All language subtitles for The.Hound.Of.The.Baskervilles.1983.720p.BluRay.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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(MELANCHOLY MUSIC)

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(MUSIC FADES)

(THUNDER RUMBLES)

(HOWLING)

It's only the wind.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

(HOWLING GETS LOUDER)

(THUNDER RUMBLES)

(HOWLING)

(GROWLING)

(GLASS SMASHES)

(GROWLING)

(MUSIC BUILDS)

- (GROWLS)
- Agh!

(GROWLING)

Agh! Agh!

(HE SCREAMS)

- (GROWLING)
- (HE SCREAMS)

(MUSIC STOPS ABRUPTLY)

Sir Charles!

(THUNDER BOOMS)

(BARREL ORGAN PLAYS)

(SOLO VIOLIN PLAYS)

That's a pleasant little tune.

Don't believe I've heard it before.

A little concoction of my own.

Well, Watson, what do you make of it?

Got eyes in the back of your head?

What of our visitor's stick?

Though we unfortunately missed him
last night, he's left us a clue.

Reconstruct him by an examination
of it.

Me? Oh, well...

I would say that he is a country doctor

who does a great deal of his visiting
on foot.

Good, excellent! Why so?

Well, because no respectable town
physician would be seen

carrying such a battered stick.

And the visiting on foot?

Ah, well, you see.

This thick iron ferule here is
worn down.

Perfectly sound. Anything else?

Well, I would suggest that
the inscription

"from the friends of CCH"
stands for something "Hunt".

Which leads me to think that
Dr Mortimer is an athletic man.

You know, sort of sporting type.

Really, Watson, you excel yourself.

Oh, thank you.

Anything escape me?

Almost everything, I'm afraid.

What?

Well, the man is certainly a country
practitioner

and he walks a good deal.

- Well, then, I'm right.
- To that extent.

But a presentation to a doctor is
much more likely

to come from a hospital than
from a hunt

and the letters "CC" very naturally
suggest Charing Cross Hospital.

Oh, yes, perhaps.

I would also say that the good doctor is
amiable and ambitious,

absent-minded, and, yes, owns a dog.

It's larger than a terrier but smaller
than a mastiff.

A dog?

Teeth marks.

The space between the marks is
too broad for a terrier

and not broad enough for a mastiff.

It may be...

Ah, yes, it is.

A curly haired spaniel.

Yeah, I mean...

I mean...

Unambitious and... What was it?

Absent-minded?

Only an amiable man receives
testimonials.

Only an unambitious one prefers
the country to a London career

and only an absent-minded one
would leave his walking stick

and not his visiting card.

Dr Mortimer, your stick.

Oh, thank heavens!

I was afraid this time I'd lost it for
sure. I'm frightfully absent-minded.

It was a presentation from
Charing Cross Hospital

when I left to establish
a practice in...

in Devonshire.

Excuse me, but you are
Sherlock Holmes?

At your service.

My friend and colleague, Dr Watson.

- Doctor.
- How do you do?

- May I take your hat?
- Oh, thank you. Take this.

Doctor, tell us what an early
18th-century manuscript

has to do with your visit.

I put the date at 1740?

1742, to be exact.

- May I?
- Please.

Thank you.

- Shall I relieve you, doctor?
- Thank you.

"The Hound of Baskerville Hall."

As you said, it concerns the reason
for my visit.

May I read it to you?

- Oh, by all means. Please, sit down.
- Thank you.

I see from your right forefinger that
you make your own cigarettes.

Feel free to do so.

"During the great rebellion of 1641

"the Lord of Baskerville Hall was
an evil, godless man called Hugo.

"One night, Hugo kidnapped the
beautiful daughter of a local farmer.

"Locking her in an upper chamber,

"he spent the night carousing with
his companions... "

Ha! Wrestlers!

Look at you! Women!

(THUNDER RUMBLES)

(LAUGHING)

Roger!

Bring me the girl.

How's your wager now?

(SHE WHIMPERS)

- Come on, boy.
- (HORSE WHINNIES)

Quiet!

(HORSE NEIGHS)

It's the girl.

Come on! Come on!

Come on! Come on!

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

(THUNDER BOOMS)

- (HORSE NEIGHS)
- Agh!

(SHE SIGHS)

- (HORSE SQUEALS)
- (SHE SCREAMS)

(HORSE SQUEALS)

(SHE PANTS)

(HORSE NICKERS)

(THUNDER BOOMS)

Help me!

Help me! Help me!

Agh! Agh!

(HORSE SQUEALS)

- Agh!
- Come here.

Ha!

Vixen! Come here!

Agh! Oh, no!

No!

(SHE SCREAMS)

(SHE SCREAMS)

(THUNDER BOOMS)

(SHE SCREAMS)

(HORSE SQUEALS)

(SHE SCREAMS)

(HE GRUNTS)

(HORSE SHRIEKS)

(HORSE SHRIEKS)

(MUSIC FADES)

(HE GRUNTS)

- (GROWLING)
- (HE SCREAMS)

"It was larger than any hound
mortal eyes had ever rested on.

"A hound of hell that has cursed
the Baskervilles ever since.

"Howling its death knell whenever
one of Hugo's blood dies.

"Thus beware of the moor in
those dark hours

"when the powers of evil are exalted.

"But a hound still stalks
the Baskervilles

"sending many to violent ends,

"howling the death knell

"whenever one of Hugo's blood...

"...dies."

Don't you find it interesting,
Mr Holmes?

To a collector of fairy tales.

The death of Sir Charles Baskerville
...is no fairy tale, sir.

Sir Charles died of heart failure,
did he not?

That was the report I made to
the coroner at the inquest.

But...

Yes?

There was something I did not report.

Although there were no marks on
Sir Charles's body...

...all around the gazebo where
he died...

...I found...

...footprints.

A man's or a woman's?

Mr Holmes...

They were the footprints of
a gigantic hound.

And there was...

...on Sir Charles's face...

...that terrified expression.

It was fear that killed him, Mr Holmes.
Fear!

Fear of what?

Of this.

He was obsessed with it.

He would never go out alone,

after dark.

And yet that night...

he stood out there in the gazebo for
at least 20 minutes.

How do you know?

Thank you. The ash from his cigar had
dropped several times.

Excellent!

A colleague after our own hearts,
Watson.

Why did you not report all this
at the inquest?

Shortly before Sir Charles's death
there'd been several sightings

of a glowing, ghostly hound.

As a man of science,

I did not wish to encourage such
unhealthy superstition.

Sir Charles died over a month ago.

Why have you come to me about
all this now?

Henry Baskerville, Sir Charles's
nephew and heir,

arrives from America this very
afternoon.

I was Sir Charles's best friend,
Mr Holmes. I...

I don't want to expose this boy to...

to...

Supernatural evil?

To danger of any kind.

Will you help us?

Bring him around at 10.00 tomorrow
morning.

If he'll come.

Thank you.

- We shall be here.
- Doctor!

Before Sir Charles's death,

you say that several people saw this
ghostly hound upon the moor.

Yes.

Did any see it after?

None that I heard of.

- Good day, gentlemen.
- Good day.

Yes, Doctor, your stick.

Come on, Sheba.

(HE HUMS)

The game's afoot, Watson.

Morning, sir.

I'll take care of the bags, sir.

Leave the bags to me, sir.

Oh, yes. Thank you.

This is the Northumberland Hotel,
Sir Henry.

I hope you find it quite comfortable.

(AMERICAN ACCENT) Sir Henry! I'll
never get used to being called that.

Good day. This is Sir Henry
Baskerville.

I believe you have a reservation.

Sir Henry, I have a letter for you, sir.

It came this morning, by hand.

Who knows I'm here?

What?

- How strange.
- This way, sir.

The words have been cut from
The Times with nail scissors.

Why was "moor" written?

Obviously the correspondent
couldn't find that word in print.

The handwriting is disguised.

An educated person posing as
an uneducated one.

How do you know that?

Well, The Times is seldom found in
the hands of illiterates, Watson.

"If you value your life or reason keep
away from the moor."

It's a cryptic sentiment.

You think that had something to do
with the family ghost, huh?

Ghosts do not send letters, Sir Henry.

Someone is trying to warn you
or scare you away.

It's like a dime novel.

I've scarcely gotten off the boat and
already I've inherited a family curse,

received a mysterious letter and
had a boot stolen.

A boot stolen?

Yes, sir. Brand new one.

I put 'em outside my door last night

and this morning one of them
was gone.

Why did you put out new boots
to be cleaned?

Well, sir, it was a tan one and had not
been varnished.

To steal one boot seems singularly
useless.

It's only been mislaid.
I'm sure it'll turn up.

No need to worry Mr Holmes with
these trifles, my boy.

There's no need to trouble
Mr Holmes at all.

And our unknown letter-writer could
have saved himself the bother.

You see, I've absolutely no intention of
going to the moor.

No?

No, sir. I'm only here to sort out
the details of the estate.

My attorneys in London can do that.

But I mean what about your title?

Oh! We don't have much use for titles
back in the States, Dr Watson.

In fact, we fought a war with you
people to get rid of them, remember?

- Really.
- And the Manor?

The family ghost can haunt the Manor
to its heart's content.

As soon as my business is complete
here I'm heading straight back home.

Well, I'm sorry your visit has been
a waste of time, Sir Henry.

No, no, no. No, no, not at all,
Mr Holmes.

In fact, if your schedule permits,
I'd be honoured

if you and Dr Watson would
have lunch with us.

- We'd be delighted.
- Thank you, 2.00.

- Thank you.
- Thank you, Mr Holmes.

Thank you anyway, Mr Holmes.

- There you are, Sir Henry.
- Good day, Dr Watson.

- Thank you.
- Watson...

Yes.

Yes! Dr Mortimer!

Oh, heavens! Thank you.

(BANGS STICK)

- Yes, sir.
- There they are.

Right, sir.

Gee up!

Watson.

Get your hat, quick!

Wha...?

Come! We haven't a moment to lose.

Oh. Where are we going?
Oh, Holmes!

OK, we turn here.

Much obliged to you, sir.
Thank you very much.

(MUSIC PLAYS)

Lovely flowers!

Well, shall I run on and stop them?

No, not for the world, Watson.

If you will tolerate my company,
I'm perfectly satisfied with yours.

Lovely flowers!

Lovely flowers!

Buy some flowers for your lady, sir.
They're fresh this morning.

Beautiful flowers!

Buy some roses for your lady.

Flowers! Lovely flowers!

Buy some flowers for your lady, sir.

We'll keep our eye on that cab,
Watson.

Will we? Right.

Yeah, you rarely see so many around.

Flowers! Fresh today.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

I have a little dog at home.

Trying to train him not to walk under
my feet.

Are we going back...?

Hello, dearie!

Paper! Paper!

All right. Let me get me a newspaper.

- Paper, sir?
- Sure.

(MUSIC BUILDS)

Get down!

Drive on, cabbie, drive on.

- Holmes, are you all right?
- Yes, Watson, perfectly all right.

Look out there, guv'nor!

What happened? I didn't see what
happened.

Are you all right, Watson?

Did you see him, Watson?

- He had a black beard.
- What happened?

That's what I'd like to know.

There was a sudden flash of lightning.

- What?
- Gentlemen.

Flash of what, Holmes?

Someone just attempted to shoot
Sir Henry.

- What?
- I heard no shot.

It's not likely that you should.

- It came from this.
- A cane?

This is no ordinary cane.

It's a clever little toy.

It's a pity we didn't get the number of
the cab.

2704. See if you can track him,
Watson.

I'll be with Sir Henry and Dr Mortimer.

Yes, right. Holmes.

- At least my visit hasn't been dull.
- Yes.

Someone is stalking you, Sir Henry.

But, sir, you said it was the tan one.

It is, but now the tan one's back and...

someone's taken one of my old
black ones. Where is it?

And who brought the tan one back?

Sure I don't know nothing about it, sir.
I'm an honest girl.

I need this job.

Please don't get me the sack.

The what? Listen, no-one's accusing
you of anything.

I just want my boot back.

Well, I ain't got it. What would I do
with only just one boot?

Indeed. What would anyone want with
just one?

It's all right. Really, listen,
I'm sorry.

Now, I'm sorry you're upset. Here.

- Take that.
- Oh!

No-one's going to lose you your job,
right?

I'm so sorry, sir, to carry on so.
I'm an honest girl.

No, no. That's all right.

Look, I don't know what's become of
your boot

but I shall certainly try to find out.

Thank you. I appreciate that.

Black now, is it, sir?

Like this one, but for the other foot.

Yes, sir.

Goodbye.

(BLOWS RASPBERRY)

Sir Henry is the sole heir?

He's the last of the Baskervilles.

Yes. Sir Charles and my father were
brothers.

Here, I have a photograph that's
30 years old.

This here is Sir Charles, this is my
father

and this one here is Rodger,
the younger brother.

What happened to this brother,
Rodger?

Oh, he got into some kind of scrape
here

and went to South America, right?

He died there.

Unmarried and childless.

I found him, Holmes.

2704. John Clayton.

Something you gentlemen need?

Information. Who was the fare
who ordered you

to follow these two gentlemen on
Baker Street?

Description.

Black beard...

Dressed like a toff.

About middle height.

- (COIN CLINKS)
- A pale sort of face.

- (COIN CLINKS)
- Anything else?

He told me his name, sir.

Did he, indeed?

Yes, sir.

He told me he was that detective
fellow.

Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes, eh? It was rather
bold of him.

Yes. Whoever he is, one must admire
his daring.

Well, he won't find me any less daring.

That sounds like a challenge,
Sir Henry.

It is. It is the acceptance of one.

The gauntlet's been thrown down and,
by God, I'm going to pick it up.

What of your return to America?

That can wait.

Supernatural demons, or human
demons,

nothing's going to keep me from
that moor now.

No, no, Sir Henry, you mustn't.

Your life could be in the gravest
danger.

It already is, and since I'm no safer
here than in Devonshire,

I might as well go and...
What do you say?

Beard the lion in his den.

Indeed. There lies the heart of
the matter.

You'll come with us, of course,
Mr Holmes?

Unfortunately I'm involved in
a most important case

and shan't be free for a week.

But by then it may be too late.

Yes, I realise that.

So I shall send someone along
in my stead.

He's a redoubtable fellow,
in whom I have an absolute trust.

Really? Who's that then?

You, old man!

Oh!

Oh!

Redoubtable!

Now, write to me every day, Watson.

Report everything.

About Sir Henry, his servants,
his neighbours.

Everything, no matter how insignificant
it may be.

Yes, yes, of course.

But above all, Watson...

Become Sir Henry's shadow.

Take heed of the legend,

and never let him go out alone
on the moor at night,

when the powers of evil are exalted.

Hmm?

Goodbye, Holmes.

Bon voyage, mon ami!

Oh!

MORTIMER: Those were stone huts of
our prehistoric ancestors.

Neolithic man lived quite thickly
on the moor.

It's beautiful.

That beauty is sometimes deadly,
Sir Henry.

For example, just beyond those crags
lies the great Grimpen Mire.

- WATSON: Grimpen Mire?
- It's a treacherous bog.

God knows how many bones lie
at its bottom.

Only last week I saw a little moor pony
wander into it and be sucked under.

Its cries were horrible.

(DOG BARKS)

Whoa!

I'm sorry to waylay you, gentlemen,
but all vehicles must be searched.

What's happening, Barrymore?

Selden, the Notting Hill murderer, has
escaped from Dartmoor Prison, sir.

Oh, this will take a few moments.

I'll just go and check my lines of
communication with Holmes.

Right.

(DOG WHINES)

It's all right, Sheba. It's all right,
old girl. It's just the gypsies.

Ah! Very amenable.

A pint of your very best ale,
please, madam.

I say, sir, can you post a letter
from here?

Yes, you can.

Very well.

Watson?!

Inspector Lestrade!

Watson...

What on earth are you doing here?

I might ask you the same question.

Has Scotland Yard demoted you
to the provinces?

Quite the contrary.

I'm here on a special assignment

to recapture this murderer bloke,
Selden.

And they sent you?!

It so happens that I was the fellow
who originally arrested him.

Oh! Must have been a novel
experience for you.

Your usual, sir?

No, thank you. I'm on duty.

Scotland Yard does occasionally
manage without Holmes.

Speaking of which, how did he
find out?

Find out?

About Selden.

Why else would he be here?

He isn't here.

I'm here alone.

Without Holmes?

But you're always together.

He isn't in one of his silly disguises,
is he?

Lestrade, Holmes is in London.

He's got far too many important things
to do than waste his time

going round chasing escaped
convicts.

Then why are you here?

I'm here because...

of the sailing.

Sailing?

There's no sailing round here.

Oh, what a pity.

I must have been misinformed.

Oh.

Happy hunting, Lestrade.

- (RINGS BELL)
- Out! Out of the way!

(HORSE NEIGHS)

Watch it.

You all right, sir?

Yes, I'm all right. I'm perfectly
all right.

OK.

I'm perfectly all right.

All right.

Oi! Oi! Steady on there.

Lyons, you drunken idiot,
you could have killed yourself.

Kill myself!

Then you could have the pleasure of
signing my death certificate, Mortimer.

Two brandies.

Are you sure you're all right?

Look, I don't need your help!

This gentleman is Sir Henry
Baskerville, your new landlord, Lyons.

Baskerville.

- Thank you.
- Well, well, well.

(WHISTLES)

Laird of the Manor, eh?

Yeah, you can't be worse than
the last one.

Of course... You may not be around
long enough for anyone to find out.

What with the hound.

Shut up, Lyons.

They tell you about the hound,
Laird of the Manor?

I heard about that, yeah.

You hear that? He heard about it.

I've done more than heard about it.

I've seen it.

I've seen it.

With my own two eyes.

I've painted it.

Glowing closely in the night.

Howling...

for Baskerville blood.

(HE HOWLS)

(GROWLS)

You've seen things no sober man has,
Lyons. Come on.

Good day to you, Laird of the Manor.

Good day to you, sir.

Good to meet the neighbours.

He's a most disagreeable one, that.

He'll be late with the rent and
cause you no end of trouble.

I feel so sorry for the brute's
poor wife.

Who the hell is he?

Geoffrey Lyons, painter by trade,
drunkard by nature.

He and your uncle despised
each other.

His beard. Did you notice?

He had a black beard.

Walk on!

Welcome, Sir Henry.

Oh, thank you, but I'm afraid
he's Sir Henry.

Beg your pardon, sir.
Welcome to Baskerville Hall.

My wife, sir.

You are quite right, Mrs Barrymore.

Dr Watson looks a lot more like
a baronet than I do.

Dr Mortimer, you will stay to dinner?

Oh, thank you, I'd be delighted.

(HOWLING)

- (DOG WHINES)
- It's all right, Sheba.

What was that?

There are many strange noises
out on the moors at night, sir.

- (DOG BARKS)
- Sheba, come back!

Come back!

Sheba!

What's happened?

She... She knows we're close to home.

She'll probably be waiting on the
doorstep when I get there. Sheba!

(CLOCK CHIMES)

Follow me.

(DOG BARKS)

(PANTING)

(DOG WHIMPERS)

(GROWLING)

(SNARLING)

(SCREAM)

Good God!

What was that?

Perhaps some animal fell into
the Mire, sir.

Yes, of course.

It must have been that.

HENRY: Of course.

It's cold in here.

- Would you light the fire, Barrymore?
- Yes, sir.

We've not had a fire in here since
Sir Charles passed away.

(BALLS CLINK)

Oh, very good.

WATSON: Yes, what was my break
again?

- Excuse me, sir.
- What is it?

I found this in the ashes.

What do you make of that?

L-L.

Know somebody with those
initials?

No, I don't.

Mrs Lyons, sir.

Do you mean the painter's wife?

I believe her first name is Laura.

Yes, of course. I'd quite forgotten.

Begging your pardon, sir, but the date
on the letter.

That's the day of Sir Charles's death.

WATSON: Some of that.

(SMACKS HIS LIPS)

Ah! Yes, got that.

Ah! Oh, yes.

Right, this is...very nice.

- Barrymore?
- Sir?

I left some old clothes upstairs
I no longer want.

Would you please dispose of them
for me?

Of course, sir.

I've been doing some shopping
in London.

Some of my American clothes are
a little light for this climate.

And not exactly in the latest style.

No, no. Quite.

After breakfast I shall go down to the
inn and post my report to Holmes.

On my way back I shall call on
that Mrs Lyons.

I hope for your sake her husband's
not home.

Coffee?

Yes, please, yes.

Ah, yes.

So it was you who was crying
last night, Mrs Barrymore.

- You heard that?
- Did you?

I did.

I'm afraid you gentlemen are mistaken.

I wasn't crying last night.

But your eyes.

Oh! That's from the smoke in
the kitchen, sir.

Barrymore.

Yes, sir.

- D'you hear crying last night?
- No, sir, I did not.

My word!

If Holmes only knew what
he was missing.

(ACCORDION MUSIC)

There you are, boy.

Thank you, sir. Good fortune
go with 'ee.

Thank you very much.

I'd like to post this letter, please,
madam.

Certainly, sir.

Ah!

Sherlock Holmes, esquire.

221 B Baker Street.

So Holmes really is in London.

Yes, Lestrade, Holmes is indeed
in London.

Wish I was.

Oh. What? The manhunt is not going
well?

Oh, no. Nothing to do with that.

I caught Selden once. I'll catch him
again.

It's this bloody moor.

Creepy sort of place, don't you think?

Yes... Yes, I suppose so.

All sorts of weird noises at night.

They say...

a ghost haunts the area.

Really? Really!

Some sort of...wild dog.

Now, there's a mystery for our friend
Holmes.

Sort of bizarre thing he fancies.

You should tell him to look into it.

Yes, indeed, yes.

Good day to you, Lestrade.

Your fortune, sir, in the cards?

Bugger off!

(HE LAUGHS)

Yes?

Oh! Ah, madam. Yes.

My name is Watson, Dr Watson

and I'm staying with the people
up at the hall

and I...

Well?

Er... Hello.

Watson.

We met yesterday, if you remember.

I'm a friend of Sir Henry's.

Oh, yes.

Chum of the laird.

Yes, yes, and...

I... I was just on my way up from
the village

and really stupidly I've lost my way.

Yes, very.

Just follow the footpath.

I see. I just follow this footpath up
here. I...

That's very kind of you, sir.

Uncouth bounder.

It seems...

...as if he'd already heard about your
aristocratic tastes up at the hall.

I love you, Laura.

You used to love me.

You used to be someone else.

(MUTTERING)

Your fortune, sir?

- I beg your pardon?
- Your fortune.

No, I think not.

But have you no wish to know
what lies ahead?

No, on the contrary, I like surprises.

I can tell your fortune in the cards.

In the palm of your hand.

From the bumps on your head.

What? No crystal ball?

Ha-ha! If you wish.

No, I don't wish.
Now, just kindly go away.

Would you like to buy a ring?

No.

- A watch?
- No. Look, will you go away?

How about a little tune, sir?
I have a rare tune here for thee.

You there, gypsy!

Stop bothering this man. Go away!

It's a free country.

Get on with you, or I'll have you
arrested for vagrancy.

Good gracious me!

You damned scoundrel!

You're lucky I came along.

Before he picked all of your pockets,
Dr Watson.

Oh, I'm sorry, sir.
You have the advantage of me.

Oh, I'm awfully sorry.

Stapleton's the name.

- Yes, yes. How did you know that...
- Dr Mortimer told me all about you.

How is Sir Henry?

Oh, well, he's... Er...

After Sir Charles's death we were
worried he wouldn't come down.

We're awfully glad he did.

I see you're a naturalist, sir.

Ah! I suppose you get that from your
friend Mr Holmes.

Deductive reasoning, and all that.

- Yes, how did you know that...
- Dr Mortimer.

Ah!

Will Mr Holmes favour us with
a visit?

Surely he doesn't believe in all this
hound rot?

Well, frankly, sir, you're a little too
fast for me.

I'm sorry. I'm sure it's none of
my business

but that old legend certainly
took a grip of Sir Charles.

I expect it's what killed him.

- Really?
- Oh, yes.

His nerves were in such a state...

...that the sight of any dog would have
been fatal to him.

What? Do you mean the sight of
any dog

and he would have had
a heart attack?

Do you have a better explanation?

Er, well, no.

Does Mr Holmes?

I'm sorry. There I go, butting in again.
But...

Do you think Sir Henry would accept
an invitation for lunch tomorrow?

Of course, you're invited too,
Dr Watson.

I would like you both to meet my sister.

Yes. Yes!

Well, I shall have to check with
Sir Henry, of course.

- But I see no reason why not.
- Wonderful! Wonderful!

Of course, I can show you my
entomologist specimens.

D'you know, I really do have some
abso...

I say!

Aglais urticae!

So late in the year.

Excuse me, Dr Watson.

Stop!

Thank heaven I stopped you.

A few more steps and you would have
been in the Grimpen Mire.

Thank heaven, indeed.

You are Sir Henry?

I am.

And who is my lovely saviour?

I'm Beryl Stapleton.

Well, ma'am, I want to thank you for
saving my life.

So this is Grimpen Mire?

It's beautiful.

Doesn't look treacherous at all.

There are many things on the moor
that are not what they seem.

All deceptive.

And dangerous.

And if you had any sense you wouldn't
stay here another night.

You'd pack your bags and go.

You always greet newcomers like that?

For God's sake, Sir Henry,
leave this dreadful place.

Hey, wait!

I'm sure the Lyons woman is hiding
something, Holmes.

But how do I get around her drunken
brute of a husband?

Were I the Notting Hill murderer,
I should feel supremely confident

with Inspector Lestrade bungling
about.

I've also encountered
a suspicious gypsy

and a most peculiar fellow,
Jack Stapleton,

who incidentally has invited Sir Henry
and myself to luncheon tomorrow.

(DOOR CREAKS)

You gave me rather a turn, Sir Henry.

Mrs Barrymore, what are you doing?

Nothing, sir.

I say, look!

I noticed it too, sir.
For a minute I thought...

You thought what?

I thought it was the same light I saw
on the night of Sir Charles's death.

What sort of light?

More like a glowing, sir.

A strange glowing thing that...

moved across the moor like some...

...some...

Some what?

Some dog, sir.

A great, glowing dog.

Good night, Barrymore.

Give me a candle.

When the powers of evil are exalted.

Right. Come along, Sir Henry.

Watch your step.

Treacherous bog!

Look! There it is.

There.

- Now what?
- We wait.

Whoever it is must be close by.

(ROCKS FALLING)

Look out! Look out!

Stop!

Stop, sir! Or I fire.

I win the blighter.

Come on.

No! No, Sir Henry!

It would be madness to try and
chase him in the dark.

Far too dangerous. No. Come on.

A very close shave.

- Thank you.
- Oh!

Let's get back to the Hall before
the mist closes in.

Watson!

Look!

The gypsy!

(HOWLING)

Things are on the move, Sir Henry.

Yes. On the move, really.

Lovely!

They're quite lovely.

I'm glad you like it.

Thank you for not saying anything
to my brother about yesterday.

Why don't you want your brother
to know?

He thinks having the Hall inhabited is
good for the district.

Some of these are tropical, of course,
aren't they?

He'd be very angry if he knew
I'd tried to induce you to leave.

So why did you?

Sir Charles's death was quite
shocking.

He had a terrible sense of foreboding
about it.

There must be some reason for it.

Surely you don't believe in this hound
nonsense.

I believe there is danger here.
Danger for you.

Now that I've met you,

any tragedy that befell you would be
all the more horrible.

None shall.

Why take the chance?

There are so many wonderful
places to live.

Why stay in this horrid place?

I like the neighbours.

And...

I would like to see more of them.

(ROMANTIC MUSIC)

(MUSIC FADES)

(DOG BARKS)

(VIOLIN PLAYS)

Hey, fella!

Been wandering the moors at night?

It is a gypsy's fate to wander, sir.

But what of your fate, sir?

Your fortune, sir?

As long as there's no hound in it.

Ah! Then I'd better read the lady's
fortune, sir.

Sure! Let's have the lady's fortune.

If the lady will remove her glove.

Jasmine, a sweet scent.

The lady's heart is burdened.

Before her lies a difficult choice,

that in choosing has but one answer,

life and death.

Though in choosing death she also
chooses life.

Though she cannot choose life
without death.

It is a choice with no choice.

Yet she must choose.

Beryl!

Beryl! Wait!

Wait!

(SHE SOBS)

Beryl, what did the gypsy say,
for God's sake?

- Go back! Go back!
- Beryl.

Leave this place and never set
foot on the moor again.

Come on, Beryl, what is it?

- Please leave! Please!
- There!

- No!
- No?

- We mustn't.
- Why not?

Beryl!

And you, sir!

Just because we have shown you
the hospitality of our home,

it does not mean to say you can
behave like a libertine.

- No, Jack...
- Hush, Beryl.

You have all the character traits of
your ancestor Hugo.

- See here, Stapleton...
- If it were not for Beryl's presence...

I should thrash you.

You might certainly try, sir.

(GROANS)

Come on, Stapleton.

What impudence!

And you stay away from me, and
you stay away from my sister.

Stapleton!

Damn!

Is that guy crazy, or what?

Eccentric, perhaps.

Eccentric? Ha!

- Yes, Barrymore.
- Mr Stapleton is here, sir.

Bring him in.

Well?

Anything you want to say to me, sir,
you can say it in front of Dr Watson.

I've come to apologise for my conduct
this morning.

I was quite out of order and I feel that
you deserve an explanation.

Sure. Come on in.

You see, my sister and I were
very close to Sir Charles.

Beryl has taken his death very badly,
I'm afraid, and...

her health has suffered because of it.

She has become obsessed by
the legends of this place.

And she has this irrational
foreboding of doom.

For you, Sir Henry.

When I saw you together, I panicked.

I'm afraid if her fears are coupled with
a strong emotional attachment...

that her frail constitution might
collapse.

Poor girl.

I can only excuse my behaviour as
a brother's concern for his sister.

Please, forgive me.

Sure.

Thank you.

How about Beryl?

I have sent her away to visit an aunt
at the coast.

Oh.

Some time away from
these gloomy events

might perhaps restore her health.

Upon her return...

Well, you would be a most
welcome guest.

Well, I thank you, sir.

Thank you.

And once again, my apologies.

Sure.

- Dr Watson.
- Mr Stapleton.

- Good day, sir.
- Goodbye.

So...

You've come to hear your fortune
after all.

I'd much rather hear yours.

- Mine?
- Yes.

And if you steal my watch again,

to be quite frank with you, sir,
I'll shoot you.

You seem to me a mighty
suspicious fellow.

Wandering about the moor at night.

Well, that would make you a mighty
suspicious fellow

cos you've been wandering about
the moor yourself.

Why don't you camp with the other
gypsies on the moor? Eh?

(PLAYS ACCORDION)

What do you mean by frightening
Miss Stapleton

with that stupid mumbo jumbo?

- It was the truth.
- Rot! Rot!

And stop that infernal noise.

- Would you like another tune?
- I don't like anything about you, sir.

Just answer these questions for me.
Now then...

I know that tune.

Yes, well, it does sound better on
the violin, Watson.

I do with that you would let me in
on things, Holmes.

Make such a damn fool of me!

(CLOCK CHIMES)

A message from Dr Mortimer, sir.

Thank you, Barrymore.

(WHISTLES)

You still sulking, Watson?

Thanks to you, I have all but
completed the case.

- Really?
- Oh, yes.

We need one or two small facts,
Watson.

And we'll bring the hound of
the Baskervilles to heel.

Oh.

Oh.

Mm, yes.

(OWL HOOTS)

(PANTING)

(PANTING)

(GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

My net is closing, Watson.

On a most cunning devil.

Even as his is upon Sir Henry.

But what does it all mean, Holmes?

It means murder, Watson.

Cold-blooded, refined,

deliberate...

murder.

(HOWLING)

Quickly, Watson!

(HOWLING)

(MAN SCREAMS)

(HE SCREAMS)

(GROWLING)

(HE SCREAMS)

Did you see it?

Did you see the hound?

Sir Henry!

My God! What happened?

It's that fellow that attacked us
the other night.

Why is he wearing my old clothes?

I suspect your butler gave them to him.

Barrymore?

This is the man to whom he and
his wife signalled from the window.

Who was he?

The escaped convict, Selden -
the Notting Hill murderer.

Barrymore's been signalling to him?

You should be grateful, Sir Henry.

These old clothes of yours carried
your scent.

The scent the hound pursued.

The hound must have known my scent
to track it.

The missing boot?

That is why the new boot was
returned.

Having never been worn,
it carried no scent.

Of course.

So our supernatural hound

suddenly becomes very much
flesh and blood.

And the glowing?

This should answer that.

What?

It's a phosphorescent.

Barium sulphide, I should imagine.

What are you doing out on the moor,
Sir Henry?

Dr Mortimer sent me this note.

Thank you.

- Mortimer?
- Yeah.

"It is most urgent that I see you.
Come immediately. Mortimer."

Hello?

Hello! Who's there?

Watson!

My God! Sir Henry, are you all right?

I'm just fine, sir, thank you.

Who's that?

- Selden, the escaped convict.
- What happened?

- It was terrible. He was attacked by...
- Fell from that cliff up there.

- Huh?
- Yes.

Well, it appears you have arrived in
time for a tragedy, Mr Holmes.

You have the advantage of me, sir.

Stapleton. We've been expecting you.

Hopefully, you may be able to shed
some light on all of this.

I'm afraid the supernatural is quite
beyond my sphere, sir.

Sir Henry, if this gentleman would be
kind enough to remain with the body,

I think we should inform
Inspector Lestrade

that his hunt, at any rate,
has ended.

I agree.

- Good night to you, sir.
- Good night.

Thank you, Mr Stapleton.

So that's the old devil, huh?

Think there's any resemblance?

I think that's one hereditary curse
you have escaped.

Well, he probably looked nothing like
that anyhow.

I suspect he looked very much
like that.

Holmes, why did you lie to Stapleton
about Selden?

Merely a precaution, Watson.

Our friends and allies are not yet
clearly defined.

- You wished to see me, sir?
- I did.

I think you best be seated.

I have sad news of your brother.

My brother, sir?

Selden is your brother, isn't he?

They've caught him.

He's quite beyond that, I'm afraid.

You needn't cry yourself to sleep
with worry any more.

Nor signal to him from the window and
take food and clothing out to him.

How did it happen, sir?

He...

...fell from a cliff.

You won't hold this against
Barrymore, sir? It was my doing.

He's done nothing except for my sake.

He's loyal to you, sir.

Of course. I'm sure that you both are.

Thank you, sir.

Come, my dear.

- Oh, Barrymore.
- Yes, sir.

The messenger who brought the note
from Dr Mortimer last night.

Can you describe him?

He had a black beard, sir.

Thank you, Barrymore.

Surely, Holmes...

We don't seriously suspect
Dr Mortimer?

That note must have been a forgery.

True, but there are many things yet
to be cleared up, Sir Henry.

Watson, tonight you and I will call on
Mrs Lyons.

You're no gentleman, sir.

Only one of many faults, I'm afraid.

Do you deny there was a liaison
between yourself and Sir Charles?

Yes.

Then why clandestine meetings?

Notes that were burned?

Madam, I promise you as much
discretion as the matter may permit

but your answer is of vital importance

and may make the difference between
life and death.

You must not think badly of me,
gentlemen.

My marriage had become intolerable.

Sir Charles was very kind.

Our friendship developed into
something more than...

On the night of Sir Charles's death...

I was not there.

Then what of this note?

Just before I was to leave, Geoffrey
came home in a drunken rage.

Somehow he had found out about
Sir Charles and myself.

There was a scene,

he struck me and stormed out.

I was much too upset to keep
the appointment.

Besides, I was afraid Geoffrey might
follow me.

Why did you not report all this
at the inquest?

I saw no need for scandal.

My husband, Mr Holmes, is at heart
a good man.

Unfortunately, he was cursed with
a vision of genius

and only a mediocre talent
to express it.

It is his failure as an artist that has
brought him to where he is.

But I loved him once and I know him.

He is no murderer.

And, in any event, Sir Charles died of
natural causes.

How did your husband find out about
you and Sir Charles?

I don't know.

No-one knew. We were most discreet.

No-one?

Come now! There must have been
someone in your confidence.

Who was the messenger who
delivered this note?

There was one.

A trusted friend to both of us who
acted as our go-between.

His name, please.

Get out!

Get out of my house!

- Geoffrey.
- More fancy friends, my dear?

How dare you treat a lady
in that fashion!

Lady! She's my wife, and I'll treat her
as I choose.

Let me help you.

You'll not touch her.

Get out!

- Please, leave.
- Watson.

Come on, old man.

And don't come back!

Or you can look forward to this.

Goodnight.

Agh!

Get your hand from my throat.

Sometimes it would be so simple.

One good twist, and no more torment.

Lyons had an excellent motive for
killing Sir Charles.

But absolutely none for wishing
Sir Henry dead.

No, Watson. Though I dislike dabbling
with the emotions,

since whatever is emotional is
opposed to clear reasoning,

nevertheless this nest of passions has
revealed the culprit,

and it is not the jealous husband.

Surely...it is not Mrs Lyons?

- It is the go-between.
- Hey?

The messenger who carried
the lovers' letters.

Who else could have known

that Sir Charles would be there that
fatal night?

Who else could have alerted Lyons to
the intended rendezvous,

thus preventing his wife from keeping
the appointment?

Don't you see, Watson?

It was vital that Sir Charles should be
waiting there alone.

Waiting for the hound.

Well then...

Husband or not, we must go back
immediately,

get the fellow's name.

It's hardly necessary.

You mean you know who it is?

- Well, who is it?
- All in good time, old fellow.

I have no proof as yet.

- Yes, but surely...
- Look.

What is it?

(HE COUGHS)

It's Dr Mortimer's spaniel.

The hound?

(DOOR OPENS)

(BREATHES DEEPLY)

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

No, Geoffrey... Agh!

(SHE CRIES OUT)

(HE SNORES)

You...

(HE GRUNTS)

(MUSIC STOPS)

I loved my wife, Mr Holmes.

I loved her.

I know it didn't seem it to others.

But she...

But she...

She was the one bit of beauty
in my life.

And...

I was...

I was afraid of losing her.

(HE SOBS)

I wouldn't have killed her. I couldn't.

I couldn't.

Was it possible in your drunkenness

you could have committed the act
and not remembered?

No! No!

How did you learn of your wife and
Sir Charles?

A note.

An unsigned note was sent to me.

You might have called me in before
removing the body, Lestrade.

Come on, Holmes, be a sport.

You can't solve every crime in
England.

We've got our man.

I would have thought that was
fairly...elementary.

Indeed, I found these tufts of black
hair entwined in Mrs Lyons' fingers.

Thank you.

She probably tore them from her
husband's beard during the struggle.

I fear that Lyons is responsible for
a great deal more

than simply the murder of his wife.

Yes, an open and shut case.

Yes, Lestrade, I believe you're right.

You do?

What?

The evidence is quite overwhelming,
Watson.

As I said, open and shut.

Yes, but why would he try and kill
Sir Henry?

Well, maybe he was afraid of
being evicted.

But you don't murder people
because of that.

Well, do you, Holmes?

The loss of his wife's love has driven
poor Lyons off his head.

But last night you said it wasn't him.

Yes. Well, I was wrong.

Love is as strong as death,

jealousy as cruel as the grave.

- Isaiah.
- Chapter six, verse eight.

You never cease to astonish me,
Lestrade.

Good day.

Wrong?

Good day to you, Lestrade.

Mr Holmes, I had rather hoped to see
some of those amazing gifts of yours.

I'm a little disappointed.

Not nearly as disappointed as my
friend Dr Watson, I think.

Oh, I was merely a bystander
on this occasion.

Well, the important thing is
that the matter is resolved.

Oh yes, indeed.

And safely so for Sir Henry.

Well, I hope you'll write Beryl
the good news.

Oh, I shall do so, Sir Henry.

But tonight I should like to give
a dinner in your honour.

Well, that's mighty generous of you,
Stapleton. I'd just love to be there.

- Everyone's invited.
- Oh, that would be very acceptable.

I'm afraid Dr Watson and I must return
to London.

There are many pressing cases...

that I hope will turn out better for me
than this one has.

Come on, Watson. We have to pack.

Oh, goodbye.

You're a very sullen travelling
companion, Watson.

Well... It's not right.

Something more. Must be.

Why so?

Well, Sherlock Holmes being bested
by Lestrade? Ha!

Do you remember yesterday when
I examined with my lens

the hairs found in Laura Lyons'
hands?

The ones from Lyons's beard?

The hairs are of Oriental origin.

The murderer's a Chinaman?

No, Watson.

Oriental hair is commonly used
in this country

in the manufacture of cheap wigs.

The beard was false?

Precisely.

So Lyons, then, did not murder
his wife.

- No.
- Then why not tell the others?

Because it is important that the
murderer should think I'm beaten...

...and have retreated to London.

But that's where we're going.

Oh, no, Watson.

I have quite another destination
in mind.

- Now, look here, Holmes.
- Sh-sh!

No more secrets, Holmes.
I'm cold, I'm uncomfortable

and I'm entitled to know what
our plans are.

Quite right, Watson.

Tonight an attempt will be made on
Sir Henry's life.

We are going to stop it.

And who is going to make this
attempt?

He is dining with Sir Henry
at this very moment.

Mortimer?

Stapleton.

Stapleton? That butterfly catcher?

He's deadly, Watson.

He was the go-between for
Laura Lyons and Sir Charles.

He murdered Mrs Lyons to prevent
her talking.

But I have no proof that will stand up
in court and I must get some.

Proof, Holmes? What kind of proof?

The very best kind.

I shall catch him in the act.

Then we have him, Watson.

We have him.

I dare swear erelong he shall be
fluttering in our nets

like one of his own helpless
butterflies.

A pin, a cork, a card.

And we add him to the Baker Street
collection.

Blast this fog!

Ah! They're leaving now.

Be ready, Watson.

Good night!

Oh, no problem. I know the area...

The fog's getting thicker.

It's the one thing that could interfere
with our plans.

Now, Watson.

- I'm so very glad you could come.
- So am I.

I look forward to seeing you
again soon.

- Goodbye to you.
- Goodbye.

(HOWLING)

(HORSE NEIGHS)

Blast!

We've lost him in the fog.

Quickly, Watson.

(LOUD PANTING)

(HORSE WHINNIES)

Come on, girl.

Come on.

(PANTING)

(HORSE WHINNIES)

(GROWLING)

(GROWLING)

Whoa! Steady! Steady, girl!

(HORSE WHINNIES)

(GROWLS)

Move it!

(GROWLS)

Watson!

Watson, shoot! Now!

I can't! I'll hit Holmes!

I can't get a clear shot.

(HE EXHALES)

Are you all right, Holmes?

Yes. Thanks, old man.

It's dead.

We've laid the family ghost once and
for ever.

Good Lord! Lyons' hound must have
got loose.

Stapleton's hound, and it was let loose.

- Stapleton?
- Dr Mortimer...

Would you be so kind as to take
Sir Henry back to the Hall?

- Of course.
- No, I'm fine. I'm going with you.

No, you're not. You've had quite
enough adventures for one night.

Come on, Watson. There is another
hound that has to be kennelled.

- Sir Henry, can I help?
- Doctor, don't fuss. I'm fine.

What a terrible business.

Let me give you a hand. There.

(MUFFLED CRY)

Watson.

(MUFFLED CRY)

(LOUDER CRY)

- Key, please.
- There.

Miss Stapleton, what's happened?

Is he safe? Has he escaped?

I'm afraid your brother cannot be
allowed to escape.

No, I mean Sir Henry.

- Is he safe?
- Yes.

- The hound?
- Dead.

Oh, thank God!

Miss Stapleton, where is he?

Near Grimpen Mire.

I'll show you.

I want you to stay here,
Miss Stapleton.

Watson.

Pssst!

A sheep's carcass, Watson.

Look, Watson.

Sir Henry's missing boot.

- (GUNSHOT)
- (SHE SCREAMS)

(LAUGHTER)

I seem to have the advantage,
Mr Holmes.

I can see you, but you can't see me.

I have a bullet for each of you.

Yoo-hoo, Mr Holmes.

Watson.

And even loving Beryl.

Oh, Jack, for God's sake, stop!

Watson, the lantern.

I can still see you, Mr Holmes.

Now, Watson, count very slowly to ten

and then would you please open
the door?

Slowly, Watson.

WHISPERS: Eight, nine...

Ten.

No hit, Mr Holmes?

Oh, I must have been close.

Perhaps you're dead already.

Far from it.

BERYL: Stop! He knows the Mire.

You can't follow him in there.

I have no choice.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

Stapleton!

You'll never make it, Mr Holmes.

Stapleton, I'm warning you...

(HE SCREAMS)

Help! Help, God, please!

Here, give me your hand.

Mr Holmes! Help!

Please!

Hold on.

Help, Mr Holmes! Please, help!

Help me! Help me!

Help me!

Help! Oh, no! Oh, God!

Oh, please, help me! Oh, God!

Oh, God!

Oh, God! Oh, God!

Mr Holmes, please!

Good God! Stapleton!

Yes.

It's the most amazing instance of
a throwback I've ever seen.

Obviously Sir Charles's black sheep
brother Rodger

did not die childless after all,
but had a son.

Stapleton!

So he called himself.

Actually a Baskerville.

Yes, it was Jack's intention
to claim the inheritance.

Having eliminated the competition.

Was it the portrait that first put you
onto him?

No.

Oh, no.

It was this young lady.

But I never met you before last night.

I was the gypsy who read your palm.

The palm scented with jasmine.

The same perfume was on the note
of warning

you sent to Sir Henry in London.

You sent that?

I had to warn you.

I tried every way I could without
betraying Jack.

- But you must understand I couldn't...
- Of course. I...

I saw from my own servants how deep
a sister's loyalty can be to a brother.

Deeper still, a wife's loyalty
to her husband.

You knew?

When I read your fortune.

I saw the little white mark encircling
your finger.

Clearly a wedding ring has been worn
there at some time.

Also I witnessed Stapleton's outburst

when he came upon you and
Sir Henry on the moor.

His behaviour was more that of
a jealous husband

than a protective brother.

And, finally...

marriages, like deaths, are recorded.

It really isn't difficult to find
documentary evidence.

He had wanted me to entice
Sir Charles to his death.

I refused. I was against it all
from the first.

But whenever I objected I was beaten.

A thousand times I begged him.

A thousand times I almost went
to the police.

But I couldn't.

Even though he had provoked
Sir Charles's heart attack,

he hadn't directly murdered him.

I thought if I could keep him from it...

If I...

I was a fool.

That nightmare is over for both of us.

The curse of the Baskervilles
haunts us no longer.

I should like to walk upon the moor.

The curse of the Baskervilles.

It's a figment of the imagination.

But without the imagination, Watson...

there would be no horror.