The world-famous detective Sherlock Holmes is once again called upon to put his uncanny detective techniques to work in this mystery horror story, which has become the archetype around which an entire genre has been created.
About the Author
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930) was a British novelist and historian best known as the creator of Sherlock Holmes. He also wrote historical novels, including "The White Company, " which he considered his favorite.
David Case is the founder and current president of Live Free Ministries, a ministry dedicated to restoring kingdom power and authority to spiritual leadership. Since the early 1990s, David Case has held retreats for both pastors and lay persons, helping them break through bondages and pointing them toward fulfilling the call of God on their lives. Having pastored the same church for eighteen years, Pastor Case gives other pastors the tools they need to implement the lifegiver model into a whole-church setting. Case also co-hosts a radio program and ministers internationally. It is David Case's heart to blend "the supernatural of the spiritual realm" with a very solid application into the natural realm.
Date of Birth:May 22, 1859
Date of Death:July 7, 1930
Place of Birth:Edinburgh, Scotland
Place of Death:Crowborough, Sussex, England
Education:Edinburgh University, B.M., 1881; M.D., 1885
Read an Excerpt
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.
Table of Contents
|1||Mr. Sherlock Holmes||1|
|2||The Curse of the Baskervilles||11|
|4||Sir Henry Baskerville||41|
|5||Three Broken Threads||59|
|7||The Stapletons of Merripit House||88|
|8||First Report of Dr. Watson||108|
|9||Second Report of Dr. Watson||119|
|10||Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson||145|
|11||The Man on the Tor||160|
|12||Death on the Moor||179|
|13||Fixing the Nets||197|
|14||The Hound of the Baskervilles||214|