LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER TWO

      The Curse of the Baskervilles

      Table of Contents

      “I have in my pocket a manuscript,” said Dr. James Mortimer.

      “I observed it as you entered the room,” said Holmes.

      “It is an old manuscript.”

      “Early eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery.”

      “How can you say that, sir?”

      “You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination all the time that you have been talking. It would be a poor expert who could not give the date of a document within a decade or so. You may possibly have read my little monograph upon the subject. I put that at 1730.”

      “The exact date is 1742.” Dr. Mortimer drew it from his breast-pocket. “This family paper was committed to my care by Sir Charles Baskerville, whose sudden and tragic death some three months ago created so much excitement in Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal friend as well as his medical attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical, and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this document very seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end as did eventually overtake him.”

      Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it upon his knee. “You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s and the short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix the date.”

      I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. At the head was written: “Baskerville Hall,” and below in large, scrawling figures: “1742.”

      “It appears to be a statement of some sort.”

      “Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the Baskerville family.”

      “But I understand that it is something more modern and practical upon which you wish to consult me?”

      “Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must be decided within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and is intimately connected with the affair. With your permission I will read it to you.”

      Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips together, and closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the manuscript to the light and read in a high, cracking voice the following curious, old-world narrative:

      “Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there

      have been many statements, yet as I come in a direct

      line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from

      my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down

      with all belief that it occurred even as is here set

      forth. And I would have you believe, my sons, that the

      same Justice which punishes sin may also most graciously

      forgive it, and that no ban is so heavy but that by prayer

      and repentance it may be removed. Learn then from this

      story not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather to

      be circumspect in the future, that those foul passions

      whereby our family has suffered so grievously may not

      again be loosed to our undoing.

      “Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the

      history of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most

      earnestly commend to your attention) this Manor of

      Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be

      gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, and godless

      man. This, in truth, his neighbours might have pardoned,

      seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts,

      but there was in him a certain wanton and cruel humour

      which made his name a by-word through the West. It

      chanced that this Hugo came to love (if, indeed, so dark

      a passion may be known under so bright a name) the daughter

      of a yeoman who held lands near the Baskerville estate.

      But the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute,

      would ever avoid him, for she feared his evil name. So

      it came to pass that one Michaelmas this Hugo, with five

      or six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon

      the farm and carried off the maiden, her father and

      brothers being from home, as he well knew. When they had

      brought her to the Hall the maiden was placed in an upper

      chamber, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long

      carouse, as was their nightly custom. Now, the poor lass

      upstairs was like to have her wits turned at the singing

      and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from

      below, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville,

      when he was in wine, were such as might blast the man who

      said them. At last in the stress of her fear she did that

      which might have daunted the bravest or most active man,

      for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered (and

      still covers) the south wall she came down from under the

      eaves, and so homeward across the moor, there being three

      leagues betwixt the Hall and her father’s farm.

      “It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his

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