Cover image for The hound of the Baskervilles : another adventure of Sherlock Holmes : a facsimile of the adventure as it was first published in the Strand magazine, London
Title:
The hound of the Baskervilles : another adventure of Sherlock Holmes : a facsimile of the adventure as it was first published in the Strand magazine, London
Author:
Doyle, Arthur Conan, 1859-1930.
Publication Information:
Woodbury, NY : Platinum Press, 1996.
Physical Description:
110 pages : illustrations ; 25 cm
General Note:
"A reprint of the original serial publication in the Strand magazine (London), Vols XXII, XXIII, (August 1901-April 1902)"--T.p. verso.
Language:
English
Personal Subject:
ISBN:
9781879582156
Format :
Book

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Collins Library X Adult Fiction Open Shelf
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Summary

Summary

In this, one of the most famous of Doyle's mysteries, the tale of an ancient curse and a savage ghostly hound comes frighteningly to life. The gray towers of Baskerville Hall and the wild open country of Dartmoor will haunt the reader as Holmes and Watson seek to unravel the many secrets ofthe misty English bogs.


Author Notes

The most famous fictional detective in the world is Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes. However, Doyle was, at best, ambivalent about his immensely successful literary creation and, at worst, resentful that his more "serious" fiction was relatively ignored. Born in Edinburgh, Doyle studied medicine from 1876 to 1881 and received his M.D. in 1885. He worked as a military physician in South Africa during the Boer War and was knighted in 1902 for his exceptional service. Doyle was drawn to writing at an early age. Although he attempted to enter private practice in Southsea, Portsmouth, in 1882, he soon turned to writing in his spare time; it eventually became his profession. As a Liberal Unionist, Doyle ran, unsuccessfully, for Parliament in 1903. During his later years, Doyle became an avowed spiritualist.

Doyle sold his first story, "The Mystery of the Sasassa Valley," to Chambers' Journal in 1879. When Doyle published the novel, A Study in Scarlet in 1887, Sherlock Holmes was introduced to an avid public. Doyle is reputed to have used one of his medical professors, Dr. Joseph Bell, as a model for Holmes's character. Eventually, Doyle wrote three additional Holmes novels and five collections of Holmes short stories. A brilliant, though somewhat eccentric, detective, Holmes employs scientific methods of observation and deduction to solve the mysteries that he investigates. Although an "amateur" private detective, he is frequently called upon by Scotland Yard for assistance. Holmes's assistant, the faithful Dr. Watson, provides a striking contrast to Holmes's brilliant intellect and, in Doyle's day at least, serves as a character with whom the reader can readily identify. Having tired of Holmes's popularity, Doyle even tried to kill the great detective in "The Final Problem" but was forced by an outraged public to resurrect him in 1903. Although Holmes remained Doyle's most popular literary creation, Doyle wrote prolifically in other genres, including historical adventure, science fiction, and supernatural fiction. Despite Doyle's sometimes careless writing, he was a superb storyteller. His great skill as a popular author lay in his technique of involving readers in his highly entertaining adventures.

(Bowker Author Biography)


Reviews 4

Booklist Review

The Illustrated Classics graphic-novel series takes on the master of deduction with this invigorating slant on one of Conan Doyle's best-loved works. The story unfolds faithfully: Dr. Mortimer arrives at 221B Baker Street to rope Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson into the strange case of Charles Baskerville, who recently (and quite mysteriously!) became the latest in his lineage to die, possibly at the hands of the legendary beast who haunts the grounds. Holmes, as depicted by Culbard, is a long-faced, dagger-nosed, boulder-chinned aristocrat a caricature, but one still agile enough to exude pleasure when uttering that the case presents some features of interest. Each character's features are similarly comic yet present fun counterparts to the verbose untanglings. The large word balloons are often the only visual breaks from the warm/cold colors that balance each page except, of course, when the hound bounds onto the stage in glowing greens. The fascinating back matter includes early designs for Holmes and Watson, an overhead schema of their office, and a preview of the upcoming A Study in Scarlet.--Kraus, Daniel Copyright 2009 Booklist


Publisher's Weekly Review

This better than average comics version of the quintessential 1901 Sherlock Holmes novel shows the first private detective's cool rationality confronting gibbering horror in order to thwart an ancient curse, a hound from hell that kills the male heads of a wealthy family. Patriarch Sir Charles Baskerville just having been frightened to death, Holmes and Dr. Watson set out to protect the family heir, Sir Henry. Few trappings of gothic mystery are missing from the action, but they are countered by Holmes's instructions that Watson should observe closely and analyze skeptically everything he sees. Edginton's script is much closer to Conan Doyle's original than most adaptations, although that does mean that the characters get to talk a lot. Culbard's energetic layouts and darkly sinister backgrounds are effective; when he turns to the story's people, unfortunately, the Seth-like brushwork stretches their heads until they look like animated kidney beans. Overall, though, Hound gives modern readers a taste of what makes Sherlock Holmes an immortal character. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved


Library Journal Review

Reader Freddie Jones gives a riveting performance of Conan Doyle's most spellbinding novel. The story of the "hound from Hell" has haunted the Baskervilles through many generations. Now, Sir Henry Baskerville has more than the legendary hound to take on as Seldon, the infamous Notting Hill murderer, has escaped from prison and is known to be lurking around the moor. What a time for Sherlock Holmes to be detained in London! Thus, Watson is left to take on the case. This mystery is much more than elementary, however. The abridgment captures the dark, brooding nature of Dartmoor and the Grimpen Mire, providing the perfect backdrop for the story. Recommended for most libraries.‘Theresa Connors, Arkansas Tech Univ., Russellville (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


School Library Journal Review

Gr 9 Up-In what is arguably both the best Sherlock Holmes story in the canon and one of the classic all-time mystery novels, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle parlays his interest in the occult with keen scientific detection in a story that prominently showcases Dr. Watson. Upon hearing Dr. James Mortimer's saga of the haunted Baskerville family and the recent death of family head Sir Charles Baskerville, apparently from the hound of the legend, Holmes and Watson begin their investigation. When the estate's heir, Sir Henry Baskerville, arrives in London from Canada strange things immediately occur and Holmes dispatches Watson to accompany Sir Henry to Baskerville Hall. Situated in Dartmoor in Devonshire, the estate borders a tremendous moor that includes Grimpen Mire, the deadly quicksand-like bog, and provides the Gothic atmosphere that so beautifully saturates the storyÄthe oppressive manor and nightly sounds of a wailing woman, Neolithic ruins and monoliths throughout the moor, a mysterious butler and his agitated wife, an escaped killer at-large on the moor, and the spectral and murderous hound. This expurgated version is wonderfully conceived and executed in every aspect, but particularly in the dexterous delivery of veteran British actor, Tony Britton. His diverse and distinctive portrayal of over a dozen characters is singularly commanding. This literary masterwork that has found its simpatico audio incarnation should be an obligatory purchase for all audio collections.-Barry X. Miller, Austin Public Library, TX (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.


Excerpts

Excerpts

CHAPTER I Mr. Sherlock Holmes Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he stayed up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood, bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a "Penang lawyer." Just under the head was a broad silver band, nearly an inch across. "To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the C.C.H.," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884." It was just such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to carry--dignified, solid, and reassuring. "Well, Watson, what do you make of it?" Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no sign of my occupation. "How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in the back of your head." "I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in front of me," said he. "But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of our visitor's stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir becomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an examination of it." "I think," said I, following so far as I could the methods of my companion, "that Dr. Mortimer is a successful elderly medical man, well-esteemed, since those who know him give him this mark of their appreciation." "Good!" said Holmes. "Excellent!" "I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on foot." "Why so?" "Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one, has been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it. The thick iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with it." "Perfectly sound!" said Holmes. "And then again, there is the 'friends of the C.C.H.' I should guess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose members he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which has made him a small presentation in return." "Really, Watson, you excel yourself," said Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette. "I am bound to say that in all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own small achievements you have habitually underrated your own abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear fellow, that I am very much in your debt." He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his words gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his indifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had made to give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think that I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way which earned his approval. He now took the stick from my hands and examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then, with an expression of interest, he laid down his cigarette, and, carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a convex lens. "Interesting, though elementary," said he, as he returned to his favourite corner of the settee. "There are certainly one or two indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several deductions." "Has anything escaped me?" I asked, with some self-importance. "I trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have overlooked?" "I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions were erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be frank, that in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided towards the truth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this instance. The man is certainly a country practitioner. And he walks a good deal." "Then I was right." "To that extent." "But that was all." "No, no, my dear Watson, not all--by no means all. I would suggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more likely to come from an hospital than from a hunt, and that when the initials 'C.C.' are placed before that hospital the words 'Charing Cross' very naturally suggest themselves." "You may be right." "The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this as a working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our construction of this unknown visitor." "Well, then, supposing that 'C.C.H.' does stand for 'Charing Cross Hospital,' what further inferences may we draw?" "Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply them!" "I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man has practised in town before going to the country." "I think that we might venture a little farther than this. Look at it in this light. On what occasion would it be most probable that such a presentation would be made? When would his friends unite to give him a pledge of their good will? Obviously at the moment when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the service of the hospital in order to start in practice for himself. We know there has been a presentation. We believe there has been a change from a town hospital to a country practice. Is it, then, stretching our inference too far to say that the presentation was on the occasion of the change?" "It certainly seems probable." "Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff of the hospital, since only a man well-established in a London practice could hold such a position, and such a one would not drift into the country. What was he, then? If he was in the hospital and yet not on the staff, he could only have been a house-surgeon or a house-physician--little more than a senior student. And he left five years ago--the date is on the stick. So your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin air, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favourite dog, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff." I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling. "As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you," said I, "but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars about the man's age and professional career." From my small medical shelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up the name. There were several Mortimers, but only one who could be our visitor. I read his record aloud. "Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor,Devon. House surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross Hospital. Winner of the Jackson Prize for Comparative Pathology, with essay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?' Corresponding member of the Swedish Pathological Society. Author of 'Some Freaks of Atavism' (Lancet, 1882). 'Do We Progress? (Journal of Psychology, March, 1883). Medical Officer for the parishes of Grimpen, Thorsley, and High Barrow." "No mention of that local hunt, Watson," said Holmes, with a mischievous smile, "but a country doctor, as you very astutely observed. I think that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As to the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable, unambitious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is only an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only an unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country, and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room." "And the dog?" "Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master. Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle, and the marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. The dog's jaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too broad in my opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It may have been--yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel." He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted in the recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his voice that I glanced up in surprise. "My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?" Excerpted from The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Table of Contents

Over the great Grimpen Mire there hung a dense, white fog. It was drifting slowly in our direction and banked itself up like a wall on that side of us, low, but thick and well defined. The moon shone on it, and it looked like a great shimmering icefield, with the heads of the distant tors as rocks borne upon its surface. Holmes's face was turned towards it, and he muttered impatiently as he watched its sluggish drift.
"It's moving towards us, Watson." "Is that serious?" "Very serious, indeed - the one thing upon earth which could have disarranged my plans."
Every minute that white woolly plain which covered one half of the moor was drifting closer and closer to the house. Already the first thin wisps of it were curling across the golden square of the lighted window. The farther wall of the orchard was already invisible, and the trees were standing out of a swirl of white vapour. As we watched it the fog-wreaths came crawling round both corners of the house and rolled slowly into one dense bank, on which the upper floor and the roof floated like a strange ship upon a shadowy sea. Holmes struck his hand passionately upon the rock in front of us, and stamped his feet in his impatience.
I was at Holmes's elbow, and I glanced for an instant at his face. It was pale and exultant, his eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. But suddenly they started forward in a rigid, fixed stare, and his lips parted in amazement. At the same instant Lestrade gave a yell of terror and threw himself face downwards upon the ground. I sprang to my feet, my inert hand grasping my pistol, my mind paralysed by the dreadful shape which had sprung out upon us from the shadows of the fog. A hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth, its eyes glowed with a smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish be conceived than that dark form and savage face which broke upon us out of the wall of fog."
With long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down the track, following hard upon the footsteps of our friend. So paralysed were we by the apparition that we allowed him to pass before we had recovered our nerve. Then Holmes and I both fired together, and the creature gave a hideous howl, which showed that one at least had hit him. He did not pause, however, but bounded onwards. Far away on the path we saw Sir Henry looking back, his face white in the moonlight, his hands raised in horror, glaring helplessly at the frightful thing which was hunting him down.... Never have I seen a man run as Holmes ran that night. I am reckoned fleet of foot, but he outpaced me... In front of us as we flew up the track we heard scream after scream from Sir Henry and the deep roar of the hound. I was in time to see the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground, and worry at his throat.
_______
The Hound Of The Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Illustrations Copyright © 2006 Pam Smy. Published by Candlewick Press, Inc., Cambridge, MA.

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