14 - Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

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.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Chapter fourteen of the Hound of the Basquervilles. 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 Hound of the Basquervilles. One

(00:24):
of Sherlock Holmes's defects, if indeed one may call it
a defect, was that he was exceedingly loath to communicate
his full plans to any other person until the instant
of their fulfillment. Partly, it came, no doubt, from his
own masterful nature, which loved to dominate and surprise those

(00:47):
who were around him. Partly also from his professional caution,
which urged him never to take any chances. The result, however,
was very trying for those who were acting as his
agents and assistance. I had often suffered under it, but
never more so than during that long drive in the darkness.

(01:11):
The great Ordeal was in front of us. At last,
we were about to make our final effort, and yet
Holmes had said nothing, and I could only surmise what
his course of action would be. My nerves thrilled with anticipation,
when at last, the cold wind upon our faces, and

(01:32):
the dark void spaces on either side of the narrow
road told me that we were back upon the moor
once again. Every stride of the horses and every turn
of the wheels was taking us nearer to our supreme adventure.
Our conversation was hampered by the presence of the driver

(01:55):
of the hired wagonette, so that we were forced to
talk of trivial matters when our nerves were tense with
emotion and anticipation. It was a relief to me after
that unnatural restraint when we at last passed Franklin's house
and knew that we were drawing near to the hall
and to the scene of the action. We did not

(02:17):
drive up to the door, but got down near the
gate of the avenue. The wagonette was paid off and
ordered to return to Coombe Tracy forthwith, while we started
to walk to merrypitt house. Are you armed, lestrade? The
little detective smiled. As long as I have my trousers,

(02:41):
I have a hip pocket, and as long as I
have my hip pocket, I have something in it. Good.
My friend and I are also ready for emergencies. You
are m de glose about this affair, mister Holmes, what's
the game now? A waiting game? My word, it does

(03:04):
not seem a very cheerful place, said the detective, with
a shiver, glancing round at him at the gloomy slopes
of the hill, and that the huge lake of fog
which lay over the grimpen mire. I see the lights
of a house ahead of us. That is Mary Pitt House,
and the end of our journey. I must request you

(03:26):
to walk on tiptoe and not to talk above a whisper.
We moved cautiously along the track as if we were
bound for the house, but Holmes halted us when we
were about two hundred yards from it. This will do,
said he. These rocks upon the right make an admirable screen.

(03:47):
We are to wait here. Yes, we shall make our
little ambush here. Get into this hollow lestrade. You have
been inside the house, have you not? Watson? Can you
tell the position of the rooms? What are those lattice
windows at this end? I think they are the kitchen windows,

(04:09):
and the one beyond which shines so brightly, that is
certainly the dining room. The blinds are up. You know
the lie of the land. Best creep forward quietly and
see what they are doing, But for Heaven's sake, don't
let them know that they are watched. I tiptoed down

(04:30):
the path and stooped behind the low wall which surrounded
the stunted orchard, creeping in its shadow. I reached a
point whence I could look straight through the uncurtained window.
There were only two men in the room, Sir Henry
and Stapleton. They sat with their profiles towards me, on

(04:50):
either side of the round table. Both of them were
smoking cigars, and coffee and wine were in front of them.
Stapleton was talking with animation, but the Baronet looked pale
and distraight. Perhaps the thought of that lonely walk across
the ill omened moor was weighing heavily upon his mind.

(05:14):
As I watched them, Stapleton rose and left the room,
while Sir Henry filled his glass again and leaned back
in his chair, puffing at his cigar. I heard the
creak of a door and the crisp sound of boots
upon gravel. The steps passed along the path on the

(05:35):
other side of the wall under which I crouched. Looking over,
I saw the naturalist pause at the door of an
outhouse in the corner of the orchard. A key turned
in a lock, and as he passed in there was
a gibber scuffly noise from within. He was only a
minute or so inside, and then I heard the key

(05:58):
turn once more, and he passed me and re entered
the house. I saw him rejoin his guest, and I
crept quietly back to where my companions were waiting to
tell them what I had seen. You say, Watson, that
the lady is not there, Holmes asked, when I had

(06:18):
finished my report. No where can she be? Then, since
there is no light in any other room except the kitchen,
I cannot think where she is. I have said that
over the Great Ribbon maya other hung a dense white fog.
It was drifting slowly in our direction and banked itself

(06:39):
up like a wall on that side of us, lo
but thick and well defined. The moon shone on it,
and it looked like a great shimmering ice field, with
the heads of the distant tours as rocks borne upon
its surface. Holmes's face was turned towards it, and he
muttered heard impatiently as he watched its sluggish drift. It's

(07:04):
moving towards us, Watson is that serious, very serious, indeed,
the one thing upon earth which could have disarranged my plans.
He can't be very long now. It is already ten o'clock.
Our success and even his life, may depend upon his

(07:24):
coming out before the fog is over the path. The
night was clear and fine. Above us, the stars shone
cold and bright, while a half moon bathed the whole
scene in a soft, uncertain light. Before us lay the
dark bulk of the house, its serrated roof and bristling

(07:48):
chimneys hard outlined against the silver spangled sky. Broad bars
of golden light from the lower windows stretched across the orchard,
and the or One of them was suddenly shut off.
The servants had left the kitchen. There only remained the
lamp in the dining room, where the two men, the

(08:11):
murderous host and the unconscious guest, still chattered over their cigars.
Every minute, that white wooly plain, which covered one half
of the moor, was drifting closer and closer to the house.
Already the first thin wisps of it were curling across

(08:31):
the golden square of the lighted window. The farther wall
of the orchard was already invisible. And the trees were
standing out of a swirl of white vapor. As we
watched it, the fog wreaths came crawling round both corners
of the house and rolled slowly into one dense bank,
on which the upper floor and the roof floated like

(08:54):
a strange ship upon a shadowy sea. Holmes struck his
hand passionately upon the rock in front of us, and
stamped his feet in his impatience. If he isn't out
in a quarter of an hour, the path will be
covered in half an hour. We won't be able to
see our hands in front of us. Shall we move

(09:16):
farther back upon higher ground? Yes, I think it would
be as well. So as the fog bank flowed onward,
we fell back before it, and until we were a
half mile from the house, and still that dense, white sea,
with the moon silvering its upper edge, swept slowly and

(09:38):
inexorably on. We are going too far, said Holmes. We
dare not take the chance of his being overtaken before
he can reach us. At all costs, we must hold
our ground where we are. He dropped on his knees
and clapped his ear to the ground. Thank God, I

(09:59):
think that I hear and coming. A sound of quick
steps broke the silence of the moor. Crouching among the stones,
we stared intently at the silver tipped bank in front
of us. The steps grew louder, and through the fog
as threw a curtain. There stepped the man whom we
were awaiting. He looked round him in surprise as he

(10:21):
emerged into the clear, starlit night. Then he came swiftly
along the path, passed close to where we lay, and
went on up the long slope behind us. As he walked,
he glanced continually over either shoulder, like a man who
was still at ease. Ist cried Holmes, and I heard

(10:41):
the sharp click of a cocking pistol. Look out, it's coming.
There was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from somewhere in
the heart of that crawling bank. The cloud was within
fifty yards of where we lay, and we glared at it,
all three, uncertain what horror was about to break from

(11:03):
the heart of it. I was at Holmes's elbow, and
I glanced for an instant at his face. It was
pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight,
but Suddenly they started forward in a rigid, fixed stare,
and his lips parted in amazement. At the same instintless

(11:24):
Straw gave a yell of terror, and threw himself face
downward upon the ground. I sprang to my feet, my
inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind paralyzed by the
dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from the
shadows of the fog. A hound. It was an enormous,

(11:45):
cold black hound, but not such a hound as mortal
eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth.
Its eyes glowed with a smoldering glare. Its muzzleckles and
dewlap were outlined in flickering flame. Never in the delirious

(12:06):
dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling,
more hellish be conceived than that dark form and savage
face which broke upon us out of the wall of
fog with long bounds. The huge black creature was leaping
down the track, following hard upon the footsteps of our friend.

(12:29):
So paralyzed were we by the apparition that we allowed
him to pass before we had recovered our nerve. Then
Holmes and I both fired together, and the creature gave
a hideous howl, which showed that one at least had
hit him. He did not pause, however, but bounded onward.
Far away on the path, we saw Sir Henry looking back,

(12:53):
his face white in the moonlight, his hands raised in horror,
glaring helplessly at the frightful thing which was hunting him down.
But that cry of pain from the hound had blown
all our fears to the winds. If he was vulnerable,
he was mortal, and if we could wound him, we

(13:14):
could kill him. Never have I seen a man run
his homes ran that night I unreckoned fleet of foot,
but he outpaced me as much as I outpaced the
little professional in front of us. As we flew up
the track, we heard scream after screamed from Sir Henry,
and the deep roar of the hound. I was in

(13:37):
time to see the beasts spring upon its victim, hurled
into the ground and worry at his throat. But the
next instant Holmes had emptied five barrels of his revolver
into the creature's flank. With the last howl of agony
and a vicious snap in the air, it rolled upon

(13:59):
its back four feet pawing furiously, and then fell limp
upon its side. I stooped, patching, and pressed my pistol
to the dreadful, shimmering head, but it was useless to
press the trigger. The giant hound was dead. Sir Henry

(14:19):
lay insensible where he had fallen. We tore away his collar,
and Holmes breathed the prayer of gratitude when we saw
that there was no sign of a wound, and that
the rescue had been in time already. Our friend's eyelids shivered,
and he made a feeble effort to move with straw

(14:40):
thrust his brandy flask between the baronet's teeth, and two
frightened eyes were looking up at us. My God, he whispered,
what was it? What in Heaven's name watch it? It's dead,
whatever it is, said Holmes, we've laid the family ghost

(15:04):
once and forever in mere sighs and strength. It was
a terrible creature which was lying stretched before us. It
was not a pure bloodhound, and it was not a
pure mastiff. But it appeared to be a combination of
the two, gaunt, savage, and as large as a small lioness.

(15:26):
Even now, in the stillness of death, the huge jaws
seemed to be dripping with a bluish flame, and the small,
deep set, cruel eyes were ringed with fire. I placed
my hand upon the glowing muzzle, and as I held
them up, my own fingers smoldered and gleamed in the darkness. Phosphorus,

(15:49):
I said, A cunning preparation of it, said Holmes, sniffing
at the dead animal. There is no smell which might
have interfered with his power of scent. We owe you
a deep apology, sir Henry, for having exposed you to
this fright. I was prepared for a hound, but not

(16:11):
for such a creature as this, and the fog gave
us little time to receive him. You have saved my life,
having first endangered it. Are you strong enough to stand?
Give me another mouthful of that brandy, and I shall
be ready for anything. So now, if you will help

(16:35):
me up, what do you propose to do to leave
you here? You are not fit for further adventures to night.
If you will wait, one or other of us will
go back with you to the hall. He tried to
stagger to his feet, but he was still ghastly, pale,

(16:55):
and trembling in every limb. We helped him to a rock,
where he sat shivering with his face buried in his hands.
We must leave you now, said Holmes. The rest of
our work must be done, and every moment is of importance.
We have our case, and now we only want our man.

(17:17):
It's a thousand to one against our finding him at
the house, he continued, as we retraced our steps swiftly
down the path. Those shots must have told him that
the game was up. We were some distance off, and
this fog may have deadened them. He followed the hound
to call him off of that. You may be certain. No, no,

(17:42):
he's gone by this time. But we'll search the house
and make sure the front door was open. So we
rushed in and hurried from room to room, to the
amazement of a doddering old man servant, who met us
in the passage. There was no light save in the
dining room, but Holmes caught up the lamp and left
no corner of the house unexplored. No sign could we

(18:06):
see of the man whom we were chasing. On the
upper floor, however, one of the bedroom doors was locked.
There's someone in here, cried Lestrade. I can hear a
movement open this door. A faint moaning and rustling came
from within. Holmes struck the door just over the lock

(18:29):
with the flat of his foot, and it flew open.
Pistol in hand. We all three rushed into the room,
but there was no sign within it of that desperate
and defiant villain whom we expected to see. Instead, we
were faced by an object so strange and so unexpected
that we stood for a moment staring at it in amazement.

(18:52):
The room had been fashioned into a small museum, and
the walls were lined by number of glass topped cane
full of that collection of butterflies and moths, the formation
of which had been the relaxation of this complex and
dangerous man. In the center of this room there was
an upright beam, which had been placed at some period

(19:16):
as a support for the old, worm eaten bulk of
timber which spanned the root to this post. A figure
was tied, so swathed and muffled in the sheets which
had been used to secure it, that one could not,
for the moment tell whether it was that of a
man or a woman. One towel passed round the throat

(19:37):
and was secured at the back of the pillar. Another
covered the lower part of the face, and over it
two dark eyes, eyes full of grief and shame and
a dreadful questioning, stared back at us. In a minute,
we had torn off the gag, unswathed the bonds, and

(19:59):
Missus Stapleton sank upon the floor in front of us.
As her beautiful head fell upon her chest, I saw
the clear red wheel of a whiplash across her neck.
The brute cried, Holmes, here, less rod, your brandy bottle.
Put her in the chair. She has fainted from ill,

(20:22):
husage and exhaustion. She opened her eyes again. Is he safe?
She asked? Has he escaped? He cannot escape us? Madam, No, no,
I did not mean my husband, Sir Henry. Is he safe? Yes?

(20:45):
And the hound it is dead. She gave a long
sigh of satisfaction. Thank God, thank God, Oh, this villain.
See how he has treated me. She shot her arms
out from her sleeves, and we saw with horror that

(21:06):
they were all mottled with bruises. But this is nothing, nothing.
It is my mind and soul that he has tortured
and defiled. I could endure it all ill usage, solitude,
a life of deception, everything as long as I could
still cling to the hope that I had his love.

(21:27):
But now I know that in this also I have
been his dupe and his tool. She broke into passionate
sobbing as she spoke. You bear him no good will, madam,
said Holmes. Tell us then, where we shall find him?
If you have ever aided him in evil? Help us

(21:48):
now and so atone. There is but one place where
he can have fled. She answered. There is an old
tin mine on an island in the heart of the Maya.
It was there that he kept his hound, and there
also he had made preparations so that he might have
a refuge. That is where he would fly. The fog

(22:10):
bank lay like white wool against the window. Holmes held
the lamp towards it. 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

(22:34):
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

(22:55):
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

(23:16):
whom he had loved. But the shock of the Knight's
adventures had shattered his nerves, and before morning he lay
delirious in a high fever, under the care of Doctor Mortimer.
The two of them were destined to travel together round
the world before Sir Henry had become once more the hale,

(23:37):
haughty 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

(24:00):
in so tragic a manner. On the morning after the
death of the Hound, the fog had lifted, and we
were guided by Missus 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

(24:20):
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

(24:41):
pits and falk blackmires which barred the way to the
stranger rank reads and lush, slimy water plats sent an
odor of decay and a heavy miasmatic vapor onto our faces,
while a false step plunged us more than once thigh
deep into the dark, quivering mire, which shook for yards

(25:05):
and 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 had held us once

(25:27):
only we saw trace that some one 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

(25:47):
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. Myers Toronto
was printed on the leather inside. It is worth a
mud bath, said he. It is our friend, Sir Henry's

(26:09):
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,

(26:32):
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

(26:56):
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

(27:18):
him in, this cold and cruel hearted man is forever buried.
Many traces we found of him in the boggert island
where he had hid his savage Ally, a huge driving
wheel and a shaft, half filled with rubbish showed the
position of an abandoned mine. Beside it were the crumbling

(27:39):
remains of the cottages of the miners, driven away, no
doubt by the foul reek of the surrounding swamp. In
one of these, a staple and chain with a quantity
of gnawed bones showed where the animal had been confined.
A skeleton with a tangle of brown hair adhering to
it lay among the debre. A dog, said Holmes by Jove,

(28:04):
a curly haired spaniel. Poor Mourmer will never see his
pet again. Well, I do not know that this place
contains any secret which we have not already fathomed. He
could hide his hound, but he could not hush its voice,
and hence came those cries, which even in daylight were

(28:26):
not pleasant to hear. On an emergency, he could keep
the hound in the outhouse at merry Pit, but it
was always a risk, and it was only on the
Supreme Day, which he regarded as the end of all
his efforts, that he dared do it. This paste in
the tin is, no doubt the luminous mixture with which

(28:47):
the creature was daubed. It was suggested, of course, by
the story of the family hell Hound, and by the
desire to frighten old Sir Charles to death. No wonder,
the poor devil of a convict ran and screamed, even
as our friend did, and as we ourselves might have done,

(29:07):
when he saw such a creature bounding through the darkness
of the moor upon his track. It was a cunning device,
for apart from the chance of driving your victim to
his death, what peasant would venture to inquire too closely
into such a creature should he get sight of it,
as many have done upon the moor? I said it

(29:29):
in London, Watson, and I say it again now that
never yet have we helped to hunt down a more
dangerous man than he who is lying yonder. He swept
his long lawn towards the huge, modeled expanse of green
splotched bog, which stretched away until it merged into the

(29:50):
Russet slopes of the moor. End of Chapter fourteen.