Theater of The Mind Radio Drama

FULL EPISODE

Hound of the Baskervilles

The howl of the spectral hound casts a chilly terror across viewers watching the classic Sherlock Holmes story as it plays out live on television, but presented as if the year is 1940 and everyone is inside a typical radio station studio. A performance features radio-style actors and spectacular, handmade sound effects can be experienced when A.R.T.S., Inc. presents the Karen Hastings Players.

AIRED: October 16, 2011 | 1:27:56
ABOUT THE PROGRAM
TRANSCRIPT

>> Broadcasting from the KTWU

Studios in Topeka, Kansas, ARTS,

Incorporated presents the Karen

Hastings Players in

Sherlock

Holmes and the Hound of the

Baskervilles,

a radio

dramatization by Philip Grecian

based on the novel by Sir Arthur

Conan Doyle.

Return with us now to those

thrilling days of yesteryear,

back in time to the 1940s and

the golden age of radio.

Turn out your lights and move in

close to the glow of your radio

dial for Sir Arthur Conan

Doyle's

Sherlock Holmes and the

Hound of the Baskervilles.

(thunder)

(dog howling)

(dog growling)

>> My name is Dr. John H.

Watson, and for many years I

shared rooms at 221-B Baker

Street with Mr. Sherlock Holmes,

the world's first consulting

detective, and kept a record of

his cases.

Some, such as The Case of the

Aluminum Crutch, or the horrible

tale of the Giant Rat of Sumatra

may never see the light of day,

but others, with Holmes'

permission, I wrote up for

publication.

Let me tell you now about one of

the strangest cases.

It is a story of deceit,

a story of murder.

It is the story of

The Hound

of the Baskervilles.

(organ stabs)

Most days, Holmes rose very

late, but on this particular

morning he was waiting for me in

the parlor and suggested a walk

while breakfast was prepared.

I accepted the invitation with

alacrity, and we set out,

returning half an hour later.

>> Ah, look, Watson!

Mrs. Hudson has laid

the breakfast table.

>> Smells like curried chicken.

>> Excellent deduction, Watson.

She has risen to the occasion.

>> Ham and eggs, too.

>> We lack only tea and coffee,

and, if I am correct, Mrs.

Hudson should be knocking on the

door just about now.

>> Ha!

Come in!

>> Your tea, Mr. Holmes.

>> And coffee?

>> Of course!

>> You see, Watson?

Put them somewhere over there,

Mrs. Hudson.

>> Yes, sir.

>> You guessed.

>> I deduced.

>> Oh, Mr. Holmes, how can you

live like this?

Stacks of books, piles of

papers.

>> They're not to be touched.

>> I have to put the tea tray

down somewhere.

>> The books on this table,

Holmes, could we perhaps...

>> Put them on the mantel next

to the correspondence file.

>> I don't see a...

>> He means these papers

fastened down with the jack

knife.

>> Look at what you've done to

the mantel!

Mr. Holmes, this is not a good

way to keep your letters.

>> On the contrary, I could find

any one of them in an instant.

>> There you are Mrs. Hudson.

Put the tray on the table.

>> Thank you, Doctor.

Oh!

What's this?

>> What?

>> All of these holes in the

wall!

>> Not just holes, Mrs. Hudson.

If you would be so good as to

step back.

>> Step back?

>> Yes.

>> Like this?

>> More...

More...

Good.

Now, do you see a pattern?

>> Yes, they're letters.

V... R?

>> Quite right.

The Initials "V.R."

for "Victoria Regina."

A tribute to the queen.

Executed in pointillism.

>> Pointillism?

>> Yes.

In the spirit of the young

French painter Seurat.

My medium was a single shot

pistol.

>> A gun?

>> And a box of rimfire

cartridges.

>> He did it last week while you

were away.

Calls it explosive calligraphy.

>> Well it's ruined the

wallpaper.

>> It has.

>> And the plaster.

>> I feel strongly that the

appearance of the room is not

improved by it.

>> The best art is

controversial.

>> Will that be all, then?

>> Until our visitor arrives.

>> You're expecting a visitor?

>> He has been here while we

were out.

Correct, Mrs. Hudson?

>> Correct, Mr. Holmes.

>> And he will be back soon.

When he does,

show him up, won't you?

>> Yes sir.

Excuse me?

>> Of course.

>> How did you know about...

>> Our visitor?

>> Yes.

>> There in the corner.

You see?

He's left his walking stick.

>> Why, so he has.

I didn't notice it there.

>> Of course you didn't.

Here, examine it.

What can you tell me?

>> Well, there's a silver

band...

>> Engraved, yes.

And it says... ?

>> "To James Mortimer, Royal

College of Surgeons, from his

friends of the C.C.H., 1884."

>> "Royal College of Surgeons,"

and so...

>> He is a medical doctor, like

myself.

>> Quite right.

What else?

>> He is elderly.

>> Excellent.

>> A country practitioner who

makes many of his calls on foot.

>> Why so?

>> The stick has been

knocked about.

You see?

The ferrule is worn down.

>> So it is.

>> And so I deduce he's done a

good deal of walking with it.

>> Perfectly sound, Watson.

Perfectly sound.

>> And "C.C.H.," well, that must

be the Something Something Hunt.

A local hunting club to which he

has given some surgical

assistance.

>> Splendid, Watson!

>> Truly?

>> You may not be luminous, my

dear friend, but you are a

conductor of light, and I am

very much in your debt.

>> Why, thank you, Holmes.

>> Of course, your conclusions

are completely wrong.

>> I beg your pardon?

>> Oh, the man is certainly a

country practitioner, and he

walks a good deal.

>> Well, then...

>> But the "H" in "C.C.H."

likely stands for "hospital."

In fact, I would venture to say,

"Charing Cross Hospital."

>> Oh, well, of course.

Now that you say it...

>> And when might such a stick

have been presented?

>> Well, I...

>> Obviously, at the moment

Dr. Mortimer left the hospital.

>> Left the hospital?

To retire?

>> To start a country practice.

>> Possible.

>> Probable.

>> But if he was on the hospital

staff...

>> Yes?

>> Well, a doctor would have to

have a well-established London

practice to hold such a

position.

>> Quite so.

>> And he would have to be

older, elderly, and upon his

retirement, he...

>> I agree, Watson, that, were

he on staff, he would, in fact,

be older.

I did not suggest, however, that

he was on staff.

>> Well, but...

>> And if he was not on staff,

what was he?

>> I don't... I don't know.

>> A senior medical student, of

course!

>> Oh, well, certainly possible

now that you...

>> And he left five years ago.

>> The date on the stick, yes.

>> So your elderly family

practitioner emerges as a young

fellow under 30, amiable,

unambitious, and absent-minded.

>> Amiable?

>> The stick was

presented by... ?

>> His friends.

>> Precisely.

He must be amiable, else they

would not have bestowed such a

splendid gift, nor would they

have specified friendship.

>> Unambitious?

>> He abandoned a promising

London career for the country.

>> Absent-minded?

>> He left his walking stick,

but no visiting card.

Ah, and he owns a dog larger

than a terrier and smaller than

a mastiff.

>> The dog's a guess.

>> Not so.

You see here, look.

The dog has often carried his

master's stick.

>> Ah, teeth marks.

>> Exactly.

It's a heavy stick, Watson.

>> Yes, 'tis.

>> Heavy stick, large dog.

Judging by the space from side

to side, its jaw is too broad

for a terrier, too narrow for a

mastiff.

It may have been...

Ah!

Yes, it is!

A curly-haired spaniel.

>> My dear fellow!

You can tell that by the teeth

marks?

>> No.

>> Then how?

>> By looking past you and

through the window where I saw

him tie his dog.

Mrs. Hudson will be showing him

in any moment now.

>> The adventure begins.

Come!

>> A gentleman to see you, sir.

>> Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.

>> Dr. Mortimer.

>> That is correct.

>> James Mortimer.

>> Have we met before, then?

>> Never.

From Charing Cross Hospital, I

believe?

>> Yes, but no longer.

>> No, you have a country

practice.

>> I do.

>> In Devonshire.

>> Well, yes!

But how did you... ?

>> The dried mud there on your

boots, where the uppers join the

soles.

It is peculiar to Devonshire,

most particularly Dartmoor.

>> Amazing.

I should have cleaned my boots.

>> It slips your mind often.

>> Yes, it does.

>> And I'll wager you've left

this behind more than once.

Watson.

>> Here you are, Dr. Mortimer.

>> My walking stick!

>> And your dog has had to

retrieve it more than once.

>> He has, yes.

>> This time, Watson has saved

your dog the trouble.

Won't you have some breakfast

with us?

>> Oh, no thank you.

I haven't time.

I've come to you with a problem.

>> Go on.

>> Do you read the papers,

Mr. Holmes?

>> The press, Dr. Mortimer, is a

most valuable institution if you

know how to use it.

I read the newspapers, the

criminal news and agony columns,

chiefly.

>> You may remember reading,

this last June, about the

unusual death of Sir Charles

Baskerville.

>> I was exceedingly preoccupied

this last June.

Watson?

>> We spoke of it at the time.

Died somewhat mysteriously near

Dartmoor.

>> Correct.

Here is the newspaper with the

story.

>> I'll take that.

>> Ah yes, of course.

There were, as I recall, some

features of interest.

>> Yes, the legend.

>> Legend?

>> Of the Hound of the

Baskervilles.

>> Tell me.

>> It had its beginning in 1647.

(voice echoing)

Hugo Baskerville, a wild,

profane and godless man, was

fixated upon the daughter of a

yeoman who held lands across the

moor.

But the maiden feared him

and avoided his company.

(drunken men laughing)

>> In September, on the Eve of

Michaelmass, Hugo and several of

his companions, heavy with

drink, stole down upon the

farm...

(woman screams)

... and carried the maiden away

to Baskerville Hall, where they

imprisoned her in an upper

chamber.

Oh, how frightened she must have

been as they sang and shouted

terrible oaths in the dining

hall below!

In a desperate act that would

have daunted the most fearless

of men, she pried open a window

and escaped down the vines

growing thick on the south wall.

Discovering this a short time

later, Hugo, besotted with wine,

vowed that, if he could overtake

the wench, he would render his

soul to Satan.

He saddled his stallion,

unkenneled the dogs and

galloped out across the moor at

full cry.

(dogs barking)

His companions followed on

horseback.

Coming upon a flock of sheep,

they cried out to the shepherd,

asking if he'd seen Hugo and the

maiden.

The man, crazed with fear, said

that he had seen them, and

though Hugo was pursuing the

maiden, he himself was pursued

by a monstrous, glowing,

spectral hound, its fangs

gleaming in the moonlight,

hellfire shooting from its eyes!

(dogs whimper)

Within a mile, they came upon

the cowering pack of dogs.

Another mile, and there was the

maiden, dead of fatigue and

fear.

Then, as they crested a hill,

they saw Hugo Baskerville,

pinned to the ground by the body

of his dead and bloody horse,

and standing over him...

(dog growling)

... a great, foul beast

shaped like a hound, yet larger

than any hound mortal eyes had

witnessed.

As they looked, the thing ripped

out Baskerville's throat, then,

jaws dripping with gore, it

turned its blazing eyes in their

direction and began to move

towards them.

(men shouting in fear)

They fled, shrieking for their

lives across the moor.

One it is said died that very

night of fear...

(dog howls)

...and the others were broken

men for the rest of their days.

That is the story, Mr. Holmes.

>> Did you come here to tell me

fairy tales, Dr. Mortimer?

>> Mr. Holmes, I assure you...

>> Tell me instead about

Sir Charles Baskerville.

>> It says here in the newspaper

that he died of cardiac

exhaustion.

>> Yes.

>> You were his physician?

>> I was.

You see, the article

mentions it.

>> So it does, so it does.

>> Go on.

>> Every night before bed, Sir

Charles would walk down the Yew

Alley between Baskerville Hall

and its summerhouse, enjoying an

evening cigar.

>> Yew Alley.

>> An outdoor gallery of sorts,

walled on either side by thick,

closely planted yew trees.

>> For all purposes,

a wooden fence.

>> Yes, 12 feet high.

Completely impenetrable.

>> The walk in the center...

>> Yes?

>> How far across?

>> Perhaps eight feet, with a

strip of grass six feet broad on

either side.

>> Any openings?

>> One, a wicket gate halfway

down, perhaps four feet high,

leading out onto the moor.

>> So to reach the Yew Alley one

either has to come in from the

house or enter by the moor gate.

>> Or through the summerhouse

at the far end.

>> Ah.

The gate was closed?

>> And padlocked.

>> Go on.

>> At midnight, Barrymore found

the door to the Yew Alley still

open.

>> Barrymore?

>> The butler.

>> You can vouch for him?

>> He is the son of the previous

caretaker.

The family has looked after the

Hall for four generations.

Barrymore and his wife...

>> His wife?

>> She lives there as well.

>> Do they profit by the will?

>> They do.

500 pounds each.

>> Did they know they would

receive this?

>> Well yes, but, well...

Sir Charles left me

a thousand pounds.

>> Indeed!

>> Now, look here, Mr. Holmes...

>> Anyone else?

>> Small sums here and there.

Most went to Sir Henry.

>> Sir Henry?

>> Sir Charles had two brothers.

One, Sir Henry's father,

emigrated to Canada 40 years ago

to farm the land.

He died tragically.

>> Eaten by a spectral hound, no

doubt.

>> No, of course not...

>> Ah.

>> He fell from a wagon and was

crushed beneath the wheels.

Sir Henry inherited the farm.

>> Then Sir Henry is in Canada?

>> He was.

He arrived in London yesterday.

I met him at Waterloo station.

This morning I called on him at

his hotel and gave him this

address.

He will be here shortly.

I thought you might want to...

>> And the third brother?

>> Rodger, the black sheep.

He made some trouble for himself

and fled to Costa Rica, where he

died under mysterious

circumstances.

Sir Henry is the last of the

Baskervilles.

>> Hellhound or not, it is

clearly folly to expect a

Baskerville to die of old age.

So Barrymore found the door

open.

>> What?

Oh, yes!

He went out with a lantern and

found... found Sir Charles's

body, then sent for me first

thing.

I was there within the hour.

>> What did you observe about

the surroundings?

Footmarks?

>> Yes.

The day had been wet.

Sir Charles's footmarks led to

the gate and then away.

He evidently stood there for

five or ten minutes.

>> How do you know that?

>> The ash had twice dropped

from his cigar.

>> Ha!

Excellent!

>> A colleague after our own

hearts, eh, Holmes?

>> Indeed.

>> Well, I am something of an

amateur archaeologist.

I find such attention to detail

useful in my avocation.

What I cannot explain...

>> Yes?

>> What I cannot explain is that

Sir Charles's footprints altered

after he stopped at the moor

gate.

>> Altered how?

>> He seems to have been walking

upon his toes.

>> What?

Tippy-toe!

Remarkable.

>> In the last few months of his

life, Sir Charles had taken the

legend to heart.

>> The hound?

>> He lived in fear of it.

Nothing would induce him to go

out upon the moor at night.

He often asked me if I'd ever

seen anything unusual.

>> Had you?

Come!

>> Another gentleman to see you,

Mr. Holmes.

>> Ah!

That would be young Sir Henry

Baskerville, fresh from Canada!

Show him in, Mrs. Hudson,

while he still lives.

>> Yes sir.

>> So, Dr. Mortimer, have you

ever seen anything unusual?

>> Once.

I was at the open front door,

preparing to leave, when I

noticed Sir Charles gazing past

me with an expression of the

most dreadful horror.

I turned and, just for a moment,

caught a glimpse of...

>> What?

>> Something large and black,

about the size of a calf, moving

past the end of the drive.

There had been reports of

a creature.

>> What sort of creature?

>> Huge, luminous, ghastly,

spectral.

>> Rubbish.

>> Surely, Dr. Mortimer, as a

man of science, you can't

believe in such things.

>> I... I don't know.

>> Extraordinary!

>> Come!

>> Your visitor, Mr. Holmes.

>> Good morning.

>> Ah, still living, I see!

Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.

>> Yes sir.

>> Sir Henry Baskerville,

Mr. Sherlock Holmes

and Dr. Watson.

>> John Watson.

How d'ye do?

>> A pleasure.

I've read your accounts of

Mr. Holmes' cases.

>> Do tell!

In Canada?

My my!

>> In fact, I have a little

mystery of my own you might be

able to help me with.

>> Oh?

>> Just a joke, like as not.

I've received this letter in the

morning post.

>> Watson.

>> May I see it?

>> Of course.

>> The envelope says, "Sir Henry

Baskerville, Northumberland

Hotel."

>> The postmark?

>> Charing Cross.

Dated yesterday.

>> Who knew you were going to

the Northumberland?

>> No one could have.

>> We decided only yesterday

when I arrived.

>> Hm.

>> It's not a proper letter at

all.

The words are cut from a

newspaper.

"As you value your life, keep

away from the moor."

>> Let me see.

>> Here.

>> Mmm.

Have you yesterday's

Times,

Watson?

>> Hm?

Oh yes, here in the corner.

>> Might I trouble you for it?

Here, you see.

Note the typeface.

This letter was cut from a copy

of the

Times.

>> Really, Mr. Holmes!

How can you be so sure?

>> We all have our skills,

Doctor.

There is as much difference to

me between the leaded bourgeois

type of a

Times

article and the

slovenly print of an evening

ha'penny paper as there is to

you between the brain and the

liver.

>> So someone cut out these

words with a pair of shears...

>> Nail scissors.

Note the short, curved pattern

of the cut.

>> Nail scissors,

then took some paste and...

>> No, not paste.

Mucilage gum.

>> First I lose a boot, then

this letter!

And I've only been here...

>> You've lost a boot?

>> I put my boots outside my

door last night to be varnished;

there was only one this morning.

>> Stolen!

But why only one boot?

>> Clearly the thief is a

one-legged Barbary pirate.

>> Truly, Holmes?

>> Of course not.

>> Oh.

>> If I'm to be the squire of

Baskerville Hall, I thought I

should dress the part, so I

bought some clothes in the

Strand, including those boots,

and now one's stolen before I

even have them on my feet!

>> Hm.

I believe that missing boot will

be found.

>> Is that a fact?

>> No, that is a deduction.

This is a fact: the

Times

is, as

a general thing, read by the

educated.

Another fact: The educated do

not generally create such a

penny-dreadful as this letter.

And finally, a deduction: It was

likely composed by an educated

person posing as an uneducated

person.

>> I put myself in your hands,

Mr. Holmes.

What should I do?

>> Go without delay and

establish yourself at

Baskerville Hall.

>> Done.

I'll leave today.

>> You must not go alone.

>> Dr. Mortimer will return with

me.

>> But Dr. Mortimer has his

medical practice, and his house

is some distance from yours.

You must have someone upon whom

you may depend always at your

side.

>> Perhaps you could come with

us yourself, Mr. Holmes.

>> For the moment, impossible.

>> Then who?

>> I recommend Dr. Watson.

There is no man on earth I would

trust more.

>> Well, I... well, certainly,

Holmes, if you think so.

>> I do.

>> Well then, I shall go along

with pleasure.

>> And you will take care to

keep in touch and post reports

to me.

>> Of course.

>> Dr. Mortimer.

>> Mr. Holmes.

>> I suggest that you take Sir

Henry back to his hotel and tell

him that charming dog story.

Watson and I will meet you this

afternoon at the station so you

can leave for Baskerville Hall.

Is that convenient for you,

Watson?

>> Perfectly.

>> Excellent!

Then you may expect us.

Good morning.

>> Good morning Mr. Holmes,

Dr. Watson.

>> Morning.

>> I'll be along in a moment,

Sir Henry.

>> Mr. Holmes, there is one

more thing I failed to mention

and, with your permission, I

will keep it from Sir Henry.

It was something... something I

observed the night of Sir

Charles's death.

>> Yes?

>> Traces upon the ground,

on the path.

Fresh and clear.

>> Footprints?

>> Footprints.

>> Man or woman?

>> Neither, Mr. Holmes.

They were the footprints of a

gigantic hound.

(organ stabs)

>> Late in the afternoon,

Sherlock Holmes rode with me to

the station to give me his

parting comments and

instructions.

>> I'm not easy in my mind about

this, Watson.

>> About what, Holmes?

>> Sending you to Baskerville

Hall.

It's an ugly and dangerous

business my dear fellow, and I

shall be very glad to have you

back safe and sound in Baker

Street.

>> We've faced danger before,

Holmes.

>> Yes, I suppose we have.

I will not bias you with

preconceptions, Watson, nor do I

want opinions.

Simply report facts and allow me

to do with them as I will.

You have your service revolver?

>> I do.

>> Keep it near you at all times

and never relax your

precautions.

>> One thing puzzles me, Holmes.

>> Yes?

>> Dr. Mortimer said Sir Charles

had walked on tiptoe down the

alley.

>> Nonsense.

>> Then what?

>> He was running, Watson.

Running for his life, running

until his heart burst and he

fell dead!

(organ stabs)

The game is afoot, Watson!

Ah, here we are then!

>> Well, but...

>> And there they are on the

platform.

>> Mr. Holmes, Sir Henry has

some news.

>> Yes?

>> When we returned to the

hotel, I found...

>> The missing boot.

>> Well, yes!

>> You knew?

>> I suspected.

>> But here's the odd part.

>> Another boot is missing.

>> Yes!

>> Really, Holmes!

>> How did you know?

>> My methods are my own.

While the return of the previous

boot was a distinct possibility,

Sir Henry, I fear this second

one is gone for good.

Still, it was an old boot, I

trust.

>> Well, yes.

The oldest pair I had.

Excuse me for troubling you over

such a trifle, but I...

>> On the contrary, I think it's

well worth troubling about.

Especially since it is an old

boot.

Now, if you will excuse me,

I have business to attend to.

>> You won't stay to see us off,

Holmes?

>> I believe you can manage

boarding a train, Watson.

Sir Henry.

>> Yes?

>> Bear in mind the legend Dr.

Mortimer has been kind enough to

mention, and stay away from the

moor after dark.

>> Do you believe in ghosts,

Mr. Holmes?

>> I believe in caution,

Sir Henry.

Now go, quickly.

You don't want to miss your

train.

(organ playing)

>> The journey was a swift and

pleasant one.

Sir Henry sat with his face

close to the window, anxious for

the first glimpse of his new

home.

In a few hours, the train pulled

into a small wayside station

where we boarded a wagonette,

sent from the manor, and were

soon flying along the road.

We passed over a narrow granite

bridge, skirted a noisy stream,

around a curve, and another, and

there, on an outcrop of rock, a

mounted soldier.

>> Is that a soldier?

>> Seems to be.

>> Ask the driver.

>> What is it, Perkins?

>> There's a convict escaped,

sir.

Been out three days and they're

watchin' for him.

>> There's a prison hereabouts?

>> Yes, about four miles off

across the moor that direction.

>> He's a bad un, sir--

the Notting Hill murderer.

>> Oh, I remember the case.

A chap named Selden.

Holmes took an interest in it at

the time.

The death sentence was commuted.

>> Why?

>> His crimes were so vicious

that there was some doubt as to

his sanity.

You can't execute a...

>> Look!

Look there!

(howling wind)

>> As we topped a rise, there it

was: a huge expanse of moor,

mottled with gnarled and craggy

cairns and tors, and in the

distance, above the trees,

a gray, melancholy hill, its

jagged summit topped with two

high, narrow towers.

>> The end of the journey, good

sirs!

Baskerville!

>> A cold wind swept down upon

us as the road grew bleak and

wild.

Baskerville pulled his coat

tightly around his chest and

fell silent.

A few minutes later we reached

the lodge-gates, a maze of

wrought iron and weather-bitten

stone pillars.

And beyond, a long, dark drive

to the house, dripping with ivy

and glimmering like a black

granite ghost.

The coach pulled even with the

porch and stopped.

>> Welcome!

Welcome, Sir Henry!

Welcome to Baskerville Hall!

>> Thank you, thank you

very much, Mister... ?

>> Barrymore, Sir Henry.

William Barrymore, butler and

caretaker of Baskerville Hall!

(wind still blowing)

>> This is Dr. Watson, and of

course you know Dr. Mortimer.

>> Barrymore.

>> Sir.

>> Well, then!

If you don't mind, Sir Henry,

I'll drive straight home.

I would stay to show you over

the house and grounds, but

Barrymore will be a much better

guide than I.

>> You won't stay for dinner?

>> Thank you, no.

My wife is expecting me.

But we would be delighted to

have you both over for lunch

tomorrow, if that meets with

your approval.

I can have Sir Charles's

attorney join us with some

papers to sign.

>> Excellent.

Lunch tomorrow.

Thank you for all you've done,

Dr. Mortimer.

Goodnight.

>> Goodnight.

Drive on, coachman.

>> Yes sir.

Hee-ya!

>> Shall we enter my new home,

Dr. Watson?

>> A pleasure, Sir Henry.

>> Allow me, gentlemen.

>> Ah!

It's just as I imagined it!

Look, Doctor, look!

Timbered ceilings,

stained glass windows...

and look there, oak panel...

and there, the Baskerville

Coat of Arms!

Glorious!

>> Glorious, yes.

>> Of course,

it's all a bit dark.

>> Quite a large bit, yes.

>> William!

You didn't say Sir Henry was

here!

>> They took me by surprise,

Eliza!

I wasn't expecting them for

another half an hour.

>> Welcome home, Sir Henry!

Eliza Barrymore!

Cook and housekeeper.

>> And my wife.

>> Well, I'm sure he knew that.

Do you wish dinner to be served,

Sir Henry?

>> Yes, please.

>> Of course.

>> Dr. Watson, would you care to

join me in the dining room?

>> Delighted, Sir Henry.

(organ playing)

The dining room was a place

of shadow and gloom, under black

beams and a smoke-darkened

ceiling.

We talked little and, weary from

our journey, were glad when the

meal was over and we could

retire.

Upstairs, I drew aside the

curtains and looked out the

window.

A half moon broke through the

clouds, its cold light revealing

a ragged fringe of rocks along

the long, low curve of the

melancholy moor.

(clock chimes)

I climbed under the sheets

and tossed for what seemed

hours, seeking sleep.

Just as I was drifting off...

(woman crying)

>> ... I heard it.

The far-off sound of a woman

crying in uncontrollable sorrow.

(birds chirping)

The next morning, I found Sir

Henry breakfasting in the

garden.

>> Ah, Dr. Watson!

Come, sit down!

May I interest you in breakfast?

Ham, eggs?

Here's some excellent cold

pheasant.

>> Just tea for me, Sir Henry.

>> Tea it is, then.

Here you are.

>> Thank you.

How long have you been up?

>> Two hours.

I put all my new clothes in the

wardrobe and made Barrymore a

present of the old ones.

I've been exploring the house

and grounds.

>> Sir Henry...

>> It all seems so much cheerier

in the daylight, doesn't it?

>> ... did you, perhaps, hear

the sobbing of a woman last

night?

>> A woman?

I thought it was a dream.

You heard it too, then?

>> I did.

>> Then it must have been real.

We'll find out.

>> You rang for me, sir?

>> Barrymore, Dr. Watson and I

heard a woman crying last night.

>> Oh, there are only two women

in the house, Sir Henry.

One is the scullery maid who

sleeps in the far wing.

The other is my wife, Eliza, and

it certainly wasn't her.

>> Hm.

>> Will there be anything else,

sir?

>> No.

No, thank you very much.

>> Very good, sir.

Then, if you will excuse me.

>> Hmm.

Either he's lying, or...

>> Or he sleeps more soundly

than he knows.

>> Or the house is haunted.

Do you believe in ghosts,

Dr. Watson?

>> Not in the daylight hours,

no.

>> Fair enough!

We have a luncheon date

with Dr. Mortimer.

Now that I know the house

better, I believe I'll take a

walk and familiarize myself with

the neighborhood.

>> Holmes instructed me never to

let you out of my sight.

>> Get your hat, then!

>> It's up in my room.

I'll meet you on the porch.

(organ playing)

Returning with my hat, I met

Eliza Barrymore in the corridor.

Her eyes were red and swollen.

Clearly it was she who had wept

in the night.

But why?

And why had her husband lied to

us?

I pondered these questions as

Sir Henry and I took a long and

pleasant walk along the edge of

the moor.

Then, as we were returning

to Baskerville Hall...

>> So Doctor, when may we expect

Sherlock Holmes to make an

appearance?

>> Soon enough, Sir Henry.

Meanwhile, rest assured, I will

be more than...

>> Hello!

Sir Henry!

Sir Henry Baskerville!

>> Who do you suppose that is?

>> No idea.

What is that he's carrying?

>> Looks like a butterfly net.

>> Sir Henry!

I do hope you will excuse my

presumption.

I am Jack Stapleton.

>> Ah, yes!

The naturalist.

This is Dr. Watson.

>> Oh.

How do you do?

>> How do you do?

>> You live here on the moor.

>> With my sister, yes.

It's an excellent location

for my studies.

>> Studies?

>> Butterflies!

>> Oh, I thought...

>> Academics!

Yes, of course!

Clever of you to have seen it!

I am the founder and principal

of a boys' school in the North

Country.

Molding young minds, you know.

>> This is for the school, then,

the butterflies.

>> No, no.

School's gone, sadly.

Epidemic broke out.

Tragic.

Three students died of it, and

the school never recovered.

But you see, every cloud has its

silver lining.

Without that tragedy, I would

never have found my way here.

>> How... fortunate.

>> Our house is over that rise,

along the grassy path.

>> Looks like someone coming

down that path on a bicycle.

>> My sister!

She'll have a chance to meet

you.

I must tell you, Sir Henry,

it means a great deal to the

countryside that you've chosen

to come here to live.

You have, I suppose,

no superstitious fears.

>> None.

>> You know the legend.

>> I have heard it.

>> The story took a great hold

upon Sir Charles.

I have no doubt it led to his

tragic death.

>> Oh?

>> Well, his nerves were so

worked up that the appearance of

any dog might have a fatal

effect.

I feared for him; I knew his

heart was weak.

>> So you think a stray dog

pursued him and he died of

fright?

>> Have you a better

explanation?

>> I have yet to come to any

conclusions.

>> Has Mr. Sherlock Holmes?

>> I beg your pardon?

>> The moment I heard your name,

I knew you must be Dr. Watson.

It follows, then, that Mr.

Holmes is interesting himself in

the matter.

Will he honor us with a visit?

>> I assure you, I am simply

here upon a visit with my friend

Sir Henry, and I...

>> Excellent!

You are perfectly right to be

wary and discreet.

I will not mention this matter

again.

It is a wonderful place, the

moor!

I never tire of it, so vast and

barren and mysterious.

>> You know it well?

>> I have only been here two

years, but my work leads me to

explore every part of it.

Few men know it as well.

>> Is it hard to know?

>> Oh yes, very.

A word of advice: It is best to

stick to the paths and roads.

You see that plain to the north,

with the little hills?

>> Yes.

>> The great Grimpen Mire.

One false step means death.

>> Quicksand?

>> Worse.

Much worse.

Only yesterday I saw it claim

one of the moor ponies.

An awful place, especially with

these autumn rains, but I can

find my way through.

I know its secrets, and have

planted markers.

In fact, I...

(pony neighs)

... by George, there's another

one of those miserable ponies!

See it?

Now watch!

(pony whinnies in panic)

(organ stabs)

Gone!

The mire has him.

>> Horrible.

>> Yes, but now turn your

attention to those hills.

The ones that rise above the

green, you see?

Those are islands, islands in

the mire.

I know how to reach them safely,

stepping here, then there.

And it is on those islands that

I find the rarest plants and

butterflies.

>> Over there.

What are those gray mounds?

>> Yes, the slopes are covered

with them.

>> Stone huts.

The homes of our prehistoric

ancestors.

>> Still standing?

>> Yes.

Dr. Mortimer has engaged in some

archaeological exploration

there.

He's found arrowheads, stone

tools, the occasional petrified

skull.

I've often thought...

(bell rings)

Ah, here is my sister.

Hello, Beryl!

>> Jack.

Who are your friends?

>> I am Dr. John Watson, and

this is Sir Henry Baskerville.

>> Ah, Sir Henry!

Doctor.

How do you do?

I am Beryl Stapleton.

>> I was just telling them about

the moor.

>> Seems hardly the place for

people such as you.

>> How do you mean?

>> Well, I...

>> He means that a woman so

beautiful should be out where

the world can appreciate her

beauty.

>> Oh, well...

>> I don't... I didn't...

I mean, I did, but...

>> We are quite happy here,

aren't we, Beryl?

>> Quite happy.

>> I find an unlimited field of

work here for my botany and

zoology, and as for Beryl,

she...

(howling)

>> My God, what's that?

>> Ah, yes.

We hear it all the time out

here.

They say it is the hound of the

Baskervilles calling for its

prey.

>> The hound of the

Baskervilles?

>> You've heard it before?

>> Many times.

>> You're an educated man,

surely you don't believe...

>> Ah!

Cyclopides.

>> Pardon me?

>> Cyclopides.

That butterfly.

Very rare, excuse me.

(running through grass)

>> Now, quickly,

before he comes back.

>> The point I was making, Miss

Stapleton, is that you are

isolated and...

>> I haven't much time.

>> ... there's an escaped

murderer roaming about, and...

>> You must leave!

>> What?

But...

>> Go back to London, Sir Henry.

>> Miss Stapleton, the

neighborhood has, in the last

30 seconds, become even more

attractive to me.

Why should I leave now?

>> Because... because...

I cannot explain.

>> Then I shall stay.

>> You are in danger.

>> I thrive on danger.

>> But...

>> Ah, Mr. Stapleton!

Did you catch your butterfly?

>> No, it eluded me.

Pity.

A particularly excellent

specimen of Cyclopides.

What were you discussing so

earnestly, Beryl?

>> She... we...

>> We were concerned about so

beautiful a woman out here on

the moor, with a murderer loose.

>> Yes, he could be hiding in

one of those stone huts up on

the slopes.

Perhaps we could send someone

for protection.

>> Or perhaps you both could

move into Baskerville Hall until

the criminal is captured.

I have plenty of room.

>> Well, I...

>> Nonsense, we're perfectly

safe here!

As for that murderer, he's

certainly gone by now.

>> I don't know that you can

assume that, because...

>> Would you care to see the

house?

You must join us for lunch!

I'll show you my collection of

Lepidoptera!

>> We'd love to, wouldn't we,

Dr. Watson?

>> We have a luncheon engagement

with Dr. Mortimer.

>> Oh yes, of course.

It slipped my mind.

(rain falling)

>> Another time, then.

>> Another time.

>> We'd best get back to

Baskerville Hall if we're to

ride into town.

>> Yes, and it's begun to rain.

Goodbye, Mr. Stapleton,

Miss Stapleton.

>> Goodbye.

>> Goodbye.

>> What do you think,

Dr. Watson?

>> About Miss Stapleton's

odd behavior?

>> Yes.

>> Perhaps she was concerned

about the curse.

>> She didn't say that.

She said she couldn't explain.

If it were the curse, wouldn't

she just come right out with it?

>> Hm, I suppose she would.

>> They're an odd brother and

sister, aren't they?

>> Yes, he's as fair as...

well, as fair as you.

>> With the strangest deep-set

gray eyes.

I almost feel I've seen him

somewhere before.

And she... she's...

>> Darker than any brunette

I've ever seen in England.

>> But she's beautiful,

isn't she?

>> Quite attractive, yes.

>> An unusual formality to her

speech, and the trace of an

accent I can't quite place.

>> An oddly matched pair for

brother and sister.

Oddly matched.

>> What danger do you suppose

she was trying to warn me about?

I wonder if...

>> Sir Henry, look out!

>> Whoa, Satan, whoa!

>> You nearly ran us over!

Are you all right, Sir Henry?

>> Yes, yes, I'm fine.

>> What do you think you're

doing, walking on the road like

that?

>> What do you think you're

doing, driving on the road like

that?

You could have killed the both

of us!

>> You should have seen me

coming.

A horse and carriage are hard to

miss.

>> You came up behind us.

>> You should have heard me,

then!

>> And you should have...

>> How do you do,

I'm Henry Baskerville.

>> I know who you are.

I've seen you.

I'm Frankland, Alfred Frankland.

>> Ah yes, you're four miles to

the south of us at Lafler Hall.

Hm.

It's begun to rain.

May we ride with you?

>> Ride with me!

>> It's only a mile, and it's on

your way.

>> Very well, then.

Climb aboard.

>> Thank you.

Dr. Watson?

>> Yes, thank you.

>> Go, Satan, go!

>> Dr. Mortimer spoke of you

just this afternoon at lunch.

>> Oh?

What did he say?

>> That you have a passion for

astronomy.

>> I do!

I have an excellent telescope!

You must come see it.

>> Thank you.

I will, once the weather clears.

>> Oh yes.

Too much rain lately.

Too many clouds.

Can't see the stars!

So I have turned my telescope on

the moor.

>> On the moor?

>> To see if I can locate

Selden.

>> The escaped convict?

>> Yes.

>> And have you seen him?

>> Not yet.

But I've seen Dr. Mortimer

digging.

I am, in fact, soon to file

papers agaist him and have him

prosecuted for opening graves

without the consent

of next of kin.

>> You mean the prehistoric

skulls?

>> Indeed.

>> Next of kin?

For a dead Neanderthal?

>> You're an attorney?

>> Oh no, mercy no.

Merely a layman.

The law is my second passion.

Currently, I have seven active

lawsuits.

I will argue any point, you see,

take up either side of any

question.

>> Really, now?

>> I will file a lawsuit to

close a right of way and then

defy the parish to make me open

it.

Or I will tear down another

man's gate and declare that a

path has existed across his

property since ancient times,

then defy him to prosecute.

>> And you do these annoying

things because... ?

>> I told you.

The law is my passion.

>> At least Stapleton's passion

only annoys the butterflies.

>> Stapleton!

I'll have a lawsuit against him

next.

He seems to think there's no

right of property and he can run

where he likes with his

butterflies and such.

I've seen him sneaking around in

the dark.

>> In the dark?

Butterflies?

>> I'll win, too!

I can do it!

I had Sir John Morland for

trespass when he was shooting on

his own property.

And do you know he had me

burned in effigy for it?

Burned in effigy!

And the entire town with him,

or most of 'em.

Well, now I've brought a case

against the town.

They will have occasion to

regret their treatment of me!

>> Ah well, here's Baskerville

Hall, then.

>> A pity.

Just as we were getting to know

your neighbor.

>> Thank you so much,

Mr. Frankland.

>> A pleasure, Sir Henry.

Now don't forget, you must come

'round to see my telescope!

>> I look forward to it.

>> Go, Satan, go!

(horse and buggy drive off)

(organ playing)

>> Three weeks passed, during

which I posted my daily reports

to Holmes.

We spent a good deal of time

with the Stapletons, and Sir

Henry and Miss Stapleton grew

closer each day, though her

brother seemed oddly possessive,

rarely letting them out of his

sight.

We never again heard the weeping

woman, but late one night...

(clock chimes)

... I awoke on the stroke of

2:00, in time to hear a stealthy

step pass by my room.

I rose, opened the door,

and peeped out.

A man carrying a candle cast a

long black shadow down the

corridor.

As he turned the corner, I

followed and carefully peered

'round.

Just then, I felt a hand

on my shoulder.

>> Dr. Watson.

>> Ah!

>> Shh.

Don't give us away.

>> Sir Henry!

There's a man...

>> I know.

It's Barrymore.

I've been following him.

>> You've explored the house.

Where does this corridor lead?

>> It's unused.

There's no furniture in any of

the rooms.

>> What could he possibly be up

to?

>> He's going into the room at

the end of the corridor.

Come on.

Shh.

>> We crept down the hall to the

door, slowly edging around the

door jamb to look in.

Barrymore, candle in hand,

crouched at the far window.

Sir Henry stepped forward.

>> Barrymore!

What are you doing here?

>> Nothing!

Nothing, sir!

It was... it was the window,

sir.

I go round at night to see that

they are all fastened!

>> On the second floor.

>> Yes sir.

>> You're lying.

Who are you signaling?

>> Oh, please don't ask me, Sir

Henry!

>> Give me the candle,

Barrymore.

>> Yes sir.

Here you are, sir.

>> Let's see if there's any

answer.

>> No!

Please, don't...

>> Yes, look there!

A light on the moor!

>> No, no sir, it's nothing!

Nothing at all!

I assure you...

>> Move it across the window,

Watson.

>> Very well.

Ha!

The other light moves with it!

>> It is a signal!

Speak up, Barrymore!

Who's out there, and what's

going on?

>> I cannot tell you, sir.

>> Then you leave my employment

as of this moment.

By thunder, your family has

lived with mine for over 100

years under this roof, and now I

find you in some dark plot

against me!

>> No, no sir!

Not against you!

Never against you!

>> It is my doing, Sir Henry.

>> Mrs. Barrymore!

>> Eliza, no!

>> My husband has done nothing,

Sir Henry, except for my sake,

and because I asked him.

>> You tell me, then!

What's this all about?

>> My unhappy brother is on the

moor.

He'd starve without us.

>> It's the truth, Sir Henry.

>> Then the candle

is a signal to him.

>> Yes sir, so he knows when his

supplies are ready.

>> His light shows us where to

take them.

He dragged himself here one

night, sir, weary and starving,

with the warders hard at his

heels.

>> We took him in.

What could we do, sir?

He's family, after all!

>> Then your brother is...

>> Selden, the escaped murderer!

>> By Jove!

(organ stabs)

>> Please believe me, Sir Henry,

if there was a plot, it's

certainly not against you.

But it was Eliza's secret to

tell, not mine.

>> When you came, we thought he

would be safer on the moor,

until we could get him out of

the parish.

We couldn't turn our backs on

him; he is my brother, and I

love him.

>> And that's the whole truth,

sir.

>> Do you believe them,

Dr. Watson?

>> I do.

>> Very well.

I'll have to give this some

thought.

We'll talk further tomorrow.

Until then, goodnight.

>> Yes sir.

Goodnight, sir.

Come along, Eliza.

>> Thank you, sir.

>> How far out do you think he

is, Dr. Watson, judging by his

light?

>> Out by the Cleft Tor, I

think.

Not more than a mile.

>> Well, it can't be far if

Barrymore's been carrying food

out.

And you know, it's not as if

they took us into their

confidence.

>> No.

We forced the secret from them.

We owe them no discretion.

>> He's a criminal, Dr. Watson.

A danger to the community.

>> That he is.

>> Beryl is in danger with him

roaming free.

>> Beryl?

>> Miss Stapleton.

>> Ah, yes.

>> By thunder, I'm going out to

take that man!

>> On the moor?

After dark?

>> Are you coming?

>> You mustn't, Sir Henry!

>> Are you coming?

>> Holmes told me never to let

you out of my sight!

>> Then get your revolver and

put on your boots before he puts

out his light!

(organ playing)

(wind blowing)

(crickets chirping)

>> Five minutes later, against

my better judgment, we were

outside, hurrying through the

dark shrubbery amid the dull

moaning of the autumn wind and

the rustle of falling leaves.

The night air was heavy, damp

and decaying, as we moved toward

the light of the burning candle

ahead.

>> If you go that way and I go

this way, we can flank him.

>> You shouldn't be out here,

you know.

>> Nonsense.

What could possibly...

(hound howling)

>> My God.

It's the hound.

>> Shall we turn back?

>> No, by thunder!

We've come out to get our man

and we'll do it!

Now, come on!

Here's the candle.

Stuck in this crevice out of the

wind, but...

>> He isn't here.

>> He must've heard us coming.

>> He can't be far,

the candle is still...

>> Look out, Watson!

(struggling)

(two gunshots)

>> There he goes!

Are you all right?

>> Yes, yes!

Did I hit him?

>> I don't think so.

Look, there he is!

Come on, hurry!

>> Can you see him?

>> The moon's gone behind a

cloud!

It's too dark.

>> There!

>> Don't let him get away!

>> He's got too much

of a head start!

>> Where did he... ?

There!

Come on, Watson, we must...

>> It's no use.

No use, Sir Henry.

He's gone.

>> Watson!

>> What?

>> Who's that?

>> Where?

>> There!

>> I turned to look just as the

moon broke through.

There, on the jagged pinnacle of

a granite tor, stood the tall

figure of a man, black as ebony

against the moonlight.

He seemed to be the very spirit

of that horrible moor.

Another cloud covered the moon

for only a moment, and when it

passed, he was gone.

(hound howling)

>> The next day, Sir Henry kept

to his room, writing letters and

putting his uncle's papers in

order.

It was late afternoon when he

found me in the parlor.

>> Ah, Dr. Watson, there you

are.

Any more thoughts about the

stranger we saw on the moor?

>> Well, it certainly wasn't

Selden.

>> No, he was a good head taller

than Selden.

>> Perhaps it was a warder, part

of the search.

The neighborhood's been full of

them ever since he escaped.

>> Perhaps.

Didn't seem so, though.

>> No.

>> And the hound?

What do you think about...

>> Sir Henry!

>> Oh, I didn't hear you come

in, Barrymore.

>> Am I to understand that you

went out last night to hunt my

wife's brother?

>> We did.

>> I didn't think you would have

taken advantage that way, sir.

Indeed I did not.

>> I'm sorry, Barrymore, but the

man is a public danger.

I'll have to tell the police.

People live out there on the

moor.

Miss Stapleton and her brother

come to mind.

>> Please, sir, he won't cause

any trouble, I give you my

solemn word.

He knows to stay hidden.

In a very few days he will be on

a ship to South America.

Please don't tell the police.

Please, I beg of you.

>> What do you say, Watson?

>> If he were safely out of the

country, I suppose it would

relieve the taxpayers of a

burden.

But then we'd be aiding and

abetting a felon.

>> And, of course, neither you

nor Holmes has ever done that

before.

>> Sometimes, in the interest of

justice or... convenience.

>> Convenience, eh?

All right, Barrymore, your man's

safe.

Get him out of the country.

>> Bless you, Sir Henry.

I should like to do something

for you in return.

>> No, no, that's fine.

Just...

>> We should have said something

before, sir, but it was long

after the inquest that she found

it out.

>> She?

Mrs. Barrymore?

>> Yes, Sir Henry.

I found out that...

>> Eliza, I told you to...

>> I've got to tell it, William.

>> Found what out?

>> Why, Sir Charles was at the

gate at that hour.

>> Why?

>> To meet a woman.

(organ music plays)

>> A woman!

>> What woman?

>> I don't know her name, but

her initials are L. L.

>> You don't know her name, but

you know her initials?

>> Your uncle had a letter that

morning, from the town of Coombe

Tracey, addressed in a woman's

hand.

>> How do you know he was to

meet her?

>> After Sir Charles' death,

Eliza was cleaning his study

and she...

>> Let me tell it, William.

I found a burned letter in the

back of the grate, Dr. Watson.

It was charred and unreadable,

but the writing toward the end

of the final page was still

legible.

It said, "Please, as you are a

gentleman, burn this letter, and

be at the gate by 10:00."

It was signed "L.L."

>> Do you still have it?

>> It crumbled to ashes.

>> Why didn't you tell the

police?

>> This all happened, Dr.

Watson, just as our own troubles

came to us and... it's well to

go carefully when there's a lady

in the case.

>> You thought it might injure

my uncle's reputation?

>> Yes, sir.

So we kept the secret, but now

it seems there's more to it.

>> And since you've been so

kind, we wanted to do something

in return.

>> Thank you.

Thank you both.

You may go.

>> Yes, sir.

>> Thank you, Sir Henry.

(footsteps fade)

>> Well, Dr. Watson, what do

you make of that?

>> I must get word to Holmes.

>> Look at the time.

I'm going out.

>> Where?

>> To pay a call on Ms.

Stapleton.

We've made arrangements.

>> I'll get my hat.

>> You're not invited.

>> You know my instructions.

You're not to go out alone.

>> My dear fellow, Holmes, with

all his wisdom, could not

foresee that I would find myself

attracted to Beryl Stapleton,

now could he?

>> He might have deduced it.

>> How?

>> By observing how closely the

parsley on your dinner plate had

sunk into the butter, by

noticing a stain on your

sleeve... I don't know.

Sometimes it seems magical

until he explains it to me.

But the fact remains he told me

not to let you out of my sight.

>> Nonsense.

You go into town to telegraph

Holmes, I won't be long.

>> But, Sir Henry, please, you

must...

(door closes hard)

>> Well, now what do I do?

If he's harmed, Holmes would...

>> Oh! Dr. Watson!

I thought you'd gone out.

>> No, no, it was Sir Henry.

I really must...

>> Alone?

>> Well, yes, but...

>> Oh, I don't know that it's

wise for him to do that, sir,

what with the situation on the

moor.

>> You said Selden would cause

no trouble.

>> And he won't, sir, I assure

you.

But the other man out there, I

don't...

>> What?

You know about the other man?

>> Oh, yes, sir.

>> You've seen him?

>> No sir, but Selden told me of

him.

I tell you straight, sir, I

don't like it!

>> You don't?

>> Look at the noises on the

moor at night.

There's not a man would cross it

after sundown.

Look at this stranger, hiding

and watching and waiting.

Waiting for what?

>> What did Selden say about

him?

>> At first he thought he was

the police, sir, but that wasn't

it.

He's dressed as a gentleman and

living among those stone houses.

>> The prehistoric huts?

>> Yes, sir.

>> How does he eat?

>> He's got a lad who brings him

supplies.

Selden's seen him.

>> Hmm, how strange.

>> If Sir Henry's gone out

alone...

>> Yes, yes!

I'll take the dogcart and catch

up.

>> Liza's taken it to town for

supplies.

I'll have the groom prepare

another one for...

>> I'll go tell him myself.

(door opens, keys jingle)

>> Dr. Watson!

Dr. Watson!

>> Dr. Mortimer!

>> I was just coming to visit!

>> I need a ride down the moor

road toward the Stapleton house.

>> Of course, climb aboard.

(sound of horse hooves)

>> If you happen to see my

little dog, would you hold him

for me, will you?

>> That little curly-haired

spaniel?

>> Yes.

>> I'll watch for him.

>> Thank you.

So, how is Sir Henry getting on

in his new home?

>> He seems to have developed an

affection for Beryl Stapleton.

>> Truly?

>> Mmm.

>> That's a dangerous path.

>> How do you mean?

>> Stapleton has always been

jealous of her suitors.

>> Jealous?

>> Should any young man pay

attention to her, he flies into

a rage.

One young fellow sustained a

scalp laceration from that

butterfly net he carries about.

>> The man's violent?

>> It would appear so.

>> I must catch up to Sir Henry.

Dr. Mortimer, you've lived

here for some time, eh?

>> Yes.

>> Can you think of a woman with

the initials L.L.?

>> L. L...

The initials L. L.

No, I... oh, wait!

Laura Lyons.

She lives in Coombe Tracey.

She's Frankland's daughter.

>> Frankland!

With the telescope?

>> Exactly.

She married an artist who came

sketching on the moor.

He emptied her bank account and

deserted her.

Then Frankland gave her trouble

because she'd married without

his consent.

So, between the old sinner and

the young one, the girl's had a

pretty bad time.

>> How does she live?

Does her father give her money?

>> I doubt it.

His money is all tied up in

lawsuits.

>> So it would seem.

>> No, she's set herself up in a

typewriting business.

A few of us put up money so she

could buy the machine.

Stapleton for one, Sir Charles

for another.

I gave a trifle myself.

Why do you ask about her?

>> Oh, oh, nothing, nothing.

I'd just heard the initials and

wondered.

>> Oh.

Ah!

There's Sir Henry!

>> Where?

>> Down the slope there about a

quarter of a mile.

Who's that with him?

>> Beryl Stapleton.

>> So it is.

They seem to be arguing.

Look there!

It's Stapleton, running toward

them, wielding that butterfly

net like a club.

>> Let me off here!

Stop the cart!

>> Ho, boy, ho!

>> No!

I'll leave only if you go with

me!

>> Do you not understand?

You're in danger!

>> What? From a ghost dog?

Do you believe that?

>> Perhaps, I... you must leave

this place.

Please!

>> I don't understand you!

We agreed to this meeting!

I thought there was something

between us.

>> Please...

>> And now you tell me to go

back to Canada.

Don't you understand how I feel

about you?

Don't you want that?

>> Yes!

I mean, at first I did.

But not now, I... Oh, Henry, I'm

so... I... please, please, just

hold me for a moment.

I... I don't... I...

>> Here! Stop that!

>> What are you doing?

Step away from her or I'll

thrash you within an inch of

your life!

>> Now see here!

>> Get away from her!

Don't touch her!

Don't ever touch her!

Beryl, come here.

>> What's the matter with you?

>> Jack, please, I...

>> Now!

>> I... I'd better go with him.

>> What?

But... but you said... but...

>> I'm sorry, Henry.

>> Come along!

Now, Beryl.

I said now.

>> Beryl...

>> I'm sorry.

>> Stay away from her!

You hear?

Stay away from her!

>> Sir Henry!

Sir Henry, are you all right?

>> Dr. Watson!

What are you doing here?

>> I couldn't let you go out

alone.

We saw you from up on the hill.

>> You would have thought the

middle of the prairie a safe

place to be private, but, by

thunder, the whole countryside's

out to see me do my wooing.

And a mighty poor wooing at

that.

Did you see him come at me?

>> I did.

>> What's the matter with me,

anyhow?

Wouldn't you say I'd make a good

partner for her?

>> I would, yes.

>> And she!

One minute she's mine and the

next minute... I don't know,

maybe it's that curse business.

Well, it's a nice walk home, in

any case.

>> As we walked back to

Baskerville Hall, I looked out

over the hundreds of ancient

stone huts, scattered across the

moor and wondered about the

stranger we'd seen in the

moonlight.

It would take remarkable good

fortune to find the one hut in

which he was hiding.

Good fortune came sooner than

I'd imagined, its messenger none

other than Mr. Frankland,

standing at his garden gate as

we passed.

>> Good day, Dr. Watson!

Sir Henry!

>> Mister Frankland.

>> Good day, Mister Frankland.

>> Have you come to see my

telescope?

>> That wasn't our intention.

>> Come in, come in.

Gate's open!

Come in!

Have a glass of wine, see my

telescope, celebrate my success.

>> Success?

>> A double victory!

I'm just back from my attorney.

I have established a right of

way through the center of Lord

Middleton's park!

Right across it!

Within a hundred yards of his

own front door.

What do you think of that?

>> Oh, um, impressive.

>> To say the least.

>> Come in, come in, into the

house.

>> Thank you.

>> We'll teach these nobles they

can't ride roughshod over the

rights of commoners.

And, what's more, I've closed

the wood where the townspeople

picnic, too.

Both cases decided, and both in

my favor.

>> Well... congratulations.

>> I warned them.

I told them they would have

occasion to regret their

treatment of me.

Oh, mark my words, gentlemen, I

could tell them what they're

dying to know, but nothing would

induce me to help the rascals!

>> What they're dying to know?

What do you mean?

>> I know the hiding place of

the convict on the moor!

>> What?

>> You do?

>> Haha!

Oh, you're interested now, eh?

Come here, come here, over to

the window.

Look here, you see?

My telescope.

>> Impressive.

>> So you used this telescope to

find the criminal's hiding

place?

>> I did!

>> You've seen him?

>> No, but I've seen the

messenger who takes him his

food.

>> Oh.

>> You have, eh?

>> I have, indeed.

>> The game's up then, I

suppose.

>> Appears so.

But, you see, there are

extenuating circumstances that

we've only recently...

>> You'll be surprised to hear

that the convict's partner in

crime is a child.

>> A child?

>> Do tell.

>> Imagine that!

A child!

>> How fortunate to have a man

of your caliber on the right

side of the law.

>> Exactly.

I'm sure there's a reward.

>> Oh, of course.

>> Perhaps he's the son of one

of the moorland shepherds taking

out his father's dinner.

>> A shepherd?

You see that black tor?

That low hill beyond with the

thornbrush and that small clump

of stone huts?

Does that look like a place a

shepherd would take his flock?

>> I'm sorry.

I spoke without knowing the

facts.

>> Shocking behavior, Watson.

>> 'Tis.

>> Every day, and sometimes

twice a day, I have been

able... wait a minute!

Look, look, look!

About two miles out!

You see that small dot against

the rocks?

It's the boy.

I know it is!

Look.

The sun is sinking, but there's

still enough light.

Look through the telescope.

You'll see with your own eyes.

>> Dr. Watson, be my guest.

>> Point it there, just there.

>> Very well.

Uh... somewhat unclear.

>> Turn this knob.

>> This one?

>> Uh-huh.

Ah.

Ah, yes.

There.

>> What do you see?

>> A small urchin with a

bundle climbing the hill.

>> You see, you see?

>> He's gone in among some of

those stone huts.

>> That boy comes every day.

Sometimes twice a day.

Always to the same place.

That's where the convict is.

I've solved it.

Now, not a word, Dr. Watson.

Not a word, Sir Henry.

I'll tell the police only if

there's a reward.

If not, they'll get nothing from

me.

You both must honor that.

>> I think it's safe to say that

we won't tell the police what we

know about the convict.

>> Safe to say.

>> They have treated me

shamefully.

When the townspeople burned me

in effigy, did the police

stop them?

They did not.

For all they cared it might have

been me burning, rather than

some dummy.

>> Some dummy.

>> Yes.

>> We shall have some wine to

celebrate my triumphs.

>> Oh, I think we should

continue on, don't you, Watson?

>> Getting dark, you know.

>> No time for celebration?

>> Afraid not.

But thank you so much for the

invitation.

>> Yes, thank you.

Another time.

>> I'll walk you home!

>> No, no.

That's perfectly all

right, Mr. Frankland.

Your return would be in the

dark, and, well, with the

convict on the moor...

>> True, true.

>> Well, goodbye, then.

>> Goodbye.

Thank you.

>> Goodbye, goodbye.

>> Is he watching?

>> He is.

Let's just keep walking along

the path.

>> Mmm-hmm.

>> Ah, he's gone back inside.

>> Good.

Quickly, across the moor.

>> Keep your eye on that hill.

(music)

>> The sun had set by the time

we reached the circle of stone

huts.

There was no sound on the moor,

and no movement, save for one

great, gray bird soaring

high above.

The boy was nowhere to be seen,

but among the grouping of huts

stood one with sufficient roof

to act as protection against the

weather.

A new piece of heavy canvas was

hung over the opening of

the door.

This, surely, was the burrow

where the stranger lurked.

I tossed away my cigarette,

opened my hand upon the butt of

my revolver, and we entered the

stone hovel.

>> Empty.

>> Yes, but look-- blankets.

>> And here's ashes from a fire

and cooking utensils.

>> Whoever he is, he's been here

for a while.

>> Here's a bucket nearly full

of water.

Helps to explain the mud out

front.

He must toss it and

replace... replenish the

supply every day or so.

>> Look here-- a cloth bundle.

A fresh loaf of bread, some

tinned meat and fruit.

>> Must be what the boy was

carrying.

>> What's this?

Great heavens.

>> What?

>> Listen to this.

"They kept to the house

most of the day.

Sir Henry met the lady on the

lower moor road and argued with

the Butterfly Man."

>> What is it?

A schedule of our movement?

>> Yes.

The handwriting's rough and in

pencil.

Appears the boy wrote it.

"Watson followed in a dog cart

driven by Dr. Mortimer."

>> He's having the boy watch us!

>> Watching some himself, too,

most likely.

It seems to me...

>> Doctor!

There's someone out there.

>> Hide there, next to the door.

>> Do you have your gun?

>> I do.

>> He stopped.

>> He's standing just outside

the door.

I can see his shadow.

>> It is a lovely evening, my

dear Watson.

I really think that you would be

more comfortable outside than

in.

(musical sting)

>> Sherlock Holmes!

>> Yes, now come out, both of

you.

And, Watson, please be careful

with that revolver.

>> Holmes!

I was never happier to see

anyone in my life!

>> Nor more astonished, no

doubt.

The surprise is somewhat mutual.

I had no idea you had found my

retreat until I was ten paces

from the door.

>> My footprints, I suppose?

>> Don't be absurd, Watson, how

would I know your footprints

from anyone else's?

>> Oh.

Well...

>> I recognized Sir Henry's

footprints.

>> But you just said...

>> Mine?

>> You're wearing those new

boots.

>> Yes, I am.

>> I had occasion to examine one

of those boots closely back at

Baker Street.

And, Watson, if you seriously

desire to deceive me, you must

change your tobacconist.

When I see the cast-away stub of

a cigarette marked "Bradley,

Oxford Street," I know

Watson is nearby.

>> By Jove!

>> And being familiar with your

admirable tenacity, I deduced

you were sitting in ambush, a

weapon within reach.

You saw me earlier, no doubt,

when I was so imprudent as to

stand at a distance between you

and the moon.

>> Yes, and your boy was

observed bringing supplies.

>> Betrayed by the old gentleman

with the telescope?

>> Exactly.

But I thought you were in London

working on a case.

>> That is precisely what I

wanted you to think.

>> I deserve better, Holmes.

>> My dear fellow, I beg your

forgiveness for having played a

trick on you.

Knowledge of my presence would

have put the enemy on guard.

>> But why keep me in the dark?

>> Your burden was heavy enough.

I didn't care to add to it.

It was easier for you to believe

I was still at Baker Street than

to know better and conceal it.

>> Hmm.

The boy?

>> Young Wiggins.

>> Wiggins?

>> Leader of the unofficial

force The Baker Street

Irregulars.

>> Street urchins.

>> And London's finest detective

division.

Wiggins has kept me supplied

with bread, water and clean

collars.

What more does a man want?

He's been an extra pair of eyes

upon a very active pair of

feet, and no one ever suspects a

child of espionage.

>> My daily reports were a waste

of time.

>> If you'd looked closer,

Watson, you'd have seen them in

my little headquarters,

preserved and ragged with use.

I compliment you on the zeal and

intelligence you've shown on

this case.

>> Oh.

Well, it was nothing.

Nothing, really.

>> Have you been to see Mrs.

Laura Lyons today?

>> How did you know ab...

No, no I have not.

>> Splendid.

We'll go tomorrow.

Sir Henry, if you will permit

me, Dr. Watson and I must

step away a bit to discuss the

finer points of this case.

>> Certainly.

>> Over here, Watson.

For the moment, we must keep

some of this information from

Sir Henry.

>> Of course, of course.

>> You are doubtless aware there

is a close intimacy between Mrs.

Lyons and the man Stapleton?

>> No!

>> I think I can use that to

influence Stapleton's wife.

>> His wife?

>> The lady you know as his

sister is, in reality, his wife.

>> Good heavens!

>> Shh, shh, shh.

>> Good heavens.

But why would he...

>> He can use her to manipulate

Sir Henry.

>> He seems so harmless, with

his butterfly net.

Why, he knows all

about butterflies.

My first day here he was chasing

one, a Cyclopides.

>> A generic name that hasn't

been used for over 50 years

for a butterfly that has never

existed in this part of England.

>> Well, he said it was rare.

>> Indeed.

>> But Holmes, how do you know

the woman is his wife?

>> He was careless enough to

tell you he'd been a

schoolmaster in the North of

England.

That I could trace.

A school in the area was closed

under scandalous circumstances a

little over two years ago.

The schoolmaster disappeared

with his wife just as the

Stapletons, answering their

descriptions, turned up here.

>> But what's he after?

>> Ah, that's the missing piece.

Another day, two at the most,

and I should have it.

Meanwhile, Watson, guard Sir

Henry as closely as a mother

does her child.

>> Not to worry, Holmes.

I will be Sir Henry's constant.

Sir Henry?

Where did he go?

Sir...

(hound howling)

>> The hound!

Quick, Watson!

>> Sir Henry!

Sir Henry!

>> Do you see anything?

>> Holmes!

>> Where are you?

>> Over here!

>> Ah, here you are!

What?

>> Down there, in that ravine!

>> A man!

>> Too dark to see clearly!

>> Can you find a way down

there?

>> Yes.

Here.

>> Ah.

Good, good.

Watch your footing.

Here we are.

Dark.

You were smoking earlier.

Do you have a box of Lucifers?

>> I do!

>> That's better.

>> Neck's broken.

>> Skull's caved in.

Who is it?

>> It's Sir Henry.

I recognize the coat.

>> What a fool I was to wait so

long!

We will avenge him, Watson, by

Heaven, we will avenge him!

>> We must send for help.

>> Wait, wait, wait.

>> No need to turn him over,

Holmes, he's dead.

>> A beard.

He has a beard!

>> Nonsense!

Sir Henry doesn't have a beard!

>> Precisely.

This is not Sir Henry.

Look, look!

>> The convict!

>> Selden!

>> Then where is Sir Henry?

>> He's still in danger, Watson,

he may be...

>> Dr. Watson, Mr. Holmes.

>> Sir Henry!

>> Thank heaven.

Here!

Down here!

>> I went exploring.

What are you doing down... oh!

>> Selden.

>> Why, that's my old tweed

suit.

>> Yes, and your shirt and cap

as well.

>> I gave them to Barrymore.

>> And he passed them to his

brother-in-law.

>> And they were his death.

>> I beg your pardon?

>> Hello!

>> Who's that?

>> Stapleton.

Quickly, Sir Henry, step back

here, just out of sight.

>> But, but...

>> Do as I say just for the

moment.

>> Very well.

>> Holmes, what are you...

>> It is clear enough, Watson,

that the hound was put on Sir

Henry's scent with that boot he

lost.

>> Oh, of course.

Then the hound... Stapleton!

>> Shh.

Greet him.

>> What?

>> Greet him.

>> Oh, yes.

Ah, Mister Stapleton!

>> Dr. Watson, is that you?

'Pon my soul it is.

Oh, dear me.

Somebody's hurt.

No.

Don't tell me this is Sir

Henry.

Who... who is this?

>> It is the escaped convict,

Selden.

>> Sir Henry!

>> Mister Stapleton.

>> What... what a shocking

thing, then!

Doubtless a horrible accident.

>> It would appear so.

What brings you out tonight?

>> I was concerned about Sir

Henry.

I'd invited him to dinner.

>> That was an appointment we

made a week ago, and after the

events earlier today I thought

that you would...

>> I behaved badly, Sir Henry.

Please forgive me.

My sister is everything to me,

and I was surprised to find you

locked in embrace.

She's explained the feelings

you have for each other, and,

well, painful as losing her

would be, I can't think of a

finer man.

My deepest apologies.

>> Accepted, then.

>> I anticipated your arrival

this evening, so when I heard

what sounded like a scream,

well...

What is your theory,

Mister... Holmes, isn't it?

>> I'm flattered to be

recognized.

As you've said, a horrible

accident.

Just as I'm sure the death of

Sir Charles must have been.

Watson and I will be returning

to London tomorrow.

>> What?

>> Tomorrow?

>> Early.

I am resigning from this case.

>> Mister Holmes!

>> Really, Holmes, only moments

ago you said...

>> An investigator requires

facts, not fairy tales.

I have reached an impasse.

It grows late.

We'll carry this unfortunate man

into my erstwhile residence.

He should be safe there until

the authorities are notified in

the morning.

(music)

>> After securing Selden's body

in the stone hut, Holmes, Sir

Henry and I walked back to

Baskerville Hall, where we broke

the news to Barrymore and his

wife.

She wept bitterly.

Evil indeed is the man who has

no one to mourn his passing.

I was up early the next morning,

but Holmes was afoot earlier

still, and had already been to

town and back.

>> I have filed a report with

the local police about the death

of Selden, and I have

communicated with young Wiggins.

Now, I have no doubt...

What the devil?

>> What is it, Holmes?

>> That portrait on the wall,

the cavalier.

>> Oh.

Barrymore pointed it out to me

the first week here.

That is the wicked Sir Hugo

Baskerville, who started this

hound business.

Painted in 1647.

The date's in the corner, with

the artist's signature.

>> Come.

Let's get closer to it.

>> Very well.

>> Now, look again.

Is that face familiar to you?

>> There is something of Sir

Henry, perhaps, about the jaw.

But that wouldn't be a surprise.

The fellow is, after all, an

ancestor.

Certainly has disturbing

deep-set eyes, doesn't he?

>> Yes, and what color are they?

>> Appear to be gray.

>> Quite right.

Bring that chair over here, will

you?

>> Thank you.

>> What are you doing?

>> Climbing up to get a closer

look.

Now look harder.

Ignore the velvet and lace, the

plumed hat and the chin

whiskers.

I'll cover them.

There.

Look just at the face.

>> Good heavens!

It's Stapleton!

(musical sting)

>> Precisely!

Combine this with the odd

rhythms of his wife's speech,

and you have it.

Her English is impeccable, but

Spanish is her native tongue,

and Stapleton is the son of the

Baskerville who went to Costa

Rica.

>> Rodger Baskerville!

>> That's the man.

Our hellhound becomes less

supernatural every moment,

Watson.

When you have eliminated the

impossible, whatever remains,

however improbable, must be the

truth.

>> But what's his game?

Why would he...

>> Stapleton's a Baskerville, in

line for the family riches.

He plans to secure his

inheritance by murdering those

ahead of him.

We have him, Watson, we have

him.

By tonight he will be fluttering

in our net as helpless as one of

his own butterflies.

A pin, a cork and a card, and we

add him to the Baker Street

collection!

Ha!

>> What's our next move, Holmes?

>> Sir Henry must... ah, here he

is.

Discretion, Watson, discretion.

>> Good morning, Mister Holmes.

You look like a general planning

the next battle with his chief

of staff.

>> Exactly.

Watson was asking for his

marching orders.

>> And so do I.

>> Did I hear Mister Stapleton

invite you to dinner for

tonight?

>> Yes, but I didn't accept.

>> Then do so.

>> Very well.

>> Watson and I must go to

London.

>> But I had hoped you were

going to see me through this

business.

>> You heard what I

told Mister Stapleton last

night.

>> Yes, but...

>> I will offer no explanation,

but you must do as I say,

blindly and without question.

When you go tonight, I want you

to send your carriage back and

let it be known you intend to

walk home.

>> Across the moor?

>> Yes.

>> But that's the very thing

that you've said that I mustn't

do.

>> I've changed my mind.

>> Well, I'll do it, then.

Does this mean you haven't

resigned the case after all?

>> I will say no more.

Come Watson, we've packing to

do.

>> Announcing to everyone who

would listen that we were

returning to London, we leased a

wagonette and drove to Coombe

Tracey, where we sought out Mrs.

Laura Lyons at her office.

Holmes opened his interview

frankly and directly.

>> I am investigating the

circumstances attending the

death of the late Sir Charles

Baskerville.

>> A tragedy, Mr. Holmes.

He was more than kind to me.

Were it not for Sir Charles and

a few other kind hearts, I might

have starved.

>> You corresponded with Sir

Charles?

>> Once or twice, to acknowledge

his generosity.

He and others

helped me to set up my

typewriting business after

I'd...

had a reversal of

fortune.

>> Your marriage to

Joseph Lyons.

>> Yes.

Shortly after we were wed, my

husband emptied my bank

account and disappeared.

>> You seem an intelligent

woman, Mrs. Lyons.

>> I believe that I am.

>> And yet you impulsively wed a

man about whom you knew

virtually nothing.

>> Mr. Holmes, I would have

done almost anything to

escape my father's authority.

>> Yes, I have met your father.

>> You corresponded with Sir

Charles, then, once or twice.

>> Yes.

>> Had you ever met him?

>> Again, once or twice.

>> Did you ever write and ask

that he meet you?

>> Certainly not.

>> Surely your memory deceives

you.

Watson?

>> Yes, Holmes?

>> Have you the letter?

>> Oh, yes.

Of course.

Here it is.

>> Read the last line, please.

>> Last line.

"Please, please, as you are

a gentleman, burn this letter

and be at the gate by 10:00."

>> A gentleman would have done

so.

>> You do Sir Charles a

disservice.

A letter may be legible even

when burned.

Why such a late hour?

>> I'd learned he was going to

London the next day and might be

away for months.

This was my only chance, Mr.

Holmes, to gain my freedom, or

be chained forever in matrimony

to a husband I would likely

never see again-- hoped never to

see again, in fact.

>> Difficult for a woman to

obtain a divorce.

>> Expensive as well.

Why is it so important to you?

And why must it happen so

quickly?

>> Joseph Lyons deserted me, but

if he decided to come back and I

fled...

>> The police could be sent to

capture you.

>> Yes.

And my husband could have me

imprisoned.

>> What?

Why that's... that's criminal!

>> It is a law, Watson, that is

due to change.

>> But until it does, I

am vulnerable.

I had hoped Sir Charles would

help.

>> Why a secret rendezvous in

the garden rather than a visit

to the house?

>> Go alone at that hour to a

bachelor's house?

What might the divorce courts

have made of that, Mr. Holmes?

>> I will be perfectly frank,

Mrs. Lyons.

We regard this case as one of

murder, and the evidence

implicates not only your friend

Jack Stapleton, but his wife as

well.

>> I'm afraid you're

misinformed, Mr. Holmes.

Jack has no wife.

>> But he does, Mrs. Lyons.

>> What?

No, that's impossible!

>> The woman who passes for his

sister is, in fact, his wife.

>> His w... but that's not...

Mr. Holmes, Jack and I were

to be married!

>> Your matrimonial choices

remain consistent, Mrs.

Lyons.

>> His wife!

How could he?

>> It would go well for you to

confess all.

>> I swear I never dreamed any

harm to the old gentleman.

>> I believe you, madam.

Stapleton suggested the letter?

>> He dictated it.

>> Then kept you from the

appointment.

>> He changed his mind.

He said it would hurt his

self respect.

>> So you did not go that night.

>> No.

>> And read of Sir Charles'

death in the next morning's

paper.

>> Yes.

>> Which was when Stapleton

advised you to be silent so as

to keep your name out of the

papers.

>> Yes.

>> But you had your suspicions.

>> I... I did.

>> You have had a fortunate

escape, Mrs. Lyons.

He was in your power and knew

it, and yet you still live.

I am sure such good luck will

lead to a happy solution

regarding your current

situation.

>> Well, but I'm sure...

>> Good day.

Come, Watson.

>> Where are we off to now,

Holmes?

>> The fair sex is your

department, Watson.

Tell me about Mrs. Lyons.

>> I believe she was telling the

truth, Holmes.

>> Yes.

Quite so.

>> You agree, then?

>> I rely always, Watson, on

your native shrewdness and that

innate cunning which is the

delight of your friends.

>> Why... why, thank you,

Holmes.

Where to now, then, back

to Dartmoor?

>> Precisely, Watson, after we

stop here.

>> A café?

Well, I could use some

dinner.

>> As could I.

And, as it happens, we are

expected.

>> May I help you, gentlemen?

>> Yes, we're to meet

someone.

Ah, there he is, at the corner

table.

Come, Watson.

Lestrade!

>> Mister Holmes!

>> You got my wire, then.

>> I did.

>> And how are things at

Scotland Yard?

>> We are poorer for not having

you on the force, Mister Holmes.

>> True.

Scotland Yard demonstrates a

consistent want of imagination.

Still, it leads the world in

thoroughness and method.

>> Some would suggest that

imagination has no place in

criminal investigation.

>> Some would be missing the

fact that there is no

investigation without

speculation, which is, by

definition, the scientific use

of imagination.

This particular investigation is

wrapping up, an arrest is

imminent, and a representative

of her majesty's C.I.D.

is critical.

You are the best of the lot,

Lestrade, with a certain bulldog

tenacity that has caused you,

like cream, to rise to the top.

>> You flatter me, Mister

Holmes.

And your wire was intriguing.

I couldn't possibly have stayed

away.

>> You have the warrant?

>> I do.

>> We have two hours.

We shall fill them, and

ourselves, with dinner, while I

catch you up on the

investigation so far, then take

the London fog out of your

throat with the pure night air

of Dartmoor.

>> I don't believe I've ever

been to Dartmoor.

>> Trust me when I say you will

never forget your first visit.

(music)

>> After dinner, we drove back

to the moor, stopped along the

road and continued on foot down

the path to the Stapleton house,

just as a heavy fog began

rolling in.

>> Are you armed, Lestrade?

>> I am always armed, Mister

Holmes.

>> Good.

Watson?

>> I have my service revolver.

>> Excellent.

I have my pistol as well.

As we approach the house, now, I

must request that we be very

still.

Shh.

Watson, which window is the

dining room?

>> That one, I think.

>> Come.

>> Yes, there they are.

Stapleton and Sir Henry.

>> Where's the woman?

>> I don't see her.

>> The fog is drifting this way.

>> Sir Henry must leave soon.

If the fog's too thick, we won't

be able to protect him.

>> The taller one?

>> Sir Henry.

>> He's moving toward the door.

>> The fog's rolling in fast.

>> Here he comes.

>> The fog's reached the house.

>> It's moving this way.

>> Sir Henry must stay ahead of

it.

His life depends upon it.

>> That sound, what is it?

>> What sound?

>> There.

>> Yes, I hear it now.

>> Where's it coming from?

>> I can't...

>> From the heart of the

fogbank!

See it?

You can see it moving in the

fog!

It's breaking through!

>> Look out!

>> The hound!

>> My God!

>> Huge!

>> Breathing fire!

>> The fog!

>> I can't see!

Where...

>> Sir Henry!

>>(screams)

>> Watson, Lestrade, fire!

>> We've hit it!

>> We didn't kill it!

>> If it's vulnerable, it's

mortal!

Come, quickly!

>> Help me, help me!

Get it off me!

>> Get back, Watson!

Give me room!

(hound moans)

>> Are you all right, Sir Henry?

>> My God.

What in Heaven's name is it?

>> It is dead, whatever it was.

The family ghost is laid to

rest.

>> The thing's as big as a lion.

What's this smeared on its

muzzle?

>> Barium sulphide, most

likely.

Phosphorescent.

Quite a nice effect in the

dark of night.

I apologize, Sir Henry, for

putting you in danger.

The springing of our trap was

somewhat complicated by the fog.

>> You saved my life.

>> Yes, after having first

endangered it.

>> Now we must go back and get

our man.

>> No doubt he was close by so

he could call off the creature

when the deed was done.

>> The shooting would have

routed him.

>> Yes, he's fled by now, but we

can still search the house to be

sure.

>> And perhaps find his wife.

>> Wife?

>> Lestrade!

>> You mean his sister.

>> No.

I do not.

I'm sorry.

>> But... but she's his...

>> I had planned to break the

news a bit more carefully, Sir

Henry.

>> I'm sorry, Mister Holmes,

Sir Henry...

>> His wife?

>> Nothing for it now.

>> There will be time later.

For now, come quickly.

>> We rushed back and spread out

through the house, leaving no

corner unexplored.

Stapleton was nowhere to be

found, but on the upper floor a

bedroom door was locked.

>> Someone's in there.

I can hear thumping.

>> Watson, up here.

Step back, Lestrade.

>> Untie her.

Get that gag off.

>> Did you find him?

>> No.

>> Is he safe?

Did he escape?

>> He cannot escape us, madam.

>> I meant Henry.

Is he safe?

>> Beryl!

Where is she?

>> There you are.

Ropes are off.

>> Henry!

>> Beryl!

Look at your arms-- the bruises.

>> Oh, I was so afraid the hound

would...

>> The hound is dead, madam.

Where is your husband?

>> There is an old tin mine on

an island in the heart of the

mire.

>> Where he kept the hound.

>> Yes.

He called it his fortress.

We staked a trail with pegs

driven into safe places to step.

Even in the fog, they are easy

to find if you know what to

look for.

>> And if not, you fall prey to

the mire.

>> Well, he's safe for now, but

as soon as the sun is up and the

fog has lifted...

>> No.

I moved them.

>> What?

>> I changed them.

>> The stakes?

But that would mean that...

>> Ah.

Justice is served.

Watson, Lestrade, let's get Sir

Henry and Mrs. Stapleton

back to Baskerville Hall.

>> The following morning, Mrs.

Stapleton guided us to the

abandoned mine, where we found

the hound's cage, filled with

heavily-chewed bones, including

the remains of Dr. Mortimer's

missing curly-haired spaniel.

Of Stapleton there was no sign.

Somewhere, down in the foul

slime of Grimpen Mire, that cold

and cruel-hearted devil is

forever buried.

Holmes had two cases

immediately upon our return to

London that took him away for

several weeks.

But finally, upon a raw and

foggy night toward the end of

November, we were safely home at

Baker Street, warmed by a

blazing fire, and I persuaded

him to discuss the details of

the Baskerville mystery.

>> Of course, Stapleton knew

that Sir Charles Baskerville had

a weak heart.

>> He did?

>> He did.

>> How?

>> He befriended Dr.

Mortimer, who, being somewhat

garrulous by nature, told

him, adding the fact that the

old gentlemen feared the

Baskerville legend.

>> So then Stapleton bought a

hound?

>> In London, according to the

receipts.

He took it in from the far end

of the moor to reach the hiding

place unobserved.

When, in spite of numerous

savage beatings, his wife

refused to lure Sir Charles to

his death...

>> He dictated that letter to

Mrs. Lyons.

>> Then took the dog round that

night.

It sprang over the gate, pursued

its fleeing victim, and the deed

was done.

>> How terrifying it must have

been.

>> The lowest and vilest alleys

in London do not present a more

dreadful record of sin than does

the open countryside, Watson.

>> Come in!

>> Ah, Mrs. Hudson.

>> I've brought savories, Mr.

Holmes, to celebrate your

homecoming.

>> Do you have any of those

little mushrooms in cream?

>> I do, Dr. Watson.

>> Oh my.

Set the tray here next to me,

Mrs. Hudson.

>> Here you are then, Doctor.

>> You've been sewing, Mrs.

Hudson.

>> I have, Mr. Holmes.

>> Sewing?

Sewing what?

>> New draperies for the front

windows over there.

>> By your chemistry table,

Holmes.

Good.

The fumes and explosions haven't

done the present ones any good.

>> How did you know, Mr.

Holmes?

>> My first glance is always at

a woman's sleeve.

In a man it is perhaps better to

pay attention to the trouser

knees.

You will note, Watson, that Mrs.

Hudson's sleeves are composed of

a fabric with some slight nap to

it.

>> Yes, quite so.

>> Most useful for showing

traces.

You see on the left wrist,

farthest from the thumb, a

double line pressed into the

nap?

>> Ah.

I do now, yes.

>> And no corresponding line on

the right wrist.

>> May I see your right wrist,

Mrs. Hudson?

>> Certainly.

>> No lines on the right wrist,

Holmes.

>> This is the asymmetrical

pattern left by the sewing

machine of the hand type as the

left wrist presses against the

table.

>> Well, if there's nothing

else...

>> No, stay, Mrs. Hudson.

I'll be requiring your counsel.

>> My counsel?

But I...

>> You see, Watson, Stapleton's

wife knew only a small part of

his plan, but thanks to a

history of domestic brutality,

she dared not warn Sir Henry.

Not directly, in any case.

And so she...

>> Pasted up that odd

letter with the words torn from

the Times!

>> Cut.

>> Pardon?

>> Cut, not torn.

Cut from the Times.

>> With shears.

>> Nail scissors.

>> Quite.

You knew it was she?

>> I did.

>> How?

>> I held the letter a few

inches from my eyes, looking for

a watermark, and detected the

scent of white jasmine.

This suggested the presence of a

lady.

When we visited Mrs.

Lyons, her scent was clearly

attar of rose.

>> So, by the process of

elimination...

>> More than that, Watson.

Mrs. Hudson?

>> Mr. Holmes?

>> What perfume do you prefer?

>> Perfume?

Well, I'm partial to violet, but

the price is dreadful dear, so I

most times use the lavender from

the medicine cupboard.

>> You see, Watson, a woman

selects a perfume to suit her

nature.

Jasminum officinale is a

tropical flower.

>> But how does that...

>> Mrs. Hudson will attest,

Tropical fragrances are

not commonly favored by

English women.

>> No.

>> However, Beryl Stapleton

is...

>> A native of Costa Rica!

>> A warmer clime.

And therefore...

>> Ah, the only choice.

Splendid, Holmes!

>> Of course.

>> May I go now, Mr.

Holmes?

>> You may, Mrs.

Hudson.

Thank you.

>> Certainly.

Oh, you'll notice I've had the

wall repaired.

>> Yes.

It is as if my tribute to the

queen was never there.

>> Mm-hmm.

>> You did it yourself?

>> No.

A tradesman.

>> Excellent.

I trust you saved his card for

the next time.

>> Next time?

But I...

>> Thank you, Mrs.

Hudson.

>> You're welcome, Mr.

Holmes.

Enjoy your savories.

>> Are there more mushrooms in

cr...

Oh, well.

Perhaps not.

>> So, to finish up, Stapleton

had taken his wife to London and

followed Sir Henry and Dr.

Mortimer.

>> And that's how he knew the

hotel.

>> Exactly.

He procured a boot, which, never

having been worn, proved useless

to familiarize the dog with Sir

Henry's scent.

>> So he went back for another

boot.

>> Precisely.

Then, on the evening Sir Henry

was to dine with them, Stapleton

brought the hound to a shed on

his property.

His wife tried to stop him.

They quarreled.

He beat her into

unconsciousness, and bound her

up in that locked room.

>> But he couldn't claim the

Baskerville fortune for himself.

Everyone knew him as Stapleton!

>> Likely, he would return to

Central America, establish his

credentials before the British

authorities there, and obtain

the fortune without setting foot

on English soil.

>> Astonishing, my dear Holmes.

>> Elementary, my dear Watson.

So then, what do we hear from

Sir Henry and his fiancée?

>> Oh, there was a wire this

morning.

They're setting out next month

on a long sea voyage, including

stops in Costa Rica and Canada,

and finally back to Baskerville

Hall in the spring.

>> Excellent.

Now, Watson, we have had some

weeks of severe work, and for

one evening, I think, we may

turn our thoughts into more

pleasant channels.

I have two tickets here.

What say you?

>> Oh, certainly, Holmes!

What is it to be?

The theater?

The opera?

>> The Crystal Palace Park at

Sydenham.

>> And the occasion?

>> The Queen's Royal Dog Show,

of course.

>> Really, Holmes!

(music)

>> You have been listening to

the radio dramatization,

Sherlock Holmes and the Hound

of the Baskervilles,

written

by Philip Grecian,

based on the novel by Sir

Arthur Conan Doyle, presented

by the award-winning ARTS,

Incorporated, and broadcast

live from the KTWU studios.

And so...

(hound baying)

Goodnight and pleasant

dreams.

(music)

>> DVD copies of this program

are available online at

KTWU.org.

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