The Hound of the Baskervilles

It's only the wind.

Agh!

Ash! Agh!

Sir Charles!

That's a pleasant little tune.

Don't believe I've heard it before.

A little concoction of my own.

Well, Watson, what do you make of it?

Got eyes in the back of your head?

What of our visitor's stick?

Though we unfortunately missed him last night, he's left us a clue.

Reconstruct him by an examination of it.

Me? Oh, well...

I would say that he is a country doctor

who does a great deal of his visiting on foot.

Good, excellent! Why so?

Well, because no respectable town physician would be seen

carrying such a battered stick.

And the visiting on foot?

Ah, well, you see.

This thick iron ferule here is worn down.

Perfectly sound. Anything else?

Well, I would suggest that the inscription

"From the friends of CCH" stands for something "Hunt".

Which leads me to think that Dr Mortimer is an athletic man.

You know, sort of sporting type.

Really, Watson, you excel yourself.

Oh, thank you.

Anything escape me?

Almost everything, I'm afraid.

What?

Well, the man is certainly a country practitioner

and he walks a good deal.

- Well, then, I'm right. - To that extent.

But a presentation to a doctor is much more likely

to come from a hospital than from a hunt

and the letters "CC" very naturally suggest Charing Cross Hospital.

Oh, yes, perhaps.

I would also say that the good doctor is amiable and ambitious,

absent-minded, and, yes, owns a dog.

It's larger than a terrier but smaller than a mastiff.

A dog?

Teeth marks.

The space between the marks is too broad for a terrier

and not broad enough for a mastiff.

It may be...

Ah, yes, it is.

A curly haired spaniel.

Yeah, I mean...

I mean...

Unambitious and... What was it?

Absent-minded?

Only an amiable man receives testimonials.

Only an unambitious one prefers the country to a London career

and only an absent-minded one would leave his walking stick

and not his visiting card.

Dr Mortimer, your stick.

Oh, thank heavens!

I was afraid this time I'd lost it for sure. I'm frightfully absent-minded.

It was a presentation from Charing Cross Hospital

when I left to establish a practice in...

in Devonshire.

Excuse me, but you are Sherlock Holmes?

At your service.

My friend and colleague, Dr Watson.

- Doctor. - How do you do?

- May I take your hat? - Oh, thank you. Take this.

Doctor, tell us what an early 18th-century manuscript

has to do with your visit.

I put the date at 1740?

1742, to be exact.

- May I? - Please.

Thank you.

- Shall I relieve you, doctor? - Thank you.

"The Hound of Baskerville Hall."

As you said, it concerns the reason for my visit.

May I read it to you?

- Oh, by all means. Please, sit down. - Thank you.

I see from your right forefinger that you make your own cigarettes.

Feel free to do so.

"During the great rebellion of 1641"

"the Lord of Baskerville Hall was an evil, godless man called Hugo."

"One night, Hugo kidnapped the beautiful daughter of a local farmer."

"Locking her in an upper chamber,"

"he spent the night carousing with his companions..."

Ha! Wrestlers!

Look at you! Women!

roger!

Bring me the girl.

How's your wager now?

Come on, boy.

Quiet!

It's the girl.

Come on! Come on!

Come on! Come on!

Agh!

Help me!

Help me! Help me!

Ash! Agh!

- Agh! - Come here.

Ha!

Vixen! Come here!

Agh! Oh, no!

No!

"It was larger than any hound mortal eyes had ever rested on."

"A hound of hell that has cursed the Baskervilles ever since."

"Howling its death knell whenever one of Hugo's blood dies."

"Thus beware of the moor in those dark hours"

"when the powers of evil are exalted."

"But a hound still stalks the Baskervilles"

"sending many to violent ends,"

"howling the death knell"

"whenever one of Hugo's blood..."

dies.

Don't you find it interesting, Mr Holmes?

To a collector of fairy tales.

The death of Sir Charles Baskerville is no fairy tale, sir.

Sir Charles died of heart failure, did he not?

That was the report I made to the coroner at the inquest.

But...

Yes?

There was something I did not report.

Although there were no marks on Sir Charles's body...

a|| around the gazebo where he died...

|found...

footprints.

A man's or a woman's?

Mr Holmes...

They were the footprints of a gigantic hound.

And there was...

on Sir Charles's face...

that terrified expression.

It was fear that killed him, Mr Holmes. Fear!

Fear of what?

Of this.

He was obsessed with it.

He would never go out alone,

after dark.

And yet that night...

he stood out there in the gazebo for at least 20 minutes.

How do you know?

Thank you. The ash from his cigar had dropped several times.

Excellent!

A colleague after our own hearts, Watson.

Why did you not report all this at the inquest?

Shortly before Sir Charles's death there'd been several sightings

of a glowing, ghostly hound.

As a man of science,

I did not wish to encourage such unhealthy superstition.

Sir Charles died over a month ago.

Why have you come to me about all this now?

Henry Baskerville, Sir Charles's nephew and heir,

arrives from America this very afternoon.

I was Sir Charles's best friend, Mr Holmes. I...

I don't want to expose this boy to...

to...

Supernatural evil?

To danger of any kind.

Will you help us?

Bring him around at 10.00 tomorrow morning.

If he'll come.

Thank you.

- We shall be here. - Doctor!

Before Sir Charles's death,

you say that several people saw this ghostly hound upon the moor.

Yes.

Did any see it after?

None that I heard of.

- Good day, gentlemen. - Good day.

Yes, Doctor, your stick.

Come on, Sheba.

The game's afoot, Watson.

Morning, sir.

I'll take care of the bags, sir.

Leave the bags to me, sir.

Oh, yes. Thank you.

This is the Northumberland Hotel, Sir Henry.

I hope you find it quite comfortable.

Sir Henry! I'll never get used to being called that.

Good day. This is Sir Henry Baskerville.

I believe you have a reservation.

Sir Henry, I have a letter for you, sir.

It came this morning, by hand.

Who knows I'm here?

What?

- How strange. - This way, sir.

The words have been cut from The Times with nail scissors.

Why was "moor" written?

Obviously the correspondent couldn't find that word in print.

The handwriting is disguised.

An educated person posing as an uneducated one.

How do you know that?

Well, The Times is seldom found in the hands of illiterates, Watson.

"If you value your life or reason keep away from the moor."

It's a cryptic sentiment.

You think that had something to do with the family ghost, huh?

Ghosts do not send letters, Sir Henry.

Someone is trying to warn you or scare you away.

It's like a dime novel.

I've scarcely gotten off the boat and already I've inherited a family curse,