Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
I cannot but regret my long delay in reading of the extraordinary powers of deduction possessed of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I decided I must needs redress this omission.A fortnight ago, I was alone in the house, as my butler, Nigel, had gone some 4 leagues distant to attend to an infirm beloved aunt.
I retired to my library with The Hound of the Baskervilles, intending to have a quiet evening of enjoyable reading. It was a dark and stormy night. The lashing rain came in hard from the lonely, blasted moor, laying thickly upon the window. I sat in my favorite chair before the fire, opening to the first page. I began to read, but in a short time, the warmth of the fire and the constant tap tap of the rain made me drowsy, and I fell into a fitful sleep.
I dreamed that my good friend Sir Ichabod Drake was being attacked by six murderous ruffians. I approached from behind, pistol drawn, and made short work of them. I turned to Sir Ichabod to see that he was safe and unhurt. He cried “look you about!” I spun around to see that one of the foul attackers had risen, blood flowing from his chest, and was running toward me, knife aimed at my heart, a villainous grin upon his countenance. I raised my pistol, cocked and pulled the trigger, and heard nothing but an abortive click. My weapon was empty. The sinister hoodlum was almost upon me, and I prepared to defend myself when.............
I awoke with a start, uncertain of where I was. I was shaken and felt a chill in my soul. When I at last became aware of the flickering fire, my memory returned and I recovered my composure, realizing it was but a dream. I inhaled deeply to settle my nerves, took a sip of brandy, and resumed my reading.
In short order, it was 2:00 a.m. The rain had stopped, and the fire was reduced to glowing embers. All was quiet, except for an occasional feral howl coming from the nearby forest.
I had finished the book with a sense of great satisfaction. The investigative prowess of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his devoted companion Dr. Watson far exceeded my expectations, and I felt quite fulfilled.
I arose from my chair, lighted a candle, extinguished the lamp, and climbed the stairs to my bed chamber. Nigel was not to return until morning so I prepared my night clothes and my own ablutions. I went to bed, a feeling of great serenity upon me. I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I awoke with a start, uncertain of where I was. I was shaken and felt a chill in my soul. When I at last became aware of the flickering fire, my memory returned and I recovered my composure, realizing it was but a dream. I inhaled deeply to settle my nerves, took a sip of brandy, and resumed my reading.
In short order, it was 2:00 a.m. The rain had stopped, and the fire was reduced to glowing embers. All was quiet, except for an occasional feral howl coming from the nearby forest.
I had finished the book with a sense of great satisfaction. The investigative prowess of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his devoted companion Dr. Watson far exceeded my expectations, and I felt quite fulfilled.
I arose from my chair, lighted a candle, extinguished the lamp, and climbed the stairs to my bed chamber. Nigel was not to return until morning so I prepared my night clothes and my own ablutions. I went to bed, a feeling of great serenity upon me. I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
