May 27, 2025 • 33 mins
In the eerie Baskerville Hall, a baronet is found dead under mysterious circumstances. Could his death be the consequence of a centuries-old family curse, believed to be carried out by a supernatural hound? Join the iconic detective duo, Holmes and Watson, as they delve into the enigmatic death of Sir Charles Baskerville, racing against time to protect the new baronet from a similar ominous fate.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter seven of the Hound of the Baskervilles. This is
a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Read by Richard Ryman the Stapletons of marypet House, The
(00:24):
fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface
from our minds the grim and gray impression which had
been left upon both of us by our first experience
of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat at breakfast,
the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows, throwing
watery patches of color from the coats of arms which
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covered them. The dark paneling glowed like bronze in the
golden rays, and it was hard to realize that this
was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom
into our souls upon the evening before. I guess it
is ourselves and not the house, that we have to blame,
said the Baronet. We were tired with our journey and
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chilled by our drive, so we took a grave view
of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so
it is all cheerful once more, and judge, it was
not entirely a question of imagination, I answered, did you,
for example, happen to hear someone, a woman, I think,
sobbing in the night? That is curious, For I did,
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when I was half asleep, fancy that I heard something
of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there
was no more of it, so I concluded that it
was all a dream. I heard it distinctly, and I
am sure that it was really the sob of a woman.
We must ask about this right away. He rang the
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bell and asked Barrymore whether he could account for our experience.
It seemed to me that the pallid features of the
butler turned a shade paler still as he listened to
his master's question. There are only two women in the house,
Sir Henry, he answered. One is discollery maid, who sleeps
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in the other wing. The other is my wife. And
I can answer for it that the sound could not
have come from her. And yet he lied as he
said it. For it chanced that after breakfast I met
missus Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full
upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy featured
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woman with a stern set expression of mouth, but her
tell tale eyes were red and glanced at me from
between swollen lids. It was she, then, who wept in
the night, and if she did so, her husband must
know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of
discovery in declaring that it was not so. Why had
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he done this? And why did she weep so bitterly?
Already round this pale faced, handsome, black bearded man there
was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It
was he who had been the first to discover the
body of Sir Charles, and we had only his word
for all the circumstances which led up to the old
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man's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore, after all,
whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street.
The beard might well have been the same the cabman
had described as somewhat shorter man. But such an impression
might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the
point forever? Obviously the first thing to do was to
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see the grimpin postmaster and find whether the test telegram
had really been placed in Barrymore's own hands. Be the answer,
what it might I should at least have something to
report to Sherlock Holmes. Sir Henryette had numerous papers to
examine after breakfast, so that the time was propitious for
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my excursion. It was a pleasant walk of four miles
along the edge of the moor, leading me at last
to a small gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings,
which proved to be the Inn and the house of
Doctor Mortimer, stood high above the rest. The postmaster, who
was also the village grocer, had a clear recollection of
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the telegram. Certainly, Sir said he, I had the telegram
delivered to mister Barrymore exactly as directed. Who delivered it?
My boy, here, James, you delivered that telegram to mister
Barrymore at the hall last week, did you not? Yes, Father,
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I delivered it into his own hands, I asked, well,
he was up in the loft at the time, so
that I could not put it into his own hands,
But I gave it into missus Barrymore's, and she promised
to deliver it at once. Did you see mister Barrymore, No, Sir,
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I tell you he was in the loft. If you
didn't see him, how do you know he was in
the loft. Well, surely his own wife ought to know
where he is, said the postmaster testily, didn't he get
the telegram? If there is any mistake, it is for
mister Barrymore himself to complain. It seemed hopeless to pursue
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the inquiry any farther. But it was clear that, in
spite of Holmes's ruse, we had no proof that Barrymore
had not been in London all the time. Suppose that
it were so, Suppose that the same man had been
the last who had seen Sir Charles alive, and the
first to dog the new heir when he returned to England.
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What then, was he the agent of others? Or had
he some sinister design of his own? What interest could
he have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of
the strange warning clipped out of the leading article of
the Times? Was that his work? Or was it possibly
the doing of some one who was bent upon counteracting
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his schemes? The only conceivable motive was that which had
been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family could
be scared away, a comfortable and permanent home would be
secured for the Barrymoores. But Surely such an explanation as
that would be quite inadequate to account for the deep
and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving an invisible
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net round the young baronet. Holmes himself had said that
no more complex case had come to him in all
the long series of his sensational investigations. I prayed as
I walked back along the gray, lonely road, that my
friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations and able
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to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility
from my shoulders. Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by the
sound of running feet behind me, and by a voice
which called me by name. I turned, expecting to see
doctor Mortimer, but to my surprise, it was a stranger
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who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim, clean shaven,
prim faced man, flaxen haired and lean jawed, between thirty
and forty years of age, dressed in a gray suit
and wearing a straw hat. A tin box for botanical
specimens hung over his shoulder, and he carried a green
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butterfly net in one of his hands. You will, I
am sure, excuse my presumption, doctor Watson, said he as
he came panting up to where I stood here on
the moor. We are homely folk and do not wait
for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my name
from our mutual friend Mortimer. I am Stapleton of mary
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Pitt House. Your net and box would have told me
as much, said I, for I knew that mister Stapleton
was a naturalist. But how did you know me? I
have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out
to me from the window of his surgery as you
passed as our road lay the same way, I thought
that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust
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that Sir Henry is none the worse for his journey.
He is very well. Thank you. We were all rather
afraid that, after the sad death of Sir Charles, the
new baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking
much of a wealthy man to come down and bury
himself in a place of this kind. But I need
not tell you that it means a very great deal
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to the countryside, Sir Henry Hans, I suppose no superstitious
fears in the matter. I do not think that it
is likely. Of course, you know the legend of the
fiend dog which haunts the family. I have heard it.
It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here.
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Any number of them are ready to swear that they
have seen such a creature upon the moor. He spoke
with a smile, but I seemed to read in his
eyes that he took the matter more seriously. The story
took a great hold upon the imagination of Sir Charles,
and I have no doubt that it led to his
tragic end. But how his nerves were so worked up
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that the appearance of any dog might have had a
fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancied that he
really did see something of the kind upon that last
night in the yew alley. I feared that some disaster
might occur, for I was very fond of the old man,
and I knew that his heart was weak. How did
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you know that, my friend Mortimer told me? You think then,
that some dog pursued Sir Charles, and that he died
of fright and consequence? Have you any better explanation? I
have not come to any conclusion, has mister Sherlock Holmes.
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The words took away my breath for an instant but
a glance at the placid face and steadfast eyes of
my companion showed that no surprise was intended. It is
useless for us to pretend that we do not know you,
doctor Watson, said he the records of your detective have
reached us here, and you could not celebrate him without
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being known yourself. When Mortimer told me your name, he
could not deny your identity. If you are here, then
it follows that mister Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself in
the matter, and I am naturally curious to know what
view he may take. I am afraid that I cannot
answer that question. May I ask if he is going
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to honor us with a visit himself? He cannot leave
town at present. He has other cases which engage his attention.
What a pity. He might throw some light on that
which is so dark to us. But as to your
own researches, if there is any possible way in which
I can be of service to you, I trust that
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you will command me. If I had any indication of
the nature of your suspicions, or how you propose to
investigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you
some aid or advice. I assure you that I am
simply here upon a visit to my friend, Sir Henry,
and that I need no help of any kind. Excellent,
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said Stapleton. You are perfectly right to be wary and discreet.
I am justly reproved for what I feel was an
unjustifiable intrusion, and I promise you that I will not
mention the matter again. We had come to a point
where a narrow, grassy path struck off from the road
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and wound away across the moor. A steep, bolder, sprinkled
hill lay upon the right, which had in bygone days
been cut into a granite quarry. The face, which was
turned towards us, formed a dark cliff, with ferns and
brambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise
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there floated and gray plume of smoke. A moderate walk
along this moor path brings us to Merry pit House,
said he. Perhaps you will spare an hour that I
may have the pleasure of introducing you to my sister.
My first thought was that I should be by Sir
Henry's side, but then I remembered the pile of papers
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and bills with which his study table was littered. It
was certain that I could not help with those, and
Home had expressly said that I should study the neighbors
upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, and we turned
together down the path. It is a wonderful place, the more,
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said he, looking round over the undulating downs, long green rollers,
with crests of jagged granite foaming up into fantastic surges.
You never tire of the more. You cannot think the
wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast and
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so barren, and so mysterious. You know it well? Then,
I have only been here two years. The residence would
call me a newcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled.
But my tastes led me to explore every part of
the country round. And I should think that there are
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few men who know it better than I do? Is
it hard? Hard to know? Very hard? You see, for example,
this great plain to the north, here, with the Queer
hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anything remarkable
about that? It would be a rare place for a gallop,
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He would naturally think so, And the thought has cost
several their lives before now you notice those bright green
spots scattered thickly over it. Yes, they seem more fertile
than the rest. Stapleton laughed. That is the great crimpin' maya,
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said he. A false step yonder means death to man
or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor
ponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw
his head for quite a long time, craning out of
the bog hole, but it sucked him down at last.
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Even in drises it is a danger to cross it.
But after these autumn rains it is an awful place.
And yet I can find my way to the very
heart of it and return alive. By short there is
another of those miserable ponies. Something brown was rolling and
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tossing among the green sedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing
neck shot upward, and a dreadful cry echoed over the more.
It turned me cold with horror. But my companion's nerves
seem to be stronger than mine. It's gone, said he.
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The mire has him two in two days, and many
more perhaps, for they get in the way of going
there in the dry weather, and never know the difference
until the mire has them in its clutches. It's a
bad place, the great grimpen mire. And you say you
can penetrate it. Yes, there are one or two paths
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which a very active man can take. I have found
them out. Why should you wish to go into so
horrible a place? Well, you see the hills beyond. They
are really islands, cut off on all sides by the
impossible maya which has crawled round them in the course
of years. That is where the rare plants and the
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butterflies are. If you have the wit to reach them,
I shall try my luck some day. He looked at
me with a surprised face. For God's sake, put such
an idea out of your mind, said he, Your blood
would be upon my head. I assure you that there
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would not be the least chance of your coming back alive.
It is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I
am able to do it. Oh, I cried, what is that?
A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor.
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It filled the whole air, And yet it was impossible
to say whence it came from a dull murmur. It
swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into
a melancholy, throbbing murmur. Once again, Stapleton looked at me
with a curious expression in his face. Queer place the more,
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said he, But what is it? The peasants say it
is the hound of the Baskervilles calling for its prey.
I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite
so loud. I looked round, with a chill of fear
in my heart at the huge swelling plane, mottled with
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the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse,
save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a
tour behind us. You are an educated man. You don't
believe such nonsense as that, said I. What do you
think is the cause of so strange a sound. Bogs
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make queer noises. Sometimes it's the mud settling, or the
water rising or something. No, No, that was a living voice,
Well perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming? No?
I never did. It's a very rare bird, practically extinct
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in England now. But all things are possible upon the moor. Yes,
I should not be surprised to learn that what we
have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns.
It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in
my life. Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look
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at the hillside yonder, What do you make of those?
The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings
of stone, a score of them at least. What are
they sheep pens? No, they are the homes of our
worthy ancestors. Prehistoric man lived thickly on the moor, and
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as no one in particular has lived there since, we
find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them.
These are his wick walms, with the roofs off. You
can even see his heart and his couch if you
have the curiosity to go inside. But it is quite
a town. When was it inhabited Neolithic man? No date?
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What did he do? He grazed his cattle on these slopes,
and he he learned dick for tin when the bronze
sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look at the
great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes,
you will find some very singular points about the more,
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Doctor Watson, Oh, excuse me an instant. It is surely
cyclopadies A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path,
and in an instant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy
and speed in pursuit of it. To my dismay, the
creature flew straight for the great Maya, and my acquaintance
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never paused for an instant, bounding from tough to tuft
behind it, His green net waving in the air, his
gray clothes and jerky zigzag irregular progress made him not
unlike some huge moth himself. I was standing watching his
pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity
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and fear lest he should lose his footing in the
treacherous mire, when I heard the sound of steps, and
turning round, found a woman near me upon the path.
She had come from the direction in which the plume
of smoke indicated the position of mary pit House, but
the dip of the moor had hid her until she
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was quite close. I could not doubt that this was
the miss Stapleton of whom I had been told, since
ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor,
and I remembered that I had heard someone describe her
as being a beauty. The woman who approached me was
certainly that, and of a most uncommon type. There could
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not have been a greater contrast between brother and sister,
for Stapleton was neutral, tinted, with light hair and gray eyes,
whilst she was darker than any brunette in my seen
in England, Slim, elegant and tall. She had a proud,
finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed
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impassive were it not for sensitive mouth and the beautiful, dark,
eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress, she
was indeed a strange apparition upon a lonely Moorland path.
Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and
then she quickened her pace towards me. I had raised
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my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark
when her own words turned all my thoughts into a
new channel. Go back, she said, go straight back to London. Instantly,
I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her
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eyes blazed at me, and she tapped the ground impatiently
with her foot. Why should I go back, I asked,
I cannot explain, she spoke in a low, eager voice,
with a curious lisp in her utterance. But for God's sake,
do what I ask you, go back and never fet
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foot upon the moor again. But I have only just come. Man, ma'am,
she cried, Can you not tell when a warning is
for your own good? Go back to London, start to night,
get away from this place at all costs. Hush, my
brother is come. Not a word of what I have saft?
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Would you mind getting that organ for me? Among the
mare's tales yonder, we are very rich in orchids on
the moor, though of course you are rather late to
see the beauties of the place. Stapleton had abandoned the
chase and came back to us, breathing hard and flushed
with his exertions. Hello, Beryl, said he, and it seemed
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to me that the tone of his greeting was not
altogether a cordial one. Well, Jack, you are very hot. Yes,
I was chasing my cyclopodies. He is very rare and
seldom found in the late autumn. What a pity that
I should have missed him, He spoke unconcernedly, but his
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small light eyes glanced incessantly from the girl to me.
You have introduced yourselves, I can see. Yes. I was
telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him
to see the true beauty of the more. Why who
do you think this is? I imagine that it must be
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Sir Henry Bakerville. No, no, said I, only a humble commoner.
But his friend my name is doctor Watson. A flush
of vexation passed over her expressive face. We have been
talking at croft purposes, said she. Why you had not
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very much talk for talk? Her brother remarked, with the
same questioning eyes. I talked as if doctor Watton were
a resident instead of being merely a visitor, said she.
It cannot much matter to him whether it's early or
late for the orchid. But you will come on, will
you not? And see Mary Pitt. How a short walk
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brought us to it, A bleak moorland house, once the
farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but
now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling.
An orcharded surrounded it, but the trees, as is usual
upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect
of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were
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admitted by a strange, wizened, rusty coated old manservant who
seemed in keeping with the house. Inside, however, there were
large rooms furnished with an elegance in which I seemed
to recognize the taste of the lady. As I looked
from their windows at the entire terminable granite flucked more
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rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon, I could not but
marvel at what could have brought this highly educated man
and this beautiful woman to live in such a place.
Queer spot to choose, is it not, said he, as
if in answer to my thought. And yet we managed
to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not? Beryl? Quite happy,
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said she, but there was no ring of conviction in
her words. I had a school, said Stapleton. It was
in the north Country. The work, to a man of
my temperament, was mechanical and uninteresting, But the privilege of
living with youth, of helping to mold those young minds,
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and of impressing them with one's own character and ideals,
was very dear to me. However, the fates were against us.
A serious epidemic broke out in the school, and three
of the boys died. It never recovered from the blow,
and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And
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yet if it were not for the loss of the
charming companionship of the boys, I could rejoice over my
own misfortune, for with my strong taste for botany and zoology,
I find an unlimited field of work here, and my
sister is as devoted to nature as I. All this,
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doctor Watson, has been brought upon your head by your
expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window.
It certainly did cross my mind that it might be
a little dull less for you, perhaps than for your sister. No, no,
I am never dull, said she quickly. We have books,
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we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbors. Doctor
Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line.
Poor Sir Charles was also an admirable companion. We knew
him well and miss him more than I can tell.
Do you think that I should intrude if I were
to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry.
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I am sure that he would be delighted. Then perhaps
you had mentioned that I propose to do. So we may,
in our humble way, do something to make things more
easy for him, until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings.
Will you come upstairs, doctor Watson, and inspect my collection
of lepidoptera. I think it is the most complete one
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in the southwest of England. By the time that you
have looked through them, lunch will be almost ready. But
I was eager to get back to my charge. The
melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony,
the weird sound which had been associated with the grim
legend of the Baskervilles. Oh, these things tinged my thoughts
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with sadness. Then on the top of these more or
less vague impressions, there had come the definite and distinct
warning of Miss Stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that
I could not doubt that some grave and deep reason
lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch,
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and I set off at once upon my return journey,
taking the grass grown path by which we had come.
It seems, however, that there must have been some short
cut for those who knew it, for before I had
reached the road, I was astounded to see Miss Stapleton
sitting upon a rock by the side of the track.
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Her face was beautifully flushed with her exertions, and she
held her hand to her side. I have run all
the way in order to cut you off, doctor Watson,
said she. I had not even time to put on
my hat. I must not thought, or my brother may
miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry
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I am about the stupid mistake I made in thinking
that you were there, Henry. Please forget the words I've said,
which have no application whatever to you. But I can't
forget them, Miss Stapleton said. I I am Sir Henry's friend,
and his welfare is a very close concern of mine.
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Tell me why it was that you were so eager
that Sir Henry should return to London. A woman swim,
Doctor Watson, When you know me better, you will understand
that I cannot always give reasons for what I say
or do. No. No, I remember the thrill in your voice.
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I remember the look in your eyes. Please please be
frank with me, Miss Stapleton. For ever since I have
been here, I have been conscious of shadows all round me.
Life has become like that great grimpin Maya, with little
green patches everywhere into which one may sink, and with
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no guide to point the tracks. Tell me then what
it was that you meant, and I will promise to
convey your warning to Sir Henry. An expression of irresolution
passed for an instant over her face, but her eyes
had hardened again when she answered me, you make too
much of it. Doctor Watson said she, my brother and
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I were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles.
We knew him very intimately, for his favorite walk was
over the moor to our health. He was deeply impressed
with the curth which hung over the family, and when
this tragedy came, I naturally felt that there must be
some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I
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was to threst therefore, when another member of the family
came down to live here, and I felt that he
should be warned of the danger which he will run.
That withal which I intended to convey. But what is
the danger? You know the story of the hound. I
do not believe in such nonsense, but I do if
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you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him away
from a place which has always been fatal to his family.
The world is wide, Why should he wish to live
at the place of danger? Because it is the place
of danger that is Sir Henry's nature. I fear that
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unless you can give me some more definite information than this,
it would be impossible to get him to move. I
cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite.
I would ask you one more questioned, Miss Stapleton, if
you meant no more than this when you first spoke
to me, why should you not wish your brother to
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overhear what you said? There is nothing to which he
or any one else could object. My brother is very
anxious to have the hall inhabited, for he thinks that
is good for the poorer folk upon the moor. He
would be very angry if he knew that I have
said anything which might induce their Henry to go away.
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But I have done my duty now, and I will
say no more. I must go back, or he will
miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Good Bye.
She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among
the scattered bowlers, while I, with my soul full of
vague fears, pursued my way to Basperville Hall. End of
(33:47):
Chapter seven
Chapter seven of the Hound of the Baskervilles. This is
a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Read by Richard Ryman the Stapletons of marypet House, The
(00:24):
fresh beauty of the following morning did something to efface
from our minds the grim and gray impression which had
been left upon both of us by our first experience
of Baskerville Hall. As Sir Henry and I sat at breakfast,
the sunlight flooded in through the high mullioned windows, throwing
watery patches of color from the coats of arms which
(00:46):
covered them. The dark paneling glowed like bronze in the
golden rays, and it was hard to realize that this
was indeed the chamber which had struck such a gloom
into our souls upon the evening before. I guess it
is ourselves and not the house, that we have to blame,
said the Baronet. We were tired with our journey and
(01:08):
chilled by our drive, so we took a grave view
of the place. Now we are fresh and well, so
it is all cheerful once more, and judge, it was
not entirely a question of imagination, I answered, did you,
for example, happen to hear someone, a woman, I think,
sobbing in the night? That is curious, For I did,
(01:33):
when I was half asleep, fancy that I heard something
of the sort. I waited quite a time, but there
was no more of it, so I concluded that it
was all a dream. I heard it distinctly, and I
am sure that it was really the sob of a woman.
We must ask about this right away. He rang the
(01:54):
bell and asked Barrymore whether he could account for our experience.
It seemed to me that the pallid features of the
butler turned a shade paler still as he listened to
his master's question. There are only two women in the house,
Sir Henry, he answered. One is discollery maid, who sleeps
(02:14):
in the other wing. The other is my wife. And
I can answer for it that the sound could not
have come from her. And yet he lied as he
said it. For it chanced that after breakfast I met
missus Barrymore in the long corridor with the sun full
upon her face. She was a large, impassive, heavy featured
(02:34):
woman with a stern set expression of mouth, but her
tell tale eyes were red and glanced at me from
between swollen lids. It was she, then, who wept in
the night, and if she did so, her husband must
know it. Yet he had taken the obvious risk of
discovery in declaring that it was not so. Why had
(02:58):
he done this? And why did she weep so bitterly?
Already round this pale faced, handsome, black bearded man there
was gathering an atmosphere of mystery and of gloom. It
was he who had been the first to discover the
body of Sir Charles, and we had only his word
for all the circumstances which led up to the old
(03:19):
man's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore, after all,
whom we had seen in the cab in Regent Street.
The beard might well have been the same the cabman
had described as somewhat shorter man. But such an impression
might easily have been erroneous. How could I settle the
point forever? Obviously the first thing to do was to
(03:43):
see the grimpin postmaster and find whether the test telegram
had really been placed in Barrymore's own hands. Be the answer,
what it might I should at least have something to
report to Sherlock Holmes. Sir Henryette had numerous papers to
examine after breakfast, so that the time was propitious for
(04:05):
my excursion. It was a pleasant walk of four miles
along the edge of the moor, leading me at last
to a small gray hamlet, in which two larger buildings,
which proved to be the Inn and the house of
Doctor Mortimer, stood high above the rest. The postmaster, who
was also the village grocer, had a clear recollection of
(04:26):
the telegram. Certainly, Sir said he, I had the telegram
delivered to mister Barrymore exactly as directed. Who delivered it?
My boy, here, James, you delivered that telegram to mister
Barrymore at the hall last week, did you not? Yes, Father,
(04:47):
I delivered it into his own hands, I asked, well,
he was up in the loft at the time, so
that I could not put it into his own hands,
But I gave it into missus Barrymore's, and she promised
to deliver it at once. Did you see mister Barrymore, No, Sir,
(05:07):
I tell you he was in the loft. If you
didn't see him, how do you know he was in
the loft. Well, surely his own wife ought to know
where he is, said the postmaster testily, didn't he get
the telegram? If there is any mistake, it is for
mister Barrymore himself to complain. It seemed hopeless to pursue
(05:28):
the inquiry any farther. But it was clear that, in
spite of Holmes's ruse, we had no proof that Barrymore
had not been in London all the time. Suppose that
it were so, Suppose that the same man had been
the last who had seen Sir Charles alive, and the
first to dog the new heir when he returned to England.
(05:50):
What then, was he the agent of others? Or had
he some sinister design of his own? What interest could
he have in persecuting the Baskerville family? I thought of
the strange warning clipped out of the leading article of
the Times? Was that his work? Or was it possibly
the doing of some one who was bent upon counteracting
(06:14):
his schemes? The only conceivable motive was that which had
been suggested by Sir Henry, that if the family could
be scared away, a comfortable and permanent home would be
secured for the Barrymoores. But Surely such an explanation as
that would be quite inadequate to account for the deep
and subtle scheming which seemed to be weaving an invisible
(06:37):
net round the young baronet. Holmes himself had said that
no more complex case had come to him in all
the long series of his sensational investigations. I prayed as
I walked back along the gray, lonely road, that my
friend might soon be freed from his preoccupations and able
(06:58):
to come down to take this heavy burden of responsibility
from my shoulders. Suddenly, my thoughts were interrupted by the
sound of running feet behind me, and by a voice
which called me by name. I turned, expecting to see
doctor Mortimer, but to my surprise, it was a stranger
(07:19):
who was pursuing me. He was a small, slim, clean shaven,
prim faced man, flaxen haired and lean jawed, between thirty
and forty years of age, dressed in a gray suit
and wearing a straw hat. A tin box for botanical
specimens hung over his shoulder, and he carried a green
(07:40):
butterfly net in one of his hands. You will, I
am sure, excuse my presumption, doctor Watson, said he as
he came panting up to where I stood here on
the moor. We are homely folk and do not wait
for formal introductions. You may possibly have heard my name
from our mutual friend Mortimer. I am Stapleton of mary
(08:03):
Pitt House. Your net and box would have told me
as much, said I, for I knew that mister Stapleton
was a naturalist. But how did you know me? I
have been calling on Mortimer, and he pointed you out
to me from the window of his surgery as you
passed as our road lay the same way, I thought
that I would overtake you and introduce myself. I trust
(08:26):
that Sir Henry is none the worse for his journey.
He is very well. Thank you. We were all rather
afraid that, after the sad death of Sir Charles, the
new baronet might refuse to live here. It is asking
much of a wealthy man to come down and bury
himself in a place of this kind. But I need
not tell you that it means a very great deal
(08:49):
to the countryside, Sir Henry Hans, I suppose no superstitious
fears in the matter. I do not think that it
is likely. Of course, you know the legend of the
fiend dog which haunts the family. I have heard it.
It is extraordinary how credulous the peasants are about here.
(09:12):
Any number of them are ready to swear that they
have seen such a creature upon the moor. He spoke
with a smile, but I seemed to read in his
eyes that he took the matter more seriously. The story
took a great hold upon the imagination of Sir Charles,
and I have no doubt that it led to his
tragic end. But how his nerves were so worked up
(09:37):
that the appearance of any dog might have had a
fatal effect upon his diseased heart. I fancied that he
really did see something of the kind upon that last
night in the yew alley. I feared that some disaster
might occur, for I was very fond of the old man,
and I knew that his heart was weak. How did
(09:58):
you know that, my friend Mortimer told me? You think then,
that some dog pursued Sir Charles, and that he died
of fright and consequence? Have you any better explanation? I
have not come to any conclusion, has mister Sherlock Holmes.
(10:18):
The words took away my breath for an instant but
a glance at the placid face and steadfast eyes of
my companion showed that no surprise was intended. It is
useless for us to pretend that we do not know you,
doctor Watson, said he the records of your detective have
reached us here, and you could not celebrate him without
(10:41):
being known yourself. When Mortimer told me your name, he
could not deny your identity. If you are here, then
it follows that mister Sherlock Holmes is interesting himself in
the matter, and I am naturally curious to know what
view he may take. I am afraid that I cannot
answer that question. May I ask if he is going
(11:05):
to honor us with a visit himself? He cannot leave
town at present. He has other cases which engage his attention.
What a pity. He might throw some light on that
which is so dark to us. But as to your
own researches, if there is any possible way in which
I can be of service to you, I trust that
(11:27):
you will command me. If I had any indication of
the nature of your suspicions, or how you propose to
investigate the case, I might perhaps even now give you
some aid or advice. I assure you that I am
simply here upon a visit to my friend, Sir Henry,
and that I need no help of any kind. Excellent,
(11:49):
said Stapleton. You are perfectly right to be wary and discreet.
I am justly reproved for what I feel was an
unjustifiable intrusion, and I promise you that I will not
mention the matter again. We had come to a point
where a narrow, grassy path struck off from the road
(12:09):
and wound away across the moor. A steep, bolder, sprinkled
hill lay upon the right, which had in bygone days
been cut into a granite quarry. The face, which was
turned towards us, formed a dark cliff, with ferns and
brambles growing in its niches. From over a distant rise
(12:29):
there floated and gray plume of smoke. A moderate walk
along this moor path brings us to Merry pit House,
said he. Perhaps you will spare an hour that I
may have the pleasure of introducing you to my sister.
My first thought was that I should be by Sir
Henry's side, but then I remembered the pile of papers
(12:52):
and bills with which his study table was littered. It
was certain that I could not help with those, and
Home had expressly said that I should study the neighbors
upon the moor. I accepted Stapleton's invitation, and we turned
together down the path. It is a wonderful place, the more,
(13:13):
said he, looking round over the undulating downs, long green rollers,
with crests of jagged granite foaming up into fantastic surges.
You never tire of the more. You cannot think the
wonderful secrets which it contains. It is so vast and
(13:34):
so barren, and so mysterious. You know it well? Then,
I have only been here two years. The residence would
call me a newcomer. We came shortly after Sir Charles settled.
But my tastes led me to explore every part of
the country round. And I should think that there are
(13:56):
few men who know it better than I do? Is
it hard? Hard to know? Very hard? You see, for example,
this great plain to the north, here, with the Queer
hills breaking out of it. Do you observe anything remarkable
about that? It would be a rare place for a gallop,
(14:17):
He would naturally think so, And the thought has cost
several their lives before now you notice those bright green
spots scattered thickly over it. Yes, they seem more fertile
than the rest. Stapleton laughed. That is the great crimpin' maya,
(14:37):
said he. A false step yonder means death to man
or beast. Only yesterday I saw one of the moor
ponies wander into it. He never came out. I saw
his head for quite a long time, craning out of
the bog hole, but it sucked him down at last.
(14:58):
Even in drises it is a danger to cross it.
But after these autumn rains it is an awful place.
And yet I can find my way to the very
heart of it and return alive. By short there is
another of those miserable ponies. Something brown was rolling and
(15:19):
tossing among the green sedges. Then a long, agonized, writhing
neck shot upward, and a dreadful cry echoed over the more.
It turned me cold with horror. But my companion's nerves
seem to be stronger than mine. It's gone, said he.
(15:40):
The mire has him two in two days, and many
more perhaps, for they get in the way of going
there in the dry weather, and never know the difference
until the mire has them in its clutches. It's a
bad place, the great grimpen mire. And you say you
can penetrate it. Yes, there are one or two paths
(16:04):
which a very active man can take. I have found
them out. Why should you wish to go into so
horrible a place? Well, you see the hills beyond. They
are really islands, cut off on all sides by the
impossible maya which has crawled round them in the course
of years. That is where the rare plants and the
(16:26):
butterflies are. If you have the wit to reach them,
I shall try my luck some day. He looked at
me with a surprised face. For God's sake, put such
an idea out of your mind, said he, Your blood
would be upon my head. I assure you that there
(16:47):
would not be the least chance of your coming back alive.
It is only by remembering certain complex landmarks that I
am able to do it. Oh, I cried, what is that?
A long, low moan, indescribably sad, swept over the moor.
(17:10):
It filled the whole air, And yet it was impossible
to say whence it came from a dull murmur. It
swelled into a deep roar, and then sank back into
a melancholy, throbbing murmur. Once again, Stapleton looked at me
with a curious expression in his face. Queer place the more,
(17:32):
said he, But what is it? The peasants say it
is the hound of the Baskervilles calling for its prey.
I've heard it once or twice before, but never quite
so loud. I looked round, with a chill of fear
in my heart at the huge swelling plane, mottled with
(17:54):
the green patches of rushes. Nothing stirred over the vast expanse,
save a pair of ravens, which croaked loudly from a
tour behind us. You are an educated man. You don't
believe such nonsense as that, said I. What do you
think is the cause of so strange a sound. Bogs
(18:17):
make queer noises. Sometimes it's the mud settling, or the
water rising or something. No, No, that was a living voice,
Well perhaps it was. Did you ever hear a bittern booming? No?
I never did. It's a very rare bird, practically extinct
(18:41):
in England now. But all things are possible upon the moor. Yes,
I should not be surprised to learn that what we
have heard is the cry of the last of the bitterns.
It's the weirdest, strangest thing that ever I heard in
my life. Yes, it's rather an uncanny place altogether. Look
(19:03):
at the hillside yonder, What do you make of those?
The whole steep slope was covered with gray circular rings
of stone, a score of them at least. What are
they sheep pens? No, they are the homes of our
worthy ancestors. Prehistoric man lived thickly on the moor, and
(19:27):
as no one in particular has lived there since, we
find all his little arrangements exactly as he left them.
These are his wick walms, with the roofs off. You
can even see his heart and his couch if you
have the curiosity to go inside. But it is quite
a town. When was it inhabited Neolithic man? No date?
(19:54):
What did he do? He grazed his cattle on these slopes,
and he he learned dick for tin when the bronze
sword began to supersede the stone axe. Look at the
great trench in the opposite hill. That is his mark. Yes,
you will find some very singular points about the more,
(20:15):
Doctor Watson, Oh, excuse me an instant. It is surely
cyclopadies A small fly or moth had fluttered across our path,
and in an instant Stapleton was rushing with extraordinary energy
and speed in pursuit of it. To my dismay, the
creature flew straight for the great Maya, and my acquaintance
(20:39):
never paused for an instant, bounding from tough to tuft
behind it, His green net waving in the air, his
gray clothes and jerky zigzag irregular progress made him not
unlike some huge moth himself. I was standing watching his
pursuit with a mixture of admiration for his extraordinary activity
(21:02):
and fear lest he should lose his footing in the
treacherous mire, when I heard the sound of steps, and
turning round, found a woman near me upon the path.
She had come from the direction in which the plume
of smoke indicated the position of mary pit House, but
the dip of the moor had hid her until she
(21:24):
was quite close. I could not doubt that this was
the miss Stapleton of whom I had been told, since
ladies of any sort must be few upon the moor,
and I remembered that I had heard someone describe her
as being a beauty. The woman who approached me was
certainly that, and of a most uncommon type. There could
(21:47):
not have been a greater contrast between brother and sister,
for Stapleton was neutral, tinted, with light hair and gray eyes,
whilst she was darker than any brunette in my seen
in England, Slim, elegant and tall. She had a proud,
finely cut face, so regular that it might have seemed
(22:09):
impassive were it not for sensitive mouth and the beautiful, dark,
eager eyes. With her perfect figure and elegant dress, she
was indeed a strange apparition upon a lonely Moorland path.
Her eyes were on her brother as I turned, and
then she quickened her pace towards me. I had raised
(22:33):
my hat and was about to make some explanatory remark
when her own words turned all my thoughts into a
new channel. Go back, she said, go straight back to London. Instantly,
I could only stare at her in stupid surprise. Her
(22:53):
eyes blazed at me, and she tapped the ground impatiently
with her foot. Why should I go back, I asked,
I cannot explain, she spoke in a low, eager voice,
with a curious lisp in her utterance. But for God's sake,
do what I ask you, go back and never fet
(23:13):
foot upon the moor again. But I have only just come. Man, ma'am,
she cried, Can you not tell when a warning is
for your own good? Go back to London, start to night,
get away from this place at all costs. Hush, my
brother is come. Not a word of what I have saft?
(23:36):
Would you mind getting that organ for me? Among the
mare's tales yonder, we are very rich in orchids on
the moor, though of course you are rather late to
see the beauties of the place. Stapleton had abandoned the
chase and came back to us, breathing hard and flushed
with his exertions. Hello, Beryl, said he, and it seemed
(23:57):
to me that the tone of his greeting was not
altogether a cordial one. Well, Jack, you are very hot. Yes,
I was chasing my cyclopodies. He is very rare and
seldom found in the late autumn. What a pity that
I should have missed him, He spoke unconcernedly, but his
(24:17):
small light eyes glanced incessantly from the girl to me.
You have introduced yourselves, I can see. Yes. I was
telling Sir Henry that it was rather late for him
to see the true beauty of the more. Why who
do you think this is? I imagine that it must be
(24:38):
Sir Henry Bakerville. No, no, said I, only a humble commoner.
But his friend my name is doctor Watson. A flush
of vexation passed over her expressive face. We have been
talking at croft purposes, said she. Why you had not
(24:59):
very much talk for talk? Her brother remarked, with the
same questioning eyes. I talked as if doctor Watton were
a resident instead of being merely a visitor, said she.
It cannot much matter to him whether it's early or
late for the orchid. But you will come on, will
you not? And see Mary Pitt. How a short walk
(25:21):
brought us to it, A bleak moorland house, once the
farm of some grazier in the old prosperous days, but
now put into repair and turned into a modern dwelling.
An orcharded surrounded it, but the trees, as is usual
upon the moor, were stunted and nipped, and the effect
of the whole place was mean and melancholy. We were
(25:42):
admitted by a strange, wizened, rusty coated old manservant who
seemed in keeping with the house. Inside, however, there were
large rooms furnished with an elegance in which I seemed
to recognize the taste of the lady. As I looked
from their windows at the entire terminable granite flucked more
(26:02):
rolling unbroken to the farthest horizon, I could not but
marvel at what could have brought this highly educated man
and this beautiful woman to live in such a place.
Queer spot to choose, is it not, said he, as
if in answer to my thought. And yet we managed
to make ourselves fairly happy, do we not? Beryl? Quite happy,
(26:27):
said she, but there was no ring of conviction in
her words. I had a school, said Stapleton. It was
in the north Country. The work, to a man of
my temperament, was mechanical and uninteresting, But the privilege of
living with youth, of helping to mold those young minds,
(26:48):
and of impressing them with one's own character and ideals,
was very dear to me. However, the fates were against us.
A serious epidemic broke out in the school, and three
of the boys died. It never recovered from the blow,
and much of my capital was irretrievably swallowed up. And
(27:12):
yet if it were not for the loss of the
charming companionship of the boys, I could rejoice over my
own misfortune, for with my strong taste for botany and zoology,
I find an unlimited field of work here, and my
sister is as devoted to nature as I. All this,
(27:32):
doctor Watson, has been brought upon your head by your
expression as you surveyed the moor out of our window.
It certainly did cross my mind that it might be
a little dull less for you, perhaps than for your sister. No, no,
I am never dull, said she quickly. We have books,
(27:53):
we have our studies, and we have interesting neighbors. Doctor
Mortimer is a most learned man in his own line.
Poor Sir Charles was also an admirable companion. We knew
him well and miss him more than I can tell.
Do you think that I should intrude if I were
to call this afternoon and make the acquaintance of Sir Henry.
(28:16):
I am sure that he would be delighted. Then perhaps
you had mentioned that I propose to do. So we may,
in our humble way, do something to make things more
easy for him, until he becomes accustomed to his new surroundings.
Will you come upstairs, doctor Watson, and inspect my collection
of lepidoptera. I think it is the most complete one
(28:38):
in the southwest of England. By the time that you
have looked through them, lunch will be almost ready. But
I was eager to get back to my charge. The
melancholy of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony,
the weird sound which had been associated with the grim
legend of the Baskervilles. Oh, these things tinged my thoughts
(29:01):
with sadness. Then on the top of these more or
less vague impressions, there had come the definite and distinct
warning of Miss Stapleton, delivered with such intense earnestness that
I could not doubt that some grave and deep reason
lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch,
(29:22):
and I set off at once upon my return journey,
taking the grass grown path by which we had come.
It seems, however, that there must have been some short
cut for those who knew it, for before I had
reached the road, I was astounded to see Miss Stapleton
sitting upon a rock by the side of the track.
(29:44):
Her face was beautifully flushed with her exertions, and she
held her hand to her side. I have run all
the way in order to cut you off, doctor Watson,
said she. I had not even time to put on
my hat. I must not thought, or my brother may
miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry
(30:07):
I am about the stupid mistake I made in thinking
that you were there, Henry. Please forget the words I've said,
which have no application whatever to you. But I can't
forget them, Miss Stapleton said. I I am Sir Henry's friend,
and his welfare is a very close concern of mine.
(30:29):
Tell me why it was that you were so eager
that Sir Henry should return to London. A woman swim,
Doctor Watson, When you know me better, you will understand
that I cannot always give reasons for what I say
or do. No. No, I remember the thrill in your voice.
(30:50):
I remember the look in your eyes. Please please be
frank with me, Miss Stapleton. For ever since I have
been here, I have been conscious of shadows all round me.
Life has become like that great grimpin Maya, with little
green patches everywhere into which one may sink, and with
(31:10):
no guide to point the tracks. Tell me then what
it was that you meant, and I will promise to
convey your warning to Sir Henry. An expression of irresolution
passed for an instant over her face, but her eyes
had hardened again when she answered me, you make too
much of it. Doctor Watson said she, my brother and
(31:33):
I were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles.
We knew him very intimately, for his favorite walk was
over the moor to our health. He was deeply impressed
with the curth which hung over the family, and when
this tragedy came, I naturally felt that there must be
some grounds for the fears which he had expressed. I
(31:55):
was to threst therefore, when another member of the family
came down to live here, and I felt that he
should be warned of the danger which he will run.
That withal which I intended to convey. But what is
the danger? You know the story of the hound. I
do not believe in such nonsense, but I do if
(32:18):
you have any influence with Sir Henry, take him away
from a place which has always been fatal to his family.
The world is wide, Why should he wish to live
at the place of danger? Because it is the place
of danger that is Sir Henry's nature. I fear that
(32:40):
unless you can give me some more definite information than this,
it would be impossible to get him to move. I
cannot say anything definite, for I do not know anything definite.
I would ask you one more questioned, Miss Stapleton, if
you meant no more than this when you first spoke
to me, why should you not wish your brother to
(33:03):
overhear what you said? There is nothing to which he
or any one else could object. My brother is very
anxious to have the hall inhabited, for he thinks that
is good for the poorer folk upon the moor. He
would be very angry if he knew that I have
said anything which might induce their Henry to go away.
(33:25):
But I have done my duty now, and I will
say no more. I must go back, or he will
miss me and suspect that I have seen you. Good Bye.
She turned and had disappeared in a few minutes among
the scattered bowlers, while I, with my soul full of
vague fears, pursued my way to Basperville Hall. End of
(33:47):
Chapter seven
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