Sherlock Holmes: The Hound of the Baskervilles, C. 1-3

It is a short account of the facts elicited at the death of Sir Charles Baskerville, which occurred a few days before.

The partiers were aghast at his fury when he cried out that they should release the hounds to hunt her down.

He had long, quivering fingers as agile and restless as the antennae of an insect.

Because of the rumors of this dreadful apparition that corresponds exactly to the hell-hound of legend, I assure you that there is a reign of terror in the district, and that it is a hardy man who will cross the moor at night.

Their bemused wits awoke to the nature of what his friend intended to do upon the moorlands, and everything was now in an uproar as they attempted to stop their friend from killing the maiden.

It was a fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort you walk with by holding onto the round head.

Their evidence, corroborated by that of several friends, tends to show that Sir Charles's health has for some time been impaired, and points especially to some affection of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of color, breathlessness, and acute attacks of nervous depression.

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 that covered the south wall, she came down from her captivity upstairs.

The man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in the other with surprising dexterity, for his fingers were as agile and restless as the antennae of an insect.

The young maiden, being discreet and of good repute, always avoided him, for she feared his evil name.

Sir Charles was a man who may be said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind, for in spite of his considerable wealth, he was simple in his personal tastes, and his indoor servants at Baskerville Hall consisted of a married couple.

It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet your skull for I find the brain that it houses to be so worthy of admiration.

I cannot gainsay that Master Hugo, the lord of the Manor of Baskerville, was a most wild, profane, and godless man.

Because of the rumors of this dreadful apparition that corresponds exactly to the hell-hound of legend, I assure you that there is a reign of terror in the district, and that it is a hardy man who will cross the moor at night.

The master, with five or six of his idle and wicked companions, stole down upon the farm and carried off the maiden.

As a practical man of affairs, it is acknowledged that you stand alone, and I trust that I have not inadvertently offended you by praising your competitor.

We can understand his taking an evening stroll, but the ground was damp and the night inclement, so is it natural that he should stand for five or ten minutes in such a weather?

I laughed incredulously when he predicted out of nowhere that the guest, whom we had missed the night before, owned a dog larger than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff.

I had often been upset by his seeming indifference to my great admiration for him and to the attempts I had made to give publicity to his methods.

You are not luminous yourself, but you are a conductor of light; some people do not possess genius but have a remarkable power of stimulating genius in others.

I had given him no sign of my occupation, so I wondered whether he had eyes in the back of his head that allowed him to see what I might have been doing.

I had often been piqued by his seeming lack of appreciation for my great admiration for him and to the attempts I had made to make the public aware of his methods.

Although I cannot be sure, I presume that it was not merely for the purpose of examining my skull that you have done me the honor to call here last night and again today.

Had the prosaic findings of the coroner not finally put an end to the romantic stories which have been whispered in connection with the affair, it might have been difficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall.

In these days of nouveaux riches (newly rich), it is refreshing to find a case where the scion of an old country family which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the fallen grandeur of his line.

When he finished reading this singular and unbelievable narrative, he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead to look at Holmes, but Holmes merely yawned.

Several people had seen a creature upon the moor - a huge creature, luminous, ghastly, and spectral - which sounds just like this Baskerville demon, and which could not possibly be any animal known to science.

He had made large sums of money in South African gold speculation; more wise than those who go on until the wheel of fortune turns against them, he realized his gains and returned to England with them.

These hounds, though known for their valor and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip upon the moor, some sinking away and some starting hackles in fear of something down in the valley before them.

There was in him a certain wanton and cruel humor that made his name infamous.