The Hound of the Baskervilles (2000) Movie Script
[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.
[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.