September 18, 2025 • 29 mins
14 - The Hound of the Baskervilles. The Hound of The Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
The Hound of the Baskervilles is the third of the four crime novels written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle featuring the detective Sherlock Holmes. Originally serialised in The Strand Magazine from August 1901 to April 1902, it is set largely on Dartmoor in Devon in England's West Country and tells the story of an attempted murder inspired by the legend of a fearsome, diabolical hound of supernatural origin. Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr. Watson investigate the case. This was the first appearance of Holmes since his intended death in "The Final Problem", and the success of The Hound of the Baskervilles led to the character's eventual revival.
The Hound of the Baskervilles is the third of the four crime novels written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle featuring the detective Sherlock Holmes. Originally serialised in The Strand Magazine from August 1901 to April 1902, it is set largely on Dartmoor in Devon in England's West Country and tells the story of an attempted murder inspired by the legend of a fearsome, diabolical hound of supernatural origin. Sherlock Holmes and his companion Dr. Watson investigate the case. This was the first appearance of Holmes since his intended death in "The Final Problem", and the success of The Hound of the Baskervilles led to the character's eventual revival.
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Chapter fourteen of The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Bob Neefeld, Chapter fourteen, The Hound of the Baskervilles.
(00:21):
One 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
(00:41):
those 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 assistants. I had often suffered under it, but
never more so than during that long drive in the darkness.
(01:04):
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
(01:25):
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
of the hired wagonettes, so that we were forced to
(01:47):
talk off 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 far Franklin's
house and knew that we were drawing near to the
hall and to the scene of action. We did not
drive up to the door, but got down near the
(02:09):
gates of the avenue. The wagonet was paid off and
ordered to return to Coombe Tracey forthwith while we started
to walk to Merripid house. Are you armed, estrade, the
little detective smiled. As long as I have my trousers,
I have a hip pocket, and as long as I
(02:30):
have my hip pocket, I have something in it. Good,
My friend and I are also ready for emergencies. You're
mighty close about this affair, mister Holmes. What's the game now, Oh?
Waiting game? My word. It does not seem a very
(02:51):
cheerful place, said the detective, with a shiver, glancing round
him at the gloomy slopes of the hill and at
the large lake of fog which lay over the grimp
and mire. I see the lights of a house ahead
of us. That is Merrifforth House, and the end of
our journey. I must request you to walk on tiptoe
(03:12):
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. We are to
(03:34):
wait here. Yes, we shall make our little ambush here.
Get into this hollow leestrad. You have been inside the house,
have you not? Watson? Can you tell the position of
the rooms? What are these latticed windows at this end?
I think they are the kitchen windows, and the one beyond,
(03:55):
but shine 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 the path and stooped behind
(04:17):
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 either side of the round table.
(04:37):
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 distrait. Perhaps the thought
of that lonely walk across the ill omened moor was
weighing heavily upon his mind. As I watched them. Stapleton
(05:00):
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 other side of the wall
under which I crouched. Looking over, I saw the naturalist
(05:23):
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 curious scuffling noise
from within. He was only a minute or so inside,
and then I heard the key turn once more, and
he passed me and re entered the house. I saw
(05:44):
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 finished my report. No where
can she be? Then, since there is no light in
(06:05):
any other room except the kitchen, I cannot think where
she is. I have said that over the great grimp
and Mire there hung a dense white fog. It was
drifting slowly in our direction and banked itself up like
a wall on that side of us, Low but thick
and well defined. The moon shone on it, and it
(06:28):
looked like a great glimmering 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 impatiently
as he watched its sluggish drift. It's moving toward us, Watson,
Is that serious? Very serious? Indeed? The one thing upon
(06:52):
Earth which could have disarranged my plans. It can't be
very long now it is already ten o'clock. Our success
and even his life, may depend upon his coming out.
Before the fog is over the path. The night was
clear and fine. Above us, the stars shone cold and bright,
(07:14):
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 chimneys hard outlined against the
silver spangled sky. Broad bars of golden light from the
lower windows stretched across the orchard and the moor. One
(07:35):
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 murderous host and the unconscious guest,
still chatted over their cigars. Every minute, that white wooly plain,
which covered one half of the moor, was drifting closer
(07:58):
and closer to the heart. Already the first thin wisps
of it were curling across 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
(08:18):
crawling round both corners of the house and rolled slowly
into one dense bank, on which the upper floor and
the roof floated like 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
(08:39):
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 farther back upon higher ground? Yes, I
think it would be as well. So as the fog
bank flowed off onward, we fell back before it until
(09:03):
we were half a mile from the house, and still
that dense, white sea, with the moon silvering its upper edge,
swept slowly and 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,
(09:24):
we must hold our ground where we are. He dropped
on his knees and clapped his ear to the ground.
Thank God, I can hear him coming. A sound of
quick steps broke the silence of the moor. Crouching among
the stones, we stared intently at the silver tipped bank
(09:46):
in front of us. The steps grew louder, and through
the fog as through a curtain, there stepped the man
whom we were awaiting. He looked round him in surprise
as we emerged into the clear, starlit night. Then he
came swiftly along the path, passed close to where we lay,
(10:06):
and went up the long slope behind us. As he walked,
he glanced continually over either shoulder, like a man who
is ill at ease. S hist cried Holmes, and I
heard the sharp click of a cocking pistol. Look out,
it's coming. There was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from
(10:30):
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 the heart of it. I was at
Holmes's elbow, and I glanced for an instant at his face.
He was pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly in
(10:53):
the moonlight. But suddenly they started forward in a rigid,
fixed stare, and his lips parted in amazement. At the
same instant, Lestrade 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
(11:16):
the dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from
the shadows of the fog. A hound. It was an enormous,
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 muzzle and
(11:39):
hackles and dew lap were outlined in flickering flame. Never
in the delirious 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
(12:03):
black creature was leaping down the track, following hard upon
the footsteps of our friend. 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
(12:23):
one at least had hid him. He did not pause, however,
but bounded onward. Far away on the path, we saw
Sir Henry looking back, 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
(12:44):
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 could kill him. Never
have I seen a man run as Holmes ran that night.
I am reckoned the fleet of foot, but he outpaced
me as much as I outpaced the little professional in
(13:07):
front of us. As we flew up the track, we
heard scream after scream from Sir Henry, and the deep
roar of the hound. I was in time to see
the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground,
and weary at his throat. But the next instant Holmes
had emptied five barrels of his revolver into the creature's flank.
(13:31):
With a last howl of agony and a vicious snap
in the air, it rolled upon its back four feet,
pawing furiously, and then fell limp upon its side. I
stooped panting and pressed my pistol to the dreadful shimmering head,
but it was useless to press the trigger. The giant
(13:55):
hound was dead. Sir Henry lay insensible where he had fallen.
We tore away his collar, and Holmes breathed a 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
(14:17):
feeble effort to move Lestrade 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 was it? It's dead, whatever it is,
(14:39):
said Holmes, we've laid the family ghost 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,
(15:01):
and as large as a small lioness. Even now in
the stillness of death, the huge jaw 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,
(15:22):
my own fingers smoldered and gleamed in the darkness. Phosphorus,
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
(15:44):
this fright. I was prepared for a hound, but not
for such a creature as this, and the fog gave
us little time to receive him. You saved my life,
having first endigned. Are you strong enough to stand? Give
(16:05):
me another mouthful of that brandy, and I shall be
ready for anything. So now, if you will help 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
(16:26):
back with you to the hall. We tried to stagger
to his feet, but he was still ghastly, pale, 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
(16:46):
our work must be done, and every moment is of importance.
We have our case, and now we only want our man.
It's a thousand to one against our finding him at
the house, he continued, as he retraced our steps swiftly
down the path. Those shots must have told him that
(17:07):
the game was up. We were some distance off, and
the fog may have deadened him. He followed the hound
to call him off. Of that, you may be certain. No, no,
he's gone by this time. But we'll search the house
and make sure the front door was open. So we
(17:28):
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
see of the man whom we were chasing. On the
(17:49):
upper floor, however, one of the bedroom doors was locked.
There's some one in here, cried Lestrade. I can hear
a movement. Oh open this door. A faint moaning and
rustling came from within. Holmes struck the door just over
the lock with the flat of his foot, and it
(18:11):
flew open. Pistol in hand. We all 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.
(18:35):
The room had been fashioned into a small museum, and
the walls were lined by a number of glass top
cases 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
(18:57):
period as a support for the old, worm eaten bulk
of timber which spanned the roof 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
(19:18):
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
Missus Stapleton sank upon the floor in front of us.
(19:42):
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 Lestrad, your brandy bottle. Put
her in the chair. She has fainted from ill usage
and exhaustion. She opened her eyes again. He is he safe,
(20:08):
she asked? Has he escaped? He cannot escape us? Madam? No, No,
I do not mean my husband, Sir Henry. Is he safe? Yes?
And the hound it is dead. She gave a long
(20:29):
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
they were all mottled with bruises. But this is nothing, nothing.
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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.
But now I know that in this also I have
been his dupe and his tool. She broke into passionate
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sobbing as she spoke. You'll 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
now and sow atone. There is but one place where
he can have fled. She answered. There is an old
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tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire.
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
bank lay like white wood against the window. Holmes held
(22:02):
the lamp towards it, see said he no one can
find his way into 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?
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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,
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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,
(23:08):
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, hearty man that
he had been before he became master of that ill
omened estate. And now I come rapidly to the conclusion
(23:33):
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 Missus Stapleton to the point where they had found
(23:55):
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, pitty sore, which tapered out into the widespread bog.
From the end of it, a small wand planted here
(24:18):
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 odor of decay
and a heavy miasmatic vapor onto our faces, while a
(24:40):
false step plunged us more than once thigh deep into
the dark, quivering mire, which shook four yards in soft
undulations under 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 the obscene depths. So grim and purposeful was
(25:03):
the clutch in which it held us. Once only we
saw a trace that some one had passed that perilous
way before us, from amid a tuft of cotton grass
which bowed up out of the slime. Some dark thing
was projecting. Holmes sang to his waist as he stepped
from the path to seize it, and had we not
(25:25):
been there to drag him out, he would never have
set his foot upon firm dry land again. He held
an old black boot in the air. Myer's toronto was
printed on the leather inside. It is worth a mud path,
said he. It is our friend, Sir Henry's missing boot,
(25:46):
thrown there by Stableton 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 held it away.
At this point of his flight. We know at least
that he came so far in safety, but more than
(26:09):
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.
(26:32):
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 grimp and mire, down in the foul
slime of the huge morass which had sucked him in,
this cold and cruel hearted man is forever buried. Many
(26:59):
traces we found of him in the bog Girt 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
remains of the cottages of the miners, driven away, no
doubt by the foul reek of the surrounding swamp. In
(27:22):
one of these, a staple and chain with a quantity
of nod bones showed where the animal had been confined.
The skeleton, with a tangle of brown hair adhering to it,
lay among the debris. A dog, said Holmes, by jove,
a curry head spaniel. Poor Mortimer will never see his
(27:45):
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
now pleasant to hear. On an emergency, he could keep
the hound in the outhouse at Meryport, but it was
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always a risk, and he 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 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
(28:31):
devil of a convict ran and screamed, even as our
friend did, and as we ourselves might have done, 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 a victim to
his death, what peasant should venture to inquire too closely
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into such a creature should he get sight of it,
as many have done upon the moor. I said it
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 under. He swept
his long arm towards a huge, mottled expanse of green
(29:14):
splotched bog, which stretched away until it merged into the
Russet slopes of the moor. End of Chapter fourteen.
Chapter fourteen of The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.
Read by Bob Neefeld, Chapter fourteen, The Hound of the Baskervilles.
(00:21):
One 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
(00:41):
those 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 assistants. I had often suffered under it, but
never more so than during that long drive in the darkness.
(01:04):
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
(01:25):
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
of the hired wagonettes, so that we were forced to
(01:47):
talk off 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 far Franklin's
house and knew that we were drawing near to the
hall and to the scene of action. We did not
drive up to the door, but got down near the
(02:09):
gates of the avenue. The wagonet was paid off and
ordered to return to Coombe Tracey forthwith while we started
to walk to Merripid house. Are you armed, estrade, the
little detective smiled. As long as I have my trousers,
I have a hip pocket, and as long as I
(02:30):
have my hip pocket, I have something in it. Good,
My friend and I are also ready for emergencies. You're
mighty close about this affair, mister Holmes. What's the game now, Oh?
Waiting game? My word. It does not seem a very
(02:51):
cheerful place, said the detective, with a shiver, glancing round
him at the gloomy slopes of the hill and at
the large lake of fog which lay over the grimp
and mire. I see the lights of a house ahead
of us. That is Merrifforth House, and the end of
our journey. I must request you to walk on tiptoe
(03:12):
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. We are to
(03:34):
wait here. Yes, we shall make our little ambush here.
Get into this hollow leestrad. You have been inside the house,
have you not? Watson? Can you tell the position of
the rooms? What are these latticed windows at this end?
I think they are the kitchen windows, and the one beyond,
(03:55):
but shine 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 the path and stooped behind
(04:17):
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 either side of the round table.
(04:37):
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 distrait. Perhaps the thought
of that lonely walk across the ill omened moor was
weighing heavily upon his mind. As I watched them. Stapleton
(05:00):
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 other side of the wall
under which I crouched. Looking over, I saw the naturalist
(05:23):
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 curious scuffling noise
from within. He was only a minute or so inside,
and then I heard the key turn once more, and
he passed me and re entered the house. I saw
(05:44):
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 finished my report. No where
can she be? Then, since there is no light in
(06:05):
any other room except the kitchen, I cannot think where
she is. I have said that over the great grimp
and Mire there hung a dense white fog. It was
drifting slowly in our direction and banked itself up like
a wall on that side of us, Low but thick
and well defined. The moon shone on it, and it
(06:28):
looked like a great glimmering 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 impatiently
as he watched its sluggish drift. It's moving toward us, Watson,
Is that serious? Very serious? Indeed? The one thing upon
(06:52):
Earth which could have disarranged my plans. It can't be
very long now it is already ten o'clock. Our success
and even his life, may depend upon his coming out.
Before the fog is over the path. The night was
clear and fine. Above us, the stars shone cold and bright,
(07:14):
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 chimneys hard outlined against the
silver spangled sky. Broad bars of golden light from the
lower windows stretched across the orchard and the moor. One
(07:35):
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 murderous host and the unconscious guest,
still chatted over their cigars. Every minute, that white wooly plain,
which covered one half of the moor, was drifting closer
(07:58):
and closer to the heart. Already the first thin wisps
of it were curling across 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
(08:18):
crawling round both corners of the house and rolled slowly
into one dense bank, on which the upper floor and
the roof floated like 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
(08:39):
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 farther back upon higher ground? Yes, I
think it would be as well. So as the fog
bank flowed off onward, we fell back before it until
(09:03):
we were half a mile from the house, and still
that dense, white sea, with the moon silvering its upper edge,
swept slowly and 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,
(09:24):
we must hold our ground where we are. He dropped
on his knees and clapped his ear to the ground.
Thank God, I can hear him coming. A sound of
quick steps broke the silence of the moor. Crouching among
the stones, we stared intently at the silver tipped bank
(09:46):
in front of us. The steps grew louder, and through
the fog as through a curtain, there stepped the man
whom we were awaiting. He looked round him in surprise
as we emerged into the clear, starlit night. Then he
came swiftly along the path, passed close to where we lay,
(10:06):
and went up the long slope behind us. As he walked,
he glanced continually over either shoulder, like a man who
is ill at ease. S hist cried Holmes, and I
heard the sharp click of a cocking pistol. Look out,
it's coming. There was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from
(10:30):
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 the heart of it. I was at
Holmes's elbow, and I glanced for an instant at his face.
He was pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly in
(10:53):
the moonlight. But suddenly they started forward in a rigid,
fixed stare, and his lips parted in amazement. At the
same instant, Lestrade 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
(11:16):
the dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from
the shadows of the fog. A hound. It was an enormous,
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 muzzle and
(11:39):
hackles and dew lap were outlined in flickering flame. Never
in the delirious 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
(12:03):
black creature was leaping down the track, following hard upon
the footsteps of our friend. 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
(12:23):
one at least had hid him. He did not pause, however,
but bounded onward. Far away on the path, we saw
Sir Henry looking back, 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
(12:44):
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 could kill him. Never
have I seen a man run as Holmes ran that night.
I am reckoned the fleet of foot, but he outpaced
me as much as I outpaced the little professional in
(13:07):
front of us. As we flew up the track, we
heard scream after scream from Sir Henry, and the deep
roar of the hound. I was in time to see
the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground,
and weary at his throat. But the next instant Holmes
had emptied five barrels of his revolver into the creature's flank.
(13:31):
With a last howl of agony and a vicious snap
in the air, it rolled upon its back four feet,
pawing furiously, and then fell limp upon its side. I
stooped panting and pressed my pistol to the dreadful shimmering head,
but it was useless to press the trigger. The giant
(13:55):
hound was dead. Sir Henry lay insensible where he had fallen.
We tore away his collar, and Holmes breathed a 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
(14:17):
feeble effort to move Lestrade 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 was it? It's dead, whatever it is,
(14:39):
said Holmes, we've laid the family ghost 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,
(15:01):
and as large as a small lioness. Even now in
the stillness of death, the huge jaw 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,
(15:22):
my own fingers smoldered and gleamed in the darkness. Phosphorus,
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
(15:44):
this fright. I was prepared for a hound, but not
for such a creature as this, and the fog gave
us little time to receive him. You saved my life,
having first endigned. Are you strong enough to stand? Give
(16:05):
me another mouthful of that brandy, and I shall be
ready for anything. So now, if you will help 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
(16:26):
back with you to the hall. We tried to stagger
to his feet, but he was still ghastly, pale, 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
(16:46):
our work must be done, and every moment is of importance.
We have our case, and now we only want our man.
It's a thousand to one against our finding him at
the house, he continued, as he retraced our steps swiftly
down the path. Those shots must have told him that
(17:07):
the game was up. We were some distance off, and
the fog may have deadened him. He followed the hound
to call him off. Of that, you may be certain. No, no,
he's gone by this time. But we'll search the house
and make sure the front door was open. So we
(17:28):
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
see of the man whom we were chasing. On the
(17:49):
upper floor, however, one of the bedroom doors was locked.
There's some one in here, cried Lestrade. I can hear
a movement. Oh open this door. A faint moaning and
rustling came from within. Holmes struck the door just over
the lock with the flat of his foot, and it
(18:11):
flew open. Pistol in hand. We all 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.
(18:35):
The room had been fashioned into a small museum, and
the walls were lined by a number of glass top
cases 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
(18:57):
period as a support for the old, worm eaten bulk
of timber which spanned the roof 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
(19:18):
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
Missus Stapleton sank upon the floor in front of us.
(19:42):
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 Lestrad, your brandy bottle. Put
her in the chair. She has fainted from ill usage
and exhaustion. She opened her eyes again. He is he safe,
(20:08):
she asked? Has he escaped? He cannot escape us? Madam? No, No,
I do not mean my husband, Sir Henry. Is he safe? Yes?
And the hound it is dead. She gave a long
(20:29):
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
they were all mottled with bruises. But this is nothing, nothing.
(20:53):
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.
But now I know that in this also I have
been his dupe and his tool. She broke into passionate
(21:18):
sobbing as she spoke. You'll 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
now and sow atone. There is but one place where
he can have fled. She answered. There is an old
(21:42):
tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire.
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
bank lay like white wood against the window. Holmes held
(22:02):
the lamp towards it, see said he no one can
find his way into 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?
(22:26):
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,
(22:47):
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,
(23:08):
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, hearty man that
he had been before he became master of that ill
omened estate. And now I come rapidly to the conclusion
(23:33):
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 Missus Stapleton to the point where they had found
(23:55):
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, pitty sore, which tapered out into the widespread bog.
From the end of it, a small wand planted here
(24:18):
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 odor of decay
and a heavy miasmatic vapor onto our faces, while a
(24:40):
false step plunged us more than once thigh deep into
the dark, quivering mire, which shook four yards in soft
undulations under 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 the obscene depths. So grim and purposeful was
(25:03):
the clutch in which it held us. Once only we
saw a trace that some one had passed that perilous
way before us, from amid a tuft of cotton grass
which bowed up out of the slime. Some dark thing
was projecting. Holmes sang to his waist as he stepped
from the path to seize it, and had we not
(25:25):
been there to drag him out, he would never have
set his foot upon firm dry land again. He held
an old black boot in the air. Myer's toronto was
printed on the leather inside. It is worth a mud path,
said he. It is our friend, Sir Henry's missing boot,
(25:46):
thrown there by Stableton 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 held it away.
At this point of his flight. We know at least
that he came so far in safety, but more than
(26:09):
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.
(26:32):
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 grimp and mire, down in the foul
slime of the huge morass which had sucked him in,
this cold and cruel hearted man is forever buried. Many
(26:59):
traces we found of him in the bog Girt 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
remains of the cottages of the miners, driven away, no
doubt by the foul reek of the surrounding swamp. In
(27:22):
one of these, a staple and chain with a quantity
of nod bones showed where the animal had been confined.
The skeleton, with a tangle of brown hair adhering to it,
lay among the debris. A dog, said Holmes, by jove,
a curry head spaniel. Poor Mortimer will never see his
(27:45):
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
now pleasant to hear. On an emergency, he could keep
the hound in the outhouse at Meryport, but it was
(28:06):
always a risk, and he 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 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
(28:31):
devil of a convict ran and screamed, even as our
friend did, and as we ourselves might have done, 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 a victim to
his death, what peasant should venture to inquire too closely
(28:52):
into such a creature should he get sight of it,
as many have done upon the moor. I said it
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 under. He swept
his long arm towards a huge, mottled expanse of green
(29:14):
splotched bog, which stretched away until it merged into the
Russet slopes of the moor. End of Chapter fourteen.
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