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Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips
together, and closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the
manuscript to the light and read in a high, crackling voice the following curious,
old-world narrative:
- Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there have
been many statements, yet as I come in a direct line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had
the story from my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down with all belief
that it occurred even as is here set forth. And I would have [674] you believe, my sons, that the same Justice which
punishes sin may also most graciously forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by
prayer and repentance it may be removed. Learn then from this story not to fear the fruits
of the past, but rather to be circumspect in the future, that those foul passions whereby
our family has suffered so grievously may not again be loosed to our undoing.
“Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the
history of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most earnestly commend to your attention)
this Manor of Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be gainsaid that he
was a most wild, profane, and godless man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have
pardoned, seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts, but there was in him a
certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name a byword through the West. It chanced
that this Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known under so bright a
name) the daughter of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskerville estate. But the young
maiden, being discreet and of good repute, would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil
name. So it came to pass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five or six of his idle and
wicked companions, stole down upon the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and
brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had brought her to the Hall the
maiden was placed in an upper chamber, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long
carouse, as was their nightly custom. Now, the poor lass upstairs was like to have her
wits turned at the singing and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from
below, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville, when he was in wine,
were such as might blast the man who said them. At last in the stress of her fear she did
that which might have daunted the bravest or most active man, for by the aid of the growth
of ivy which covered (and still covers) the south wall she came down from under the eaves,
and so homeward across the moor, there being three leagues betwixt the Hall and her
father’s farm.
“It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his
guests to carry food and drink–with other worse things, perchance–to his
captive, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then, as it would seem, he
became as one that hath a devil, for, rushing down the stairs into the dining-hall, he
sprang upon the great table, flagons and trenchers flying before him, and he cried aloud
before all the company that he would that very night render his body and soul to the
Powers of Evil if he might but overtake the wench. And while the revellers stood aghast at
the fury of the man, one more wicked or, it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out
that they should put the hounds upon her. Whereat Hugo ran from the house, crying to his
grooms that they should saddle his mare and unkennel the pack, and giving the hounds a
kerchief of the maid’s, he swung them to the line, and so off full cry in the
moonlight over the moor.
“Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable to
understand all that had been done in such haste. But anon their bemused wits awoke to the
nature of the deed which was like to be done upon the moorlands. Everything was now in an
uproar, some calling for their pistols, some for their horses, and some for another flask
of wine. But at length some sense came back to their crazed minds, and the whole of them,
thirteen [675] in number,
took horse and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above them, and they rode swiftly
abreast, taking that course which the maid must needs have taken if she were to reach her
own home.
- “They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of
the night shepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to him to know if he had seen the
hunt. And the man, as the story goes, was so crazed with fear that he could scarce speak,
but at last he said that he had indeed seen the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her
track. ‘But I have seen more than that,’ said he, ‘for Hugo Baskerville
passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind him such a hound of hell as God
forbid should ever be at my heels.’ So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd and
rode onward. But soon their skins turned cold, for there came a galloping across the moor,
and the black mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing bridle and empty
saddle. Then the revellers rode close together, for a great fear was on them, but they
still followed over the moor, though each, had he been alone, would have been right glad
to have turned his horse’s head. Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last upon
the hounds. These, though known for their valour and their breed, were whimpering in a
cluster at the head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the moor, some slinking
away and some, with starting hackles and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley
before them.
- “The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you
may guess, than when they started. The most of them would by no means advance, but three
of them, the boldest, or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the goyal. Now, it
opened into a broad space in which stood two of those great stones, still to be seen
there, which were set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old. The moon was
shining bright upon the clearing, and there in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she
had fallen, dead of fear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body, nor yet was
it that of the body of Hugo Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon the
heads of these three dare-devil roysterers, but it was that, standing over Hugo, and
plucking at his throat, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a
hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon. And even as they
looked the thing tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it turned its
blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the three shrieked with fear and rode for dear
life, still screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that very night of what he
had seen, and the other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days.
- “Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound
which is said to have plagued the family so sorely ever since. If I have set it down it is
because that which is clearly known hath less terror than that which is but hinted at and
guessed. Nor can it be denied that many of the family have been unhappy in their deaths,
which have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious. Yet may we shelter ourselves in the
infinite goodness of Providence, which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that
third or fourth generation which is threatened in Holy Writ. To that Providence, my sons,
I hereby commend you, and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from crossing the
moor in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted.
[676]
“[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John, with instructions that they
say nothing thereof to their sister Elizabeth.]”
When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular
narrative he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr. Sherlock
Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire.
“Well?” said he.
“Do you not find it interesting?”
“To a collector of fairy tales.”
Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.
“Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little
more recent. This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this year. It is a
short account of the facts elicited at the death of Sir Charles Baskerville which occurred
a few days before that date.”
My friend leaned a little forward and his expression became
intent. Our visitor readjusted his glasses and began:
- “The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville,
whose name has been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate for Mid-Devon at the next
election, has cast a gloom over the county. Though Sir Charles had resided at Baskerville
Hall for a comparatively short period his amiability of character and extreme generosity
had won the affection and respect of all who had been brought into contact with him. In
these days of nouveaux riches it is refreshing to find a case where the scion of an old
county family which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring
it back with him to restore the fallen grandeur of his line. Sir Charles, as is well
known, made large sums of money in South African speculation. More wise than those who go
on until the wheel turns against them, he realized his gains and returned to England with
them. It is only two years since he took up his residence at Baskerville Hall, and it is
common talk how large were those schemes of reconstruction and improvement which have been
interrupted by his death. Being himself childless, it was his openly expressed desire that
the whole countryside should, within his own lifetime, profit by his good fortune, and
many will have personal reasons for bewailing his untimely end. His generous donations to
local and county charities have been frequently chronicled in these columns.
“The circumstances connected with the death of Sir
Charles cannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the inquest, but at least
enough has been done to dispose of those rumours to which local superstition has given
rise. There is no reason whatever to suspect foul play, or to imagine that death could be
from any but natural causes. Sir Charles was a widower, and a man who may be said to have
been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind. In spite of his considerable wealth he
was simple in his personal tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hall consisted
of a married couple named Barrymore, the husband acting as butler and the wife as
housekeeper. Their evidence, corroborated by that of several friends, tends to show that
Sir Charles’s health has for some time been impaired, and points especially to some
affection of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour, breathlessness, and acute
attacks of nervous depression. [677]
Dr. James Mortimer, the friend and medical attendant of the deceased, has given evidence
to the same effect.
- “The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles
Baskerville was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking down the famous
yew alley of Baskerville Hall. The evidence of the Barrymores shows that this had been his
custom. On the fourth of May Sir Charles had declared his intention of starting next day
for London, and had ordered Barrymore to prepare his luggage. That night he went out as
usual for his nocturnal walk, in the course of which he was in the habit of smoking a
cigar. He never returned. At twelve o’clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still
open, became alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search of his master. The day had
been wet, and Sir Charles’s footmarks were easily traced down the alley. Halfway down
this walk there is a gate which leads out on to the moor. There were indications that Sir
Charles had stood for some little time here. He then proceeded down the alley, and it was
at the far end of it that his body was discovered. One fact which has not been explained
is the statement of Barrymore that his master’s footprints altered their character
from the time that he passed the moor-gate, and that he appeared from thence onward to
have been walking upon his toes. One Murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was on the moor at no
great distance at the time, but he appears by his own confession to have been the worse
for drink. He declares that he heard cries but is unable to state from what direction they
came. No signs of violence were to be discovered upon Sir Charles’s person, and
though the doctor’s evidence pointed to an almost incredible facial
distortion–so great that Dr. Mortimer refused at first to believe that it was indeed
his friend and patient who lay before him–it was explained that that is a symptom
which is not unusual in cases of dyspnoea and death from cardiac exhaustion. This
explanation was borne out by the post-mortem examination, which showed long-standing
organic disease, and the coroner’s jury returned a verdict in accordance with the
medical evidence. It is well that this is so, for it is obviously of the utmost importance
that Sir Charles’s heir should settle at the Hall and continue the good work which
has been so sadly interrupted. Had the prosaic finding of the coroner not finally put an
end to the romantic stories which have been whispered in connection with the affair, it
might have been difficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall. It is understood that the
next of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville, if he be still alive, the son of Sir Charles
Baskerville’s younger brother. The young man when last heard of was in America, and
inquiries are being instituted with a view to informing him of his good fortune.”
Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his
pocket.
“Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection
with the death of Sir Charles Baskerville.”
“I must thank you,” said Sherlock Holmes, “for
calling my attention to a case which certainly presents some features of interest. I had
observed some newspaper comment at the time, but I was exceedingly preoccupied by that
little affair of the Vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I lost touch
with several interesting English cases. This article, you say, contains all the public
facts?”
“It does.”
[678]
“Then let me have the private ones.” He leaned back, put his finger-tips
together, and assumed his most impassive and judicial expression.
“In doing so,” said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to
show signs of some strong emotion, “I am telling that which I have not confided to
anyone. My motive for withholding it from the coroner’s inquiry is that a man of
science shrinks from placing himself in the public position of seeming to indorse a
popular superstition. I had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the paper says,
would certainly remain untenanted if anything were done to increase its already rather
grim reputation. For both these reasons I thought that I was justified in telling rather
less than I knew, since no practical good could result from it, but with you there is no
reason why I should not be perfectly frank.
“The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live
near each other are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw a good deal of Sir
Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr.
Stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men of education within many miles. Sir
Charles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought us together, and a
community of interests in science kept us so. He had brought back much scientific
information from South Africa, and many a charming evening we have spent together
discussing the comparative anatomy of the Bushman and the Hottentot.
“Within the last few months it became increasingly plain
to me that Sir Charles’s nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He had
taken this legend which I have read you exceedingly to heart–so much so that,
although he would walk in his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon the
moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. Holmes, he was honestly convinced
that a dreadful fate overhung his family, and certainly the records which he was able to
give of his ancestors were not encouraging. The idea of some ghastly presence constantly
haunted him, and on more than one occasion he has asked me whether I had on my medical
journeys at night ever seen any strange creature or heard the baying of a hound. The
latter question he put to me several times, and always with a voice which vibrated with
excitement.
“I can well remember driving up to his house in the
evening, some three weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his hall door. I had
descended from my gig and was standing in front of him, when I saw his eyes fix themselves
over my shoulder and stare past me with an expression of the most dreadful horror. I
whisked round and had just time to catch a glimpse of something which I took to be a large
black calf passing at the head of the drive. So excited and alarmed was he that I was
compelled to go down to the spot where the animal had been and look around for it. It was
gone, however, and the incident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind. I
stayed with him all the evening, and it was on that occasion, to explain the emotion which
he had shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative which I read to you when first
I came. I mention this small episode because it assumes some importance in view of the
tragedy which followed, but I was convinced at the time that the matter was entirely
trivial and that his excitement had no justification.
“It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to
London. His heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived,
however chimerical the cause of it might be, was evidently having a serious effect upon
his health. I thought that a few months among the distractions of town would send him back
a new man. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual friend who was much concerned at his state of [679] health, was of the same opinion. At
the last instant came this terrible catastrophe.
“On the night of Sir Charles’s death Barrymore the
butler, who made the discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as I was
sitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour of the event. I
checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed the
footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gate where he seemed to have
waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the prints after that point, I noted that
there were no other footsteps save those of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and finally I
carefully examined the body, which had not been touched until my arrival. Sir Charles lay
on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed
with some strong emotion to such an extent that I could hardly have sworn to his identity.
There was certainly no physical injury of any kind. But one false statement was made by
Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground round the
body. He did not observe any. But I did–some little distance off, but fresh and
clear.”
“Footprints?”
“Footprints.”
“A man’s or a woman’s?”
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his
voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:
“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic
hound!”
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