Шерлок Холмс и доктор Ватсон, часть первая "Собака Баскервилей" с Василием Ливановым и Виталием Соломиным. Уверен, что Вы знаете русский фильм, практически наизусть.
Обычно, мы смотрим фильм на английском и пытаемся понять то, что слышим. То есть, усовершенствуем навыки "слышанья" (listening skills). Здесь, всё наоборот, слышите русский и думаете, как знакомую фразу сказать на английском. То есть, обратный перевод с русского на английский.
Dr Mortimer unfolded the manuscript, and read the following strange story:
"A hundred years ago the Hall of Baskerville was owned by Hugo Baskerville.
He was a wild and cruel man. It happened that he fell in love with the daughter of a poor farmer who lived near Baskerville Hall. The girl always avoided the wicked man, for she feared and hated him.
But one night, when her father and brothers were away from home, this Hugo rode to the farm with five or six of his evil companions and carried the young girl away.
When they brought her to the Hall they locked her in a room upstairs.
Then they went downstairs and sat down to supper, drinking wine, shouting, singing and swearing.
The poor girl was so frightened that she did something that might have frightened the bravest man.
With the help of the ivy which covered (and still covers) the wall, she climbed out of the window and got down.
Then she ran across the moor towards her father's home as fast as she could.
"Some time later Hugo found that the cage was empty and the bird had escaped.
Then he became like a human devil. He ran down the stairs into the dining hall, jumped on to the great table and cried aloud to all his companions that he would give up his body and soul to the Powers of Evil if he caught the girl. He ordered his men to saddle his horse and to loosen the hounds. He gave the hounds the girl's handkerchief to put them on the scent. Then he rode after them across the moor in the moonlight.
At first Hugo's drunken friends were so frightened that they did not know what to do. But then they decided to follow him.
"When they had gone some distance they heard the sound of hoofs and soon they saw Hugo's black horse.
The animal galloped past them. Its saddle was empty!.
A little farther they saw the hounds. The animals were standing all together between two high rocks and whining.
The moon was shining brightly and the men, who were now quite sober, saw the body of the poor girl on the ground.
She had died of fear and exhaustion. Near her lay the dead body of Hugo Baskerville and over him stood a terrible thing biting at his throat — a great black hound, larger than any other hound.
When the men went forward, the beast turned its blazing eyes and bloody jaws on them. They screamed with fear, and galloped back across the moor as fast as they could.
"Such is the tale of the first coming of the hound, which has always troubled the family since that day.
Therefore no member of the family must cross the moor in the dark hours of night, when the Powers of Evil are at their strongest.
Mr Sherlock Holmes, who usually got up very late, except on those quite frequent occasions when he did not go to bed all night, was sitting at the breakfast table.
I was standing in front of the fire, examining a walking stick which a visitor had left behind the day before.
"To Dr James Mortimer, from his friends," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884."
Sherlock Holmes suddenly turned to me and said:
"The owner of that stick, Watson, has got a dog which is larger than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff".
"How do you know?" I asked in surprise.
"I examined that stick carefully and noticed the marks of a dog's teeth on it", answered Holmes.
"They are too broad for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff.
Probably the dog often carries the stick behind its master. I think it must be a spaniel, in fact it is a spaniel."
He had left the breakfast table and was standing near the window as he said this. I looked at him in surprise and asked:
"How can you be so sure of that?"
"For the simple reason that I see the dog at our door and I hear the bell which its master is ringing. I wonder why Dr Mortimer wishes to see Mr Sherlock Holmes. Well, we'll soon know. Come in," he added, for there was a knock at the door.
A gentleman entered the room followed by a brown spaniel.
The visitor was a very tall, thin man, with a long nose like a beak, and grey eyes that sparkled brightly from behind a pair of glasses.
Though he was still young, his long back was already bowed. As he entered, his eyes fell upon the stick in Holmes's hand, and he ran towards it with an exclamation of joy.
"I am so glad," he said. "I didn't know where I had left it. Are you Mr Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yes, Dr Mortimer, and this is my friend Dr Watson."
"I am very glad to meet you, Mr Holmes. I have heard much about you and your friend. I called on you last night, but unfortunately didn't find you at home."
Sherlock Holmes invited the visitor to sit down. When Dr Mortimer was comfortably seated in an armchair, Holmes asked him about the purpose of his visit.
"I have come to you, Mr Holmes, because I have to solve an extraordinary problem, and I cannot do it without your help."
"Then let us hear all about it," said Holmes. "Dr Watson is a professional brother of yours and his presence may be useful to us."
Dr Mortimer drew a folded sheet of yellow paper from his pocket and said:
"Here is an old manuscript belonging to the eighteenth century. The exact date is 1742.
This family paper was given to me by Sir Charles Baskerville of whose sudden and tragic death a few months ago you must have heard.
I was his friend as well as his doctor. He was a clever man, but he believed the story told in this document and his mind was always prepared for a tragic death."
Holmes looked attentively at the manuscript.
"It's a legend of some sort, I think," he said.
"Yes," answered Dr Mortimer, "It's an old legend which is well known in the Baskerville family."
"But I thought that you wanted to consult me on a more modern and practical matter."
"Oh yes! The matter is most modern and practical and must be decided in twenty four hours.
The manuscript is short and it's important for the problem that I must solve. With your permission I'll read it to you."
"We are ready to listen," answered Holmes, leaning back in his armchair. Далее>
Лика, Израиль; Очень хорошо придумано- и слышишь англ.речь, видишь текст- и ролик фильма на русском с субтитрами- 3 в 1)))
Поддерживаю просьбу Levvn))), пожалуйста, сделайте части аудиокниги независимо от сайта- чтобы можно было слушать в дороге, или вне дома)))
Albert Kakhnovskiy; Лика, конечно текст в оригинале отличается. В аудиокниге текст адаптирован, то есть упрощён для понимания.
альбина: весьма очень занимательно учить язык по фильмам… я хотела узнать у вас а правильно ли я делаю что буквально мчусь на всех парах изучать язык????просто желание столь велико что я порой даже забываю поспать…вы настолько интересно преподносите тему изучения что я не могу даже оторваться от экрана...хочется разом взять и выучить=))))спс вам за ваше доброе и внимательное отношение к нам…
Victoria; Thank you for your Help!!! Виктория,Санкт-Петербург
Наталья, Тверь; Спасибо огромное, Альберт, вы не перестаёте меня удивлять и радовать. Вдыхаете в меня желание изучать язык с новой силой, т.к. порой разочаровываюсь в себе и желание работать остывает… столько всего, столько слов, столько оборотов... порой голова кругом ))
luba56; Спасибо. Можно записать на диск и прослушивать в машине по дороге на работу. (Израиль)
Ольга; Спасибо большое .Это такая огромная помощь в изучении языка.Дай Вам Бог успехов во всем и крепкого здоровья.
Алёна; Огромное Сердечное Спасибо создателю этого сайта!!!!!!!
Столько всего интересного!!!!!! И вдруг еще мой самый любимый фильм о Шерлоке Хомсе на английском…нет слов, я просто счастлива!!!! Спасибо!! Спасибо!! Спасибо!!!
Карина; спасибо вам огромное!!!это лучший сайт для изучения английского языка!вы вселяете в людей веру в себя,в свои силы.ваши уроки и программы действительно дают результат)
Syuzanna: Большое спасибо Создателям сайта и тем кто работал над разработками !! Помогаете нереально всем ! )))
During our walk Stapleton spoke of the moor and showed me the dreadful Grimpen Mire covered with bright green spots. They looked pleasant, but were treacherous and dangerous.
"It's a terrible place, the great Grimpen Mire. A false step there means death to man or beast."
As the path approached the mire we saw something brown rolling and tossing in the green grass. Then a long neck of a pony rose desperately and a dreadful cry came over the moor. In a moment the animal disappeared.
"It's an awful place," said Stapleton. "Yet I can penetrate into the very heart of it and return alive. I know two safe paths."
"But why do you go into such a dreadful place?" I asked in surprise.
"Because there are rare plants and butterflies beyond those hills," answered the naturalist. "But to reach them I must cross the mire."
Suddenly a long, sad moan swept over the whole moor. It filled the air, yet it was impossible to say where it came from.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"The peasants say it's the hound of the Baskervilles. I've heard it once or twice before, but never so loud," answered Stapleton in a low voice.
"You are an educated man. You cannot believe such nonsense," I exclaimed. "What is the real cause of the sound?"
"Well, there are so many strange things on the moor. Perhaps it was some bird. Oh, excuse me for a moment, Dr Watson."
The naturalist had seen a small butterfly and ran quickly after it, jumping from tuft to tuft straight into the mire. I stood watching him with fear when suddenly I heard a step and, turning round, I saw a woman upon the path. She had come from the direction of Merripit House and I didn't doubt that this was Miss Stapleton, the naturalist's sister.
She was very beautiful. There was a great contrast between the brother and the sister, for Stapleton was rather small, with light hair and grey eyes, while she was dark, elegant and tall. She came up to me and said quickly:
"Go back! Go back to London at once!"
I could only look at her in stupid surprise.
"I cannot explain. But for God's sake do what I ask you. Go back and never set foot upon the moor again."
"But I have just come."
"Go away from this place. Start tonight. Hush, my brother is coming. Not a word of what I have said."
Stapleton had not caught the butterfly and was coming back red and tired.
"Hello, Beryl," he said. It seemed to me that the naturalist was displeased to see his sister there. His small light eyes glanced suspiciously from her to me.
"You have introduced yourselves, I can see."
"Yes, Jack," she answered. "I was telling Sir Henry about the beauties of the moor in spring."
"I'm not Sir Henry Baskerville. I'm only his friend. My name's Dr Watson."
She flushed. "I thought I was talking to Sir Henry. Excuse me. But come on, and see Merripit House, please".
Merripit House looked poor and sad.
"It's a strange place, but still my sister and I are quite happy here," said Stapleton. "I had a school before I came to this part of the country," he continued.
"It was in the North. A serious epidemic broke out and some of the boys died. It was a great blow to me and I couldn't continue my work at the school.
So I decided to leave it and we came to Devonshire. I love botany and zoology and I find such an interesting field of work here that I'm quite satisfied with the place."
"But aren't you dull here?" I asked turning to Miss Stapleton.
"Oh no, I'm never dull," she said quickly. "We have our books, our studies and interesting neighbours."
"Yes," said Stapleton, "Mortimer is a very good companion, and poor Sir Charles was such a wonderful friend. But come upstairs, Dr Watson, and inspect my collection of insects. Lunch will soon be ready."
I was in a hurry to return to Baskerville House. The sadness of the moor, the death of the unfortunate pony, the strange sound connected with the Baskervilles, all worried me. Then there was Miss Stapleton's warning. There must me some serious reason for it. I refused the invitation to lunch and, with my mind full of dark fears, made my way back to Baskerville Hall.
The morning was bright and sunny, and the room looked quite cheerful as Sir Henry and I sat down to breakfast.
"We were tired and cold after our journey last night," said Sir Henry, "so the place seemed gloomy. It looks much more cheerful today."
"That is true," I answered, "but didn't you hear the sobbing of a woman in the night?"
"It is strange," exclaimed Sir Henry, "for when I was half asleep I heard something of the sort. I thought it was in my dream."
"I heard it clearly and I'm sure that it was really the sobbing of a woman," I said.
"We'll ask Barrymore about it," said Sir Henry ringing the bell.
The butler became pale when he heard his master's question. "There are only two women in the house, sir," he said. "One of them lives in the other wing. The second woman is my wife and I can give my word that she didn't cry."
And yet he lied, for after breakfast I met Mrs Barrymore in the corridor and noticed that her eyes were red and swollen.
Why had Barrymore lied and why had his wife sobbed so bitterly? There was an atmosphere of mystery and gloom round this pale, handsome black-bearded man.
He had discovered the body of Sir Charles and only he knew all the circumstances which had led to the old man's death. Was it possible that it was Barrymore who had followed Sir Henry in the cab? I decided to go and see the Grimpen postmaster.
I wanted to make sure that the telegram which Holmes had sent from London had really been delivered in Barrymore's hands.
Sir Henry was busy examining different papers after breakfast and I started for the village of Grimpen alone. I soon found the postmaster's house and learned from him that the telegram had been delivered into Mrs Barrymore's hands. Her husband was busy in the loft at that time.
"Did you see Mr Barrymore?" I asked.
"No, sir, I tell you he was in the loft."
"If you didn't see him, how do you know he was in the loft?"
"His wife told me," was the answer.
I was walking back to Baskerville Hall when suddenly I heard the sound of running feet. I turned round and saw a stranger running after me. He was a small, thin, clean-shaven man between thirty and forty, wearing a grey suit and a straw hat. A box was hanging over his shoulder and he carried a green butterfly net in one hand.
"You will excuse me, Dr Watson," said the stranger, coming up to me. "Here on the moor we are simple people and we don't wait for formal introductions. Our mutual friend, Dr Mortimer, has possibly spoken to you about me. I am Stapleton, the naturalist."
"But how did you know me?" I asked in surprise.
"I was in Dr Mortimer's house and he pointed you out to me from his window. As I am going your way I wanted to introduce myself to you. How is Sir Henry after his journey?"
"He is very well, thank you."
"We were all afraid that after the tragic death of Sir Charles his nephew would refuse to live here. But Sir Henry, I suppose, has no superstitious fears?"
"I don't think so."
"Of course you know the legend of the Baskerville hound?"
"I have heard it."
"The story made a great impression on Sir Charles and I'm sure that it led to his tragic death."
"His nerves were so bad that the appearance of any hound might have frightened him, and his heart was very weak."
"You think then that the hound pursued Sir Charles and he died of fright?"
"Have you any better explanation?"
"I haven't come to any conclusion."
"And your friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes?"
I was amazed. "How do you know I'm his friend?"
"It's useless to pretend that we don't know you, Dr Watson. If you are here, then it follows that Mr Sherlock Holmes is interested in the matter, and naturally I would like to know his opinion about this matter."
"I'm afraid I cannot tell you anything definite about his opinion."
"May I ask if he is going to visit us himself?"
"Mr Sherlock Holmes cannot leave London at present. He isn't coming here."
"What a pity! He might throw some light on what is so dark to us. But if you want my help in anything I'll be very pleased to do what I can."
"Thank you, but I'm simply a guest of my friend Sir Henry and I need no help of any kind."
"You must excuse me, I will not speak of the matter again," said Stapleton.
While talking we had walked along the road and were now near a path which ran through the moor.
"This path will soon bring us to Merripit House," said Stapleton. "Perhaps you will allow me to introduce you to my sister?"
I did not want to leave Sir Henry, but I remembered that Holmes had told me to study the neighbours. So I accepted the naturalist's invitation and we turned together down the path which led through the moor.
On the appointed day Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr Mortimer were at the station. Sherlock Holmes and I soon joined them there.
"I do not ask you to make your own theories, Watson," said Holmes, taking me aside. "I only beg you to report all the possible facts to me."
"What sort of facts?" I asked.
"Everything that has the smallest connection with this case — and especially the relations between Sir Henry and his neighbours.
If you hear of any new details connected with the death of Sir Charles, let me know. And study the people who live on the moor near Baskerville Hall — the Barrymores, Dr Mortimer, the naturalist Stapleton and his sister, Mr Frankland and one or two other neighbours."
"I will do my best."
"You are armed, I suppose?"
"Yes, I thought it necessary."
"Certainly. Never be off your guard. Keep your revolver near you night and day."
"I will, my dear friend. Don't worry."
"By the way, Sir Henry," said Holmes, turning to young Baskerville who was talking to Dr Mortimer, "Have you found your black boot?"
"No, Mr Holmes, it has disappeared."
"That is very interesting. Well, good-bye," he added as the train began to move, "and remember, Sir Henry, don't walk on the moor alone when it's dark."
When we reached Devonshire Sir Henry, who was looking out of the window, seemed happy to see the land where he had spent his childhood. The train stopped at a small station and we got out.
A carriage with a pair of horses was waiting for us.
It was a quiet, pleasant spot and I was surprised to see two soldiers by the station gate.
They looked keenly at the passers-by. The coachman greeted Sir Henry and soon the carriage was rolling swiftly along the road. On the top of a hill there stood another soldier.
He was watching the road. The coachman turned in his seat.
"A convict had escaped from the prison of Princetown and is hiding on the moor.
The man is a dangerous murderer, and the soldiers watch every road and every station, but they have not yet found him."
Somewhere there, on the bare and dark moor, this terrible man was hiding like a beast in a hole.
This made the wild and sad place seem still wilder and sadder.
Soon the road turned sharply and the wide, silent moor came in sight.
A few minutes later the carriage stopped before a large dark house with two high narrow towers.
"Welcome to Baskerville Hall, Sir Henry," said a tall man with a black beard opening the door of the carriage. It was Barrymore, the butler. His wife approached and helped him to take down the luggage.
Dr Mortimer refused to stay for dinner saying that his wife was expecting him.
We entered the hall. It was a very fine hall, large, high, with a great old-fashioned fireplace. Barrymore and his wife had taken the luggage up to the bedrooms.
The butler approached Sir Henry. "Will you have dinner now, sir?" he asked.
"Is it ready?"
"Yes, sir. I should like to tell you at once that my wife and I will be happy to serve you for some time, but then we should like to go."
"But why?" Sir Henry asked in surprise.
"You see, sir, the death of Sir Charles has made this house very unpleasant to us."
"Well, we'll speak about this later. Now show us the dining-room. My friend and I are hungry after our journey."
A few minutes later we were seated at the dinner table. The room was a dark and gloomy place.
There was a long line of old family portraits on the wall and their silent company was not pleasant.
We talked little and when dinner was over we were happy to go to the modern billiard-room and smoke a cigarette.
"It isn't a very cheerful place," said Sir Henry. "I'm not surprised that my poor uncle was nervous in such a gloomy house. But let's go to bed early tonight and perhaps in the morning we'll feel more cheerful."
Before going to bed I opened the window and looked out. In the cold light of the moon I could see the melancholy moor. Everything was silent around.
I was very tired, yet I could not sleep. Far away a clock struck twelve.
Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by an unexpected sound.
It was the sobbing of a woman. I sat up in bed and listened. The woman was sobbing not far away, certainly in the house. The sound stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
For half an hour I waited to hear the sound again, but all was still.
A few minutes later the door bell rang and a man entered the room.
"I have heard that you wanted to see the cabman of No. 2704,"
he said. "I have come to ask you what you have against me."
"I have nothing against you, my good fellow," said Holmes. "On the contrary. If you give me a clear answer to my questions I'll give you half a sovereign."
"Well, what did you want to ask, sir?"
"First of all your name and address."
"John Clayton, 3, Turpey Street."
Holmes put it down. "Now Clayton," he said, "tell me all about the gentleman who was in your cab this morning. He was watching the house at ten o'clock and then he followed two gentlemen down Regent Street."
The cabman looked a little embarrassed. "You seem to know everything," he said. "But you see, the gentleman told me that he was a detective and I mustn't speak to anyone about him."
"My good fellow, this is a very serious business and you'll be in a difficult position if you try to hide anything from me. Did the gentleman say anything else?"
"He told me his name."
"His name? What was it?"
"It was Mr Sherlock Holmes," answered the cabman.
For a moment Holmes was too much surprised to speak. Then he burst into a hearty laugh.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Now, Clayton, tell me all about him."
"Well sir, he stopped me at half past nine in Trafalgar
Square. He said that he was a detective, that he wanted me to work for him and offered me two sovereigns if I did exactly what he wanted me to do and asked no questions. I was glad to agree. First we drove to the Northumberland Hotel and waited there until two gentlemen came out and took a cab in the street. We followed their cab until it stopped somewhere near this house. We waited for about an hour. Then two gentlemen passed us walking and we followed them along -"
"I know," said Holmes, "go on."
"So we were following them down Regent Street when suddenly my gentleman closed the window and cried to me to drive as fast as I could to Waterloo Station. We were there within ten minutes. He paid me two sovereigns and went into the station. At the last moment he turned round and said: 'It may interest you to know that you have driven Mr Sherlock Holmes.' That is all."
Holmes laughed: "So his name was Sherlock Holmes, he said?"
"Yes, sir, that was the gentleman's name."
"And can you describe that gentleman?"
The cabman scratched his head. "Well, it isn't so easy to describe him. He is about forty and is of middle height. He has a black beard and a pale face. That is all I can say about him."
"Well then, here is your half-sovereign, and you will have another one if you can bring any more information. Good night!"
When the cabman had gone Holmes turned to me with a sad smile:
"Our enemy is cunning, Watson," he said. "This time he has beaten me. It's a dangerous business and I'll be happy, when you return safe and sound to London again."
Dr Mortimer finished his story and nobody spoke. The expression in Holmes's eyes showed that he was greatly interested.
"You saw the footprints?" he asked after a short silence.
"As clearly as I see you."
"But why did nobody else notice them?"
"The footprints were at some distance from the body. I noticed them because I knew the legend about the hound."
"But perhaps they were the prints of a sheepdog. There must be many on the moor."
"Oh, no, they were much larger than the prints of a sheepdog."
"What was the weather like?"
"It was not raining, but it was very damp."
"Is there any other gate which leads to the moor except the gate in the alley?"
"Now tell me, Dr Mortimer, — and this is important — where exactly were the marks that you saw?"
"They were on the edge of the path on the same side as the gate leading to the moor."
"This is very interesting. Another question. Was the gate closed?"
"Not only closed but locked."
"How high is it?"
"About four feet high."
"Then it was easy to get over it?"
"Did you notice anything near the gate?"
"Nothing important. I think that Sir Charles stood there for some time."
"Why do you think so?"
"Because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar."
"Excellent, Dr Mortimer. But did you see any other marks?"
"Only Sir Charles's footprints all over the ground near the gate. I didn't see any others."
Sherlock Holmes struck his knee impatiently with his hand.
"Oh, Dr Mortimer, Dr Mortimer!" he cried. "Why didn't you call me at once!"
"Mr Holmes, there are things which the most clever and experienced detective cannot make clear."
"You think that there is something supernatural in this case?"
"Since the tragedy, Mr Holmes, I have heard of many strange things. Several people say that a few days before Sir Charles's death they had seen a terrible creature upon the moor. I have questioned those people. According to their description the creature which they saw was enormous, luminous and very much like the Baskerville hound of the legend. There is fear in the whole district. Only a brave man would now cross the moor at night."
"And you, a man of science, believe that it's supernatural?"
"I don't know what to believe."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "Now, Dr Mortimer, tell me this. If you believe that the hound is supernatural why do you come to consult me? You tell me that it's impossible to explain Sir Charles's death, and yet you ask me to do it."
"Because I want your advice about Sir Henry Baskerville, the nephew of Sir Charles. He will come to London," — Dr Mortimer looked at his watch, — "in exactly one hour and a quarter."
"Is he the heir?"
"Yes, after the death of Sir Charles we found out that he was living in Canada."
"Nobody else has a claim, I suppose?"
"No. He is the only heir of his uncle. Sir Charles was the eldest of three brothers. The second, who died young, was the father of Sir Henry. Sir Charles told me that the third brother, Rodger, was very much like the picture of the wicked Hugo which hangs in the picture gallery at Baskerville Hall. He was the black sheep of the family. He went to America and died there in 1876. So Henry is the last of the Baskervilles. In one hour and five minutes I'll be meeting him at Waterloo-Station. Now, Mr Holmes, where would you advise him to go?"
"Why should he not go to Baskerville Hall?"
"Because I fear that every Baskerville who goes there will meet his death."
Holmes thought for a few moments, then said: "I advise you to meet Sir Henry at the station and take him to a hotel. Tell him nothing until I have decided what to do. Come to see me at ten o'clock tomorrow morning and bring young Baskerville with you. Meanwhile I'll think over this matter."
"Very well, Mr Holmes."
"Only one more question, Dr Mortimer," said Holmes as the visitor was leaving the room. "You say that before the death of Sir Charles several people had seen that terrible hound on the moor?"
"Three people told me so."
"Did anybody see it after his death?"
"I haven't heard anything about it."
"Thank you. Good-bye."
When Dr Mortimer had gone Holmes returned to his armchair, looking very pleased. I knew that solitude was very necessary for Holmes when he had to solve a serious problem. So I spent the day at my club and returned home late in the evening.
When I opened the door of the sitting-room I thought there was a fire in the room. But then through the smoke I saw Holmes sitting in his armchair with his pipe between his lips. I knew that my friend always smoked pipe after pipe when he was thinking over a difficult problem.
"My dear fellow, how can you stay in this poisonous atmosphere!" I exclaimed, opening the window.
Holmes laughed. "I didn't notice the atmosphere," he said,
"I had no time. I have been very busy." With these words he showed me a large map spread on the table before him. "When you went away this morning," he continued, "I got this map. It's a map of Devonshire. I have studied it carefully.
Look, Watson. Here is the moor. This small group of buildings is the village of Grimpen, and that must be the small town of Coombe Tracey. Baskerville Hall is in the middle of the district. This house here must be the residence of Stapleton, the naturalist. Here are two moorland farmers, and fourteen miles away the large prison of Princetown.
Between and around these points is the gloomy, lifeless moor. This is the stage upon which the tragedy has been played."
"Have you come to any conclusion about the case?" I asked.
"I have thought much about it during the day," answered my friend, "and some things are clear to me, for instance, the change in the footprints. Mortimer thought that Sir Charles had walked on tiptoe, but that is nonsense. Why should a man walk on tiptoe down the alley?"
"What do you think then?"
"My dear Watson, he was running, running until his heart burst and he fell down dead upon his face."
"Running from what?"
"I cannot tell you that yet, but I think that the old man was mad with fear."
"How can you say that?"
"I'm sure that the cause of his fears came to him from the moor. If that was so, only a man mad with fear could run from the house and not to it. Then, again, for whom was he waiting that night, and why was he waiting in the yew alley and not in his house?"
"You think he was waiting for someone?"
"I'm sure of that. For why did he stand at the gate? This is all very strange, Watson, and Sir Charles's death is not so simple as it seems."
When Dr Mortimer had finished reading this strange story, he took off his glasses, folded the manuscript, then turned to Sherlock Holmes and said: "Don't you find it interesting?"
"Only for a collector of fairy tales," answered Holmes.
Dr Mortimer drew a newspaper out of his pocket.
"Now, Mr Holmes, this will probably interest you more. This is a local newspaper. It gives an account of the death of Sir Charles Baskerville. Let me read it to you." Our visitor put on his glasses again and began reading.
"The sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville is a very sad event. Though he had lived at Baskerville Hall only for a short period of time, his kind and generous character had made his neighbours love and respect him. He was a rich man and it is well known how much he did for all the people who needed his help. He had no children and lived quietly at Baskerville Hall. There were only two servants: a butler named Barrymore and his wife who was the housekeeper.
"The facts of his death are quite simple. For some time Sir Charles's heart and nerves had been bad. He did not go out much. But in the evening he usually liked to walk down the famous yew alley of Baskerville Hall and smoke a cigar there before going to bed. On the fourth of June he told Barrymore that he intended to go to London the next day and ordered him to prepare his luggage. That evening he went out as usual for his walk in the yew alley. He never returned.
"At midnight Barrymore saw that the hall door was still open, and he grew anxious. He took a lantern and went out to look for his master. He followed the marks that Sir Charles's feet had made on the wet ground. Halfway down the alley there is a gate which leads to the moor. Probably Sir Charles had stood there for some time, because the ash of his cigar was discovered on the ground near the gate. He then continued his walk down the alley. His body was found at the far end of it. Barrymore says that his master's footmarks changed after he had passed the moor gate. It seemed that then he had walked on his toes. A farmer, who was on the moor that evening, says that he heard cries, but he cannot tell from which direction they came.
There were no signs of violence on Sir Charles's body. But his face was so much distorted that his friends and his doctor, Mr Mortimer, recognized him with difficulty. Such a change is the usual symptom when death comes from some organic disease of the heart. The postmortem examination proved that Sir Charles had died of heart failure.
"Mr Henry Baskerville, who is Sir Charles's nephew and heir, will probably return to England from Canada in the nearest future."
Dr Mortimer put the paper back in his pocket.
"Those are the facts that people know, Mr Holmes," he said.
Holmes had listened attentively to Dr Mortimer's reading.
"And now tell me the facts that people do not know, if there are any," he said.
"I'll tell you something that I haven't told anyone," said Dr Mortimer.
"I didn't speak about it, because I was afraid people would think that I was superstitious.
But I have come to you for help, Mr Holmes, and with you I want to be quite frank.
Please listen to what I'm going to tell you. Very few people live on the moor.
With the exception of Mr Frankland, Mr Stapleton, the naturalist, and two or three farmers, there are no other people for many miles. I became friends with Sir Charles during his illness and as we were both interested in science I often visited him and we spent many pleasant evenings together.
"During the last few months I saw clearly that Sir Charles's nerves were in a very bad state.
He was always speaking about this legend which I have just read to you and nothing could make him go out upon the moor at night. The idea of some terrible evil powers was always with him.
He often asked me if I had seen any strange creature, or heard the barking of a dog.
One evening, about three weeks before his death, we were standing at the door of his house and talking. Suddenly I noticed that he was looking at something over my shoulder.
There was such an expression of terror in his eyes that I turned round quickly to see what had frightened him so much: a large animal that I took for a black calf was passing at the end of the alley. It disappeared in a moment.
All that evening I stayed with Sir Charles who was in a very nervous state and when I was leaving he gave me the manuscript that you have just seen.
"The constant fear in which Sir Charles lived was very bad for his health, so I advised him to go to London. I thought that a few months in town would be good for my poor friend.
Mr Stapleton, the naturalist, who lives on the moor, was of the same opinion. Then at the last moment came this terrible event. Barrymore immediately sent for me.
I was able to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour. I followed the footprints down the yew alley.
I saw the place at the moor gate where he had stood. I noticed the change in the shape of the footprints. I noticed that there were no other footsteps but Sir Charles's and Barrymore's.
I carefully examined the body which had not been touched until my arrival.
Sir Charles lay on his face, and when I turned him over I saw that there were no wounds on his body, but I could hardly recognize him, for his face had changed so much.
Barrymore had not seen any marks on the ground round the body, but I saw them at some distance, and they were fresh and clear."
"A man's or a woman's?"
Dr Mortimer looked strangely at us and then answered almost in a whisper:
"Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!".
It had just struck ten next morning when Dr Mortimer and Sir Henry Baskerville knocked at the door of the house in Baker Street.
The latter was a short dark-eyed man of about thirty with a sunburnt, energetic face. In his hand he was holding an envelope.
"This is Sir Henry Baskerville," said Dr Mortimer.
"Yes," he said, "and the strange thing is, Mr Holmes, that if my friend had not suggested coming round to see you this morning I should have come anyhow. I know that you solve little puzzles, and I've had one this morning that I cannot solve.
I have just received a strange letter and I want to show it to you."
He laid the envelope on the table. The address "Sir Henry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel" was written in capital letters.
"Who knew the address of your hotel?" asked Holmes quickly.
"No one could have known it, because I decided to go there only after I had met Dr Mortimer."
"Really? Somebody is very much interested in you," said Holmes. He opened the envelope and took a large sheet of paper. There was only one sentence formed of printed words stuck upon the paper. "If you value your life, keep away from the moor." Only the word "moor" was written in ink.
"Now," said Sir Henry Baskerville, "perhaps you will tell me, Mr Holmes, what all this means?"
"This interesting document was written and posted yesterday," said Holmes, looking at the stamp. "Have you yesterday's copy of The Times, Watson?"
"Here it is," said my friend, giving me the newspaper.
Holmes glanced swiftly over the leading article and soon found where the words of the strange letter had been taken from.
"Someone has cut out these words and stuck them on the paper," said Holmes. "The word 'moor' was written in ink, because it couldn't be found in the newspaper. It's less usual than the other words of this sentence. You can see that some words are stuck much higher than others. It shows that the writer of the letter was in a hurry, or perhaps he was afraid that somebody might see him. And now, Sir Henry, has anything else happened since your arrival in London?"
"No, Mr Holmes, I think not."
"Are you sure that nobody follows you or watches you?"
"Why do you ask me such strange questions, Mr Holmes? Do you know anything that I don't know?"
"You will hear everything before you leave this room, Sir Henry. I promise you that," said Holmes. "But first I want to know about the smallest incidents that have taken place since you came to London, anything unusual for everyday life."
"Well, I don't know much about British life yet. I have spent nearly all my time in America and Canada. But I hope that to lose one of your boots is not part of everyday life here in Britain," said Sir Henry with a smile.
"Have you lost one of your boots?"
"Yes. I only bought this pair of boots last night and I haven't even worn them."
"And you think that one of them was stolen?"
"This is very strange," said Sherlock Holmes, "But I hope that this missing boot will soon be found. And now, Dr Mortimer,
you must tell your story to Sir Henry as you told it to us."
Sir Henry Baskerville listened to Dr Mortimer's story with great attention and with exclamations of surprise.
"Of course I've heard of the hound," he said. "When I was quite a small child, my parents often spoke of this legend, but nobody thought of it seriously. However the death of my uncle and the letter which I received this morning are very strange."
"How do you think to act?" asked Holmes. "Will you go to Baskerville Hall?"
"The moor is a dangerous place," said Dr Mortimer.
"I have firmly decided to go to the home of my own family," answered Baskerville. "No devil in hell or man upon earth can prevent me from going there. But it's half past eleven, Mr Holmes, and I'm going back to my hotel. If you and your friend Dr Watson can come and have lunch with me at two o'clock we'll speak more about this matter."
"We'll certainly come," said Holmes shaking hands with his two visitors. As soon as they were in the street he jumped up and cried: "Your hat, Watson, quick! There's not a moment to lose. We must follow them."
We ran down the stairs and into the street. Dr Mortimer and Sir Henry were walking in the direction of Oxford Street about two hundred yards ahead of us.
"Shall I run and stop them?" I asked.
"Oh no, my dear Watson," answered Holmes, "this will spoil all my plans. They mustn't know that we are following them."
At the corner of Regent Street Dr Mortimer and his friend stopped before the window of a shop and at the same moment Holmes gave a little cry of satisfaction.
"Look, Watson,' he whispered, pointing to a cab that had also stopped on the other side of the street. There was a man in it with a thick black beard and a pair of piercing eyes. He was watching Sir Henry. Suddenly his eyes turned towards us. In a moment he had closed the window of the cab, and it moved forward quickly. Holmes looked round for another, but there was not a cab in sight. So the man with the black beard was soon far away.
Dr Mortimer and Sir Henry continued their way. They didn't know that a stranger had been following them.
"Who was that man?" I asked.
"I don't know, but I'm sure he knew that Sir Henry was at the Northumerland Hotel. This means that he has followed our young friend from the moment he came to London. So I decided to follow Sir Henry myself, hoping to catch the spy."
"But why did he take a cab?"
"Because he was prepared to follow our friends in case they took a cab."
"What a pity we don't know the number of the cab," I said.
"My dear Watson, it's 2704. Now come along. The spy has gone and will not return. Let us visit one of the picture galleries to fill in the time before lunch. It's 12 o'clock now and Sir Henry doesn't expect us till 2."
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