The Moor - Laurie R. King [55]
"Out onto the moor? Why?"
" 'Untin' 'ounds," he declared. " 'S' right, he's gone a-hunting the 'Ound of the Baskervilles." He peered at our faces, waiting for a reaction, and laughed aloud at what he saw there. Then he explained. "Mr Petherin's one of they story fellas, writes down any rummage people tell'en. Ole Will'm Laddimer, 'e comes by while Mr Petherin's tuckin' into 'is eggs this morning, and 'e sits and 'e tells Mr Petherin' abaut the goin's on up the moor. You heerd tell they been seein Lady 'Oward's carriage, and them's seed the 'ound's footprints 'round abaut daid bodies?"
"We heard."
Somewhat deflated, either by the loss of an opportunity to recount the story or because of Holmes' flat inflection, the barman went on. "That's all, really. Mr Petherin' heerd the 'ound was seen near Watern Tor and went to looky. He'll be back tomorry most likely. A pity you've already beed aut along the tor—you could've meeted him there."
As we carried our glasses to a table, I said to Holmes, "I don't know why I imagined we might keep our business to ourselves here."
"There's no privacy in a village; for that you need either a truly remote setting or a city. No, everyone in this end of Devon will know who we are and what we're about."
"I did wonder why you made no attempt to conceal our identity up on the moor."
"There's no point in even trying, not unless you're willing to sustain a complete disguise."
I took a swallow of the dark beer in my glass and found it filled the mouth pleasingly, rich with yeast and hops. I took another, and put the glass on the table with respect.
"What next, Holmes?" I asked.
"For the next two or three days I think we need to divide forces. I will go north to finish quartering the ranges for Mycroft's accursed spies and get that task out of the way. You can take the southwest. We need to find out how that carriage gets up onto the moor, and there are a limited number of routes it can take."
I reached out and turned the glass around on the table, and with an effort pushed down the cold apprehension that wanted to rise up at the idea of walking alone onto the face of Dartmoor. When my voice was completely trustworthy, I asked him, "Why do you assume the carriage comes onto the moor? Isn't it more likely that it is kept on the moor and brought out when needed?"
"It is of course possible, but in fact there are very few houses up there where a carriage and a pair of horses could be hidden, whereas there are a hundred places around the edges of the moor with considerably greater privacy. The northeastern edges particularly, which is why you on the south and west will be covering a greater amount of ground than I will."
"Do we leave this afternoon?"
"In the morning. That will give you a chance to study your maps. And I think it might speed matters up if we arranged a horse for you. You'll be making a circuit of half the moor; you would be a week on foot."
Although normally I prefer to walk rather than be tied to the needs of a horse, I did not argue. Anything that would cut short the number of days I was to spend up on that bleak place had my approval.
***
I spent the afternoon in Baring-Gould's study, alone but for the fire, one somnolent cat, and a visit from Mrs Elliott with a tea tray. I was aware of movement in the house—footsteps in and out of the bedrooms overhead, kitchen noises from beyond the door, the arrival of a mud-caked cart that disgorged an old woman, wrapped in rugs and dignity—but I ignored them all.
Instead, I made a complete perusal of the shelves and their contents, climbing up on the back of a chair and hanging from my fingertips at the higher reaches like a rock climber. There was not a great number of books, considering that the man was supposed to be a scholar and had been in the same house for forty years, and the volumes on the upper reaches particularly were covered with a thick blanket of dust.
I did find quite a few books written by Baring-Gould. In fact, after