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the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track. 'But

I have seen more than that,' said he, 'for Hugo Baskerville

passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind

him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at

my heels.' So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd

and rode onward. But soon their skins turned cold, for

there came a galloping across the moor, and the black

mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing

bridle and empty saddle. Then the revellers rode close

together, for a great fear was on them, but they still

followed over the moor, though each, had he been alone,

would have been right glad to have turned his horse's

head. Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last

upon the hounds. These, though known for their valour

and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the

head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the

moor, some slinking away and some, with starting hackles

and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley before them.

"The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as you

may guess, than when they started. The most of them

would by no means advance, but three of them, the boldest,

or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the goyal.

Now, it opened into a broad space in which stood two of

those great stones, still to be seen there, which were

set by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old.

The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there

in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen,

dead of fear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight

of her body, nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo

Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon

the heads of these three dare-devil 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