. There was a man
with his wife and two boys and some articles of furniture in a cart
such as greengrocers use. He was driving from the direction of
Westminster Bridge; and close behind him came a hay waggon with five or
six respectable-looking people in it, and some boxes and bundles. The
faces of these people were haggard, and their entire appearance
contrasted conspicuously with the Sabbath-best appearance of the people
on the omnibuses. People in fashionable clothing peeped at them out of
cabs. They stopped at the Square as if undecided which way to take, and
finally turned eastward along the Strand. Some way behind these came a
man in workday clothes, riding one of those old-fashioned tricycles
with a small front wheel. He was dirty and white in the face.

My brother turned down towards Victoria, and met a number of such
people. He had a vague idea that he might see something of me. He
noticed an unusual number of police regulating the traffic. Some of the
refugees were exchanging news with the people on the omnibuses. One was
professing to have seen the Martians. �Boilers on stilts, I tell you,
striding along like men.� Most of them were excited and animated by
their strange experience.

Beyond Victoria the public-houses were doing a lively trade with these
arrivals. At all the street corners groups of people were reading
papers, talking excitedly, or staring at these unusual Sunday visitors.
They seemed to increase as night drew on, until at last the roads, my
brother said, were like Epsom High Street on a Derby Day. My brother
addressed several of these fugitives and got unsatisfactory answers
from most.

None of them could tell him any news of Woking except one man, who
assured him that Woking had been entirely destroyed on the previous
night.

�I come from Byfleet,� he said; �a man on a bicycle came through the
place in the early morning, and ran from door to door warning us to
come away. Then came soldiers. We went out to look, and there were
clouds of smoke to the south�nothing but smoke, and not a soul coming
that way. Then we heard the guns at Chertsey, and folks coming from
Weybridge. So I�ve locked up my house and come on.�

At that time there was a strong feeling in the streets that the
authorities were to blame for their incapacity to dispose of the
invaders without all this inconvenience.

About eight o�clock a noise of heavy firing was distinctly audible all
over the south of London. My brother could not hear it for the traffic
in the main thoroughfares, but by striking through the quiet back
streets to the river he was able to distinguish it quite plainly.

He walked from Westminster to his apartments near Regent�s Park, about
two. He was now very anxious on my account, and disturbed at the
evident magnitude of the trouble. His mind was inclined to run, even as
mine had run on Saturday, on military details. He thought of all those
silent, expectant guns, of the suddenly nomadic countryside; he tried
to imagine �boilers on stilts� a hundred feet high.

There were one or two cartloads of refugees passing along Oxford
Street, and several in the Marylebone Road, but so slowly was the news
spreading that Regent Street and Portland Place were full of their
usual Sunday-night promenaders, albeit they talked in groups, and along
the edge of Regent�s Park there were as many silent couples �walking
out� together under the scattered gas lamps as ever there had been. The
night was warm and still, and a little oppressive; the sound of guns
continued intermittently, and after midnight there seemed to be sheet
lightning in the south.

He read and re-read the paper, fearing the worst had happened to me. He
was restless, and after supper prowled out again aimlessly. He returned
and tried in vain to divert his attention to his examination notes. He
went to bed a little after midnight, and was awakened from lurid dreams
in the small hours of Monday by the sound of door knockers, feet
running in the street, distant drumming, and a clamour of bells. Red
reflections danced on the ceiling. For a moment he lay astonished,
wondering whether day had come or the world gone mad. Then he jumped
out of bed and ran to the window.

His room was an attic and as he thrust his head out, up and down the
street there were a dozen echoes to the noise of his window sash, and
heads in every kind of night disarray appeared. Enquiries were being
shouted. �They are coming!� bawled a policeman, hammering at the door;
�the Martians are coming!� and hurried to the next door.

The sound of drumming and trumpeting came from the Albany Street
Barracks, and every church within earshot was hard at work killing
sleep with a vehement disorderly tocsin. There was a noise of doors
opening, and window after window in the houses opposite flashed from
darkness into yellow illumination.

Up the street came galloping a closed carriage, bursting abruptly into
noise at the corner, rising to a clattering climax under the window,
and dying away slowly in the distance. Close on the rear of this came a
couple of cabs, the forerunners of a long procession of flying
vehicles, going for the most part to Chalk Farm station, where the
North-Western special trains were loading up, instead of coming down
the gradient into Euston.

For a long time my brother stared out of the window in blank
astonishment, watching the policemen hammering at door after door, and
delivering their incomprehensible message. Then the door behind him
opened, and the man who lodged across the landing came in, dressed only
in shirt, trousers, and slippers, his braces loose about his waist, his
hair disordered from his pillow.

�What the devil is it?� he asked. �A fire? What a devil of a row!�

They both craned their heads out of the window, straining to hear what
the policemen were shouting. People were coming out of the side
streets, and standing in groups at the corners talking.

�What the devil is it all about?� said my brother�s fellow lodger.

My brother answered him vaguely and began to dress, running with each
garment to the window in order to miss nothing of the growing
excitement. And presently men selling unnaturally early newspapers came
bawling into the street:

�London in danger of suffocation! The Kingston and Richmond defences
forced! Fearful massacres in the Thames Valley!�

And all about him�in the rooms below, in the houses on each side and
across the road, and behind in the Park Terraces and in the hundred
other streets of that part of Marylebone, and the Westbourne Park
district and St. Pancras, and westward and northward in Kilburn and St.
John�s Wood and Hampstead, and eastward in Shoreditch and Highbury and
Haggerston and Hoxton, and, indeed, through all the vastness of London
from Ealing to East Ham�people were rubbing their eyes, and opening
windows to stare out and ask aimless questions, dressing hastily as the
first breath of the coming storm of Fear blew through the streets. It
was the dawn of the great panic. London, which had gone to bed on
Sunday night oblivious and inert, was awakened, in the small hours of
Monday morning, to a vivid sense of danger.

Unable from his window to learn what was happening, my brother went
down and out into the street, just as the sky between the parapets of
the houses grew pink with the early dawn. The flying people on foot and
in vehicles grew more numerous every moment. �Black Smoke!� he heard
people crying, and again �Black Smoke!� The contagion of such a
unanimous fear was inevitable. As my brother hesitated on the
door-step, he saw another newsvendor approaching, and got a paper
forthwith. The man was running away with the rest, and selling his
papers for a shilling each as he ran�a grotesque mingling of profit and
panic.

And from this paper my brother read that catastrophic dispatch of the
Commander-in-Chief:

�The Martians are able to discharge enormous clouds of a black and
poisonous vapour by means of rockets. They have smothered our
batteries, destroyed Richmond, Kingston, and Wimbledon, and are
advancing slowly towards London, destroying everything on the way. It
is impossible to stop them. There is no safety from the Black Smoke but
in instant flight.�


That was all, but it was enough. The whole population of the great
six-million city was stirring, slipping, running; presently it would be
pouring _en masse_ northward.

�Black Smoke!� the voices cried. �Fire!�

The bells of the neighbouring church made a jangling tumult, a cart
carelessly driven smashed, amid shrieks and curses, against the water
trough up the street. Sickly yellow lights went to and fro in the
houses, and some of the passing cabs flaunted unextinguished lamps. And
overhead the dawn was growing brighter, clear and steady and calm.

He heard footsteps running to and fro in the rooms, and up and down
stairs behind him. His landlady came to the door, loosely wrapped in
dressing gown and shawl; her husband followed, ejaculating.

As my brother began to realise the import of all these things, he
turned hastily to his own room, put all his available money�some ten
pounds altogether�into his pockets, and went out again into the
streets.


XV.

WHAT HAD HAPPENED IN SURREY.

It was while the curate had sat and talked so wildly to me under the
hedge in the flat meadows near Halliford, and while my brother was
watching the fugitives stream over Westminster Bridge, that the
Martians had resumed the offensive. So far as one can ascertain from
the conflicting accounts that have been put forth, the majority of them
remained busied with preparations in the Horsell pit until nine that
night, hurrying on some operation that disengaged huge volumes of green
smoke.

But three certainly came out about eight o�clock and, advancing slowly
and cautiously, made their way through Byfleet and Pyrford towards
Ripley and Weybridge, and so came in sight of the expectant batteries
against the setting sun. These Martians did not advance in a body, but
in a line, each perhaps a mile and a half from his nearest fellow. They
communicated with one another by means of sirenlike howls, running up
and down the scale from one note to another.

It was this howling and firing of the guns at Ripley and St. George�s
Hill that we had heard at Upper Halliford. The Ripley gunners,
unseasoned artillery volunteers who ought never to have been placed in
such a position, fired one wild, premature, ineffectual volley, and
bolted on horse and foot through the deserted village, while the
Martian, without using his Heat-Ray, walked serenely over their guns,
stepped gingerly among them, passed in front of them, and so came
unexpectedly upon the guns in Painshill Park, which he destroyed.

The St. George�s Hill men, however, were better led or of a better
mettle. Hidden by a pine wood as they were, they seem to have been
quite unsuspected by the Martian nearest to them. They laid their guns
as deliberately as if they had been on parade, and fired at about a
thousand yards� range.

The shells flashed all round him, and he was seen to advance a few
paces, stagger, and go down. Everybody yelled together, and the guns
were reloaded in frantic haste. The overthrown Martian set up a
prolonged ululation, and immediately a second glittering giant,
answering him, appeared over the trees to the south. It would seem that
a leg of the tripod had been smashed by one of the shells. The whole of
the second volley flew wide of the Martian on the ground, and,
simultaneously, both his companions brought their Heat-Rays to bear on
the battery. The ammunition blew up, the pine trees all about the guns
flashed into fire, and only one or two of the men who were already
running over the crest of the hill escaped.

After this it would seem that the three took counsel together and
halted, and the scouts who were watching them report that they remained
absolutely stationary for the next half hour. The Martian who had been
overthrown crawled tediously out of his hood, a small brown figure,
oddly suggestive from that distance of a speck of blight, and
apparently engaged in the repair of his support. About nine he had
finished, for his cowl was then seen above the trees again.

It was a few minutes past nine that night when these three sentinels
were joined by four other Martians, each carrying a thick black tube. A
similar tube was handed to each of the three, and the seven proceeded
to distribute themselves at equal distances along a curved line between
St. George�s Hill, Weybridge, and the village of Send, southwest of
Ripley.

A dozen rockets sprang out of the hills before them so soon as they
began to move, and warned the waiting batteries about Ditton and Esher.
At the same time four of their fighting machines, similarly armed with
tubes, crossed the river, and two of them, black against the western
sky, came into sight of myself and the curate as we hurried wearily and
painfully along the road that runs northward out of Halliford. They
moved, as it seemed to us, upon a cloud, for a milky mist covered the
fields and rose to a third of their height.

At this sight the curate cried faintly in his throat, and began
running; but I knew it was no good running from a Martian, and I turned
aside and crawled through dewy nettles and brambles into the broad
ditch by the side of the road. He looked back, saw what I was doing,
and turned to join me.

The two halted, the nearer to us standing and facing Sunbury, the
remoter being a grey indistinctness towards the evening star, away
towards Staines.

The occasional howling of the Martians had ceased; they took up their
positions in the huge crescent about their cylinders in absolute
silence. It was a crescent with twelve miles between its horns. Never
since the devising of gunpowder was the beginning of a battle so still.
To us and to an observer about Ripley it would have had precisely the
same effect�the Martians seemed in solitary possession of the darkling
night, lit only as it was by the slender moon, the stars, the afterglow
of the daylight, and the ruddy glare from St. George�s Hill and the
woods of Painshill.

But facing that crescent everywhere�at Staines, Hounslow, Ditton,
Esher, Ockham, behind hills and woods south of the river, and across
the flat grass meadows to the north of it, wherever a cluster of trees
or village houses gave sufficient cover�the guns were waiting. The
signal rockets burst and rained their sparks through the night and
vanished, and the spirit of all those watching batteries rose to a
tense expectation. The Martians had but to advance into the line of
fire, and instantly those motionless black forms of men, those guns
glittering so darkly in the early night, would explode into a
thunderous fury of battle.

No doubt the thought that was uppermost in a thousand of those vigilant
minds, even as it was uppermost in mine, was the riddle�how much they
understood of us. Did they grasp that we in our millions were
organized, disciplined, working together? Or did they interpret our
spurts of fire, the sudden stinging of our shells, our steady
investment of their encampment, as we should the furious unanimity of
onslaught in a disturbed hive of bees? Did they dream they might
exterminate us? (At that time no one knew what food they needed.) A
hundred such questions struggled together in my mind as I watched that
vast sentinel shape. And in the back of my mind was the sense of all
the huge unknown and hidden forces Londonward. Had they prepared
pitfalls? Were the powder mills at Hounslow ready as a snare? Would the
Londoners have the heart and courage to make a greater Moscow of their
mighty province of houses?

Then, after an interminable time, as it seemed to us, crouching and
peering through the hedge, came a sound like the distant concussion of
a gun. Another nearer, and then another. And then the Martian beside us
raised his tube on high and discharged it, gunwise, with a heavy report
that made the ground heave. The one towards Staines answered him. There
was no flash, no smoke, simply that loaded detonation.

I was so excited by these heavy minute-guns following one another that
I so far forgot my personal safety and my scalded hands as to clamber
up into the hedge and stare towards Sunbury. As I did so a second
report followed, and a big projectile hurtled overhead towards
Hounslow. I expected at least to see smoke or fire, or some such
evidence of its work. But all I saw was the deep blue sky above, with
one solitary star, and the white mist spreading wide and low beneath.
And there had been no crash, no answering explosion. The silence was
restored; the minute lengthened to three.

�What has happened?� said the curate, standing up beside me.

�Heaven knows!� said I.

A bat flickered by and vanished. A distant tumult of shouting began and
ceased. I looked again at the Martian, and saw he was now moving
eastward along the riverbank, with a swift, rolling motion.

Every moment I expected the fire of some hidden battery to spring upon
him; but the evening calm was unbroken. The figure of the Martian grew
smaller as he receded, and presently the mist and the gathering night
had swallowed him up. By a common impulse we clambered higher. Towards
Sunbury was a dark appearance, as though a conical hill had suddenly
come into being there, hiding our view of the farther country; and
then, remoter across the river, over Walton, we saw another such
summit. These hill-like forms grew lower and broader even as we stared.

Moved by a sudden thought, I looked northward, and there I perceived a
third of these cloudy black kopjes had risen.

Everything had suddenly become very still. Far away to the southeast,
marking the quiet, we heard the Martians hooting to one another, and
then the air quivered again with the distant thud of their guns. But
the earthly artillery made no reply.

Now at the time we could not understand these things, but later I was
to learn the meaning of these ominous kopjes that gathered in the
twilight. Each of the Martians, standing in the great crescent I have
described, had discharged, by means of the gunlike tube he carried, a
huge canister over whatever hill, copse, cluster of houses, or other
possible cover for guns, chanced to be in front of him. Some fired only
one of these, some two�as in the case of the one we had seen; the one
at Ripley is said to have discharged no fewer than five at that time.
These canisters smashed on striking the ground�they did not explode�and
incontinently disengaged an enormous volume of heavy, inky vapour,
coiling and pouring upward in a huge and ebony cumulus cloud, a gaseous
hill that sank and spread itself slowly over the surrounding country.
And the touch of that vapour, the inhaling of its pungent wisps, was
death to all that breathes.

It was heavy, this vapour, heavier than the densest smoke, so that,
after the first tumultuous uprush and outflow of its impact, it sank
down through the air and poured over the ground in a manner rather
liquid than gaseous, abandoning the hills, and streaming into the
valleys and ditches and watercourses even as I have heard the
carbonic-acid gas that pours from volcanic clefts is wont to do. And
where it came upon water some chemical action occurred, and the surface
would be instantly covered with a powdery scum that sank slowly and
made way for more. The scum was absolutely insoluble, and it is a
strange thing, seeing the instant effect of the gas, that one could
drink without hurt the water from which it had been strained. The
vapour did not diffuse as a true gas would do. It hung together in
banks, flowing sluggishly down the slope of the land and driving
reluctantly before the wind, and very slowly it combined with the mist
and moisture of the air, and sank to the earth in the form of dust.
Save that an unknown element giving a group of four lines in the blue
of the spectrum is concerned, we are still entirely ignorant of the
nature of this substance.

Once the tumultuous upheaval of its dispersion was over, the black
smoke clung so closely to the ground, even before its precipitation,
that fifty feet up in the air, on the roofs and upper stories of high
houses and on great trees, there was a chance of escaping its poison
altogether, as was proved even that night at Street Cobham and Ditton.

The man who escaped at the former place tells a wonderful story of the
strangeness of its coiling flow, and how he looked down from the church
spire and saw the houses of the village rising like ghosts out of its
inky nothingness. For a day and a half he remained there, weary,
starving and sun-scorched, the earth under the blue sky and against the
prospect of the distant hills a velvet-black expanse, with red roofs,
green trees, and, later, black-veiled shrubs and gates, barns,
outhouses, and walls, rising here and there into the sunlight.

But that was at Street Cobham, where the black vapour was allowed to
remain until it sank of its own accord into the ground. As a rule the
Martians, when it had served its purpose, cleared the air of it again
by wading into it and directing a jet of steam upon it.

This they did with the vapour banks near us, as we saw in the starlight
from the window of a deserted house at Upper Halliford, whither we had
returned. From there we could see the searchlights on Richmond Hill and
Kingston Hill going to and fro, and about eleven the windows rattled,
and we heard the sound of the huge siege guns that had been put in
position there. These continued intermittently for the space of a
quarter of an hour, sending chance shots at the invisible Martians at
Hampton and Ditton, and then the pale beams of the electric light
vanished, and were replaced by a bright red glow.

Then the fourth cylinder fell�a brilliant green meteor�as I learned
afterwards, in Bushey Park. Before the guns on the Richmond and
Kingston line of hills began, there was a fitful cannonade far away in
the southwest, due, I believe, to guns being fired haphazard before the
black vapour could overwhelm the gunners.

So, setting about it as methodically as men might smoke out a wasps�
nest, the Martians spread this strange stifling vapour over the
Londonward country. The horns of the crescent slowly moved apart, until
at last they formed a line from Hanwell to Coombe and Malden. All night
through their destructive tubes advanced. Never once, after the Martian
at St. George�s Hill was brought down, did they give the artillery the
ghost of a chance against them. Wherever there was a possibility of
guns being laid for them unseen, a fresh canister of the black vapour
was discharged, and where the guns were openly displayed the Heat-Ray
was brought to bear.

By midnight the blazing trees along the slopes of Richmond Park and the
glare of Kingston Hill threw their light upon a network of black smoke,
blotting out the whole valley of the Thames and extending as far as the
eye could reach. And through this two Martians slowly waded, and turned
their hissing steam jets this way and that.

They were sparing of the Heat-Ray that night, either because they had
but a limited supply of material for its production or because they did
not wish to destroy the country but only to crush and overawe the
opposition they had aroused. In the latter aim they certainly
succeeded. Sunday night was the end of the organised opposition to
their movements. After that no body of men would stand against them, so
hopeless was the enterprise. Even the crews of the torpedo-boats and
destroyers that had brought their quick-firers up the Thames refused to
stop, mutinied, and went down again. The only offensive operation men
ventured upon after that night was the preparation of mines and
pitfalls, and even in that their energies were frantic and spasmodic.

One has to imagine, as well as one may, the fate of those batteries
towards Esher, waiting so tensely in the twilight. Survivors there were
none. One may picture the orderly expectation, the officers alert and
watchful, the gunners ready, the ammunition piled to hand, the limber
gunners with their horses and waggons, the groups of civilian
spectators standing as near as they were permitted, the evening
stillness, the ambulances and hospital tents with the burned and
wounded from Weybridge; then the dull resonance of the shots the
Martians fired, and the clumsy projectile whirling over the trees and
houses and smashing amid the neighbouring fields.

One may picture, too, the sudden shifting of the attention, the swiftly
spreading coils and bellyings of that blackness advancing headlong,
towering heavenward, turning the twilight to a palpable darkness, a
strange and horrible antagonist of vapour striding upon its victims,
men and horses near it seen dimly, running, shrieking, falling
headlong, shouts of dismay, the guns suddenly abandoned, men choking
and writhing on the ground, and the swift broadening-out of the opaque
cone of smoke. And then night and extinction�nothing but a silent mass
of impenetrable vapour hiding its dead.

Before dawn the black vapour was pouring through the streets of
Richmond, and the disintegrating organism of government was, with a
last expiring effort, rousing the population of London to the necessity
of flight.


XVI.

THE EXODUS FROM LONDON.

So you understand the roaring wave of fear that swept through the
greatest city in the world just as Monday was dawning�the stream of
flight rising swiftly to a torrent, lashing in a foaming tumult round
the railway stations, banked up into a horrible struggle about the
shipping in the Thames, and hurrying by every available channel
northward and eastward. By ten o�clock the police organisation, and by
midday even the railway organisations, were losing coherency, losing
shape and efficiency, guttering, softening, running at last in that
swift liquefaction of the social body.

All the railway lines north of the Thames and the South-Eastern people
at Cannon Street had been warned by midnight on Sunday, and trains were
being filled. People were fighting savagely for standing-room in the
carriages even at two o�clock. By three, people were being trampled and
crushed even in Bishopsgate Street, a couple of hundred yards or more
from Liverpool Street station; revolvers were fired, people stabbed,
and the policemen who had been sent to direct the traffic, exhausted
and infuriated, were breaking the heads of the people they were called
out to protect.

And as the day advanced and the engine drivers and stokers refused to
return to London, the pressure of the flight drove the people in an
ever-thickening multitude away from the stations and along the
northward-running roads. By midday a Martian had been seen at Barnes,
and a cloud of slowly sinking black vapour drove along the Thames and
across the flats of Lambeth, cutting off all escape over the bridges in
its sluggish advance. Another bank drove over Ealing, and surrounded a
little island of survivors on Castle Hill, alive, but unable to escape.

After a fruitless struggle to get aboard a North-Western train at Chalk
Farm�the engines of the trains that had loaded in the goods yard there
_ploughed_ through shrieking people, and a dozen stalwart men fought to
keep the crowd from crushing the driver against his furnace�my brother
emerged upon the Chalk Farm road, dodged across through a hurrying
swarm of vehicles, and had the luck to be foremost in the sack of a
cycle shop. The front tire of the machine he got was punctured in
dragging it through the window, but he got up and off, notwithstanding,
with no further injury than a cut wrist. The steep foot of Haverstock
Hill was impassable owing to several overturned horses, and my brother
struck into Belsize Road.

So he got out of the fury of the panic, and, skirting the Edgware Road,
reached Edgware about seven, fasting and wearied, but well ahead of the
crowd. Along the road people were standing in the roadway, curious,
wondering. He was passed by a number of cyclists, some horsemen, and
two motor cars. A mile from Edgware the rim of the wheel broke, and the
machine became unridable. He left it by the roadside and trudged
through the village. There were shops half opened in the main street of
the place, and people crowded on the pavement and in the doorways and
windows, staring astonished at this extraordinary procession of
fugitives that was beginning. He succeeded in getting some food at an
inn.

For a time he remained in Edgware not knowing what next to do. The
flying people increased in number. Many of them, like my brother,
seemed inclined to loiter in the place. There was no fresh news of the
invaders from Mars.

At that time the road was crowded, but as yet far from congested. Most
of the fugitives at that hour were mounted on cycles, but there were
soon motor cars, hansom cabs, and carriages hurrying along, and the
dust hung in heavy clouds along the road to St. Albans.

It was perhaps a vague idea of making his way to Chelmsford, where some
friends of his lived, that at last induced my brother to strike into a
quiet lane running eastward. Presently he came upon a stile, and,
crossing it, followed a footpath northeastward. He passed near several
farmhouses and some little places whose names he did not learn. He saw
few fugitives until, in a grass lane towards High Barnet, he happened
upon two ladies who became his fellow travellers. He came upon them
just in time to save them.

He heard their screams, and, hurrying round the corner, saw a couple of
men struggling to drag them out of the little pony-chaise in which they
had been driving, while a third with difficulty held the frightened
pony�s head. One of the ladies, a short woman dressed in white, was
simply screaming; the other, a dark, slender figure, slashed at the man
who gripped her arm with a whip she held in her disengaged hand.

My brother immediately grasped the situation, shouted, and hurried
towards the struggle. One of the men desisted and turned towards him,
and my brother, realising from his antagonist�s face that a fight was
unavoidable, and being an expert boxer, went into him forthwith and
sent him down against the wheel of the chaise.

It was no time for pugilistic chivalry and my brother laid him quiet
with a kick, and gripped the collar of the man who pulled at the
slender lady�s arm. He heard the clatter of hoofs, the whip stung
across his face, a third antagonist struck him between the eyes, and
the man he held wrenched himself free and made off down the lane in the
direction from which he had come.

Partly stunned, he found himself facing the man who had held the
horse�s head, and became aware of the chaise receding from him down the
lane, swaying from side to side, and with the women in it looking back.
The man before him, a burly rough, tried to close, and he stopped him
with a blow in the face. Then, realising that he was deserted, he
dodged round and made off down the lane after the chaise, with the
sturdy man close behind him, and the fugitive, who had turned now,
following remotely.

Suddenly he stumbled and fell; his immediate pursuer went headlong, and
he rose to his feet to find himself with a couple of antagonists again.
He would have had little chance against them had not the slender lady
very pluckily pulled up and returned to his help. It seems she had had
a revolver all this time, but it had been under the seat when she and
her companion were attacked. She fired at six yards� distance, narrowly
missing my brother. The less courageous of the robbers made off, and
his companion followed him, cursing his cowardice. They both stopped in
sight down the lane, where the third man lay insensible.

�Take this!� said the slender lady, and she gave my brother her
revolver.

�Go back to the chaise,� said my brother, wiping the blood from his
split lip.

She turned without a word�they were both panting�and they went back to
where the lady in white struggled to hold back the frightened pony.

The robbers had evidently had enough of it. When my brother looked
again they were retreating.

�I�ll sit here,� said my brother, �if I may�; and he got upon the empty
front seat. The lady looked over her shoulder.

�Give me the reins,� she said, and laid the whip along the pony�s side.
In another moment a bend in the road hid the three men from my
brother�s eyes.

So, quite unexpectedly, my brother found himself, panting, with a cut
mouth, a bruised jaw, and bloodstained knuckles, driving along an
unknown lane with these two women.

He learned they were the wife and the younger sister of a surgeon
living at Stanmore, who had come in the small hours from a dangerous
case at Pinner, and heard at some railway station on his way of the
Martian advance. He had hurried home, roused the women�their servant
had left them two days before�packed some provisions, put his revolver
under the seat�luckily for my brother�and told them to drive on to
Edgware, with the idea of getting a train there. He stopped behind to
tell the neighbours. He would overtake them, he said, at about half
past four in the morning, and now it was nearly nine and they had seen
nothing of him. They could not stop in Edgware because of the growing
traffic through the place, and so they had come into this side lane.

That was the story they told my brother in fragments when presently
they stopped again, nearer to New Barnet. He promised to stay with
them, at least until they could determine what to do, or until the
missing man arrived, and professed to be an expert shot with the
revolver�a weapon strange to him�in order to give them confidence.

They made a sort of encampment by the wayside, and the pony became
happy in the hedge. He told them of his own escape out of London, and
all that he knew of these Martians and their ways. The sun crept higher
in the sky, and after a time their talk died out and gave place to an
uneasy state of anticipation. Several wayfarers came along the lane,
and of these my brother gathered such news as he could. Every broken
answer he had deepened his impression of the great disaster that had
come on humanity, deepened his persuasion of the immediate necessity
for prosecuting this flight. He urged the matter upon them.

�We have money,� said the slender woman, and hesitated.

Her eyes met my brother�s, and her hesitation ended.

�So have I,� said my brother.

She explained that they had as much as thirty pounds in gold, besides a
five-pound note, and suggested that with that they might get upon a
train at St. Albans or New Barnet. My brother thought that was
hopeless, seeing the fury of the Londoners to crowd upon the trains,
and broached his own idea of striking across Essex towards Harwich and
thence escaping from the country altogether.

Mrs. Elphinstone�that was the name of the woman in white�would listen
to no reasoning, and kept calling upon �George�; but her sister-in-law
was astonishingly quiet and deliberate, and at last agreed to my
brother�s suggestion. So, designing to cross the Great North Road, they
went on towards Barnet, my brother leading the pony to save it as much
as possible. As the sun crept up the sky the day became excessively
hot, and under foot a thick, whitish sand grew burning and blinding, so
that they travelled only very slowly. The hedges were grey with dust.
And as they advanced towards Barnet a tumultuous murmuring grew
stronger.

They began to meet more people. For the most part these were staring
before them, murmuring indistinct questions, jaded, haggard, unclean.
One man in evening dress passed them on foot, his eyes on the ground.
They heard his voice, and, looking back at him, saw one hand clutched
in his hair and the other beating invisible things. His paroxysm of
rage over, he went on his way without once looking back.

As my brother�s party went on towards the crossroads to the south of
Barnet they saw a woman approaching the road across some fields on
their left, carrying a child and with two other children; and then
passed a man in dirty black, with a thick s