Sherlockian Way of Thinking
The Hound of the Baskervilles is widely regarded as one of the most thrilling entries in the Sherlock Holmes series. The story masterfully blends Holmes’s sharp logical reasoning with an atmosphere of creeping dread, captivating readers with its suspenseful charm. Set against the misty, desolate backdrop of Dartmoor’s moorlands, the novel vividly renders an eerie and immersive environment that heightens the tension of the narrative.
One of the novel’s most striking features is the introduction of a supernatural element—the legendary curse of the Baskerville family, haunted by a demonic hound. By blurring the line between reality and the supernatural, the story sustains a delicate, almost unbearable tension throughout, making it one of the most memorable works in the canon.
From a literary standpoint, The Hound of the Baskervilles stands apart within the Holmes series for its successful incorporation of Gothic horror traditions. Within the story, Holmes systematically dismantles the myth through his rational intellect and scientific deduction, exposing the so-called supernatural occurrences as human deception rooted in greed and betrayal. In doing so, the novel significantly expanded the boundaries of detective fiction.
Another notable characteristic of this work is its unique narrative structure: even in Holmes’s physical absence from the scene, his presence remains palpable. While Holmes stays behind in London, Dr. Watson documents events at Baskerville Hall through detailed letters, allowing readers to experience the mystery vicariously alongside him. When Holmes finally reappears to unravel the tangled web of mysteries, the resulting catharsis is all the more exhilarating.
Blending an engaging plot with literary depth and experimental narrative techniques, The Hound of the Baskervilles is recognized not only as a cornerstone of the Holmes series but also as a seminal work in the history of detective fiction.
The tale opens with a death steeped in dread and superstition. Sir Charles Baskerville is found lifeless near the gate of his ancestral estate, his face twisted in terror. The ground nearby bears strange impressions—enormous paw prints, unmistakably those of a gigantic hound.
Whispers of an ancient curse resurface. Generations earlier, Hugo Baskerville, a cruel and debauched ancestor, abducted a young woman and pursued her across the moor. He was said to have been struck down by a monstrous spectral dog, and from that night onward, the Baskervilles were believed to be haunted by this phantom hound. One by one, heirs have met untimely deaths, each attributed to the family’s dark legacy.
Into Holmes’s London lodgings comes Dr. James Mortimer, country physician and friend of the late Sir Charles. He recounts Sir Charles’s final days: his mounting anxiety, his refusal to walk the moors alone, his belief that the curse was real. Villagers claimed to have heard eerie cries in the night and even glimpsed a luminous hound prowling the estate.
Now the last heir, Sir Henry Baskerville, has arrived from America. Mortimer implores Holmes: “If ever the powers of your great mind were needed, it is now.”
Holmes listens intently, his eyes gleaming with that cold fire Watson knows so well. “It is precisely where superstition takes root,” he remarks, “that logic must be most uncompromising.”
Sir Henry, newly arrived in London, soon finds himself shadowed by menace. A boot disappears mysteriously from his hotel room at the Northumberland, and an anonymous note warns him to “keep away from the moor.”
Though shaken, Sir Henry refuses to relinquish his inheritance. Holmes, detained in London, dispatches Watson to accompany him. “Write to me fully, my dear Watson,” Holmes instructs. “Let your eyes be mine upon the moor.” Thus begins Watson’s vigil at Baskerville Hall, his letters recording each tremor of unease for Holmes—and for us.
Arriving at Baskerville Hall, Watson and Sir Henry find themselves in an atmosphere heavy with foreboding. At night, mournful cries echo across the moor. The Barrymores, long-serving retainers, move about the Hall with furtive glances and whispered confidences, as if concealing some hidden truth.
The land itself seems alive with menace. In the distance, Watson spies a mysterious figure haunting the ridges. He meets the naturalist Stapleton and his striking sister, Beryl. Stapleton is affable yet oddly overbearing; Beryl, in a hurried whisper, warns Sir Henry to flee while he still can.
Piece by piece, the mystery thickens. A convict escaped from Dartmoor prison is found dead upon the moor. The Barrymores’ secret—an attempt to shelter the fugitive—comes to light. Watson, diligent yet uneasy, notes each occurrence for Holmes, all the while sensing that darker forces are at work.
Then Holmes himself reemerges, having conducted his own covert inquiry. At last, the pieces fall into place.
The true culprit is revealed to be Stapleton, the seemingly harmless naturalist. In truth, he is a secret Baskerville heir, driven by avarice to secure the estate for himself. Exploiting the legend of the hound, he has used a monstrous mastiff, its jaws smeared with phosphorus to glow with infernal light, to terrify and murder.
“It was not the hand of fate,” Holmes declares, “but the hand of man—guided by greed and cloaked in superstition.”
Holmes, Watson, and Sir Henry set their trap upon the desolate moor. Out of the mist bursts the beast itself—eyes blazing, mouth dripping with phosphorescent fire. Sir Henry staggers in terror as the hound leaps, but Holmes and Watson’s revolvers cut the creature down.
Stapleton, in frantic flight, plunges into the treacherous Grimpen Mire. Swallowed by the bog, he vanishes forever.
Holmes, in his measured tone, lays bare the threads of the plot. Stapleton had relied upon his knowledge of South American marshes and his mastery of fear. Yet logic pierced the veil of superstition, and the Baskerville curse proved to be nothing more than human malice draped in Gothic horror.
Sir Henry, shattered by the ordeal, departs for a restorative voyage abroad. The moor falls silent once more, its spectral hound banished. And so the legend ends, exposed by the relentless light of Holmes’s reason.