The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson (Приключения Шерлока Холмса и доктора Ватсона)

Finished.

What do you make of it Watson?

I believe you got eyes in the back of your head Holmes.

Well, I have a well-polished coffee pot in front of me.

Mrs. Hudson said it was left last night

while you were out. What do you make of it?

Well,

his name at least we know.

I think Dr. Mortimer is a successful elderly medical man,

well esteemed,

since those who know him gave him this mark of their appreciation.

Yeah. I think he's a country practitioner,

does a good deal of his visiting on foot.

Friends of the C.C.H.

I should guess that to be the local hunt

Oh, bravo, bravo Watson.

You know I am bound to say you habitually underrate your abilities.

Well.

It may be that you are not yourself-

luminous, but you are a conductor of light.

Some people without possessing genius

have remarkable power for stimulating it.

I confess that, my dear fellow, I am very much in your debt.

Thank you.

But I'm afraid that most of your conclusions were erroneous.

"H"? Surely hospital.

"C.C." suggests Charing Cross.

I mean if so I would postulate a young man under thirty, amiable,

absent-minded, unambitious,

and the possessor of a dog. Can I see the stick?

Thank you.

Larger than a terrier,

smaller than a mastiff.

I was right,

a curly haired spaniel.

Dr. Mortimer?

Thank you, sir, thank you.

I wasn't sure whether I left it here or at the shipping office.

The S. S. Gibraltar you see docks today

at Tewberry.

You interest me very much, Mr. Holmes.

I had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull

or such well-marked supra-orbital development.

Would you have any objection to my running-

my finger along your parietal fissure?

Please, Dr. Mortimer.

A cast of your skull, sir, until the original becomes available.

It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I confess, that I covet your skull.

Behave and sit down, Dr. Mortimer.

Spot.

Easy. Good boy.

Well, I presume that it was not-

your phrenological passion which drew you to Baker Street?

Unfortunately, it was not, sir.

Spot.

I have here...

I have here the statement of a certain legend,

which runs in the Baskerville family.

Baskerville?

Yeah, I'm an executor of Sir Charles Baskerville's will,

and found it amongst his papers. It concerns Hugo Baskerville.

He was Lord of the manor, Grimpen on Dartmoor.

Dartmoor?

Some 200 years ago. The document is somewhat later.

"Learn then from this story to be circumspect in the future,"

"that those foul passions whereby our family has suffered may not be loosed"

"again to our comparable ruin, 8th of November 1742" was it?

Intriguing preamble.

I've read of Sir Charles Baskerville's death.

From a medical point of view it was a poorly informed article.

No, thank you.

He died of dyspnea and cardiac exhaustion.

Were the conditions linked or were they parallel?

Oh, they were linked in my opinion.

There was some, some facial distortion.

Caused by the cardiac pain presumably?

Yes.

You sound doubtful.

It was not merely facial distortion.

Well, here in 1692, Hugo Baskerville abducted a young girl.

But she escaped across the moor at night, cursing.

He un-kenneled his pack of hounds and hunted her down like a wild animal.

When his 3 drunken companions followed,

they found the girl in a deep dip or goyal

dead from fear and fatigue.

And it also confronted the cause of her death, a huge, demonic hound.

Even as they looked

the hound tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville.

One companion died that very night of what he saw,

and the other twain were broken men for the rest of their days.

The sound is supposed to have haunted the family since then

to the general misfortune of the line.

Well, this may appeal to your lurid taste in fiction, Watson.

It's a fairy tale, sir.

Of course, Mr. Holmes.

But fairy tales would not survive without a kernel of truth.

On the night Sir Charles died,

I arrived at Baskerville Hall at first light.

I shall tell you what I found.

No more or less.

This way please, sir?

I had been concerned about him for some time.

He had become obsessed with the Legend of the Hound.

It's by the summer house.

He believed he had heard the hound itself upon the moors,

he even believed he had seen it.

At the time I took such morbid fancies

to be part and parcel of Sir Charles' pathological condition.

And now?

I no longer believe that to be the case.

There, sir. We didn't like to move him, sir.

Once we knew.

Yes, yes quite Barrymore.

A sad occasion, Mrs. Barrymore, an unhappy vigil for you.

He was our hope, doctor.

Hope for the country hereabouts.

He brought the world to us.

He was our hope.

Before Sir Charles ran up the alley

he had eloquently stood at the gate for at least ten minutes.

How do you know that?

The ash had dropped twice from his cigar

and there were also three spent matches.

I'm impressed by Dr. Mortimer.

Was there anything else?

Yes.

Footprints? A man's or a woman's?

Mr. Holmes,

they were the footprints of a gigantic hound.

Several people have seen a creature upon the moor,

a huge creature, ghastly, and spectral.

I've crossed-examined two of them.

Hardheaded country men both and their stories tally.

I want you to advise me what I should do with Sir Henry Baskerville.

Henry Baskerville has spent his life in America.

He has come over on S. Gibraltar.

Been a pleasure having you Aboard, Sir Henry.

"Sir Henry"...I still haven't gotten used to that title.

Was there any other claim upon Sir Charles's estate?

None. His youngest brother, Roger-

died in Central America of yellow fever some 30 years ago.

Sir Henry is the last of the Baskerville's.

Why did you not consult me immediately?

There's a realm in which the most accomplished detective is helpless, sir.

There are certain things here, which are impossible to reconcile

to the settled order of nature.

If you believe this to be supernatural you'll find help from a more priest.

No, No, No, No, No.

How can I assist?

And I haven't an answer, damn it.

He's in a stir, sir, about his boot.

By thunder if that fellow can't find my old black boot.

Surely, it was a new brown boot.

No, last night they took one of the brown ones.

Today they've sneaked one of the black.

I'm sorry, Mortimer. I'm sorry to trouble you with this nonsense,

but this is a first class hotel, damn it.

Oh, hello.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, at your service.

I think it is worth troubling about as a matter of fact.

You do, why?

Because it's inexplicable

Good. That's good.

My God.

Have you got a cold Watson?

Why it's this poisonous atmosphere.

This is a big thick, I suppose.

Thick? It's intolerable.

You've been at your club all day.

How'd you know that?

Where do you think I've been?

Well, here, clearly. Clearly.

I've been at Devonshire.

In spirit?

Quite so.

I sent out for a map from Stamford's.

Now, see here.

Baskerville Hall.

Grimpen, just a clutter of cottages.

Two moorland houses, farmhouses,

Lafter Hall. Merripit House. And that is all.

Oh, this represents marshland,

and these barrows,

some prehistoric settlement or burial ground.

10 mile?

Disused, is it?

And all the rest is waste-

as far as the great convict, the prison of Princeton.

It is a worthy setting if the devil did decide to dabble in the affairs of man.

Then you yourself are inclined towards a supernatural explanation?

You'd word to better send Dr. Mortimer, we'll eat breakfast with him tomorrow.

It arrived by post this morning.

So you think of little puzzles, Mr. Holmes?

This one wants more thinking than I'm able to give it.

Posted yesterday?

Yes.

A joke, as like it's not.

Tell me, Sir Henry, has anything interesting happened to you

since you've been in London?

No, I don't think so.