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Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The Hound of the Baskervilles and Other Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Table Of Contents
The Adventure of the Cardboard Box
The Adventures of the Crooked Man
The Adventure of the Final Problem
The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter
The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual
A cold hand seemed to close round my heart
The Adventure of the Resident Patient
The Adventure of the Yellow Face
The Adventure of the Stockbroker’s Clerk
THE FIVE ORANGE PIPS
The Red-Headed League
You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson
The Sign of the Four
Chapter I-The Science of Deduction
Chapter II-The Statement of the Case
Chapter III-In Quest of a Solution
Chapter IV-The Story of the Bald-Headed Man
Chapter V-The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
Chapter VI-Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration
Chapter VII-The Episode of the Barrel
Chapter VIII-The Baker Street Irregulars
Chapter IX-A Break in the Chain
Chapter X- The End of the Islander
Chapter XI-The Great Agra Treasure
Chapter XII-The Strange Story of Jonathan Small
The Adventure of the “Gloria Scott”
I found myself chained as a felon with thirty-seven other convicts in the ‘tween-decks of the bark Gloria Scott…
The Hound of the Baskervilles
Chapter 1 Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Chapter 2 The Curse of the Baskervilles
Chapter 3 The Problem
Chapter 4 Sir Henry Baskerville
Chapter 5 Three Broken Threads
Chapter 6 Baskerville Hall
Chapter 7 The Stapletons of Merripit House
Chapter 8 First Report of Dr. Watson
Chapter 9 Second Report of Dr. Watson: THE LIGHT UPON THE MOOR
Chapter 10 Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson
Chapter 11 The Man on the Tor
Chapter 12 Death on the Moor
Chapter 13 Fixing the Nets
Chapter 14 The Hound of the Baskervilles
Chapter 15 A Retrospection
Отрывок из книги
In choosing a few typical cases which illustrate the remarkable mental qualities of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to select those which presented the minimum of sensationalism, while offering a fair field for his talents. It is, however, unfortunately impossible entirely to separate the sensational from the criminal, and a chronicler is left in the dilemma that he must either sacrifice details which are essential to his statement and so give a false impression of the problem, or he must use matter which chance, and not choice, has provided him with. With this short preface I shall turn to my notes of what proved to be a strange, though a peculiarly terrible, chain of events.
It was a blazing hot day in August. Baker Street was like an oven, and the glare of the sunlight upon the yellow brickwork of the house across the road was painful to the eye. It was hard to believe that these were the same walls which loomed so gloomily through the fogs of winter. Our blinds were half-drawn, and Holmes lay curled upon the sofa, reading and re-reading a letter which he had received by the morning post. For myself, my term of service in India had trained me to stand heat better than cold, and a thermometer at ninety was no hardship. But the morning paper was uninteresting. Parliament had risen. Everybody was out of town, and I yearned for the glades of the New Forest or the shingle of Southsea. A depleted bank account had caused me to postpone my holiday, and as to my companion, neither the country nor the sea presented the slightest attraction to him. He loved to lie in the very centre of five millions of people, with his filaments stretching out and running through them, responsive to every little rumour or suspicion of unsolved crime. Appreciation of nature found no place among his many gifts, and his only change was when he turned his mind from the evil-doer of the town to track down his brother of the country.
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“Well, I don’t know now whether it was pure devilry on the part of this woman, or whether she thought that she could turn me against my wife by encouraging her to misbehave. Anyway, she took a house just two streets off and let lodgings to sailors. Fairbairn used to stay there, and Mary would go round to have tea with her sister and him. How often she went I don’t know, but I followed her one day, and as I broke in at the door Fairbairn got away over the back garden wall, like the cowardly skunk that he was. I swore to my wife that I would kill her if I found her in his company again, and I led her back with me, sobbing and trembling, and as white as a piece of paper. There was no trace of love between us any longer. I could see that she hated me and feared me, and when the thought of it drove me to drink, then she despised me as well.
“Well, Sarah found that she could not make a living in Liverpool, so she went back, as I understand, to live with her sister in Croydon, and things jogged on much the same as ever at home. And then came this last week and all the misery and ruin.
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