Chapter 14 of the Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir, Arthur
Conan Doyle. This LibriVox recording is in
the public domain. Chapter 14.
The Hound of the Baskervilles one of Sherlock Holmes is
defects. If indeed one may call it a
defect was that he was exceedingly lows 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 love to dominate
and surprised 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 assistance.
I had often suffered under it, but never more.
So than during that long drive in the darkness, 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 cause of action would be, my
nerves thrilled with anticipation, when at last the
cold wind upon our faces and the Dark Void.
His 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 wagonette so that we were
forced to talk on trivial matters when our nerves were
tense with emotion and anticipation.
It was a relief to me after that unnatural restraint, when we
were at last passed 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 Gate of
the Avenue. The wagonette was paid off and
ordered to return to coombe Tracey forthwith.
While we started to walk to marry pit house.
Are you armed lestrade? The little detective smiled.
As long as I have my trousers, I have a hip pocket.
And as long as I had 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.
Mr. Ohms, what's the game now? A waiting game?
My word. It does not seem very cheerful
place. So the detective with a shiver
glancing round him at the gloomy, slopes of the hill.
And at the huge Lake of fog which lay over the grimpen mire.
I see the lights of a house out of us, That is Mary pit house
and the end of our journey, I must request you to walk on
tiptoe and not 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 200 yards
from it, this will do said he these rocks upon the right, make
an admirable screen. We're 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 latticed windows
at this end? I think they're the kitchen
windows 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 the path and
stooped behind the low wall, which surrounded?
The stunted Orchard. Creepin and its shadow.
I reached a point whence I could look straight through the
uncurtained window. There were only two men in the
room. So Henry and Stapleton they sat
with their profiles toward me on.
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 distrait perhaps the thought of that lonely, walk
across the ill. And more was weighing heavily
upon his mind. 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
the gravel, the steps passed along the path.
On the 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
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 him, rejoin his guest and I crept quietly back to where my
companions were waiting to tell him what I had seen.
You say Watson that the lady is not their homes asked when I had
finished my report know where can she be?
Since there is no light in any other room except the kitchen?
I cannot think where she is. I've said that over the great,
grimpen mire, their hunger dense, white fog, it was
drifting slowly in our Direction and banked itself up like a war
on that side of us. Lo but thickened well-defined
the moon Shone on it and it looked like a great shimmering
ice filled with the heads of the distant tours as rocks born upon
its surface. Holmes's face was turned towards
it and he muttered impatiently as he watched it sluggish drift.
It's 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 10:00.
Alice 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.
While a Half Moon Bay the whole scene in a soft uncertain light
before us lay the dark bulk of the house.
It's 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 a more one of them was suddenly shut off the servants
had left a kitchen there, only remained a 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 woolly plane, which covered one half of
the more was drifting closer and closer, to the house 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 a white Vapor. As we watched it, the fog reads
came crawling around 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. See 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 further back upon High Ground?
Yes, I think it would be as well.
So as the fog Bank flowed on word, we fell back before it
until we were half a mile from the house and still that dense.
White. See, 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.
We must hold our ground where we are.
He dropped on his knees and clapped his ear to the ground.
Thank God, I think that I hear him coming.
A sound of quick steps. Broke the Silence of the more
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 through a curtain.
There stepped a man whom we were awaiting.
He looked around him in Surprise as he emerged into the clear
Starlit Night, then he came swiftly along the path pass
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 is ill at ease.
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
somewhere, in the heart of that crawling Bank, the cloud was
within 50 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 homes, his 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 instant,
the strad 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 coal black Hound but not such a Hound
as mortal eyes of ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth.
Its eyes glowed with a smoldering glare, its muzzle and
hackles and dewlap were outlined in flickering flame, never in a
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 black creature was
leaping down the track. Following hard upon the
footsteps of our friend. So paralyzed.
Where we, by The Apparition that we allowed him to pass before we
had recovered our nerve then homes and I both fired together
and a creature, gave a hideous howl, which showed that one at
least had hit him. He did not pause.
However, but bounded on Word. 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 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 Hi.
I'm Rick and Fleet of foot but he outpaced me as much as I have
pasted the little professional in 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 worried at his throat.
But the next instant Holmes had emptied Five.
Barrels of his revolver into the creatures flank with a last howl
of agony. Knee and a vicious snap in the
air, it rolled upon its back, four feet pouring 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 Hound was dead.
So, Henry, Lai insensible where he had fallen, we tore away, his
collar and homes, 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 friends, eyelids shivered,
and he made a feeble effort to move the strawed 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 said,
Holmes, we've laid the family ghost once and forever in his
size 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
even now in the Stillness of death, the huge Jaws seem 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. 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 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'll help me up, what do you propose to do to
leave you here? You are not fit for Further
Adventures tonight. 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
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.
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 dead in them. He followed the Hound to call
him off of that. She may be certain now.
Now he's gone by this time, but we'll search the house and make
sure The front door was open, so he rushed in and hurried from
room to room to the amazement of a doddering old manservant who
met us in the passage. There was no light, saving 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
Upper Floor? However, one of the bedroom
doors was locked. It's someone in here.
Cried lestrade, Arcania movement, open this door.
Or a faint, moaning and rustling Came From Within Holmes.
Struck the door, just over the lock with a 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. The room had been fashioned into
a small Museum and the walls were lined by a number of
glass-topped cases, full of that collection of butterflies.
And moths, the formation of which have been the relaxation
of this complex and dangerous man in the center of this room.
There was an upright beam which have been placed at some period
as a support for the old worm-eaten baulk of Timber,
which span the roof To this post, a figure was tied, so
Suede 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 around the throat and was secured at the back of the
pillar. Another cover, the lower part of
the face and over it too. 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
unswayed. The bonds and mrs.
Stapleton sank, upon the floor in front of us, as a beautiful
head fell upon her chest. I saw the clear red wheel of a
whiplash across her neck. The Brute cried Holmes here,
lestrade your brandy bottle. Put her in the chair.
She's fainted from ill-usage. Exhaustion.
She opened her eyes again. Is he safe?
She asked as he escaped, he cannot Escape us Madam.
No, no, I did not mean my husband.
Sir. Henry, is he safe?
Yes. And the Hound.
It is dead. She gave a long sigh of
satisfaction. Thank God.
All 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.
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 a 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 now. And so a tone That is but one
place where he could 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 they're also, he had made preparations so that he might
have a refuge that is where he would fly.
The fog Bank lay like white wall against the window.
Holmes held the lamp towards it. See said he no one could find
his way into the grimpen mire tonight.
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 ones tonight? We planted them together.
He and I to Marks a pathway through the mire.
Oh if I could only have plucked them out today.
Then indeed you would have had him at your mercy.
It was evident to us at 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 stapleton's
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 knights
Adventures had shattered his nerves.
And before morning, he'll a Delirious in a high fever under
the care of dr. Mortimer, the two of them were
destined to travel together around 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, as State.
And now I come rapidly to the conclusion of this singular
narrative in which I've tried to make the reader, share those
dark fears and vague surmises, which Cloud 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 mrs. 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 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 zigzag from tuft
to tuft of rushes among those green-scummed pits and foul
Quagmire's, which barred the way to the stranger rank reads and
Lush slimy water plants, sent an odor of Decay and a heavy meal.
Has mattock Vapor onto our faces while a false step.
Plunged us more than once sigh deep into the dark quivering
Maya, which shook four yards in soft undulations around our
feet. It's tenacious grip plucked at
our heels as we walked. And when we sank into it, it was
as if some malignant hand was tugging his down into those,
obscene depths. So grim, and purposeful was the
clutch in which it held us. Once only, we saw a trace that
someone 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 home sank to his waist, as he
stepped from the past to seize it and had 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 friends, a Henry's missing boot.
Thrown here 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.
But more than that, we were never destined to know.
Though there was much, we might surmise.
There was no chance of finding Footsteps in the mire for the
rising, mud used 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. 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 him in this
cold and cruel. Hearted man is forever, buried.
Many traces, we found of him in the Bog GE Thailand, where he
had hid his Savage, a lie. A huge driving wheel and a shaft
half filled with rubbish showed the position of an abandoned.
Mine beside it with a crumbling 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 debris. A dog said, Holmes by jove are
curly-haired spaniel for Mortimer, will never see his pet
again. Well, I do not know that this
place contains any secret, which we would not already fathomed.
He could hide his Hound, but he could not hush.
It's voice. And hence, came those cries
which even in daylight were not pleasant to hear.
On an emergency, he could keep the Hound in the Outhouse at
Mary 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 the creature was dogged.
It was suggested, of course, by the story of the family
hellhound. And by the desire to frightened
old, Sir, Charles to death, no wonder the poor devil of a
convict ran and screamed even as our Friended.
And as we ourselves might have done when he saw such a creature
bounding through the darkness of the more 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 a sight
of it? As many have done upon the more?
I said it in London, Watson. And I say it again.
Now that never yet. Have we helped to hunt down a
more A dangerous man than he who is lying Yonder.
He swept his long arm towards the huge.
Mottled expanse of green splotched, bog, which stretched
away until it merged into the russet, slopes of the Moor.
End of chapter 14.