A dull light shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high chimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a single black column of smoke.
"Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!"
A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open the door of the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouetted against the yellow light of the hall. She came out and helped the man to hand down our bags.
"You don't mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry?" said Dr. Mortimer. "My wife is expecting me."
"Surely you will stay and have some dinner?"
"No, I must go. I shall probably find some work awaiting me. I would stay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be a better guide than I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day to send for me if I can be of service."
The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us.
It was a fine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with huge baulks of age-blackened oak.
In the great old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled and snapped.
Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive.