LA CAN DE LA BASKERVILLES
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Capitol 10: Estraeda de la jornal de Dr Watson

Chapter 10. Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson

Asta aora me ia pote sita de la reportas cual me ia envia en esta dias temprana a Sherlock Holmes. Aora, an tal, me ia ariva a un punto en mea raconta do me es obligada a abandona esta metodo e a fida denova mea recordas, aidada par la jornal personal cual me ia scrive a acel tempo. Alga estraedas de esta va porta me asta acel senas cual es permanente fisada par cada detalia en mea memoria. Me continua, donce, de la matina cual ia segue nosa xasa abortada de la prisonida e nosa otra esperias strana sur la stepe.

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.

16 otobre.

October 16th.

Un dia nubosa e neblosa con pluveta cadente. La casa es ensircada par nubes rolante, cual leva de ves a ves per mostra la curvas sombre de la stepe, con venas magra e arjento a la lados de la colinas, e la rocones distante cual rebrilia do la lus colpa sua fases moiada. Lo es melancolica a estra e a en. La baroneta es en un reata negra pos la stimulas de la note. Me mesma es consiensa de un pesa a mea cor e un senti de peril prosiminte – peril sempre presente, cual es plu asustante car me es noncapas de defini lo.

— 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.

E esce me no ave un causa per un tal senti? Considera la serie longa de avenis de cual tota ia indica alga influe malvolente cual opera sirca nos. On ave la mori de la ocupor presedente de la Cason, tan esata realinte la ambiente de la lejenda de la familia, e on ave la reportas repeteda par campanianes sur la apare de un bestia strana sur la stepe. A du veses, me ia oia par mea propre oreas la sona cual ia sembla la abaia distante de un can. Lo es noncredable, nonposible, ce lo ta es vera ultra la leges comun de natur. On debe serta no pensa a un can fantasmin cual lasa impresas material de pede e pleni la aira con sua ulula. Stapleton aseta cisa un tal superstisio, como ance Mortimer, ma si me posese un cualia en la mundo, lo es la praticalia, e no cosa va convinse me a crede un tal cosa. Fa tal ta sinifia desende a la nivel de esta campanianes povre, ci no es contente par mera un can demonin, ma nesesa descrive lo con foco de enferno xutante de sua boca e oios. Holmes no ta escuta tal fantasias, e me es sua ajente. Ma fatos es fatos, e a du veses me ia oia esta cria sur la stepe. Suposa ce vera alga can enorme ta es libre ala; esta ta progresa multe a un esplica de tota. Ma do un tal can ta pote resta ascondeda, do lo ta oteni sua nurintes, de do lo ta veni, como nun ta vide lo en la dia?

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?

On debe confesa ce la esplica natural ofre cuasi tan multe difisiles como la otra. E sempre, ultra la can, on ave la fato de la ajente umana en London, la om en la taxi-caro, e la letera cual ia averti Sir Henry contra la stepe. Esta, a la min, ia es real, ma lo ia pote es tan fasil la labora de un ami protejente como de un enemi. Do es acel ami o enemi aora? Esce el ia resta en London, o esce el ia segue nos asi? Esce el – esce el pote es la nonconoseda ci me ia vide sur la monteta?

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?

Lo es vera ce me ia fa sola un videta a el, e an tal on ave alga cosas cual me es preparada per jura. El es no person ci me ia oserva asi, e me ia encontra aora tota la visinas. La figur ia es multe plu alta ca lo de Stapleton, multe plu magra ca lo de Frankland. Barrymore el ia es cisa, posible, ma nos ia lasa el pos nos, e me es serta ce el no ia pote segue nos. Donce un nonconoseda trasa ancora nos, esata como un nonconoseda ia trasa nos en London. Nos ia secute el nunca a via. Si me ta pote catura acel om, alora cisa ultima nos ta trova nos a la fini de tota nosa difisiles. A esta sola ojeto me debe aora dedica tota mea enerjia.

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.

Mea impulsa prima ia es dise a Sir Henry tota mea projetas. Mea impulsa du e plu saja es fa mea propre jua e parla tan poca como posible a cualcun. El es silente e distraeda. Sua nervos ia es strana secuteda par acel sona sur la stepe. Me va dise no cosa per ajunta a sua ansias, ma me va fa mea propre pasos per ateni mea propre ojeto.

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.

Un sena peti ia aveni oji pos la come de matina. Barrymore ia solisita permete per parla con Sir Henry, e los ia es encluida en sua studio tra plu ca poca de tempo. Sentante en la biliarderia me ia oia a plu ca un ves la sona de voses forte, e me ia comprende sufisinte bon cua es la punto discuteda. Pos un tempo, la baroneta ia abri sua porte e ia clama per me.

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 opina ce el ave un causa per cexa,” – el ia dise. “El crede ce nos ia ata nonjusta en xasa sua frate par sposi cuando el, par sua volunta libre, ia dise a nos la secreta.”

“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.”

La servor xef ia sta multe pal ma multe calma ante nos.

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

“Cisa me ia parla tro calda, senior,” – el ia dise – “e si tal, me demanda serta per tua pardona. A la mesma tempo, me ia es vera multe surprendeda cuando me ia oia la reveni de vos du seniores a esta matina e ia descovre ce tu ia xasa Selden. La om povre ave ja sufisinte contra cual el debe batalia, sin ce me pone plu persones a sua trasa.”

“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.”

“Si tu ia informa nos par tua volunta libre, la situa ia ta es diferente.” – la baroneta ia dise. “Tu ia informa nos, o vera tua sposa ia informa nos, sola cuando lo ia es forsada de vos e vos no ia pote evita.”

“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.”

“Me no ia suposa ce tu va esplota lo, Sir Henry, vera no.”

“I didn’t think you would have taken advantage of it, Sir Henry – indeed I didn’t.”

“Acel om es un peril per la popla. On ave casas solitar sperdeda tra la stepe, e el es un om ci va esita ante no cosa. On nesesa mera videta sua fas per comprende esta. Considera la casa de Sr Stapleton, per esemplo, con nun ultra el mesma per defende lo. Nun va es secur asta cuando la prisonida va es denova su clave.”

“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.”

“El va entra par forsa a no casa, senior. Me dona a tu mea jura formal sur esta. Ma el va disturba nunca cualcun plu en esta pais. Me serti tu, Sir Henry, ce pos vera poca dias, la organizas nesesada va es realida e el va es en via a America Sude. Par Dio, senior, me suplica tu a no dise a la polisia ce el es ancora sur la stepe. Los ia abandona ala la xasa, e el pote reposa cuieta asta cuando la barcon es preparada per aseta el. Tu no pote informa contra el sin tira me e mea sposa a un situa difisil. Me suplica tu, senior, a dise no cosa a la polisia.”

“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.”

“Cua es tua opina, Watson?”

“What do you say, Watson?”

Me ia leva mea spalas.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Si el ta es secur estra la pais, esta ta sutrae un carga de la paiores de imposta.”

“If he were safely out of the country it would relieve the tax-payer of a burden.”

“Ma como de la posible ce el va ruba algun ante parti?”

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

“El no ta fa un cosa tan fol, senior. Nos ia furni a el tota cual el pote desira. Fa un crimin ta sinifia revela do el asconde.”

“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.”

“Esta es vera.” – Sir Henry ia dise. “Bon, Barrymore —”

“That is true,” said Sir Henry. “Well, Barrymore —”

“Ta ce Dio bondise tu, senior, e grasias de mea cor! Lo ia ta mata mea sposa povre si sua frate ia ta es recaturada.”

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

“Me suposa ce nos aida e suporta un crimin, Watson? Ma pos lo cual nos ia oia, me no senti ce me ta pote trae el a la autoriosas, donce nos ave asi la fini. En ordina, Barrymore, tu pote parti.”

“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.”

Pos alga parolas balbutada de grasia, la om ia turna, ma el ia esita e ia reveni a pos.

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

“Tu ia es tan jentil a nos, senior, ce me ta desira fa la plu bon cual me pote per tu par intercambia. Me sabe alga cosa, Sir Henry, e cisa me ia debe dise lo a ante, ma sola longa pos la investiga me ia descovre lo. Me ia espira ancora nunca un parola sur lo a cualce mortal. Lo conserna la mori de la povre Sir Charles.”

“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.”

La baroneta e me ia sta nos, ambos.

The baronet and I were both upon our feet.

“Esce tu sabe como el ia mori?”

“Do you know how he died?”

“No, senior, me no sabe acel.”

“No, sir, I don’t know that.”

“Cua tu sabe, alora?”

“What then?”

“Me sabe perce el ia es a la porteta a acel aora. Lo ia es per encontra un fem.”

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

“Per encontra un fem? El?”

“To meet a woman! He?”

“Si, senior.”

“Yes, sir.”

“E la nom de la fem?”

“And the woman’s name?”

“Me no pote dona a tu la nom, senior, ma me pote dona a tu la inisiales. Sua inisiales es L. L.”

“I can’t give you the name, sir, but I can give you the initials. Her initials were L. L.”

“Como tu sabe esta, Barrymore?”

“How do you know this, Barrymore?”

“Bon, Sir Henry, tua tio ia reseta un letera en acel matina. El ia reseta usual vera multe leteras, car el ia es un om publica e bon conoseda per sua compatia, tal ce cadun en un situa difisil ia turna felis a el. Ma en acel matina, acaso, sola esta letera ia ariva, donce me ia atende plu lo. Lo ia veni de Vale Tracey, e lo ia es adirijeda en la scrive de mano de un fem.”

“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.”

“E?”

“Well?”

“Bon, senior, me ia pensa no plu a lo, e ia ta pensa nunca si mea sposa no ia ta interveni. A no multe semanas ante aora, el ia limpi la studio de Sir Charles – lo ia es nunca tocada pos sua mori – e el ia trova la senes de un letera ardeda en la retro de la ximineria. La parte plu grande de lo ia es desintegrada par foco, ma un frato peti, la fini de un paje, ia resta juntada, e la scrive ia es ancora lejable, an si lo ia es gris sur un fondo negra. Lo ia pare a nos un epiloga a la fini de la letera e lo ia dise: ‘Per favore, me prea, car tu es un bon senior, arde esta letera, e veni a la porteta ante la ora des.’ Suscriveda a pos ia es la inisiales L. L.”

“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 grey 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.”

“Esce tu ave acel frato?”

“Have you got that slip?”

“No, senior, lo ia cade tota en migas cuando nos ia move lo.”

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

“Esce Sir Charles ia reseta cualce otra leteras en la mesma scrive de mano?”

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

“Bon, senior, me no ia atende spesial sua leteras. Me no ia ta nota esta, ma lo ia veni acaso solitar.”

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

“E tu ave no idea ci es L. L.?”

“And you have no idea who L. L. is?”

“No, senior. No plu ca tu mesma. Ma me imajina ce si nos ta pote trova acel dama, nos ta sabe plu sur la mori de Sir Charles.”

“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.”

“Me no pote comprende, Barrymore, como lo ia aveni ce tu ia asconde esta informa importante.”

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

“Bon, senior, direta pos acel, nosa propre situa difisil ia veni a nos. E ancora plu, senior, ambos de nos ia gusta multe Sir Charles, como conveni a nos, si on considera tota cual el ia fa per nos. La revela de esta no ia ta aida nosa mestre povre, e on debe es cauta cuando la caso envolve un dama. An la plu bon de nos —”

“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 —”

“Tu ia pensa ce lo va dana cisa sua reputa?”

“You thought it might injure his reputation?”

“Bon, senior, me ia pensa ce no benefica va veni de lo. Ma aora tu ia es jentil a nos, e me senti ce me ta trata tu en modo nonjusta si me no ta dise a tu tota cual me sabe pertinente.”

“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.”

“Multe bon, Barrymore; tu pote parti.”

“Very good, Barrymore; you can go.”

Cuando la servor ia parti de nos, Sir Henry ia turna a me:

When the butler had left us Sir Henry turned to me.

“Bon, Watson, cua es tua opina sur esta lus nova?”

“Well, Watson, what do you think of this new light?”

“Lo pare lasa la oscuria alga plu negra ca a ante.”

“It seems to leave the darkness rather blacker than before.”

“Tal me pensa. Ma si nos pote mera trasa L. L., la situa intera va deveni probable clar. Nos ia gania esta. Nos sabe ce algun esiste ci ave la fatos, si sola nos pote trova el. Como, en tua opina, nos debe ata?”

“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?”

“Lasa ce Holmes sabe tota sin retarda. Lo va dona a el la aidasolve cual el ia xerca. Me era multe si lo no va trae el asi.”

“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.”

Me ia vade direta a mea sala e ia prepara mea reporta de la conversa de la matina per Holmes. Lo ia es evidente a me ce resente el ia es multe ocupada, car la notas cual me ia reseta de Strada Baker ia es poca e corta, con no comentas sur la informa cual me ia furni e con apena un refere a mea mision. Sin duta sua caso de la estorsor asorbe tota sua capasias. E an tal, esta fator nova va debe serta saisi sua atende e renovi sua interesa. Me desira ce el ta es asi.

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.

17 otobre.

October 17th.

Tra tota la dia oji, la pluve ia cade torente, xuxante sur la edera e gotante de la teto. Me ia pensa a la prisonida a estra sur la stepe desertin, fria, sin proteje. La compatiable! Cua ta es sua crimines, el ia sufri alga per espia los. E a pos me ia pensa a acel otra – la fas en la taxi-caro, la figur contra la luna. Esce ance el ia es a estra en acel deluvia – la oservor nonvideda, la om de oscuria? En la sera, me ia apone mea jacon de pluve e me ia pasea vasta sur la stepe saturada, plen de imajinas oscur, con la pluve batente mea fas e la venta sibilante sirca mea oreas. Ta ce Dio aida cualcun ci vaga aora en la Pantan Grande, car an la tereno firma plu alta deveni acuosa. Me ia trova la monteta negra sur cual me ia vide la oservor solitar, e de sua culmina presipe me mesma ia regarda a traversa de la inclinas melancolica. Soflones pluvosa ia pasa traversante sua fas rojin brun, e la nubes pesosa de color ardosin ia pende basa supra la vista, desendente en garlandas gris la lados de la colinas fantasin. En la cava distante a sinistra, partal ascondeda par la nebleta, la du tores magra de Cason Baskerville ia asende supra la arbores. Los ia es la sola sinias de vive umana cual me ia pote vide, estra sola acel cabanas preistorial cual ia reposa densa sur la inclinas de la colinas. No loca ia ave un trasa de acel om solitar ci me ia vide a la mesma punto a du notes pasada.

— 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 deluge – 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 grey 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.

En mea repasea, me ia es pasada par Dr Mortimer viajante en sua caro lejera longo un vieta ru de stepe cual gida de la casa de cultiveria bordante Malfango. El ia atende multe nos, e apena un dia ia pasa cuando el no ia visita la Cason per vide como nos vade. El ia insiste ce me trepa a sur sua caro, e el ia dona a me pasaje a casa. Me ia trova el en multe disturba sur la desapare de sua spaniel peti. Lo ia vaga sur la stepe e ia reveni nunca. Me ia dona a el tal consola como me ia pote, ma me ia pensa a la cavalo sur la Pantan de Grimpen, e me no suposa ce el va vide denova sua can peti.

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.

“En pasa, Mortimer,” – me ia dise en nosa vade secuteda longo la vieta ru, – “me suposa ce en distantia viajable de asi poca persones abita ci tu no conose?”

“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?”

“Apena un, me pensa.”

“Hardly any, I think.”

“Esce, alora, tu pote dise a me la nom de cualce fem de ci sua inisiales es L. L.?”

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

El ia pensa tra alga minutos.

He thought for a few minutes.

“No.” – el ia dise. “On ave alga romanis e laborores sur ci me no pote responde, ma entre la cultivores o la clase alta on ave nun de ci sua inisiales es aceles. Un momento, an tal.” – el ia ajunta pos un pausa. “On ave Laura Lyons – sua inisiales es L. L. – ma el abita en Vale Tracey.

“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.”

“Ci es el?” – me ia demanda.

“Who is she?” I asked.

“El es la fia de Frankland.”

“She is Frankland’s daughter.”

“Como? La vea Frankland strana?”

“What! Old Frankland the crank?”

“Esata. El ia sposi un artiste nomida Lyons, ci ia veni per desinia sur la stepe. La artiste ia es mostrada como un vil e ia abandona el. La culpa, longo mea oias, ia es cisa no intera a un lado. La padre de la fia ia refusa relata con el car el ia es sposida sin sua acorda e cisa ance per un o du otra razonas. Donce, entre la pecor vea e la joven, la fia ia pasa tra esperias alga mal.”

“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.”

“Como el susta se?”

“How does she live?”

“Me divina ce la vea Frankland dona a el un pico de mone, ma lo no pote es plu, car sua propre consernas es considerable envolveda. Sin depende de lo cual la fia ia merita, on no ia pote permete ce el mali desperante. Sua istoria ia deveni conoseda, e alga de la persones asi ia contribui per capasi el a gania un susta onesta. Stapleton ia fa tal, per esemplo, e Sir Charles ance. Me mesma ia ajunta un graneta. Esta ia es per institui el en labora como tapor.”

“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.”

El ia vole sabe la intende de mea demandas, ma me ia susede sasia sua curiosia sin dise tro multe a el, car nos ave no razona per confida detalias a cualcun. En la matina doman, me va segue la via a Vale Tracey, e si me va pote encontra esta Sra Laura Lyons, de reputa ambigua, un paso longa va es fada per clari un aveni en esta cadena de misterios. Serta me developa la sajia de la serpente, car cuando Mortimer ia persiste sua demandas a grado nonoportun, a el me ia demanda casual a cual tipo la cranio de Frankland parteni, e donce ia oia no otra cosa ca craniolojia tra la resta de nosa viaja. No futil me abita ja tra anios con Sherlock Holmes.

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.

Me ave sola un plu aveni per rejistra en esta dia tempestosa e melancolica. Esta es la conversa cual me veni de fa con Barrymore, cual dona a me un plu carta forte cual me pote jua a tempo conveninte.

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 ia resta per come de sera, e el e la baroneta ia jua ecarte a pos. La servor xef ia trae mea cafe a me en la biblioteca, e me ia usa la momento per fa alga demandas a el.

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

“Bon,” – me ia dise – “esce acel tua relatada grandiosa ia parti, o esce el asconde ancora ala distante?”

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

“Me no sabe, senior. Me espera par la sielo ce el ia parti, car el ia trae asi no plu ca problemes! Me no ia oia de el pos la ves la plu resente de lasa comables per el, e acel ia es a tre dias pasada.”

“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.”

“Tu ia vide el alora?”

“Did you see him then?”

“No, senior, ma la comables ia desapare cuando me ia vade seguente longo acel via.”

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

“Donce el ia es serta ala?”

“Then he was certainly there?”

“Tal on ta crede, senior, estra si la otra om ia prende los.”

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

Me ia senta con mea tas de cafe partal levada a mea labios, con regarda fisada a Barrymore.

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

“Tu sabe ce on ave un otra om, donce?”

“You know that there is another man then?”

“Si, senior; on ave un otra om sur la stepe.”

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

“Esce tu ia vide el?”

“Have you seen him?”

“No, senior.”

“No, sir.”

“Donce como tu sabe sur el?”

“How do you know of him then?”

“Selden ia informa me sur el, senior, a un semana o plu ante aora. Ance el asconde, ma el no es un prisonida cuanto me pote descovre. Me no gusta lo, Dr Watson – me dise direta a tu, senior, ce me no gusta lo.” El ia parla con un pasion subita seria.

“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.

“Ma escuta me, Barrymore! Me ave no conserna en esta caso estra per tua mestre. Me ia veni asi con no otra intende ca per aida el. Dise a me, franca, cua es lo cual tu no gusta.”

“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 ia esita per un momento, como si regretente sua esplode o trovante difisilia en espresa sua propre sentis en parolas.

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

“Lo es tota esta avenis, senior!” – el ia esclama ultima, brandinte sua mano en dirije a la fenetra, bateda par pluve, cual fasa la stepe. “On ave criminalia en alga loca, e vilia negra es infusante, me jura lo! Multe felis me ta es, senior, vidente Sir Henry en reviaja a London!”

“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!”

“Ma cua es lo cual alarma tu?”

“But what is it that alarms you?”

“Vide la mori de Sir Charles! Acel ia es sufisinte mal, an pos la dise de la forensiste. Vide la ruidos sur la stepe a note. No person ta traversa lo pos reposa de sol, an si on ta paia el. Vide esta nonconoseda ci asconde ala distante, oservante e espetante! Cua el espeta? Cua lo sinifia? Lo no sinifia bon per cualcun con la nom Baskerville, e multe felis me va libri me de tota de lo a la dia cuando la servores nova de Sir Henry va es preparada per maneja la Cason.”

“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.”

“Ma a tema de esta nonconoseda,” – me ia demanda – “esce tu pote dona cualce informa sur el? Cua Selden ia dise? Esce el ia descovre do el asconde, o cua el fa?”

“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?”

“El ia vide el a un o du veses, ma el es un om rusosa e revela no cosa. Prima Selden ia suposa ce el es un polisior, ma pos corta el ia trova ce el ave alga propre scema. El es un senior de clase alta, cuanto Selden ia pote vide, ma el no ia pote persepi cua el fa.”

“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.”

“E do el abita, longo el?”

“And where did he say that he lived?”

“Entre la casa vea sur la lado de la colina – la cabanas de petra do la popla vea ia abita.”

“Among the old houses on the hillside – the stone huts where the old folk used to live.”

“Ma como el nuri se?”

“But how about his food?”

“Selden ia descovre ce el ave un xico ci labora per el e trae tota cual el nesesa. Probable el vade a Vale Tracey per lo cual el desira.”

“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.”

“Multe bon, Barrymore. Nos va parla cisa plu sur esta a un otra ves.”

“Very good, Barrymore. We may talk further of this some other time.”

Cuando la servor ia parti, me ia pasea a la fenetra negra, e me ia regarda tra un vitro neblida la nubes avansante e la contorno contorsente de la arbores en la venta. Lo es un note savaje an en casa, e serta an plu en un cabana de petra sur la stepe. Cual pasion odiosa pote es lo cual gida un om a asconde en un tal loca a un tal tempo! E cual intende profonda e seria el pote ave cual esije un tal esperia! Ala, situada en acel cabana sur la stepe, pare es la sentro mesma de acel problem par cual me es tan dolosa frustrada. Me jura ce un plu dia no va pasa ante cuando me fa tota cual on pote fa per ateni la cor de la misterio.

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.