The next morning was sunny, and we were much more cheerful. .

I told Sir Henry about the crying I had heard. He rang the bell to call Barrymore, and asked him if he
could explain the crying. Barrymore’s face went white when he heard Sir Henry’s question.

‘There are only two women in the house, Sir Henry,’ he answered. ‘One is the maid, who sleeps on the
other side of the house. The other is my wife, and she was certainly not crying.’ . But he was telling a lie. I
saw Mrs Barrymore after breakfast. The sun was full on her face, and it was clear she had been crying.

Why had Barrymore lied? What deep sadness had made his wife cry? There was a mystery surrounding
this black-bearded, handsome man. Was it possible that Barrymore was in fact the man who had been
watching Sir Henry in London? I decided I must check with the local post office that the telegram had
really been put into Barrymore’s own hands.

While Sir Henry worked at some papers, I walked to the post office. It was in the nearest village, which
was called Grimpen. I spoke to the boy who had taken the telegram to the Hall.

Did you give it to Mr Barrymore himself?’ I asked.

‘Well,’ the boy said, ‘he was working up on the roof, so I ’ couldn’t give it to him. I gave it to Mrs
Barrymore, and she promised to give it to himat once.’

'Did you see Mr Barrymore?’ I asked him.

‘No,’ said the boy, ‘but why did his wife say he was up on the roof if he wasn’t?’

It was hopeless to ask any more questions. it was clear that Holmes’ cleverness with the telegram had
not given us the proof we needed.

I was walking away from the post office when i heard Someone running after me. A voice called me by
name, and I turned. I expected to see Dr Mortimer, as I knew nobody else in the village. To my surprise it
was a Stranger. He was a small, thin man, between thirty and forty years old, with . fair hair and no
beard. He was carrying a butterfly net, and a box for putting butterflies in. .

‘I hope-you will excuse me for introducing myself, Dr Watson,’ he said as he came up to me. ‘My name is
Stapleton. I was in Dr Mortimer’s house and we saw you. He told me who you are. May I walk along with
you? This path back to the Hall goes near my home, Pen House. Please come in and meet my sister, and
spend an hour with us.’

I accepted Stapleton’s invitation, and we walked together.

‘I know that you are a close friend of Sherlock Holmess’
said Stapleton. “Has Mr Holmes any ideas about‘Sir Charles’ death?’

‘l’m afraid I can’t answer that question,’ I said.

‘Will Mr Holmes visit us himself?’ he asked.

‘He can’t leave London at the moment,’ I answered. I was rather surprised that he was asking me these
questions. ’

We walked on. Stapleton told me that he and his sister had lived in Devonshire for only two years. They
had moved there soon after Sir Charles had begun to live m Baskerville Hall. He also talked about the
moor and how it interested him. He told me to look across the moor to a place which was a bright green
colour.

‘That is the Great Grimpen Marsh,’ he said. ‘If animals or men go into the marsh, they will sink into it and
die. But I can find my way to the very centre of it. Look, there is another of those poor horses.’

Something brown was fighting to get out of the bright green of the marsh. Then a terrible cry came
across the moor. The horse’s head and neck disappeared under the green.

‘It’s gone, ’Stapleton said ‘The marsh has caught and killed it. That often happens. It IS an evil place, the
Great Grimpen Marsh.’

. ‘But you say you can go safely in and out of it?’ I asked him.

‘Yes, there are a few paths, and I have found them. The low hills you can see are like islands surrounded
by the marsh. That is where I can find the unusual plants and butterflies. And that’s why I found my way
through the marsh.’

‘I shall try my luck one day,’ I said.

He looked at me in surprise. ‘Please don’t try,’ he said. ‘You would never return alive, and it would be my
fault.’

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘What is that?’

A long, l'ow cry, very deep and very sad, came over the moor. It filled the whole air. Then it died away.

‘What is it?’ I asked, with a cold fear in my heart.

Stapleton had a strange look on his face. ‘The people say

ðə nɛkst ˈmɔrnɪŋ wəz ˈsʌni, ənd wi wər mʌʧ mɔr ˈʧɪrfəl. .

aɪ toʊld sɜr ˈhɛnri əˈbaʊt ðə ˈkraɪɪŋ aɪ həd hɜrd. hi ræŋ ðə bɛl tə kɔl ˈbæriˌmɔr,
ənd æskt ɪm ɪf hi kəd ɪkˈspleɪn ðəˈkraɪɪŋ. ˈbæriˌmɔrz feɪs wɛnt waɪt wɛn hi hɜ
rd sɜr ˈhɛnriz ˈkwɛsʧən.

ðər ər ˈoʊnli tu ˈwɪmən ɪn ðə haʊs, sɜr ˈhɛnri,’ hi ˈænsərd. wʌn əz ðə meɪd, hu

slips ɑn ði ˈʌðər saɪd əv ðə haʊs. ði ˈʌðər ɪz maɪwaɪf, ənd ʃi wəz ˈsɜrtənli nɑt
ˈkraɪɪŋ.’ . bət hi wəz ˈtɛlɪŋ ə laɪ. aɪ sɔ ˈmɪsɪz ˈbæri
ˌmɔr ˈæftər ˈbrɛkfəst. ðə sʌn wəz fʊl ɑn hərfeɪs, ənd ɪt wəz klɪr ʃi həd bɪn ˈkra
ɪɪŋ.

waɪ həd ˈbæriˌmɔr laɪd? wʌt dip ˈsædnəs həd meɪd ɪz waɪf kraɪ? ðər wəz ə ˈ
mɪstəri səˈraʊndɪŋ ðɪs blæk-ˈbɪrdəd, ˈhænsəmmæn. wəz ɪt ˈpɑsəbəl ðət ˈbæri
ˌmɔr wəz ɪn fækt ðə mæn hu həd bɪn ˈwɑʧɪŋ sɜr ˈhɛnri ɪn ˈlʌndən? aɪ ˌdɪ
ˈsaɪdɪd aɪ məst ʧɛk wɪððə ˈloʊkəl poʊst ˈɔfəs ðət ðə ˈtɛləˌgræm həd ˈrɪli bɪn pʊ
t ˈɪntə ˈbæriˌmɔrz oʊn hændz.

waɪl sɜr ˈhɛnri wɜrkt ət səm ˈpeɪpərz, aɪ wɔkt tə ðə poʊst ˈɔfəs. ɪt wəz ɪn ðə ˈ
nɪrəst ˈvɪləʤ, wɪʧ wəz kɔld Grimpen. aɪ spoʊk təðə bɔɪ hu həd ˈteɪkən ðə ˈtɛl
əˌgræm tə ðə hɔl.
dɪd jʊ gɪv ɪt tə ˈmɪstər ˈbæriˌmɔr hɪmˈsɛlf?’ aɪ æskt.

wɛl,’ ðə bɔɪ sɛd, hi wəz ˈwɜrkɪŋ ʌp ɑn ðə ruf, soʊ aɪ ' ˈkʊdənt gɪv ɪt tə hɪm. aɪ
geɪv ɪt tə ˈmɪsɪz ˈbæriˌmɔr, ənd ʃi ˈprɑməst tə gɪvɪt tʊ himat wʌns.’

dɪd jʊ si ˈmɪstər ˈbæriˌmɔr?’ aɪ æskt hɪm.

noʊ,’ sɛd ðə bɔɪ, bət waɪ dɪd ɪz waɪf seɪ hi wəz ʌp ɑn ðə ruf ɪf hi ˈwɑzənt?’

ɪt wəz ˈhoʊpləs tʊ æsk ˈɛni mɔr ˈkwɛsʧənz. ɪt wəz klɪr ðət hoʊmz ˈklɛvərnəs
wɪð ðə ˈtɛləˌgræm həd nɑt ˈgɪvən əs ðə pruf wiˈnidəd.

aɪ wəz ˈwɔkɪŋ əˈweɪ frəm ðə poʊst ˈɔfəs wɛn aɪ hɜrd ˈsʌmˌwʌn ˈrʌnɪŋ ˈæftər
mi. ə vɔɪs kɔld mi baɪ neɪm, ənd aɪ tɜrnd. aɪɪkˈspɛktəd tə si draɪv ˈmɔrtɪmər,
əz aɪ nu ˈnoʊˌbɑˌdi ɛls ɪn ðə ˈvɪləʤ. tə maɪ sərˈpraɪz ɪt wəz ə ˈstreɪnʤər. hi wəz
ə smɔl, θɪnmæn, bɪˈtwin ˈθɜrdi ənd ˈfɔrti jɪrz oʊld, wɪð . fɛr hɛr ənd noʊ bɪrd. h
i wəz ˈkæriɪŋ ə ˈbʌtərˌflaɪ nɛt, ənd ə bɑks fər ˈpʌtɪŋˈbʌtərˌflaɪz ɪn. .

aɪ hoʊp-ju wɪl ɪkˈskjus mi fər ˌɪntrəˈdusɪŋ ˌmaɪˈsɛlf, draɪv ˈwɑtsən,’ hi sɛd əz hi

keɪm ʌp tə mi. maɪ neɪm əz ˈsteɪpəltən. aɪ wəzɪn draɪv ˈmɔrtɪmərz haʊs ənd
wi sɔ ju. hi toʊld mi hu jʊ ɑr. meɪ aɪ wɔk əˈlɔŋ wɪð ju? ðɪs pæθ bæk tə ðə hɔl
goʊz nɪr maɪhoʊm, pɛn haʊs. pliz kʌm ɪn ənd mit maɪ ˈsɪstər, ənd spɛnd ən ˈ
aʊər wɪð ʌs.’

aɪ ækˈsɛptɪd ˈsteɪpəltənz ˌɪnvɪˈteɪʃən, ənd wi wɔkt təˈgɛðər.

aɪ noʊ ðət jʊ ər ə kloʊs frɛnd əv ˈʃɜrˌlɑk ˈhoʊmzɪz

sɛd ˈsteɪpəltən. “həz ˈmɪstər hoʊmz ˈɛni aɪˈdiəz about'Sir ʧɑrlz dɛθ?’
'l'm əˈfreɪd aɪ kænt ˈænsər ðət ˈkwɛsʧən,’ aɪ sɛd.

wɪl ˈmɪstər hoʊmz ˈvɪzət əs hɪmˈsɛlf?’ hi æskt.

hi kænt liv ˈlʌndən ət ðə ˈmoʊmənt,’ aɪ ˈænsərd. aɪ wəz ˈræðər sərˈpraɪzd ðət

hi wəz ˈæskɪŋ mi ðiz ˈkwɛsʧənz. ’

wi wɔkt ɑn. ˈsteɪpəltən toʊld mi ðət hi ənd ɪz ˈsɪstər həd laɪvd ɪn dɪˈvɑnˌʃaɪr f
ər ˈoʊnli tu jɪrz. ðeɪ həd muvd ðɛr sun ˈæftər sɜrʧɑrlz həd bɪˈgʌn tə lɪv ɛm ˈbæ
skərˌvɪl hɔl. hi ˈɔlsoʊ tɔkt əˈbaʊt ðə mʊr ənd haʊ ɪt ˈɪntrəstəd hɪm. hi toʊld mi
tə lʊk əˈkrɔs ðə mʊrtʊ ə pleɪs wɪʧ wəz ə braɪt grin colour.

ðæt əz ðə greɪt Grimpen mɑrʃ,’ hi sɛd. ɪf ˈænəməlz ɔr mɛn goʊ ˈɪntə ðə mɑrʃ,
ðeɪ wɪl sɪŋk ˈɪntə ɪt ənd daɪ. bət aɪ kən faɪnd maɪweɪ tə ðə ˈvɛri ˈsɛntər əv ɪt.
lʊk, ðər ɪz əˈnʌðər əv ðoʊz pur ˈhɔrsəz.’

ˈsʌmθɪŋ braʊn wəz ˈfaɪtɪŋ tə gɛt aʊt əv ðə braɪt grin əv ðə mɑrʃ. ðɛn ə ˈtɛrəbəl
kraɪ keɪm əˈkrɔs ðə mʊr. ðə ˈhɔrsəz hɛd ənd nɛkˌdɪsəˈpɪrd ˈʌndər ðə grin.

ɪts gɔn, ˈsteɪpəltən sɛd ðə mɑrʃ həz kɑt ənd kɪld ɪt. ðæt ˈɔfən ˈhæpənz. ɪt əz ə
n ˈivəl pleɪs, ðə greɪt Grimpen mɑrʃ.’

. bət jʊ seɪ jʊ kən goʊ ˈseɪfli ɪn ənd aʊt əv ɪt?’ aɪ æskt hɪm.

jɛs, ðər ər ə fju pæðz, ənd aɪ həv faʊnd ðɛm. ðə loʊ hɪlz jʊ kən si ər laɪk ˈaɪlən
dz səˈraʊndəd baɪ ðə mɑrʃ. ðæt əz wɛr aɪ kənfaɪnd ði ənˈjuʒˌuəl plænts ənd ˈb
ʌtərˌflaɪz. ənd ðæts waɪ aɪ faʊnd maɪ weɪ θru ðə mɑrʃ.’

aɪ ʃəl traɪ maɪ lʌk wʌn deɪ,’ aɪ sɛd.

hi lʊkt ət mi ɪn sərˈpraɪz. pliz doʊnt traɪ,’ hi sɛd. jʊ wəd ˈnɛvər rɪˈtɜrn əˈlaɪv, ən
d ɪt wəd bi maɪ fɔlt.’

ˈlɪsən,’ aɪ sɛd. wʌt əz ðæt?’

ə lɔŋ, l'ow kraɪ, ˈvɛri dip ənd ˈvɛri sæd, keɪm ˈoʊvər ðə mʊr. ɪt fɪld ðə hoʊl ɛr.
ðɛn ɪt daɪd əˈweɪ.

wʌt əz ɪt?’ aɪ æskt, wɪð ə koʊld fɪr ɪn maɪ hɑrt.

ˈsteɪpəltən həd ə streɪnʤ lʊk ɑn ɪz feɪs. ðə ˈpipəl seɪ