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- Артур Конан Дойл
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- Стр. 153/157
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"
See
,
"
said
he
.
"
No
one
could
find
his
way
into
the
Grimpen
Mire
to-night
.
"
She
laughed
and
clapped
her
hands
.
Her
eyes
and
teeth
gleamed
with
fierce
merriment
.
"
He
may
find
his
way
in
,
but
never
out
,
"
she
cried
.
"
How
can
he
see
the
guiding
wands
to-night
?
We
planted
them
together
,
he
and
I
,
to
mark
the
pathway
through
the
mire
.
Oh
,
if
I
could
only
have
plucked
them
out
to-day
.
Then
indeed
you
would
have
had
him
at
your
mercy
!
"
It
was
evident
to
us
that
all
pursuit
was
in
vain
until
the
fog
had
lifted
.
Meanwhile
we
left
Lestrade
in
possession
of
the
house
while
Holmes
and
I
went
back
with
the
baronet
to
Baskerville
Hall
.
The
story
of
the
Stapletons
could
no
longer
be
withheld
from
him
,
but
he
took
the
blow
bravely
when
he
learned
the
truth
about
the
woman
whom
he
had
loved
.
But
the
shock
of
the
night
's
adventures
had
shattered
his
nerves
,
and
before
morning
he
lay
delirious
in
a
high
fever
,
under
the
care
of
Dr.
Mortimer
.
The
two
of
them
were
destined
to
travel
together
round
the
world
before
Sir
Henry
had
become
once
more
the
hale
,
hearty
man
that
he
had
been
before
he
became
master
of
that
ill-omened
estate
.
And
now
I
come
rapidly
to
the
conclusion
of
this
singular
narrative
,
in
which
I
have
tried
to
make
the
reader
share
those
dark
fears
and
vague
surmises
which
clouded
our
lives
so
long
and
ended
in
so
tragic
a
manner
.
On
the
morning
after
the
death
of
the
hound
the
fog
had
lifted
and
we
were
guided
by
Mrs.
Stapleton
to
the
point
where
they
had
found
a
pathway
through
the
bog
.
It
helped
us
to
realize
the
horror
of
this
woman
's
life
when
we
saw
the
eagerness
and
joy
with
which
she
laid
us
on
her
husband
's
track
.
We
left
her
standing
upon
the
thin
peninsula
of
firm
,
peaty
soil
which
tapered
out
into
the
widespread
bog
.
From
the
end
of
it
a
small
wand
planted
here
and
there
showed
where
the
path
zigzagged
from
tuft
to
tuft
of
rushes
among
those
green-scummed
pits
and
foul
quagmires
which
barred
the
way
to
the
stranger
.
Rank
reeds
and
lush
,
slimy
water-plants
sent
an
odour
of
decay
and
a
heavy
miasmatic
vapour
onto
our
faces
,
while
a
false
step
plunged
us
more
than
once
thigh-deep
into
the
dark
,
quivering
mire
,
which
shook
for
yards
in
soft
undulations
around
our
feet
.
Its
tenacious
grip
plucked
at
our
heels
as
we
walked
,
and
when
we
sank
into
it
it
was
as
if
some
malignant
hand
was
tugging
us
down
into
those
obscene
depths
,
so
grim
and
purposeful
was
the
clutch
in
which
it
held
us
.
Once
only
we
saw
a
trace
that
someone
had
passed
that
perilous
way
before
us
.
From
amid
a
tuft
of
cotton
grass
which
bore
it
up
out
of
the
slime
some
dark
thing
was
projecting
.
Holmes
sank
to
his
waist
as
he
stepped
from
the
path
to
seize
it
,
and
had
we
not
been
there
to
drag
him
out
he
could
never
have
set
his
foot
upon
firm
land
again
.
He
held
an
old
black
boot
in
the
air
.
"
Meyers
,
Toronto
,
"
was
printed
on
the
leather
inside
.
"
It
is
worth
a
mud
bath
,
"
said
he
.
"
It
is
our
friend
Sir
Henry
's
missing
boot
.
"
"
Thrown
there
by
Stapleton
in
his
flight
.
"
"
Exactly
.
He
retained
it
in
his
hand
after
using
it
to
set
the
hound
upon
the
track
.
He
fled
when
he
knew
the
game
was
up
,
still
clutching
it
.
And
he
hurled
it
away
at
this
point
of
his
flight
.
We
know
at
least
that
he
came
so
far
in
safety
.
"
But
more
than
that
we
were
never
destined
to
know
,
though
there
was
much
which
we
might
surmise
.
There
was
no
chance
of
finding
footsteps
in
the
mire
,
for
the
rising
mud
oozed
swiftly
in
upon
them
,
but
as
we
at
last
reached
firmer
ground
beyond
the
morass
we
all
looked
eagerly
for
them
.
But
no
slightest
sign
of
them
ever
met
our
eyes
.
If
the
earth
told
a
true
story
,
then
Stapleton
never
reached
that
island
of
refuge
towards
which
he
struggled
through
the
fog
upon
that
last
night
.
Somewhere
in
the
heart
of
the
great
Grimpen
Mire
,
down
in
the
foul
slime
of
the
huge
morass
which
had
sucked
him
in
,
this
cold
and
cruel-hearted
man
is
forever
buried
.
