The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle (good books to read for women txt) ๐
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It would be hard to nominate a more well-known character in English literature than that of the austere analytical detective Sherlock Holmes, created by Arthur Conan Doyle in the late 1880s. Holmes, alongside his friend and biographer Dr. John Watson, appeared in two initial novels and dozens of short stories serialized in popular magazines, attracting a devoted, almost fanatical following which continues to this day.
The Hound of the Baskervilles, serialized in 1901โ1902, was the third novel featuring Holmes and Watson. Sherlock Holmes is consulted in his Baker Street apartment by Dr. Mortimer, a physician now living on the fringes of Dartmoor. He gives Holmes and Watson an account of a centuries-old legend, in which a hell-hound slaughtered the debauched heir of the Baskerville family who had been in lecherous pursuit of an innocent maiden across the moor. The same hound is reputed to have harrowed several of the subsequent heirs to the estate.
This ancient story might be dismissed as mere fancy, but for the fact that the elderly Sir Charles Baskerville recently died in very mysterious circumstances, apparently fleeing in terror from something which came from the moor. Dr. Mortimer is concerned that the new heir, Sir Henry, just returned from Canada, may be at risk from this supernatural beast. Holmes is intrigued, but being too busy to go himself, sends Dr. Watson to accompany Sir Henry to the ancestral home on Dartmoor and to report anything suspicious.
The Hound of the Baskervilles is arguably the best, and certainly the most popular, of Doyleโs novels featuring his iconic detective. It has been translated into almost every language in the world and been the basis of dozens of movies (starting as early as 1914), radio plays and comic books.
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- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
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โWe must leave you now,โ said Holmes. โThe rest of our work must be done, and every moment is of importance. We have our case, and now we only want our man.
โItโs a thousand to one against our finding him at the house,โ he continued as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path. โThose shots must have told him that the game was up.โ
โWe were some distance off, and this fog may have deadened them.โ
โHe followed the hound to call him offโ โof that you may be certain. No, no, heโs gone by this time! But weโll search the house and make sure.โ
The front door was open, so we 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 save in 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.
โThereโs someone in here,โ cried Lestrade. โI can hear a movement. Open this door!โ
A faint moaning and rustling came from within. Holmes struck the door just over the lock with the 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 had been the relaxation of this complex and dangerous man. In the centre of this room there was an upright beam, which had been placed at some period as a support for the old worm-eaten baulk of timber which spanned the roof. To this post a figure was tied, so swathed 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 round the throat and was secured at the back of the pillar. Another covered the lower part of the face, and over it two dark eyesโ โeyes full of grief and shame and a dreadful questioningโ โstared back at us. In a minute we had torn off the gag, unswathed the bonds, and Mrs. Stapleton sank upon the floor in front of us. As her beautiful head fell upon her chest I saw the clear red weal of a whiplash across her neck.
โThe brute!โ cried Holmes. โHere, Lestrade, your brandy-bottle! Put her in the chair! She has fainted from ill-usage and exhaustion.โ
She opened her eyes again.
โIs he safe?โ she asked. โHas he escaped?โ
โHe cannot escape us, madam.โ
โNo, no, I did not mean my husband. Sir Henry? Is he safe?โ
โYes.โ
โAnd the hound?โ
โIt is dead.โ
She gave a long sigh of satisfaction.
โThank God! Thank God! Oh, this villain! See how he has treated me!โ She shot her arms out from her sleeves, and we saw with horror that they were all mottled with bruises. โBut this is nothingโ โnothing! 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.โ She broke into passionate sobbing as she spoke.
โYou bear him no good will, madam,โ said Holmes. โTell us then where we shall find him. If you have ever aided him in evil, help us now and so atone.โ
โThere is but one place where he can have fled,โ she answered. โThere is an old tin mine on an island in the heart of the mire. It was there that he kept his hound and there also he had made preparations so that he might have a refuge. That is where he would fly.โ
The fog-bank lay like white wool against the window. Holmes held the lamp towards it.
โSee,โ said he. โNo one could find his way into the Grimpen Mire tonight.โ
She laughed and clapped her hands. Her eyes and teeth gleamed with fierce merriment.
โHe may find his way in, but never out,โ she cried. โHow can he see the guiding wands tonight? We planted them together, he and I, to mark the pathway through the mire. Oh, if I could only have plucked them out today. Then indeed you would have had him at your mercy!โ
It was evident to us that 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 Stapletons 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 nightโs adventures had shattered his nerves, and before morning he lay delirious in a high fever under the care of Dr. Mortimer. The two of them were destined to travel together round 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 estate.
And now I come rapidly to the conclusion of this singular narrative, in which I have tried to make the reader share those dark fears and vague surmises which clouded 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
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