Chapter 14 Fourteen Hounds of the Baskervilles

One of Holmes' faults--really, if you can call it one--is this: he is extremely reluctant to tell anyone the whole of his plans until they have been realized.No doubt it was partly due to his own haughty nature, fond of dominating and surprising those around him, and partly due to the prudence required of his profession, which never took any chances.This often caused great embarrassment to those who were his clients and assistants, and I have had more than one unpleasant experience of it, but none more so than this long drive in the dark.The grave test lay before our eyes, and our whole operation had reached its final stage, but Holmes said nothing, and I could only speculate subjectively as to the direction of his actions.Then we felt the cold wind on our faces, and the narrow drive was lined with black, empty spaces, and I knew we were back in the moor again.The anticipation of what was to come stirred all the nerves in my body, and every step of the horse, every turn of the wheel brought us nearer to the climax of the adventure.The presence of the hired coachman prevented us from talking freely, but we were obliged to talk of trivial trifles, when in fact our nerves were strained with emotion and anxiety.When we passed Frankland's house and got closer and closer to the manor, that is, the place where the accident happened, the unnatural tension was finally over, and my mood was relieved.We didn't drive the car to the door of the building, and got out of the car near the gate of the driveway.After paying the fare and sending the driver back to Coombe Tracy at once, we set off for Melipie House.

"Are you armed, Lestrade?" The little detective smiled. "As long as I'm wearing pants, there's a pocket on the back of my butt, and since I have this pocket, I'm going to put something in it." "Okay! My friend and I are all ready for an emergency, too." "How well you have concealed the matter, Mr. Holmes. What shall we do now?" "Just wait." "I say, it's not a pleasant place here," said the detective, shuddering, looking around at the gloomy hillsides and the sea of ​​mist that formed over the Grimpen Mire. "I see a light in a house ahead of us."

"That's the Melipi mansion, and that's the end of our journey. Now I ask you to walk on your toes and speak only in whispers." We continued along the path, apparently on our way to the house, but Holmes stopped us when we were about two hundred yards from it. "Just here," he said, "these rocks on the right are an excellent barrier." "Shall we just wait here?" "By the way, we are going to make a small ambush here. Come into this ditch, Lestrade. You have been in that house, Watson, have you not? Can you tell?" Where are the rooms? What kind of windows are the latticed windows at this end?"

"I think it's the kitchen window." "Where's the bright one over there?" "That must be the dining room." "The shutters are drawn. You know the terrain best. Go quietly and see what they're doing, but don't let them know they're being watched!" I walked softly down the path, stooping and hiding behind a low wall surrounded by a badly grown fruit-tree.By the shadow I came to a place from which I could look directly into an uncurtained window. Sir Henry and Stapleton were alone in the room.They sat facing each other on both sides of a round table, their sides facing me.Both were smoking cigars with coffee and wine in front of them.While Stapleton was talking animatedly, the Baronet was pale and absent-minded, perhaps because he was weighed down by the thought of crossing the ominous moor alone.

While I was watching them Stapleton rose suddenly and left the room, while Sir Henry filled his glass again and leaned back in his chair, puffing on his cigar.I heard the creak of the door and the crisp sound of leather shoes on the gravel road, and the footsteps passed the path on the other side of the wall where I was squatting.Looking over the wall, I saw the biologist stop at the door of a small house in the corner of the orchard grove. The key was turned in the lock, and as soon as he entered, there was a strange scuffling sound inside. .He was only in there for a minute or so, and then I heard another turn of the key, and he went back into the house the way he had come.I saw him with his guest again, so I quietly went back to where my companions were waiting for me, and told them what I had seen.

"Do you mean, Watson, that the lady is not there?" asked Holmes, after I had finished my report. "yes." "Where is she, then? There's no light in any room but the kitchen!" "I can't figure out where she is." That thick white mist of the Great Greenpen Mire of which I have spoken was now drifting slowly in our direction, gathering up, as if erecting a wall beside us, though Low but thick and well defined.Illuminated by the moonlight again, it looks like a gleaming ice field, and there are protruding rocks one by one in the distance, just like rocks born on the ice field.Holmes turned his face that way, and as he gazed at the slowly drifting fog, he muttered impatiently:

"The fog is coming our way, Watson!" "Is the situation serious?" "It's really serious, and it might mess up my plans. Now, he won't be here for long, it's ten o'clock. Our success and his life may depend on whether he is covered by the fog." came out before the path." Over our heads, the night sky was clear and beautiful, the stars shone with clear cold light, and the half moon hung high in the sky, bathing the whole moor in a soft and dim light.Before us lay the dark shadow of a house, its jagged roof and rising chimneys outlined clearly against a starry sky.From the lower windows shone broad golden lights in the direction of the orchard and the moor.One of them went out suddenly, showing that the servants had left the kitchen; only the light remained in the dining-room, where two men were still chatting over cigars.One is a murderous host, the other is a guest who knows nothing.

The thick white mist that covered half of the moor was drifting closer and closer to the house every minute, and the first thin mist was already shining in golden square The window rolled.The wall behind the orchard forest was no longer visible, but the upper half of the trees still stood above a whirlpool of white water vapor.While we watched, the billowing fog had crept up to the corners of the house, and slowly piled up into a thick wall, and the second floor looked like a strange ship floating on a terrible sea.Holmes clapped his hands eagerly on the rocks before him, and stamped his feet impatiently.

"If he doesn't come out within a quarter of an hour, the path will be covered, and in half an hour we won't be able to stretch our hands out of sight." "Shall we back off to a higher place?" "By the way, I think that's fine." Therefore, when the fog came upon us, we drew back a little, and thus were half a mile from the house.But the thick white sea, glistening with moonlight, continued to advance slowly but surely in our direction. "We have gone too far," said Holmes. "He will be overtaken before he comes near us. We must not risk this. We must hold on here at all costs." He knelt down and put the Ears are on the ground. "Thank God, I think I heard him coming."

A sound of rapid footsteps broke the silence of the moor.We squatted among the rocks, staring intently at the silver-white fog wall in front of us.The footsteps grew louder, and the person we were expecting walked through the fog, as if through a curtain.When he came out of the fog and stood in the clear, starlit night, he looked around in alarm, and then came quickly down the path, past the After we got there, we walked towards the long hillside behind us.As he walked, he looked back uneasily from left to right. "Shh!" Holmes hissed, and I heard the thin and crisp sound of the pistol being cocked. "Attention, here it comes!"

From the fog wall that was slowly advancing, there was a constant and soft pattering sound.The cloud-like fog was not fifty yards away from where we were hiding, and all three of us stared at it, not knowing what terrible things were going to appear there.I was at Holmes' elbow, and I glanced into his face.He was pale, but exultant, and his eyes gleamed in the moonlight.Suddenly, his eyes flicked forward and fixed on a point, his lips parted in surprise.At that moment, Lestrade gave a cry of terror and fell to the ground.I sprang to my feet, clutching the pistol tightly in my limp hand.I was terrified out of my wits by the hideous shape that came towards us through the mist.It was a hound, indeed, a great coal-black hound, but not a dog of the kind one sees.Fire was blowing from its open mouth, its eyes were burning with fire, and its muzzle, ruff, and lower neck were all sparkling.Like that black body and hideous dog's face that suddenly rushed towards us from the fog barrier, even a madman would not see anything more fierce, more terrifying, and more demon-like in his grotesque dreams. The huge black thing, with long strides, scuttled down the path, chasing our friend closely.We were so dazed by this apparition that it ran past us before we recovered our senses.When Holmes and I fired together afterwards, the fellow gave an ugly growl, which showed that at least one of the shots had struck.But it didn't stop, and continued to move forward.Far up the path we saw Sir Henry looking back, his face white in the moonlight, his hands raised in terror, staring hopelessly at the dog that was chasing him. scary guy. The hound's anguished howl had utterly allayed our fears.As long as it is afraid of being hit, it is not a ghost. We can kill it as well as hurt it.I never saw anyone run as fast as Holmes that night.I was always called a scud, but he left me behind like I overtook the little public detective.As we galloped along the path, we heard a shout after another from Sir Henry ahead of us, and a deep growl from the hound.When I arrived, I saw the beast sprang up, threw the baronet on the ground, and tried to bite him by the throat.At this critical moment, Holmes drove five bullets from his revolver into the fellow's flank in one quick breath.The dog uttered a last cry of pain and bit the air fiercely, then lay on all fours, kicked wildly, and then collapsed on its side.I bent down, gasping for breath, and put the pistol against the hideous pale glowing head, but there was no use pulling the trigger, the big hound was dead. Sir Henry lay unconscious where he had fallen.We unfastened his collar, and Holmes prayed gratefully when he saw that there was no wound on the knight's body, indicating that deliverance was still in time.Our friend's eyelids were already trembling, and he was still struggling to move.Lestrade thrust his brandy bottle between the baronet's teeth, and looked up at us with frightened eyes. "My God!" he whispered, "what is that? What is it?" "Whatever it is, it is dead," said Holmes. "We have exterminated your ogre for ever." The sprawled corpse lying before us was terrifying for its size and its strength alone.It was not a purebred blood raccoon, nor a purebred mastiff, but rather a mixture of these two types, with a terrifying and ferocious appearance, and as big as a lioness.Even now, in its dead motion, the great mouth seemed to drip out blue flames, and there were rings of fire around the small, deep-set, cruel eyes.I touched its glowing mouth, and when I raised my hand, my fingers glowed in the dark. "It's phosphorus," I said. "What a cunning arrangement," said Holmes, sniffing the dead dog, "with no scent to interfere with its sense of smell. We are very sorry, Sir Henry, to have frightened you so much. I would have It was an ordinary hunting dog, and it was not expected to be such a dog. The fog also prevented us from intercepting him." "You finally saved my life." "And yet you have taken such a risk. Will you still stand?" "Give me another drink of brandy, and I'll be afraid of nothing. Oh, help me up, please. What shall we do, according to your opinion?" "Leave you here. You are not fit for further adventure tonight. If you will wait, one of us will accompany you back to the manor." He tried to stand up, but he was still very pale and his limbs were shaking.We helped him to a rock, and he sat down and covered his face with trembling hands. "We must leave you now," said Holmes. "The rest must be done, and every minute counts. The evidence is complete, and now it is only necessary to arrest the man." "There's only one chance in a thousand of finding him inside the house," he went on, as we hurried back down the path again. "Those shots have told him—the game's over." "At that time, we were still some distance from him, and the fog might have blocked the gunfire." "He must have followed the hound, to command him--you'll be sure of that. No, no, he's gone now! But let's search the house and make sure." The front door was open, and we rushed in, hurried from room to room, and met a terrified, aging footman in the passage.There were no lights anywhere except the dining room.Holmes hastily lit the lamp, and every corner of the house was searched, but there was no sign of the man we were after, and at last a bedroom door was found locked on the second floor. "Someone's inside!" cried Lestrade. "I hear something moving inside. Open this door!" There were low moans and rustling sounds from inside.Holmes kicked the lock with the sole of his foot and kicked the door open.The three of us rushed into the house with pistols in hand. But the desperate, daring villain we were looking for wasn't in the house.In front of us was a very strange and unimaginable thing. We stood there in amazement and watched. The room was arranged like a little museum, and on the walls were a row of little glass-topped boxes full of butterflies and moths which the cunning and dangerous man collected as a diversion. .In the middle of the house was an upright stake, which had been erected at some time to support the old moth-eaten beams that ran across the roof.A person was tied to this pillar, and that person was bound so silently by a sheet that you couldn't immediately tell whether it was a man or a woman.A handkerchief was fastened round the neck to a post behind, and another hid the lower part of the face, revealing two dark eyes--with an expression of pain and shame and terrible suspicion-- Stare at us.In a few moments we had unbound the man's mouth and body, and Mrs. Stapleton fell down before us.I saw a clear red welt on her neck as her beautiful head drooped on her breast. "The beast!" cried Holmes. "Well, Lestrade, where is your brandy? Put her in a chair! She has passed out from abuse and exhaustion." She opened her eyes again. "Is he safe?" she asked. "Has he escaped?" "He's not going to escape us, ma'am." "No, no, I do not mean my husband. Where is Sir Henry? Is he safe?" "He's safe." "Where's the hound?" "already dead." She let out a long sigh of satisfaction. "Thank God! Thank God! Oh, the wretch! Look what he's done to me!" She jerked up her sleeves and exposed her arm, which we were horrified to see bruised. "But it's nothing—it's nothing! He tortured and stained my heart. As long as I have hope and he still loves me, whether it's abuse, loneliness, a cheated life, or whatever, I I can bear it, but now I understand that in this regard, I am also his target of deception and a tool of evil." She burst into tears as she spoke. "You have disliked him, madam," said Holmes. "Tell us, then, where we may find him. If you have done him wrong, do us now to atone for it." .” "There was only one place he could escape to," she answered, "on a small island in the middle of the mire, an old tin mine, where he hid his hounds, and there he made preparations to For evasion. He's bound to run there." A wall of fog hung around the window like snow-white wool.Holmes went to the window with the lamp in his hand. "Look," he said, "nobody can find their way into Grimpen Mire tonight." She clapped her hands and laughed.There was a terrible ecstasy in her eyes and on her teeth. "He may find his way in, but never try to come out again," she cried. "How can he see those stick signs tonight? He and I put them together, Used to mark the path through the mire, oh, if I could just unplug him today, then you can really do what you want with him!" Evidently any pursuit would be in vain until the fog cleared.We left Lestrade to look after the house, while Holmes and I returned to Baskerville Hall with the baronet.The truth about the Stapletons could no longer be kept from him, and he took the blow bravely when he heard the truth about the woman he loved.But the shock of the night's adventure had wounded his nerves, and before daybreak he lay unconscious in a fever, and Dr. Mortimer was called to his care.They had resolved to take a round-the-world journey together before Sir Henry regained the vigor of what he had been before he became the owner of this ill-omened property. I will now quickly conclude this strange story, in which I would give the reader a taste of those extreme horrors and vague surmises which have so long clouded our minds, and The ending was so tragic.On the morning after the hound's death the fog cleared, and we were led by Mrs. Stapleton to the point where they had found a path through the bog.Watching her eagerness and joy as she leads us on the trail of her husband makes us realize how horrible this woman's past life was.We left her standing on a narrow peninsula of solid peaty ground.The further you go into the mud, the narrower the ground becomes.From the end of this ground there are small sticks here and there, and along these small sticks is the road that strangers cannot walk, winding and twisting, from one clump of trees to another. In the chaotic bushes, the path meanders between the green foaming puddles and the dirty mud pits. The luxuriant reeds and green juicy and slimy aquatic plants exude a rotten smell, and the thick stale air hits you head-on. More than once we stumbled into knee-high, black, quivering puddles of mud that still stuck to our feet after yards of travel.When we walked, the mud kept dragging our heels.When we sink into the mud, it is as if a vicious hand is dragging us to the depths of the mud, and it is so firm and firm. Only once did we see a trace that someone had crossed the dangerous road before us.In the midst of a pile of cotton grass on the clay ground a black object stood out.Holmes took only one step sideways from the path, trying to catch the thing, and sank up to his waist in the quagmire.If we hadn't been there to pull him out, he would never have stood on solid land again.He held up a black high-top shoe with "Miles Toronto" printed on the inside. "It's a mud bath worth taking," said he. "This is the shoe that our friend Sir Henry lost." "Must have been dropped there by Stapleton in his escape." "Exactly. He left the shoe in his hand after he let the hounds smell it and ran after it, and when he ran away knowing that the trick had been caught, he still held it tightly in his hand, and dropped it on the road as he fled. Here it is. We know he's safe, at least up to here." There are many conjectures we can make, but we can never know more than this, and no footprints can be found in the swamp.Because the rising mud quickly covered it.Once the last stretch of the muddy track came to firm ground, we all looked eagerly for footprints, but saw none.If the earth had not lied, then Stapleton had failed to reach his destination yesterday when he struggled through the fog to the island where he was hiding.Somewhere in the heart of the Great Grimpen Mire, the foul yellow mud of the Great Mire had swallowed him up.This cruel, cold-hearted man was thus buried forever. On the mire-surrounded island where he hid his fierce companions, we found many traces of his legacy.A large steering wheel and a shaft half-filled with rubbish indicate the remains of an abandoned mine.Next to it are the remains of crumbling miners' huts, where the miners were no doubt driven away by the stench of the surrounding quagmire.In one hut there was a horseshoe, a chain, and some gnawed bones, showing that that was where the beast had been hidden.A skeleton, lying among the ruins, with a mass of brown hair stuck to it. "A dog!" said Holmes. "Good heavens, a curly-haired spaniel. Poor Mortimer will never see his beloved dog again. Well, I don't believe there is anything else here." A secret we haven't figured out yet. He can hide his hound, but he can't silence it, and that's why those barks don't sound good even in daylight. In times of need, he The hound could be locked up in a shed outside Melipe's house, but it was always risky, and he would only do it when he thought everything was ready. The paste was, no doubt, the glowing mixture that was smeared on the brute. Of course, he took this method because he was inspired by the story of the devil dog passed down through the generations, and he wanted to scare Childs to death. No wonder the poor ghostly fugitive, when he sees such a beast scurrying up from behind in the darkness of the moor, runs away like our friend Shout out, we might as well do that ourselves. It's a cunning plot indeed, because not only will it put the murderer to death, but it will keep the peasants from investigating such a beast too deeply. In the moor Many have seen the hound, and what farmer who has seen him dares to ask? I said it in London, Watson, and I say it again now, we have never assisted in the pursuit Dangerous ones."—He waved his long arms toward the vast mottled, green-spotted puddles, which stretched away until they merged with the russet moor's slopes.