ch raised the hair upon the heads of these three daredevil
roysterers, but it was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at
his throat, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast,
shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal
eye has rested upon. And even as they looked the thing tore the
throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it turned its
blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the three shrieked with
fear and rode for dear life, still screaming, across the moor.
One, it is said, died that very night of what he had seen, and
the other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days.

"Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound which is
said to have plagued the family so sorely ever since. If I have
set it down it is because that which is clearly known hath less
terror than that which is but hinted at and guessed. Nor can it
be denied that many of the family have been unhappy in their
deaths, which have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious. Yet may
we shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence,
which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that third or
fourth generation which is threatened in Holy Writ. To that
Providence, my sons, I hereby commend you, and I counsel you by
way of caution to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark
hours when the powers of evil are exalted.

"[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and John, with
instructions that they say nothing thereof to their sister
Elizabeth.]"

When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he
pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr.
Sherlock Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed the end of his
cigarette into the fire.

"Well?" said he.

"Do you not find it interesting?"

"To a collector of fairy tales."

Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little more
recent. This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this
year. It is a short account of the facts elicited at the death of
Sir Charles Baskerville which occurred a few days before that
date."

My friend leaned a little forward and his expression became
intent. Our visitor readjusted his glasses and began:--

"The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville, whose name
has been mentioned as the probable Liberal candidate for
Mid-Devon at the next election, has cast a gloom over the county.
Though Sir Charles h