All language subtitles for 3MacGyver_S07E0e Hound of the Baskervilles - 2000.Sterno + Drill + Burner + Mason

[growling]

[loud growl]

[gasps]

[growling]

[slams gate]

[growling]

[groans]

[gasps]

[low growling]

Well, Watson, what do you make of it?

It was left at the door last night while we were out.

Uh.

"To Dr. James Mortimer MRCS

from his friends of the CCH. 1885."

Well, Dr. Mortimer is obviously

a successful, well-respected medical man.

Hm.

I note the ferrule is worn down

and the wood is scarred from rough use.

Not a stick when we carry in town, eh?

Ah!

So, hm,

a country doctor getting on in years

who needs a stout stick as he walks about the countryside.

The CCH. I take that to be his local hunt.

This was obviously an affectionate token of appreciation.

In short, a contented country gentleman of adequate means

and a sporting nature.

Oh.

Really, Watson, you excel yourself.

Oh, thank you, Holmes. You likely try to apply your methods, you know.

Not at much success yet, I'm afraid.

Uh. What do you mean, Holmes? Have I missed something significant?

Not something. Nearly everything.

Oh, dear.

Yes! It's a countryman's stick.

Yes. He walks a lot. That much is obvious to a child.

But,

is it not more likely that the presentation to a Doctor Mortimer,

member of the Royal College of Surgeons,

might come from a hospital ?

In fact, Charing Cross Hospital.

Right here in London.

Right.

As a result given on the occasion of his retirement,

it was to commemorate his leaving Charing Cross and moving to the countryside.

Thus, if he was a city doctor who moved to the country five years ago,

then he likely wasn't on the staff. As a staff physician

of an eminent London hospital isn't about to give all that up for a country practice.

And if he was at the Charing Cross but not on the staff,

then he must have been a promising house physician.

Thus , a man who gives up his excellent prospects

to move to the obscurity of a country practice.

Thus, a man of an inward turn of mind.

Thus, a sort of man who is compelled to follow his intellectual passions

very likely

[sighs]

scientific ones.

Really, Holmes,

I don't know what to say.

I never would've gained such insight from this stick.

No, no, no, no, no, no. Of course not.

But some people without possessing genius,

have the remarkable ability of stimulating it in others.

Yeah. Mm.

How very comforting.

That is the foundation of our successful collaboration

I'm very much in your debt.

Thank you, Holmes.

And our forgetful friend takes very little interest in his appearance.

Holmes, are you simply toying with me?

No, I'm looking out the window.

What?

Please your Dr. Mortimer in.

[knocking at the door]

Oh!

I had no idea where I left it.

I swear, Mr. Holmes, if my head weren't attached, I'm afraid I'd lose that, too.

How very inconvenient.

I can see that you're troubled, Dr. Mortimer.

How may I be of help to you?

Perhaps you saw the notice of the death

of Sir Charles Baskerville some six weeks past.

What?

Sir Charles dead?

I met him at Wimbledon two years ago.

Excellent fellow. What a pity.

I recall the obituary in the Times.

Uh, something about, um, congestive heart failure

while strolling in his garden, wasn't it?

Yes. That was the coroner's finding.

You're here because have reason to doubt the coroner's finding.

Before I answer that question, Mr. Holmes,

I must tell you an ancient tale

as told me by Sir Charles himself.

Well, if you must, you must.

The salient points, then sir, I can't abide the ancient tale.

Yes, of course.

It concerns the frightful death of Sir Hugo Baskerville,

the founder of the Baskerville line in 1642.

Sir Hugo was an evil man

who lusted after the daughter of one of his tenants.

But the girl, being of a pious nature,

despised the profane and godless man.

So, one drunken evening,

Sir Hugo and his hell-raiser companions

carried her off from her father's house.

It was Hugo's intention to use the girl shamefully.

To his end, he locked her in an upper chamber in his old hunting lodge.

[jumbled voices]

But later, when the wine flagons were empty

and sir Hugo went to satisfy his amorous desires,

he found the girl gone.

Out the window, down the bed sheets, I suppose.

Precisely. But then Sir Hugo flew into a murderous rage.

We was a man who could brook no opposition to his will.

After more than 300 years,

I doubt we can say with certainty what he could or could not brook.

Yes, quite certain. But of this there is no doubt.

On the spot he swore an oath

that he would offer up his soul to the devil

if the evil one could only deliver the girl into his hands.

Then, calling for his horse and hounds

he set off after her across the moor,

anxious to see the sport.

The friends set off in drunken pursuit.

Half way across the moor, they heard a terrifying scream.

[scream]

Not 50 yards distant they came across the body of Sir Hugo.

His throat in the jaws of an enormous and terrifying hound.

His eyes glowed

like the burning fires of hell.

[grunts]

Those last words I quote from memory, Mr. Homes.

They made a most vivid impression on my mind.

Very interesting, Dr. Mortimer,

if I were a collector of fairy tales.

You are wondering how this fairytale

is relevant to the death of my good friend.

I think you've made it abundantly clear how it's relevant.

You believe this ancient hell hound played a part in this, do you?

Both must think me a fool.

Not at all.

These family legends do sometimes point, what, at the most

curious direction.

[coughs]

Catching cold, Watson?

It's the poisonous atmosphere and the window open.

What?

Oh, you're referring to my pipe.

Oh, how very observant of you.

What say we spare, Watson, any further distress.

Get a stroll in the fresh air.

Oh, absolutely.

Tell me, Dr. Mortimer,

ancient legends aside,

why do you think the coroner was mistaken?

The body was found on the steps

at the old hunting lodge

by the butler, Barrymore,

who says he heard the baying of a hound.

A hound? And ordinary dog, perhaps?

Hardly. There's no mistaking it.

So, you heard it yourself then, did you?

You're right. I live too far away from Baskerville Hall.

But on other nights when the wind is off the moor

I have heard sounds that could chill your blood.

Really? And how often have you heard them?

Not often. Perhaps a dozen times in the last six months.

That is why Sir Charles was so obsessed with the curse.

These sounds, they shattered his nerves.

I tell you, Mr. Holmes, if the devil himself had a country on this earth,

it would surely be the moor.

Indeed?

These sounds, they were heard on the night of Sir Charles' death?

They brought Barrymore running to the garden

where he discovered poor Sir Charles.

I was summoned, and I noted the following.

Then he stood by the gate for at least ten minutes prior to the attack,

as though he were waiting to meet someone.

How do you know that?

He twice dropped the ash of his cigar.

Very astute of you. Dr. Mortimer is a man of our own caliber, Watson.

I would say.

Combing the moor for rare plants and roots

has trained me to see what is invisible to most.

Oh, yes, here we are.

This killer who escaped the asylum at Grimpen-on-moor,

that's not far from Baskerville Hall, is it?

No more than two miles.

The Times has been carrying daily items on the manhunt.

Seems they've called the army out.

They'd have caught him by now, eh?

Apparently he's quite deranged.

Isn't it possible this Seldon frightened Sir Charles to death?

It's certainly possible. But Sir Charles still had his wallet and pocket watch.

Why would Seldon attack the richest man in the district and take nothing?

I don't know. Yet--

If you'd been good enough to tell me what you're holding back,

perhaps I might be at less of a disadvantage.

Mr. Holmes! Can you read my mind?

Hardly. You wouldn't be here if you didn't know more than you've told me thus far.

What else did you see?

Sir Charles' weren't the only footprints in the grass.

They were others. But they were not human.

They were the footprints of an enormous hound

fully the size of my outstretched hand.

And you said nothing of this to anyone?

I saw no use in it.

For fear of ridicule.

Yes. I feared damage to my reputation.

And yet you believe this legendary curse killed Sir Charles Baskerville.

It hasn't been easy to come to you with such a tale, Mr. Homes.

But if you lived beside the moor as I do,

you would understand how such an idea can take root in a man's mind.

Oh, then why come to me?

You expect me to catch this four-legged demon and arrest it?

I'm afraid my power does not extend to the other world.

Mr. Holmes! The last living heir of the Baskerville estate

has been found in the Canadian provinces.

Young Henry Baskerville has come somewhat reluctantly

to help settle the estate.

I feel he needs protection.

Certainly more than I comply.

Fascinating. Does he know of this family curse?

No, I doubt he does. And I dread telling him.

By all means tell him. Tell him everything you've told me.

What a good dinner. Watson and I shall come and meet you tomorrow for lunch.

Then you mean you will help me in this matter?

Well, we can't go losing any more lords of the realm

to minions of the devil, can we? What would become of dear old England?

Thank you, Mr. Holmes. You have eased my mind enormously.

Until tomorrow then.

(coachman] Ya!

Really, Holmes, since when are we in the bodyguard business?

Only when it's to remain to the investigation of a possible murder, Watson.

Do you really think Sir Charles was murdered?

I think he died of coronary distress as the coroner found.

Then who was murdered?

What is more to the point is who may yet be murdered and what we can do to prevent it.

This business needs some thinking through.

I anticipate a three-pipe night, Watson.

One more of those I think would be the death of me.

I'll be at my club.

[classic music]

[music stops]

[Big Ben giving the time]

Hello. Sorry I'm late. I'm afraid I slept in.

[whispers] [inaudible]

That's a first.

Mr. Holmes, allow me to introduce Sir Henry Baskerville.

Call me Henry.

A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir Henry.

I'm sorry, but we English believe in deference where it is due.

I believe I would be struck down by lightning were I to call you Henry.

Once again, my humblest apologies for keeping you waiting.

You always sleep past noon?

Quite often, yes.

A detective's work is often best done at night.

As is a criminal.

Well, then I hope you didn't wake early on my account.

I've heard Dr. Mortimer's tale of a demon hound.

But, Mr. Holmes, I've been around dogs my whole life.

The dog hasn't been born yet that I can't handle.

I don't think I'll be needing your help.

I'm sorry to say you're very much mistaken, Sir Henry.

Sir Henry, Mr. Holmes is the foremost living detective in the world.

I feel privileged that he's going to help us with this affair.

Perhaps you can help me with this.

[sighs]

"If you value your life or your reason,

keep away from the moor."

Cowardly threats. It's like something out of a cheap novel.

Perhaps not a cowardly threat but a friendly warning,

and not a cheap novel but the London Times. Yesterday's to be precise.

Excuse me.

Pardon me.

Ah, yes. Here we are.

An excellent piece on free trade.

Allow me to quote.

"You must agree that such legislation

"must, in the long run, keep away well from the country.

"Diminish the value of your imports

and lower the general conditions of life in this island."

Keen insight. Wouldn't you agree?

Um--

Uh, no, gentlemen, I haven't lost my mind.

Uh, let me now quote from within that paragraph.

"You", "your", "life", "reason", uh, "value",

"keep away from", bah.

The words in the note. They were all cut from that paragraph.

Exactly.

How could you know that?

It couldn't be simpler. The Times leaders are distinctive.

They are printed in ten-point lettered bourgeois bold.

As the note was posted yesterday,

I was confident we'd find the source of the paste up in this issue.

And because the author couldn't find it,

the word "moor" is written in hand.

Precisely. That's why the handwriting.

The envelope is addressed in a rough scroll.

But the Times is the paper of the educated.

So, we have an educated man or woman

trying to appear uneducated to draw us off.

And that suggests the author is worried

his hand is known to one of you or will come to be known.

And note that the word "life" is out of line,

suggesting carelessness or rushed agitation.

I'm inclined to agitation.

As the matter is important to the writer

and unlikely to be carelessly done,

if you were in a hurry, it begs the question "why".

As any letter posted last night would surely reach Sir Henry before he left the hotel.

The author likely feared an interruption.

From who?

Is the question.

Well, Mr. Holmes,

seems like I have underestimated you.

And I fear I have overestimated your patience.

May I buy you lunch, Sir Henry, to atone for my tardiness?

Why not?

It's like I was telling Dr. Mortimer here,

all I wanna do is settle this business and get home.

Merry old England is turning out to be as bad as my father ever said it would be.

Would you believe some sneak stole one of my favorite boots?

I thought this was supposed to be a first class hotel.

One. Not both boots.

The right one.

Really? I presume you have the staff looking for your boot.

Certainly. I told them to tear this apart until they find it.

You might as well call off the search. I don't have much hope it'll turn up.

How do you know that, Mr. Holmes?

Or is that just a guess?

I never guess, Sir Henry. It's destructive to the logical faculty.

This endive salad is absolutely delicious.

Would you mind if I finish it off?

[Watson coughing]

So, tell me, Dr. Mortimer, who knew you were in London to meet Sir Henry?

My wife. Barrymore, Sir Charles' butler.

Barrymore.

Yes. I had to make arrangements with him to receive Sir Henry.

You think Barrymore is behind all this nonsense?

Well, someone has been following you.

Someone has deprived Sir Henry of his cherished boot.

Although a supernatural hound might have accomplished that.

I very much doubt it pasted up the Times with a nail scissors.

Why would someone be following Mortimer?

I don't know.

But I spotted his cab on Baker Street yesterday.

I caught a glimpse of a beard.

I don't suppose Barrymore has a beard by any chance?

Why, yes, he has.

If this is someone's idea of a joke, I don't think it's very funny.

It's no joke, Sir Henry.

It's a most serious and deadly business.

Are you resolved to go to Baskerville Hall?

I've come this far. I'm not turning back now.

We're catching the train first thing in the morning.

Then Watson will accompany you.

It may be entirely unnecessary,

but better safe than sorry.

Me, Holmes?

Yes, you, Watson. I have business to attend to here.

You'll be in good hands, Sir Henry. I can vote for that.

If you think it's necessary.

I must ask one thing of you, Sir Henry.

You must pardon my presumption, but I insist on it.

You must not wander on the moor alone. Not in the day,

and absolutely not at night.

If you must go, old Watson is to be with you.

Don't tell me you take this diabolical legend seriously, Holmes.

Devil's agents may be of flesh and blood.

Maybe not.

Take care, Sir Henry.

Please, remember to bring your revolver.

It's the first thing I intend to pack.

You are to be at Sir Henry's side at all times.

You can rely on me.

I should expect daily reports of the cause.

Of course!

Avoid the moor in those hours of darkness

when the powers of evil are exalted.

It shall be a pleasure running you to the ground, sir.

You and your spectral hound.

This Seldon is certainly giving the authorities a run for their money.

It seems he has the cunning of an animal.

Perkins, have you heard any more reports on this fellow?

Old Mrs. Jenkins thought she heard him screaming again last night.

Folks have their doors and windows locked. That's for sure, sir.

If this is what passes for dangerous country in England,

I'll take your hound over a real-life grizzly bear any day of the week.

[howling]

[howling]

[thunder]

[clap of thunder]

[clap of thunder]

Just in time.

So, this is it.

Yes. Baskerville Hall, Sir Henry. Your ancient family seat.

It had my father in knots his whole life.

Welcome, Sir Henry.

I'm glad the rain held off until your arrival.

I am Barrymore.

This is Mrs. Barrymore. She's the cook and head of household staff.

Welcome, Sir Henry.

It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Barrymore.

Simply Barrymore, Sir Henry.

Sir Henry? No, I don't think I could stand hearing that every day.

Could you call me Mr. Baskerville at least?

It wouldn't be customary, sir.

Right. Well, uh, I suppose you know Dr. Mortimer.

Indeed.

This is Dr. Watson, a friend of mine who'll be staying with us.

I'll prepare a room for you, sir.

Yours is ready for you, of course, Sir Henry.

Will you be staying over, Dr. Mortimer?

I think not. I'm rather looking forward to my own bed.

Gentlemen, will you excuse me? I wish you good night and I'll surely see you again.

Look forward to it.

I could use a drink. How about you, Watson?

A drop of sherry would not amiss, Sir Henry.

This way, sir.

Home sweet home.

Quite.

Will a port be fine, gentlemen?

Sure.

By all means.

I suppose all the people in these portraits are Baskervilles.

Yes, sir. All the way back to Sir Hugo, the first of the line.

[clap of thunder]

Ah! So here's the culprit.

It's kind of dark in here, isn't it, Barrymore?

One might say so, sir.

I don't suppose we have electricity.

No, sir.

I saw a line by the road on the way in.

That leads to Grimpen, Sir Henry.

It wouldn't be that hard to run a branch line out here, would it?

Sir Charles wouldn't hear of it.

He felt we should wait a generation or two to see if it catches on.

I see. We wouldn't wanna rush into anything, would he?

No, sir.

There is one thing if I may, sir.

Sure.

I must regretfully inform you that my wife and I

intend to give our notice as soon as we have found suitable replacements.

Your notice? I thought the Barrymores were tradition here themselves.

Indeed, sir.

My family has been in service to yours for over 100 years.

But Sir Charles was kind enough to leave my wife and me

500 pounds each.

Handsome, son.

Indeed, sir.

So, we have resolved to leave the profession of service

and then to trade, Sir Henry.

We intend to open a bicycle shop well away from the moors.

Well, if that's your decision, I wish you the best of luck, Barrymore.

Thank you, sir.

If you and Dr. Watson need anything else.

There is one thing.

Have you been to London recently, Barrymore?

No, sir.

I was attending to my duties here

as I was obliged to.

Very good.

(Watson) One feels the presence of the moor

even in the house

as if it were watching through the windows.

Ah!

It's not difficult to understand

how such legends as this demonic beast have taken root here.

[woman's cry]

Uh, I hope you slept well, Sir Henry.

Like a bear. And you?

A bit restless.

Didn't you hear anything in the night?

No, what?

I did. A most peculiar sound.

Rather like someone sobbing.

Did you notice Mrs. Barrymore's face?

Yeah. If it was her, I doubt she was crying at the thought of leaving this place.

We should, uh, go to town later. Maybe take a walk.

Come on, Watson,

Mr. Holmes didn't mean for me to be a prisoner in my own house.

No, of course not.

[bleating]

(Henry) Good morning.

Good morning, Sir Henry.

News travels fast.

Dr. Mortimer stopped by the Hound's Tooth last night.

Gave us the good news, sir.

The new lord of the manor had arrived safely from the colonies.

God bless you and keep you, Lord Baskerville.

We was afraid the line might come to its end.

And if it had?

Well, what'd become of us all, Sir Henry?

Wouldn't life just go on the same for these people?

Oh, no. There's not much profit in sheep herding.

The owners would likely evict them

and bring in modern mechanized farming I suppose.

So, if I sell the place,

the buyers can just force people out of their homes and farms?

They're all tenants of the Baskerville estate.

You'd be selling their homes and farms from under them.

You mean I own all this?

The entire town of Grimpen and everything in it.

It's all the Baskerville [inaudible] Sir, Henry.

So, the next thing you're gonna tell me is I own all the people, too.

Oh, no, of course not, Sir Henry. Not any more.

Watson, you didn't tell me that I owned Stonehenge.

This isn't Stonehenge, Henry.

There are many prehistoric mysterious stones circles on the moor.

More mysteries.

The mystery is who built them and why.

Maybe he can tell us.

I doubt it.

Good morning.

I don't own him.

I don't mean to pry, uh, Henry,

but, uh, what was it that turned your father's heart so bitterly against his family?

Sir Charles was your father's brother, was he not?

A half brother. As soon as his first wife died,

my grandfather married a much younger woman

and had two more sons by her. Rodger and Charles.

It's the old story. The wicked stepmother is successful

in making her sons the sole heirs, while my father, the true heir,

is left with nothing.

That's terrible.

I suppose that gives me motive for murder, eh, Watson?

I wonder if Mr. Holmes has me on his list of suspects as well.

(man) Sir Henry. Sir Henry.

Take the path to your right. To your right.

Please, excuse me, Sir Henry, but it is extremely dangerous

to wander off the path in the wet season.

Jack Stapleton.

I live with my sister at Merripit House just up the way.

When I saw you two, gentlemen, I knew it must be you

and Dr. Watson.

May I offer my condolences, sir.

Sir Charles was a dear, dear friend. A wonderful man.

Thank you. That's very kind of you.

And, uh, how is it that you knew us, Mr. Stapleton?

Oh, I've read your thrilling accounts in the Strand , Dr. Watson.

Mind your step.

And Dr. Mortimer gave us the good news of your safe arrival this morning

when he stopped by to ask me to look for some rather rare herbs

he requires for his homeopathic remedies.

It doesn't seem like you consider the moor to be a dangerous place, Mr. Stapleton.

I'm a naturalist by a vocation.

Yes, I wander this ancient place for hours every day.

I know exactly where a man can set foot safely and, uh, where he can't.

I dare say I'm the only man in the district

that can make his way through the Grimpen Mire this time of the year.

The Grimpen Mire?

Yes. Oh, well--

You see, whenever there's a lighter green patch

scattered throughout the generally dark brown cover,

gentlemen, those are the deadly sucking bog-holes of the Grimpen Mire.

Good God.

You can only see the color difference from a distance.

They seem to be like solid ground but,

they will swallow a man whole in the blink of an eye.

Deadly sucking bogs. Demon hounds.

This is quite a place.

Ever ran into a certain hound from hell when you are out here, Mr. Stapleton?

I see you have the appropriate contempt for such an absurd legend, Sir Henry.

I must say I'm immensely relieved to know it.

What, you don't believe in a devil dog?

That old legend was over forgotten.

That isn't 'till your uncle's tragic misfortune.

Now it's all anyone ever talks about.

You know how the country folk are, Sir Henry.

The world is filled with superstition.

Some of the locals claim they've even seen the hound of the Baskervilles.

They do?

Oh, yes. Each one describing it differently.

But I must say I am surprised the famous Mr. Holmes

would take an interest in such a tragic misfortune.

I thought he only took up cases involving murder.

Mr. Holes takes on cases that interest him, whatever their nature.

Oh. Well. In that case I do hope you and Mr. Holmes

will put an end to this absurd legend once and for all.

Oh, look at that. Agaricus.

Sir Henry, do you have an interest in wild mushrooms?

Um, well--

Marvelous. Come with me.

[low conversation]

Sir Henry, go back. Go straight back to London instantly.

I beg your pardon?

I can't explain, but do what I ask you.

Go back and never set foot in the moor again.

(Stapleton) Beryl!

Jack.

Did you get your mushrooms?

Oh, yes indeed. What's brought you out?

I was just picking some flowers for the dinner table.

Oh, how very nice. Allow me to introduce

Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Watson.

Gentlemen, may I present my sister, Beryl Stapleton.

How do you do?

How do you do?

Miss Stapleton.

Welcome to the moor, Sir Henry.

I'm sure you find it fascinating.

Will you stop and take tea with us before continuing on your way?

We'd be delighted, wouldn't we, Watson?

Yes, yes. Yes, of course.

Come along then.

[growls]

It was a tragedy that brought us here nearly two years ago now.

A terrible loss.

But the peace and solitude of the moor have restored us both.

And for a naturalist it is a most exciting habitat.

Not a personal loss I hope, Miss Stapleton.

Not one, but two.

Jack. We mustn't trouble our guests.

That's all right.

Beryl and I had a small public school in the north country.

We built an excellent reputation.

But then an epidemic of diphtheria swept the school,

and, uh, two of our boys died.

We blamed ourselves and could not go on. Our grief was overwhelming.

You can't go on blaming yourselves.

Well, they say time heals all wounds.

One can only hope.

Well, um, we should be on our way, Henry,

before it gets dark.

I suppose.

It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Miss Stapleton.

Likewise, Sir Henry.

It must get awful lonely for you here sometimes.

Oh, I'm quite happy here.

I have my music.

I can play with wild abandon whenever the passion moves me,

and no one is disturbed.

Except for her long suffering brother.

Well, I hope to see you play like that some day.

Good evening.

Good evening.

Good evening.

Henry, there's something I must tell you about Miss Stapleton.

She said something rather peculiar to me earlier.

Really? What do you think she meant?

I believe she meant what she said.

She feels that you are in danger here.

The only danger I see is falling under her spell.

You must admit, Watson, she is a very attractive woman.

Oh, yes, I agree, Henry,

but a bit strange, don't you think?

What do you mean? Supernatural?

No, quite serious, Henry.

Didn't you notice how uneasy she was?

Considering everything that she and her brother have been through, I'm not surprised.

What on earth was that?

[howling]

Sounded like an animal caught on a trap.

Or one fighting for his life, perhaps.

Oh, my God, look at that.

Looks, looks life a wolf.

I think we ought to go back to the manor, Henry.

I'm with you.

(Watson) We've added several characters to our drama, Holmes.

I should try and convey my observations accurately

without polluting them as you so charmingly refer to it

with my own opinions.

First--

[cracking of wood]

[distant howling]

[growls]

A dog. You are certain?

I know a dog when I see one.

Well, as Holmes would say,

there is nothing more deceptive than the obvious.

Oh, come on, Watson. Don't tell me you believe in this supernatural bunk.

It's just--

Barrymore. There was a vicious dog outside my widow last night.

Any idea who it belongs to?

I can't imagine, Sir Henry.

None of the servants have one. But perhaps a wild dog of the moor.

Exactly.

What do you think of this legend?

Is my family haunted by a demon hound?

I think not, sir.

If you ask me, it was Sir Hugo's drunken friends who killed him

and made up the story of the dog.

A perfect alibi for the times.

Yet Sir Charles was not so sure. Isn't that so, Barrymore?

Indeed, it is, sir.

And if I may be so bold, that was his weakness.

Don't make the same mistake, Sir Henry.

I don't intend to. Thank you, Barrymore.

One last thing, Sir Henry.

Your new wardrobe has arrived from London.

Good.

And the old clothes you set aside, may I give them to charity, sir?

Sure.

Thank you, sir.

See, Watson, Barrymore's family has lived here for over 100 years,

and he doesn't believe in this nonsense.

Henry, there's something I must tell you about Barrymore.

Begging your pardon, Sir Henry.

The Stapleton's man has come by with an invitation

for dinner this evening.

Great. We'd love to go.

I don't think we should go out in the moor at night, Henry.

Come on, Watson.

Tell them we'll be there.

Very good, Sir Henry.

Henry, there is something I must talk to you about--

In private.

What do you suppose he was doing at the window?

I don't know, yet. But we mustn't stay late at the Stapletons

in case he does it again.

We'll be back in time.

[laughter]

(Jack) Surely, sir, you exaggerate.

I've seen, I tell you, a big bright brute of a hound

baying wild at the moon.

Really, Mr. Frankland? Sir Henry is a modern man.

Oh, scoff at me if you will, but it's more than just legend.

I advise you to be careful, Sir Henry.

Thanks for the advice, Mr. Frankland,

but I don't believe I'll be walking alone on the moor at night.

No.

That would be wise. But if it's a nighttime pastime you want,

may I suggest you take up astronomy?

Finest star gazing in the northern hemisphere right here on the moor.

I'm at my telescope half the night.

And half the day. Poor Frankland. Come on, admit it!

[laughter]

Mr. Frankland finds his telescope equally useful for star gazing

and for monitoring the comings and goings of the community.

You may mock me, but if you come outside,

you'll see the night unlike you've ever seen it before.

Well, I for one would love to take some air after such a wonderful meal.

Right.

Wonderful. Sir Henry?

Miss Stapleton?

[mixed conversations]

Why haven't you taken my warning, Sir Henry?

I hope that's not why you invited me over, Miss Stapleton.

Insist on my leaving.

The danger is real. You must believe me!

Are you coming, Sir Henry? It is rather an extraordinary sight.

I'm sorry. I'm feeling a bit faint.

Please, go ahead without me.

Beryl, you're not joining us?

Is she all right?

Beryl is not yet fully recovered.

She still has terrible dreams.

I'm really quite concerned for her.

Will you excuse me?

What are you doing, Barrymore?

Uh. [clears throat]

The window, sir. I go around at night to see it is fastened.

On the second floor?

Yes, sir.

That's a lie.

I can't tell you the truth, sir.

Why not?

Because it's not mine to tell.

Then whose is it?

If you refuse to explain your actions, you leave me no choice.

I'll be forced to contact the Police.

It's my doing. All mine.

John has done nothing except for my sake.

Then you explain it.

My brother is desperate.

He is starving on the moor.

We can't just let him perish like an animal.

The light is a signal that food is ready for him.

His answering light tells John where to bring it.

Seldon, the convicted murderer, is your brother.

Not a murderer. No.

A poor mad man who was blamed for the deed.

And cheerfully signed a confession without knowing what it even meant.

He is innocent.

Innocent of any crime.

How long did you expect to get away with this?

That is our terrible secret, sir.

(Watson) What?

I take some bread and meat out to the poor wretch whenever I can.

I have made arrangements to have him smuggled aboard a ship bound for Australia.

And you expect us to believe that he's innocent of his crimes?

As God is my witness, Sir Henry,

he hasn't the brains of a new born calf.

He's never harmed a living thing.

You may go.

Thank you, sir.

Come along, my dear.

Please, Sir Henry,

don't betray him.

It will be straight to the gallows for him.

It's not a question of betrayal, Henry.

If we are to help this man, we have to bring him in.

Mind your step, Henry.

Over there.

Yes.

Get down.

Yes, it's him.

[whispers] Come on.

Seldon.

We mean you no harm.

We're here to help you.

We mean you no harm.

[howling]

Seldon, we won't hurt you.

Seldon!

[howling]

Seldon!

Seldon, come back.

Seldon!

Damn!

Let's go.

[howling]

What is that?

I wish I knew.

I'm starting to believe there's some truth to these stories.

I refuse to believe it.

I did it, too, but it's a little more persuasive out here on the moor.

Let's get out of here.

Wait.

Look!

Who is that?

I don't know.

We had to try to bring him in, Barrymore.

If what you said is true, if he was wrongly convicted,

I'll personally see to it that he gets justice.

That's a promise.

We are most grateful for your understanding, Sir Henry.

Sir?

I beg you again.

Let him slip away to Australia.

I fear that only the gallows awaits him if he's caught, not justice.

I beg you.

How long until your arrangements take place?

Another day or two. No more.

I will take personal responsibility for his conduct until he's gone.

All right then. We, we'll wait that long.

We will never forget this, Sir Henry.

[clears throat]

There is something, sir.

Yes, what is it, Barrymore?

A day before you came, I checked Sir Charles' study

to see that all was in order.

I noticed that there were still ashes in the hearth

from the fire on the night of his death.

I went to sweep them out.

There was a charred bit of a letter, sir,

that could still be read even though it was burned.

I mention this because it fell to dust when I tried to pick it up.

You were able to read it?

I was, sir.

It said, "Please, please, as you are a gentleman,

burn this letter and be at the gate by 10:00."

Those were the exact words.

Beneath them were the initials L.L.

All in a woman's hand.

Are you willing to swear to this, Barrymore?

On my life, sir.

Any idea who this L.L. might be?

No, sir.

But I do remember that a letter had arrived that morning.

It had no return address. It was postmarked Grimpen-on-moor.

Why didn't you tell us about this immediately?

As I told you before, Sir Henry,

Mrs. Barrymore and I were quite attached to Sir Charles.

I felt it had no bearing on--

on the later event.

And would only serve to besmirch his reputation needlessly.

Thank you, Barrymore.

L.L. Hm.

(Watson) Sir Henry believes the man implicitly.

But I find myself still skeptical.

Was there really such a letter?

Or is it a misdirection on Barrymore's part?

Further complicating matter, Sir Henry seems to have completely lost his head

over the Stapleton woman.

I was hoping I wouldn't end by saying this, but I must.

I wish you were here, Holmes.

Henry. I'm just on my way to post a letter to Holmes.

Do you care to join me? It will be good to get some fresh air!

I'd like to, but I really need to go over these old accounts.

Very well. I shan't be long.

Dr. Watson! Dr. Watson!

Walking to town?

I was just on my way to post a letter.

Well, if you wouldn't mind a slight detour, I can take you there and back.

I wouldn't want to inconvenience you.

Nonsense. Nonsense! It'll be my pleasure.

Oh, thank you so much.

Up and up. Right. Go ahead.

Ho. Ho, ho, ho.

Here we are. Do come in. Won't take a moment.

All right.

Please, come in.

Another article already, Dr. Mortimer?

I hope you're not too busy, Mrs. Lyons.

Publishing deadlines wait for no man.

Oh, may I introduce my friend. Dr. Watson. Mrs. Laura Lyons.

Oh. How do you do?

Pleased to meet you, Dr. Watson.

Oh. I'm afraid they're--

I'm afraid they're not numbered.

Not to worry. I'm sure I can puzzle them out, Dr. Mortimer. Don't I always?

Indeed, you do. What would I do without you, Mrs. Lyons?

Oh. Would you be able to put them into the post tomorrow?

Addressed to the Journal of Homeopathy.

Yes. Rest assured it will be done.

[whispers] Put ourselves out.

Very good. Good day to you both. Good day.

I think I will walk from here, Dr. Mortimer.

Are you sure? Weather is quite changeable.

Should it rain, I think I will find it invigorating.

Well then. Good day to you, Sr. Watson.

Good day, Dr. Mortimer.

I can't imagine what private business you wish to discuss, Dr. Watson.

Did Dr. Mortimer not make it clear to you? I'm a professional typist.

It concerns the late Sir Charles Baskerville.

What could I tell you about him?

Did you correspond with him?

What is the object of your question, sir?

The object is to avoid a public scandal. It's better that I ask them here

than that the matter should pass out of our control.

If you are innocent of any crimes,

you have nothing to fear from me.

I will not expose the nature of your relationship with Sir Charles.

What do you know of it?

Only that he was your benefactor.

Please, answer the question.

I have never corresponded with Sir Charles.

Well, surely your memory deceives you.

I can even quote a passage from your letter.

"Please, please, as you are a gentlemen,

burn this letter and meet me at the gate by 10:00."

Is there no such thing as a gentleman?

You do the man an injustice.

He did burn the letter.

But even a bit of a letter

will still be legible after it's been burned.

So, you admit

that you wrote and asked for a meeting with him

which led to his death.

I'm terribly sorry.

Yes, I wrote that letter.

Ah.

My father is Donald Frankland.

I, I fail to see the connection.

It's a simple one.

My father and I were never on very good terms.

Who could be with that man.

I made a hasty marriage just to escape him.

My husband turned out to be a drunkard. He soon abandoned me.

And my father wouldn't help me for marrying against his wishes.

Sir Charles was kind enough

to set me up in business as a typist.

But, um, as to the letter, madam.

My husband demands a substantial sum of money to grant me a divorce.

And though I had some months ago

severed my former relationship with Sir Charles,

I had no one else to turn to for help.

But why that night and why at that hour?

I knew he was leaving to London the next day and I was desperate.

It was my last chance.

And so you wrote and asked him to meet you at the gate.

Yes, but I never went.

Something intervened.

What?

Well, I can't say it. It, it's a private matter.

This becomes a Police matter, Mrs. Lyons.

I had no need to go.

I received help in the interval from another source.

But why didn't you write to Sir Charles and tell him so?

I have something to show you.

You may open it.

I wrote to him in the morning

explaining everything I have just explained to you.

When I took it to the post,

I heard the news Sir Charles was dead.

(Watson) I'm not entirely convinced I have the truth from her.

She claims to have received the money she needed at the very last moment

from someone she won't identify.

Good day, Mr. Frankland.

Hey, good day to you, sir.

Come to upbraid me, have you?

No. I have not come to upbraid you.

I'm hoping you can shed some light on a certain circumstance

regarding Sir Charles' death.

Me?

I suspect you hope in vain, sir.

Well, I must tell you I have just accompanied Dr. Mortimer

to deliver a paper at the home of his typist.

I warn you, sir, not to poke your nose into business that does not concern you.

I know my rights. I'll not be trifled with.

Odd you should speak of trifling and sticking in one's nose

when you spend most of your waking hours spying on your neighbors.

I'm absolutely within my rights looking through my telescope

at anything I care to look at.

I wonder what sort of a man would turn his back on his own daughter.

You abuse my patience, sir. Good day to you.

Did you help her, Mr. Frankland, in secret

with a substantial amount of cash on the very day of Sir Charles' death?

Are you mad? Give her money for defying me?

She can rot in hell before she'll get a penny out of me.

Did she send you here to beg for her?

She did not! Good day to you, sir.

You dared to judge me.

You say I spy upon my neighbors.

Well, let me tell you, sir,

as you saunter about the moor as if it were your own back garden,

that it's every bit as dangerous by day as is by night.

Are you threatening me, Frankland?

Ah, don't be a greater fool than you can help.

It's Seldon I'm talking about.

Oh, he could make sharp work of you

as you stroll blissfully ignorant of his presence.

Aye! Right on time.

What is right on time?

He has his food brought to him on the moor.

What are you talking about, Frankland?

You'd think that fool would know better to have his errands delivered at night

not even a telescope could see. But no.

He has his young accomplice come here every day at this time.

And he makes his way here now as we speak.

May I have a look?

What?

Spy upon your neighbors?

Very amusing.

[male voice] Dr. Watson has gone to Grimpen.

[howling]

[barking and growling]

Oh, my God. Henry!

Stay away. No, no! No!

[yells]

Sir Henry.

Sir Henry. Oh, dear God.

Dr. Watson. Was that you shouting?

Is someone hurt?

Yes. It's Sir Henry.

It's all my fault.

This is not Sir Henry.

What?

Who is this man?

Seldon.

Of course.

He got the clothes from Barrymore.

Poor fellow.

But what are you doing out in the moor, Mr. Stapleton?

I heard those awful screams.

I was concerned for Sir Henry.

And why were you concerned for him, sir?

Because I had suggested that he come over.

When he did not come, I was surprised.

And I naturally became along for his safety when I heard those terrible cries.

Who could've done this?

It was the hound of the Baskervilles, Mr. Stapleton.

With all due respect, Dr. Watson,

the demon hound is a mass delusion.

I saw it, sir.

And I cannot doubt the evidence of my own eyes.

I saw it.

Oh!

I'm, I'm terrible sorry, Mrs. Barrymore, but, um,

it seems that, uh, in attempting to flee

he stumbled and cracked his skull.

After all these weeks on the moor,

on the night he was to taste freedom at last.

He must've been distracted.

Excited like a child.

Like a child!

Rest assured, if he's innocent,

I will see to it that his name is cleared.

Bless you, Sir Henry.

Come along, my dear.

Bless you.

Are you sure it wasn't a rabid dog?

You wouldn't doubt me if you'd seen it, Henry.

Was it frothing at the mouth?

I, I can't be certain.

I'm sure of it.

I hope you're right. With all my heart, I hope you're right, Sir Henry.

It has to be.

[whispers] It has to be.

(Watson) I don't know how to say this to you, Holmes.

But as your faithful highest in years, I must.

The demon hound exists, Holmes. I have--

[knocking at the door]

Come in.

What is it, Barrymore?

Telegram from London, Dr. Watson.

Uh.

Marked urgent. I thought you would want it at once.

Yes.

Thank you, Barrymore.

"Dr. Watson.

"The end game is upon us.

"Sir Henry must terminate his business immediately and return to London.

"Do not delay. I wait you both tomorrow evening.

Holmes."

Well.

What does he mean "the end game is upon us"?

I've no idea.

I can't just leave. I haven't finished half of my business here, yet.

We must catch that train first thing in the morning.

This is very inconvenient, Watson.

I won't even have a chance to say goodbye to Miss Stapleton.

Mr. Holmes better have a good reason for it.

Holmes always has good reasons, Henry.

Well, Holmes, you've certainly unarmed Sir Henry

with your urgent telegram.

Needless to say he's anxious to know what's behind all of this.

And so am I.

Oh! Good evening, Dr. Watson.

I got those writing materials for you.

Oh, thank you, Perkins.

I also saw Miss Stapleton in town, sir.

She gave a letter to give Sir Henry. Would you give it to him?

Yes, yes, of course.

Thank you, sir.

Well, nothing else than news certainly travels fast in this country.

Why, what is it?

"Sir Henry, it is imperative that I speak with you this evening

"on a most urgent matter.

"Meet me behind the stables at Merripit House after sunset

"that we may speak in private. I beg you you do not fail me.

Beryl Stapleton."

This, um, this may seem unchivalrous, Henry, but I must insist.

You do not keep this appointment.

Don't even try it. I'm going.

No, Henry, please. Listen.

This could be very, very dangerous. Please, reconsider.

The woman is begging. What kind of man would I be

to not respond at a fear of some mad dog?

I'm going with you.

She said alone.

You will have your privacy. I'll remain close enough to protect you if need be.

Fine. But stay out of sight.

Of course.

This will be far enough, Watson.

If you don't mind.

Sir Henry.

Beryl. Are you all right?

Oh, yes. I was just so afraid that you would not come.

It never entered my mind. What's so important that we meet at this hour?

It concerns the legend. And the very real possibility that--

Beryl? Sir Henry? What is the meaning of this?

Good evening, Jack. Your sister and I were just talking.

Talking? Behind the stables at the dark?

About what may I ask?

It's personal, Jack.

May I remind you, sir,

that in this country a gentleman does not go sneaking around after dark

making secret rendezvous with another gentleman's sister.

It is simply not done, sir!

Well, I don't want to offend you, Jack, but--

Offend me? You already have.

What further insult could you possibly have in mind?

Fine. If that's the way you want it.

I asked Beryl to meet me here because I'm leaving tomorrow and I was worried about her.

Even you yourself said that she still has not yet fully recovered.

Indeed, she hasn't, sir.

But that is a personal family matter,

and I will thank you not to interfere.

You are not lord and master here.

So kindly get off my property.

Fine.

Good evening, Mr. Stapleton.

Miss Stapleton.

Well done, my dear.

You played your part perfectly.

[growls]

[gasps]

Jack. Please!

Watson!

[grunts]

[groans]

Sir Henry! The hound!

The hound!

[growling]

[growls]

[whimpers]

[groans]

Henry. Henry.

Can you sit up?

Let me see. Are you all right?

I think so.

Sir Henry.

Thank God you're all right.

Who fired the shot?

It wasn't you?

No.

Sorry about this late [inaudible] Sir Henry.

My pistol got tangled in this cumbersome disguise.

Holmes?

Explanations later, Watson. We have unfinished business.

It was the hound, Holmes. The hound.

Not the hound, but a hound.

Bred and blinded by Stapleton, so that scent would be its only guide.

Stapleton is behind this?

Indeed. When he heard your gunshot, he headed straight for the moor.

You must hurry. He knows the moor better than any man alive.

Your husband won't escape us, madam.

Watson, leave them your revolver. Mine will be sufficient to the task.

Right.

Husband?

Please, Henry, let me try to explain.

You set me out like a tethered goat!

Interesting analogy, Watson.

How could you treat me this way? Shows a distinct lack of trust!

I trust you implicitly, my friend.

The same lad who brought me my dinners every day, brought your reports.

Why did you keep me in the dark?

I needed you to hold the attention of the various parties,

leaving me free to investigate this case incognito.

In short, a tethered goat.

[howling]

[growling]

[growls]

Find him.

[growls]

Find him! Go!

[barks]

There. Find him.

[growls]

No.

Oh, oh, God! No!

[shouts]

Oh, God.

It's all right, Watson.

Holmes, look.

Well, well, well.

Sir Henry's boot has turned up after all.

Oh, I certainly hope he's kept the other one.

Ah. He stole the boot to scent the hound.

Exactly.

And I smelled murder from that moment on.

Stapleton was careless enough to give you the details

of that tragic experience.

Two students did indeed die at their school

of botulism.

The headmaster and his wife disappeared.

Jack insisted I'd buy meat from the cheapest source he could find.

And I was too meek to contradict him.

Two boys died eating it.

And every day since I've wept for those boys

and chastised myself for my weakness.

Indeed. And your husband took full advantage of your despair.

Did he not coerce you into being his unwilling accomplice?

He did, sir.

But why was he passing you as his sister?

I was so much more useful to him in that role.

Masquerading as a single man,

Stapleton had no difficulty in duping the desperate Ms. Lyons.

Her letter lured Sir Charles to the garden gate just as he planned.

Mr. Holmes, your own plan didn't exactly go off with that hitch.

What on earth were you thinking, Holmes?

You didn't intend for the dog to attack Sir Henry, did you?

Of course not, Watson.

If not for the impediment of my disguise,

I would've have my shot at the dog while it was still six paces off.

A whole six paces.

I assure you, Sir Henry, you were in no real danger.

I am a correct shot.

This is worse than arrogance, Holmes. This is hubris.

It is one thing to make a tethered goat out of me,

but how could you play such a game with Sir Henry's life?

Because I had to! We had no evidence of murder.

My trap would either deliver Stapleton into our hands or eliminate him from suspicion.

Yes, but what exactly was your trap?

I knew Stapleton would be forced into an unplanned hasty move

if he knew you were leaving for London the next day.

I simply had to find the means to inform him.

And how on earth did you accomplish that?

Mrs. Stapleton was kind enough to give an old shepherd

crust at her kitchen door.

In return, he offered to deliver her from her desperate predicament.

I'm eternally grateful that you trusted me, sir.

I knew you wouldn't ally in this business.

Did you not write that note of warning in London?

Mr. Holmes, she warned me repeatedly.

I shall see to it that the authorities take all these facts into consideration.

Well,

you never fail to surprise me, Holmes.

But why in God's name Stapleton'd bear such hatred against the Baskervilles?

His motive was as much a mystery to me

until I had a look at the rascal who started all this trouble.

Sir Hugo?

Stapleton?

Exactly.

One could say the legend that began with the former,

has ended with the latter.

Jack Stapleton is in fact Jack Baskerville,

the last blood heir in the event of your death.

Jack brought the ancient curse and demon hound back to life.

Only to be carried down to hell in its jaws.

How dramatic, Holmes.

Of course there is no such place.

He simply got what he deserved.

Well, long life to you, Sir Henry.

Mr Holmes.

Madam, if you will.

There's nothing to fear.

I'm not afraid any more.

Come along then, Watson. We have new business to attend to.

Watson.