LA CAN DE LA BASKERVILLES
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Chapter 11. The Man on the Tor
La estraeda de mea jornal privata cual formi la capitol presedente ia trae mea nara asta la dia des-oto de otobre, un tempo cuando esta avenis strana ia comensa move rapida en dirije a sua conclui asustante. La avenis de la alga dias seguente es nonsutrable gravada sur mea memoria, e me pote raconta los sin refere a la notas alora fada. Me comensa los de la dia cual ia segue lo en cual me ia serti du fatos de importa grande, la un ce Sra Laura Lyons de Vale Tracey ia scrive a Sir Charles Baskerville e ia organiza encontra el a la loca e ora mesma cuando el ia ariva a sua mori, la otra ce la om ascondente sur la stepe es trovable entre la cabanas de petra sur la lado de la colina. Con la posese de esta du fatos, me ia senti ce o mea inteleto o mea coraje debe ave mancas si me no va pote lansa alga plu lus sur esta locas oscur.
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.
Me no ia ave la posible de dise a la baroneta la informa cual me ia oteni sur Sra Lyons en la sera presedente, car Dr Mortimer ia resta juante cartas con el asta multe tarda. A la come de matina, an tal, me ia informa el sur mea descovre e ia demanda a el esce el ta gusta acompania me a Vale Tracey. Prima, el ia es multe zelosa per veni, ma, pos repensa, lo ia pare a ambos de nos ce, si me ta vade solitar, la resultas ta es cisa plu bon. Plu formal la visita ta es, min informa ta es cisa otenida. Me ia lasa Sir Henry pos me, donce, no nonreproxada par mea consiensa, e ia parti en viaja a mea esplora nova.
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.
Cuando me ia ateni Vale Tracey, me ia comanda Perkins a stali la cavalos, e me ia fa demandas sur la dama ci me ia vole interoga. Me ia ave no difisilia en trova sua salas, cual ia es sentral e bon mobilida. Un servor ia gida me a en sin formalia, e cuando me ia entra a la salon un dama, sentante ante un tapador Remington, ia leva subita con un surie plasente de bonveni. Sua fas ia deveni deludeda, an tal, cuando el ia vide ce me es un stranjer, e el ia senta denova e ia demanda perce me visita.
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.
La impresa prima lasada par Sra Lyons ia es de belia estrema. Sua oios e capeles ia ave la mesma color rica de nozeta, e sua jenas, an si notable puntetosa, ia es rojida par la brilieta encantante de la capelbrun, la ros delicata cual asconde en la cor de la rosa sulfurin. Amira ia es, me repete, la impresa prima. Ma la seguente ia es critica. On ia ave alga cosa sutil mal en la fas, alga ruia de espresa, cisa alga duria de oio, alga laxia de labio cual ia manxa sua belia perfeta. Ma estas, natural, es pensas tarda. A acel momento me ia es simple consensa ce me es en la presentia de un fem multe bela, e ce el demanda a me sur la causas de mea visita. Me no ia comprende plen ante acel instante como delicata es mea mision.
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.
“Me ave la plaser” – me ia dise – “de conose tua padre.”
“I have the pleasure,” said I, “of knowing your father.”
Lo ia es un presenta torpe, e la dama ia fa ce me senti lo.
It was a clumsy introduction, and the lady made me feel it.
“On ave no cosa comun entre mea padre e me.” – el ia dise. “Me deta no cosa a el, e sua amis no es meas. Sin la lamentada Sir Charles Baskerville e alga otra cores compatiosa, me ia ta mori cisa de famia car mea padre no ia cura.”
“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.”
“La lamentada Sir Charles Baskerville es la tema per cual me visita tu asi.”
“It was about the late Sir Charles Baskerville that I have come here to see you.”
La puntetas ia deveni vidable sur la fas de la dama.
The freckles started out on the lady’s face.
“Cual me pote dise a tu sur el?” – el ia demanda, e sua ditos ia move nervosa longo la teclas de sua tapador.
“What can I tell you about him?” she asked, and her fingers played nervously over the stops of her typewriter.
“Tu ia conose el, no?”
“You knew him, did you not?”
“Me ia dise ja ce me ave un deta grande a sua compatia. Si me es capas de susta me, lo es xef par causa de sua interesa a mea situa nonfelis.”
“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.”
“Esce tu ia coresponde con el?”
“Did you correspond with him?”
La dama ia leva rapida sua regarda con un brilia coler en sua oios de nozeta.
The lady looked quickly up with an angry gleam in her hazel eyes.
“Cual es la intende de esta demandas?” – el ia demanda sever.
“What is the object of these questions?” she asked sharply.
“La intende es evita un scandal publica. Lo es plu bon ce me ta demanda asi ca ce la caso ta pasa ultra nosa controla.”
“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.”
El ia silenti, e sua fas ia es ancora multe pal. Ultima el ia regarda a supra con un cualia noncauta e defiante en sua disposa.
She was silent and her face was still very pale. At last she looked up with something reckless and defiant in her manner.
“Bon, me va responde.” – el ia dise. “Cual es tua demandas?”
“Well, I’ll answer,” she said. “What are your questions?”
“Esce tu ia coresponde con Sir Charles?”
“Did you correspond with Sir Charles?”
“Serta me ia scrive a el a un o du veses per reconose sua delicatia e sua jenerosia.”
“I certainly wrote to him once or twice to acknowledge his delicacy and his generosity.”
“Esce tu ave la datas de acel leteras?”
“Have you the dates of those letters?”
“Esce tu ia encontra el?”
“Have you ever met him?”
“Si, a un o du veses, cuando el ia veni a Vale Tracey. El ia es un om multe retirada, e el ia prefere fa bon en modos ascondeda.”
“Yes, once or twice, when he came into Coombe Tracey. He was a very retiring man, and he preferred to do good by stealth.”
“Ma si tan rara tu ia vide el e tan rara ia scrive, como el ia sabe sufisinte sur tua situa per pote aida tu, como, par tua dise, el ia fa?”
“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?”
El ia encontra mea confonde con prepara plen.
She met my difficulty with the utmost readiness.
“On ia ave seniores plural ci ia conose mea istoria triste e ia uni per aida me. Un ia es Sr Stapleton, un visina e ami intima de Sir Charles. El ia es esedente jentil, e par via de el Sir Charles ia es informada sur mea situa.”
“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.”
Me ia sabe ja ce Sir Charles Baskerville ia usa Stapleton per distribui sua carita a plu ca un ves, donce la afirma par la dama ia porta sur se la marca de veria.
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.
“Esce tu ia scrive a cualce tempo a Sir Charles per demanda ce el encontra tu?” – me ia continua.
“Did you ever write to Sir Charles asking him to meet you?” I continued.
Sra Lyons ia roji con coleria denova.
Mrs. Lyons flushed with anger again.
“Vera, senior, esta es un demanda multe estracomun.”
“Really, sir, this is a very extraordinary question.”
“Me regrete, seniora, ma me debe repete lo.”
“I am sorry, madam, but I must repeat it.”
“Alora me responde: serta no.”
“Then I answer, certainly not.”
“No en la dia mesma de la mori de Sir Charles?”
“Not on the very day of Sir Charles’s death?”
La roji ia pali instante, e ante me ia es un fas morin. Sua labios seca no ia pote parla la “No” cual me ia vide e no ia oia.
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.
“Serta tua memoria engana tu.” – me ia dise. “Me ta pote an sita un pasaje de tua letera. 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.’”
“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.’”
Me ia pensa ce el ia desmaia, ma el ia regania se par un atenta suprema.
I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a supreme effort.
“Esce on ave no tal cosa como un bon senior?” – el ia sanglota.
“Is there no such thing as a gentleman?” she gasped.
“Tu es nonjusta contra Sir Charles. El ia arde la letera. Ma a veses un letera pote es lejable an si ardeda. Tu acorda aora ce tu ia scrive lo?”
“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?”
“Si, me ia scrive lo.” – el ia esclama, versante sua alma en un torente de parolas. – “Me ia scrive lo. Perce me ta nega lo? Me ave no razona per vergonia sur lo. Me ia desira ce el aida me. Me ia crede ce si me ta conversa con el, me ta pote gania sua aida, donce me ia solisita ce el encontra me.”
“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.”
“Ma perce a un tal ora?”
“But why at such an hour?”
“Car me ia veni de descovre ce el va vade a London a la dia seguente e cisa va es a via per menses. Razonas ia esiste perce me no ia pote ariva plu temprana ala.”
“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.”
“Ma perce un encontra en la jardin en loca de un visita a la casa?”
“But why a rendezvous in the garden instead of a visit to the house?”
“Esce tu opina ce un fem ta pote vade solitar a acel ora a la casa de un om nonsposida?”
“Do you think a woman could go alone at that hour to a bachelor’s house?”
“Bon, cual ia aveni cuando tu ia ariva ala?”
“Well, what happened when you did get there?”
“Me ia vade nunca.”
“I never went.”
“No, me jura a tu par tota santa a me. Me ia vade nunca. Alga cosa ia interveni per preveni mea vade.”
“No, I swear it to you on all I hold sacred. I never went. Something intervened to prevent my going.”
“What was that?”
“Lo es un cosa privata. Me no pote comunica lo.”
“That is a private matter. I cannot tell it.”
“Tu acorda, alora, ce tu ia organiza un encontra con Sir Charles a la ora e loca mesma do el ia ariva a sua mori, ma tu nega ce tu ia reali la encontra.”
“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.”
“Esta es vera.”
“That is the truth.”
Sempre denova me ia contrainteroga el, ma me ia susede nunca pasa acel punto.
Again and again I cross-questioned her, but I could never get past that point.
“Sra Lyons,” – me ia dise en sta pos esta intervisa longa e nonconcluinte – “tu aseta un encarga multe grande e pone tu en un disposa multe falsa par no presenta asoluta clar tota cual tu sabe. Si me va debe clama per la aida de la polisia, tu va trova como grave tu es perilida. Si tua disposa es inosente, perce a la comensa tu ia nega ce tu ia scrive a Sir Charles en acel data?”
“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?”
“Car me ia teme ce on va tira cisa alga conclui falsa de lo e ce me va envolve me en un scandal.”
“Because I feared that some false conclusion might be drawn from it and that I might find myself involved in a scandal.”
“E perce tu ia insiste tan ce Sir Charles ta destrui tua letera?”
“And why were you so pressing that Sir Charles should destroy your letter?”
“Si tu ia leje la letera, tu sabe ja.”
“If you have read the letter you will know.”
“Me no ia dise ce me ia leje tota la letera.”
“I did not say that I had read all the letter.”
“Tu ia sita alga de lo.”
“You quoted some of it.”
“Me ia sita la epiloga. La letera ia es, como me ia dise, ardeda e no ia es tota lejable. Me demanda a tu denova perce lo ia aveni ce tu ia insiste tan ce Sir Charles ta destrui esta letera cual el ia reseta en la dia de sua mori.”
“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.”
“Esta es un cosa multe privata.”
“The matter is a very private one.”
“Alora un plu motiva per evita un investiga publica.”
“The more reason why you should avoid a public investigation.”
“Me va informa tu, donce. Si tu ia oia cualce cosa sur mea istoria nonfelis, tu sabe ja ce me ia sposi noncauta e ia ave un causa per regrete lo.”
“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.”
“Me ia oia tal.”
“I have heard so much.”
“Mea vive ia es un persegue nonsesante par un sposo ci me odia. La lege suporta el, e a cada dia me fasa la posible ce el va forsa me a abita con el. A la tempo cuando me ia scrive esta letera a Sir Charles, me ia es informada ce lo pote aveni ce me va regania mea libria si alga spendes va pote es paiada. Esta ia sinifia tota a me – pas de mente, felisia, autorespeta – tota. Me ia conose la jenerosia de Sir Charles, e me ia pensa ce, si el ta oia la raconta de mea propre labios, el ta aida me.”
“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.”
“Donce como lo ia aveni ce tu no ia vade?”
“Then how is it that you did not go?”
“Car me ia reseta aida entretempo de un otra fonte.”
“Because I received help in the interval from another source.”
“Perce, alora, tu no ia scrive a Sir Charles per esplica esta?”
“Why then, did you not write to Sir Charles and explain this?”
“Tal me ia ta ata si me no ia ta vide la anunsia de sua mori en la jornal a la matina seguente.”
“So I should have done had I not seen his death in the paper next morning.”
La raconta de la fem ia pende coerente juntada, e tota mea demandas ia es noncapas de bambola lo. Me ta pote serti lo sola par trova esce el ia institui vera un prosede de divorsa contra sua sposo a o sirca la tempo de la trajedia.
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.
Lo ia es nonprobable ce el ta osa dise ce el no ia vade a Cason Baskerville si vera el ia vade, car un caro ta es nesesada per porta el ala, e no ia ta pote reveni a Vale Tracey ante la oras temprana de la matina. On no ta pote secreti un tal escurso. La probable ia es, donce, ce el dise la vera, o, a la min, un parte de la vera. Me ia parti confondeda e descorajida. Denova me ia ateni acel mur mor cual ia pare construida a traversa de cada via par cual me ia atenta ariva a la ojeto de mea mision. E an tal, plu me ia pensa a la fas de la dama e a sua manera, plu me ia senti ce alga cosa es detenida de me. Perce el ia deveni tan pal? Perce el ia batalia contra cada confesa asta cuando lo ia es forsada de el? Perce el ia es tan silente a la tempo de la trajedia? Serta la esplica de tota esta no ia pote es tan inosente como el ia vole ce me ta crede. Entretempo me ia pote continua no plu en acel dirije, ma ia debe returna a acel otra aidasolve cual ia es xercable entre la cabanas de petra sur la stepe.
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.
E acel ia es un dirije la plu nonesata. Me ia comprende esta en cuando me ia reviaja, notante como la serie de colina pos colina mostra trasas de la popla antica. La sola indica par Barrymore ia es ce la nonconoseda abita un de esta cabanas abandonada, e multe sentos de los es sperdeda tra la longia e largia de la stepe. Ma me ia ave mea propre esperia per gida me, car lo ia mostra a me la om mesma stante sur la culmina de la Monteta Negra. Ta ce acel, donce, es la sentro de mea xerca. De ala ta ce me esplora cada cabana sur la stepe asta descovre la coreta. Si esta om va es a interna de lo, me va trova de sua propre labios, a punto de mea revolver si nesesada, ci el es e perce el segue tan longa nos. An si el ia lisca a via de nos en la fola de Strada Regent, el va ave difisilia en fa tal sur la stepe solitar. A la otra lado, si me va trova la cabana e sua abitor no va es a interna de lo, me va debe resta ala, sin depende de la longia de la vijila, asta sua reveni. Holmes no ia catura el en London. Lo va es vera un vinse per me si me va pote trova el tal como mea mestre ia fali.
And that was a most vague direction. I realised 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.
La fortuna ia oposa nos sempre denova en esta investiga, ma aora ultima lo ia favore me. E la mesajor de bon fortuna ia es no otra ca Sr Frankland, ci ia sta, con barba gris e fas roja, estra la porteta de sua jardin, cual ia abri a la via xef longo cual me ia viaja.
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, grey-whiskered and red-faced, outside the gate of his garden, which opened on to the highroad along which I travelled.
“Bon dia, Dr Watson!” – el ia esclama con bon umor nonabitual. “Tu debe vera dona un reposa a tua cavalos e entra per prende un vitro de vino e per loda me.”
“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.”
Mea sentis per el ia es multe distante de aminia pos lo cual me ia oia sur sua trata de sua fia, ma me ia es zelosa per envia Perkins e la vagoneta a casa, e la oportun ia es bon. Me ia desende e ia envia un mesaje a Sir Henry ce me va pasea per ariva en tempo per la come de sera. A pos me ia segue Frankland a sua sala de come.
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.
“Esta es un dia grande per me, senior – un de la dias la plu eselente de mea vive.” – el ia esclama con multe cacaretas. “Me ia susede un reali duple. Me intende instrui la abitores en esta partes ce la lege es la lege, e ce on ave asi un om ci no teme apela a lo. Me ia confirma un direto de vade tra la sentro de la parce de la vea Middleton, direta tra lo, senior, a min ca sento metres de sua propre porte xef. Cual tu pensa de acel? Nos va instrui esta maniates ce los no pote crase su pede la diretos de la comunores, par la diablo! E me ia clui la bosce do la popla de Bonfilis ia abitua picnica. Esta persones enfernin pare crede ce no diretos de propria esiste, e ce los pote xama do los vole con sua paperes e sua botelas. Ambos casos es desideda, Dr Watson, e ambos en favore a me. Me no ia pasa un tal dia pos condena Sir John Morland par acusa de intrui car el ia fusili en sua propre coneria.”
“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.”
“Como de diablo tu ia fa acel?”
“How on earth did you do that?”
“Xerca lo en la libros, senior. Lo va recompensa tua leje – Frankland contra Morland, Corte de la Judores Reial. Lo ia custa a me 200 paundes, ma me ia gania la deside.”
“Look it up in the books, sir. It will repay reading – Frankland v. Morland, Court of Queen’s Bench. It cost me £200, but I got my verdict.”
“Esce lo ia aida tu?”
“Did it do you any good?”
“No, senior, no. Me dise orgulosa ce me ia es nonpartisan en la caso. Me ata intera par un senti de debe publica. Me ave no duta, per esemplo, ce la popla de Bonfilis va arde un pupa de me a esta note. Me ia dise a la polisia, a la ves pasada cuando los ia fa esta, ce los debe para esta esibis vergoniosa. La Polisia de la Contia es en un state scandalosa, senior, e lo no ia furni a me la proteje cual parteni a me par direto. La caso de Frankland contra Rea va trae la situa ante la atende de la publica. Me ia dise a los ce los va ave un causa per regrete sua trata de me, e ja mea parolas ia reali.”
“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.”
“Como tal?” – me ia demanda.
“How so?” I asked.
La vea ia adota un fas multe sabosa.
The old man put on a very knowing expression.
“Car me ia pote dise a los lo cual los desira tan sabe; ma no cosa va indui me a aida acel turbosas en cualce modo.”
“Because I could tell them what they are dying to know; but nothing would induce me to help the rascals in any way.”
Me ia xerca asi e ala alga escusa par cual me ta pote parti de sua parleta, ma aora me ia comensa vole oia plu de lo. Me ia vide ja sufisinte la natur impedinte de esta pecor vea per comprende ce cualce sinia forte de interesa va es la modo la plu serta per sesa sua revelas.
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.
“Alga caso de xasa nonlegal, sin duta?” – me ia dise con manera noncurante.
“Some poaching case, no doubt?” said I with an indifferent manner.
“Ha, ha, mea xico, un cosa vera multe plu importante ca tal! Como de la prisonida sur la stepe?”
“Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that! What about the convict on the moor?”
Me ia fisa mea regarda.
“Tu no vole dise ce tu sabe do el es?” – me ia dise.
“You don’t mean that you know where he is?” said I.
“Cisa me no sabe esata do el es, ma me es completa serta ce me ta pote aida la polisia a catura el. Esce tu ia pensa nunca ce la modo per catura acel om es par descovre do el oteni sua comedas e donce trasa los a el?”
“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?”
El ia pare serta deveni noncomfortosa prosima a la veria.
He certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth.
“Sin duta,” – me ia dise – “ma como tu sabe ce el es a cualce loca sur la stepe?”
“No doubt,” said I; “but how do you know that he is anywhere upon the moor?”
“Me sabe lo car me ia vide par mea propre oios la mesajor ci porta sua comables a el.”
“I know it because I have seen with my own eyes the messenger who takes him his food.”
Mea cor ia tristi per Barrymore. On ia es en un situa grave en la potia de esta vea interferor odiosa. Ma sua comenta ia sutrae un pesa de mea mente.
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.
“Tu va es surprendeda par oia ce sua comables es portada a el par un enfante. Me vide el a cada dia tra mea telescopio sur la teto. El pasa longo la mesma vieta a la mesma ora, e a ci el ta vade si no a la prisonida?”
“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?”
Asi on ia ave vera la bon fortuna! E an tal, me ia supresa tota aspeta de interesa. Un enfante! Barrymore ia dise ce un xico furni a nosa nonconoseda. Lo ia es sua trasa, e no lo de la prisonida, cual Frankland ia trova acaso. Si me ta pote oteni sua sabes, cisa los va salva me de un xerca longa e fatigante. Ma la noncrede e la noncura ia es evidente mea cartas la plu forte.
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.
“Lo pare a me ce lo es multe plu probable ce el es la fio de un de la pastores de stepe ci porta la come media a sua padre.”
“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.”
La apare la plu pico de oposa ia inflama la autocrata vea. Sua oios ia regarda me en modo malvolente, e la capeles gris sur sua jenas ia erije como los de un gato coler.
The least appearance of opposition struck fire out of the old autocrat. His eyes looked malignantly at me, and his grey whiskers bristled like those of an angry cat.
“Vera, senior!” – el ia dise, indicante la estende larga de la stepe. “Tu vide acel Monteta Negra ala distante? E tu vide la colina basa a ultra con la arboreta spinosa a sur? Lo es la parte la plu petrosa de tota la stepe. Esce acel es un loca do un pastor ta ave probable sua posto? Tua sujesta, senior, es intera asurda.”
“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.”
Me ia responde umil ce me ia parla sin sabe tota la fatos. Mea sede ia plase el e ia gida el a plu revelas.
I meekly answered that I had spoken without knowing all the facts. My submission pleased him and led him to further confidences.
“Tu pote es serta, senior, ce me ave un funda multe bon ante veni a un opina. Me ia vide la xico a ves pos ves con sua paco. A cada dia, o an a du veses en un dia, me ia pote – ma un momento, Dr Watson. Esce mea oios engana me, o esce on ave a la momento presente alga cosa movente sur la lado de acel colina?”
“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?”
Lo ia es distante par alga cilometres, ma me ia pote vide clar un punto peti e oscur contra la verde e gris sombre.
It was several miles off, but I could distinctly see a small dark dot against the dull green and grey.
“Veni, senior, veni!” – Frankland ia esclama, fretosa asendente la scalera. “Tu va vide par tua propre oios e va judi mesma.”
“Come, sir, come!” cried Frankland, rushing upstairs. “You will see with your own eyes and judge for yourself.”
La telescopio, un strumento forte capas e suportada par un trepede, ia sta sur la plomos plata de la teto de la casa. Frankland ia puxa sua oio a lo e ia fa un cria de sasia.
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.
“Rapida, Dr Watson, rapida, ante sua pasa pos la colina!”
“Quick, Dr. Watson, quick, before he passes over the hill!”
Ala el ia es, en fato serta, un xico peti e povre con un paco peti sur sua spala, lenta e laborosa asendente la colina. Cuando el ia ateni la cresta, me ia vide la figur traposa e nonrefinada en contorno de un instante contra la sielo fria azul. El ia regarda sirca se con manera furtiva e ascondente, como algun ci teme es segueda. A pos el ia desapare pos la colina.
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.
“Bon! Esce me no dise coreta?”
“Well! Am I right?”
“Serta, on ave un xico ci pare ave alga misioneta secreta.”
“Certainly, there is a boy who seems to have some secret errand.”
“E la tipo de misioneta ta pote es divinada an par un polisior de campania. Ma los va ave an no un parola de me, e me obliga ance tu a secretia, Dr Watson. No parola! Tu comprende?”
“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!”
“Como tu desira.”
“Just as you wish.”
“Los ia trata me en modo vergoniosa – vergoniosa. Cuando la fatos va apare en Frankland contra Rea, me osa suposa ce un onda de coleria va flue tra la pais. No cosa ta indui me a aida la polisia en cualce modo. Lo ta es egal a los si me, en loca de mea pupa, ta es ardeda a pira par acel turbosas. Ma tu no parti, si? Tu va aida me a vacui la carafa per onora esta aveni grande!”
“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!”
Ma me ia resiste tota sua solisitas e ia susede desconvinse el de sua intende anunsiada de acompania me a casa. Me ia resta sur la via tra cuando el ia pote vide me, e a pos me ia devia per traversa la stepe e ia dirije me a la colina petrosa pos cual la xico ia desapare. Tota ia es developante en favore a me, e me ia jura ce no par manca de enerjia o persiste me va fali profita de la acaso cual la fortuna ia lansa a me.
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.
La sol ia es ja reposante cuando me ia ateni la culmina de la colina, e la inclinas longa su me ia es tota de verde orin a un lado e de ombras gris a la otra. Un nebleta ia senta basa sur la orizon la plu distante, de cual la formas fantasin de Belliver e Monteta Volpe ia protende. Tra la estende vasta on ia ave no sona e no move. Un avia grande e gris, un gavota o curlo, ia vola alta en la sielo azul. El e me ia pare es la sola cosas vivente entre la arco enorme de la sielo e la deserto a su. La sena esposada, la senti de malsolitaria, e la misterio e urjentia de mea taxe ia combina per fri mea cor. La xico ia es vidable en no loca. Ma basa su me, en un fende de la colinas, on ia ave un sirculo de la cabanas vea de petra, e a media de los ia es un cual ia reteni un teto sufisinte per funsiona como un scermo contra la clima. Mea cor en me ia salta cuando me ia vide lo. Esta ia es serta la nido do la nonconoseda asconde. Ultima mea pede ia sta a la limina de sua asconderia – me ia es capas de saisi sua secreta.
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 grey 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 grey 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.
En prosimi a la cabana, con pasos tan cauta como Stapleton ta fa cuando, con rede preparada, el ta veni prosima a un papilio reposante, me ia sasia me ce vera on ia usa la loca como un abiteria. Un vieta nonclar entre la rocones ia gida a la abri gastada cual ia funsiona como un porte. Tota ia es silente a interna. Cisa la nonconoseda ia es ala emboscente, o cisa el ia es patruliante sur la stepe. Mea nervos ia vibra con la senti de aventura. Lansante mea sigareta a lado, me ia clui mea mano a la manico de mea revolver e, pos pasea rapida a la porte, me ia regarda a en. La cabana ia es vacua.
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.
Ma on ia ave indicas bastante ce me no ia segue un trasa falsa. Esta ia es serta do la om abita. Alga covreletos enrolada en un lona nonpermeable ia reclina sur acel bloco mesma de petra sur cual un neandertal ia dormi en tempo pasada. La senes de un foco ia es pilada en un ximineria bruta. A sua lado ia es alga utiles de coce e un balde duiplen de acua. Un dejeta de botes vacua ia mostra ce la loca es ja ocupada tra alga tempo, e me ia vide, cuando mea oios ia abitua a la lus variante, un copa peti e un botela duiplen de distilada cual sta en la angulo. A media de la cabana, un petra plana ia ave la rol de un table, e sur esta un paco peti de stofa ia sta – la mesma, sin duta, cual me ia vide tra la telescopio sur la spala de la xico. Lo ia conteni un pan, un lingua botida, e du botes de pescas conservada. Cuando me ia repone lo pos esamina lo, mea cor ia salta en vide ce su lo un folia de paper reclina, con scrive sur se. Me ia leva lo, e esta ia es lo cual me ia leje, en scriveta ru de lapis:
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:
“Dotor Watson ia vade a Vale Tracey.”
“Dr. Watson has gone to Coombe Tracey.”
Tra un minuto me ia sta ala con la paper en mea manos, pensante sur la sinifia de esta mesaje brusca. Me, donce, e no Sir Henry, es el ci esta om secreta trasa. El mesma no ia segue me, ma el ia pone un ajente – la xico, cisa – a mea trasa, e esta ia es sua reporta. Posible, de cuando me ia es sur la stepe, me ia fa no paso cual no ia es oservada e reportada. Sempre alga forte nonvideda ia es sentida, un rede fina tirada sirca nos con capasia e delicatia infinita, teninte nos en modo tan lejera ce sola a un momento suprema on comprende ce en fato on es maraniada entre sua nodas.
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 realised that one was indeed entangled in its meshes.
Si un reporta esiste, on ave cisa otras, donce me ia regarda sirca la cabana, xercante los. Ma on ia ave no indica de cualce tal cosa, e egal me no ia pote descovre cualce sinia cual ta indica cisa la carater o intendes de la om ci abita en esta loca estracomun, estra ce el debe ave abituas spartan e poca interesa a la comfortas de la vive. Cuando me ia pensa a la pluves forte e ia regarda la teto baliante, me ia comprende la fortia e nonmutablia de la mision cual ia teni el en esta abiteria nonbonveninte. Esce el es nosa enemi malvolente, o esce el es acaso nosa anjel gardante? Me ia jura ce me no va parti de la cabana ante sabe.
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.
A estra, la sol ia desende basa e la ueste ia flami con scarlata e oro. Sua refleta ia es relansada en pesos rojin par la stanges distante situada en la Pantan Grande de Grimpen. Ala on ia ave la du tores de Cason Baskerville, e ala un nube distante de fuma cual ia marca la vileta Grimpen. Entre la du, pos la colina, ia es la casa de la Stapletones. Tota ia es dulse e suave e pasosa en la lus orin de la sera, e an tal, cuando me ia regarda los, mea alma no ia partisipa la pas de la Natur, ma ia trema ante la nonclaria e la teror de acel conversa cual cada instante prosimi plu. Con nervos vibrante ma un intende fisada, me ia senta en la cava oscur de la cabana e ia espeta con pasientia sombre la ariva de sua abitor.
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.
E alora, final, me ia oia el. Distante, la tintina agu ia sona de un bota colpante un petra. A pos un otra e ancora un otra, veninte sempre plu prosima. Me ia encolie en la angulo la plu oscur e ia leva la martel de la pistol en mea pox, determinada per no revela me ante esperia la posible de vide alga la nonconoseda. On ia ave un pausa longa cual ia mostra ce el ia para. A pos, denova la sonas de paso ia prosimi e un ombra ia cade contra la abri de la cabana.
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.
“Lo es un sera bela, mea cara Watson.” – un vose bon conoseda ia dise. “Vera me crede ce tu va es plu comfortosa a estra ca a en.”
“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.”