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[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

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.