The Hound Of The Baskervilles(Illustrated) E-Book

Arthur Conan Doyle

• Herausgeber: Jillian Wayne
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

• Illustrated Edition: 20 atmospheric, high-resolution illustrations that bring the moor to life
• Includes Bonus Material: A crisp summary, a clear characters list, and a short author biography of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

The Hound of the Baskervilles — Illustrated Classic for Modern Readers
Fog drifts over the Devonshire moor. A terrified cry splits the night. By dawn, Sir Charles Baskerville is dead—and the locals whisper that the family curse has claimed another victim. Sherlock Holmes, the master of reason, and Dr. Watson, his stalwart companion, follow a trail of clues through treacherous bogs, lonely tors, and a mansion thick with secrets. Is the monstrous hound a creature of legend—or the mask for a very human evil?
This reader-friendly edition enhances the Gothic suspense and razor-sharp deduction that made the novel immortal. The carefully placed illustrations amplify dread and drama without spoiling the mystery, while the added features help you dive in fast and savor every twist.

Why you’ll love this edition
Page-turning atmosphere: The moor becomes a character—eerie lights, distant howls, and footprints that shouldn’t exist.
Peak Holmes & Watson: Strategy, observation, and a bravura reveal that rewards attentive readers.
Perfect for book clubs & classrooms: Bonus materials make discussion effortless and engaging.
Ideal gift edition: Elegant layout paired with striking art—classic literature that looks as good as it reads.
What’s inside
The complete, unabridged text of The Hound of the Baskervilles (public domain)
20 mood-rich illustrations curated to match key scenes
A spoiler-light summary for quick recall
A concise characters list for easy reference
A brief author biography highlighting Conan Doyle’s life and legacy
Step onto the moor—where superstition stalks the night and only reason can lift the fog. This illustrated edition lets you experience Doyle’s masterpiece with fresh eyes and a racing pulse.

Leseprobe

The Hound Of The Baskervilles                                          By                                                          Arthur Conan Doyle

ABOUT DOYLE

Arthur Conan Doyle: The Man Who Gave Reason a Soul

Early Life and Education

Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle was born on May 22, 1859, in Edinburgh, Scotland, into a family steeped in creativity and contradiction. His father, Charles Altamont Doyle, was a talented but troubled artist, while his mother, Mary Foley Doyle, possessed a gift for storytelling that would spark her son’s imagination. As a child, Arthur was entranced by her tales of adventure and heroism — seeds that would later bloom into the immortal detective stories of Sherlock Holmes.

Educated by Jesuits at Stonyhurst College, Doyle’s early years were marked by strict discipline and intellectual rigor. Yet, even as a student, he showed an independent spirit, questioning authority and embracing science and logic — traits that would soon define both his writing and his worldview.

From Medicine to Mystery

Doyle pursued medicine at the University of Edinburgh, where a professor, Dr. Joseph Bell, became his real-life inspiration for Sherlock Holmes. Bell’s keen powers of observation and deduction fascinated Doyle, who began to apply similar reasoning in his fiction. During his studies, Doyle wrote short stories to support himself — his first published work appearing in Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal in 1879.

After earning his medical degree, he set up a practice in Southsea, Portsmouth. Patients were scarce, but time was plentiful — and in those quiet hours, he began to write. In 1887, he published A Study in Scarlet, introducing Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson to the world. The novel’s unique blend of scientific method and suspense redefined detective fiction.

Beyond Baker Street

Though Holmes made him famous, Doyle often felt trapped by his creation. Yearning for more serious literary recognition, he turned to historical novels like The White Company and Micah Clarke, which displayed his deep love of history and valor. Still, public demand for Holmes was insatiable. When Doyle attempted to kill off his detective in The Final Problem (1893), fans wore black armbands and besieged him with letters until Holmes was resurrected a decade later in The Hound of the Baskervilles (1902).

The Soldier, the Spiritualist, the Seeker

A man of restless intellect, Doyle was more than a writer. He served as a doctor in the Boer War, investigated social injustices, and campaigned for the wrongfully accused. Later in life, he became deeply involved in spiritualism, convinced that communication with the dead was possible. Critics mocked this belief, but Doyle defended it with the same passion and logic that animated Holmes — except now, he sought truth beyond the material world.

Legacy

Arthur Conan Doyle was knighted in 1902 for his service to the Crown, but his true legacy lies in his creation of Holmes — a symbol of reason, intellect, and justice. Yet Doyle himself was a paradox: a man of science who sought the supernatural, a realist who dreamed of heroes, and a writer whose fictional detective became more alive than most men.

He died on July 7, 1930, at his home in Crowborough, Sussex. On his tombstone are inscribed the words:

“Steel true, blade straight.”

A fitting epitaph for a man whose life — like his stories — cut cleanly between reason and wonder.

SUMMARY

The Hound of the Baskervilles — Quick, Captivating Summary

When Sir Charles Baskerville is found dead on the mist-soaked moors of Devon, locals whisper about an ancient family curse: a gigantic hellhound that hunts the Baskervilles. Enter Sherlock Holmes—cool, razor-minded—and Dr. Watson, his steadfast chronicler. While Holmes works from the shadows, Watson is dispatched to Baskerville Hall to guard the heir, Sir Henry, who’s already receiving sinister warnings and losing his nerves—and his boots.

The moor itself becomes a character: treacherous bogs, eerie lights, howls in the night, and neighbors with too many secrets. Watson’s on-the-ground notes chart a tightening net of clues—escaped convict, strange butler couple, suspicious naturalist—until Holmes dramatically reappears to connect the threads. Logic battles legend as the detectives peel back superstition to reveal a human plot with teeth.

What makes it great

Atmosphere for days: Gothic fog, lonely tors, and a mansion steeped in dread.

Holmes at his craftiest: He manipulates distance, lets Watson observe, then detonates the solution.

Legend vs. reason: A perfect duel between folklore and forensic thinking.

Relentless pace: Red herrings, cliff-edge reveals, and a climax that howls.

One-line takeaway:

A chilling Gothic mystery where superstition stalks the moor—until Holmes turns on the light and the monster shows its human face.

CHARACTERS LIST

Main Characters

Sherlock Holmes

The brilliant London detective whose razor-sharp intellect and deductive reasoning unravel even the most baffling mysteries. In this novel, Holmes takes a more strategic role—observing events from afar while allowing Watson to conduct much of the fieldwork before revealing his master plan.

Dr. John H. Watson

Holmes’s loyal friend, assistant, and narrator of the story. Brave, observant, and compassionate, Watson is sent to Baskerville Hall to protect Sir Henry and gather evidence. His journal entries form the core of the novel’s suspense and atmosphere.

Sir Henry Baskerville

The new heir to Baskerville Hall, recently returned from Canada. Honest, spirited, and strong-willed, Sir Henry becomes the target of the mysterious curse that haunts his family. His courage and temper make him both a victim and a fighter in the story.

Supporting Characters

Dr. James Mortimer

A country doctor and friend of the Baskervilles who first consults Holmes about the “curse.” Rational yet intrigued by the supernatural, Dr. Mortimer bridges the gap between science and legend in the story.

Mr. Jack Stapleton

A naturalist who lives near the moor with his “sister,” Beryl. Charming and intelligent on the surface, he hides a far darker and more cunning nature beneath his calm demeanor.

Beryl Stapleton

Presented as Jack’s sister but actually his wife. Compassionate and tragic, she becomes a reluctant accomplice to her husband’s schemes and tries to warn Sir Henry of the danger.

Mr. and Mrs. Barrymore

Caretakers of Baskerville Hall. Mr. Barrymore is reserved and mysterious, often misunderstood due to his secretive behavior. His wife, Mrs. Barrymore, is loyal and emotional, bound by love and family ties to protect her brother.

Minor Characters

Selden

Mrs. Barrymore’s brother and an escaped convict hiding on the moor. His presence adds fear and tension to the already haunting landscape.

Laura Lyons

A young woman from nearby Coombe Tracey. Misled and manipulated by Stapleton, she plays a key role in connecting the mystery’s human motives to its deadly outcome.

Frankland

An eccentric old man obsessed with lawsuits and astronomy. His peculiar habits provide humor and unexpected help in Watson’s investigation.

Symbolic Character

The Hound

More than just an animal, the hound symbolizes fear, legend, and the power of imagination. Its spectral presence on the moor embodies the novel’s clash between superstition and logic — the heart of Holmes’s investigation.

Would you like me to create a character relationship map (showing how they connect and influence one another) next? It would look great as a visual or table summary.

Table of Contents

Titlepage

Imprint

Dedication

The Hound of the Baskervilles

I: Mr. Sherlock Holmes

II: The Curse of the Baskervilles

III: The Problem

IV: Sir Henry Baskerville

V: Three Broken Threads

VI: Baskerville Hall

VII: The Stapletons of Merripit House

VIII: First Report of Dr. Watson

IX: Second Report of Dr. Watson

X: Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson

XI: The Man on the Tor

XII: Death on the Moor

XIII: Fixing the Nets

XIV: The Hound of the Baskervilles

XV: A Retrospection

Colophon

Uncopyright

I

Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearthrug 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 coffeepot 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 as 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 a 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 a 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, absentminded, 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 absentminded. 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 absentminded 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?”

“For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our very doorstep, and there is the ring of its owner. Don’t move, I beg you, Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and your presence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment of fate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life, and you know not whether for good or ill. What does Dr. James Mortimer, the man of science, ask of Sherlock Holmes, the specialist in crime? Come in!”

The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since I had expected a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall, thin man, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two keen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a professional but rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat was dingy and his trousers frayed. Though young, his long back was already bowed, and he walked with a forward thrust of his head and a general air of peering benevolence. As he entered his eyes fell upon the stick in Holmes’s hand, and he ran towards it with an exclamation of joy. “I am so very glad,” said he. “I was not sure whether I had left it here or in the Shipping Office. I would not lose that stick for the world.”

“A presentation, I see,” said Holmes.

“Yes, sir.”

“From Charing Cross Hospital?”

“From one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage.”

“Dear, dear, that’s bad!” said Holmes, shaking his head.

Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment. “Why was it bad?”

“Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your marriage, you say?”

“Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all hopes of a consulting practice. It was necessary to make a home of my own.”

“Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all,” said Holmes. “And now, Dr. James Mortimer⁠—”

“Mister, sir, Mister⁠—a humble M.R.C.S.”

“And a man of precise mind, evidently.”

“A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the shores of the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmes whom I am addressing and not⁠—”

“No, this is my friend Dr. Watson.”