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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.