
Classic·Detective Fiction
A Study in Scarlet
Arthur Conan Doyle
A convalescent army doctor meets an eccentric consulting detective, unraveling a bloody London mystery that spans two continents.
The Hound of the Baskervilles
Complete work

“A deadly ancient curse haunts the fog-drenched Devon moors, challenging Sherlock Holmes with his most chilling case.”
When Sir Charles Baskerville is discovered dead near his ancestral Dartmoor estate, rumors of a spectral, demonic hound terrorizing the lineage resurface. With the arrival of the new heir, Sir Henry, fear and superstition grip the desolate moors. Summoned to unravel the enigma, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson confront treacherous bogs, cryptic locals, and inexplicable nighttime howls. Caught between cold scientific deduction and the terrifying specter of the supernatural, Watson must protect the heir while Holmes orchestrates a daring investigation to unmask the true menace prowling the mist.
““To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the C.C.H.,” was engraved upon it, with the date “1884.””
““Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the Baskerville family.””
“At twelve o’clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open, became alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search of his master.”
“Holmes leaned forward in his excitement and his eyes had the hard, dry glitter which shot from them when he was keenly interested.”
““Who knew that you were going to the Northumberland Hotel?” asked Holmes, glancing keenly across at our visitor.”
““And also,” said Holmes, “that someone is not ill-disposed towards you, since they warn you of danger.””
““No, sir, this is Mr. Johnson, the coal-owner, a very active gentleman, not older than yourself.””
““I will come, with pleasure,” said I. “I do not know how I could employ my time better.””
““Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of this Barrymore couple?””
““It’s no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on him in such a place as this,” said he.”
““Did you, for example, happen to hear someone, a woman I think, sobbing in the night?””
“Yes, you will find some very singular points about the moor, Dr. Watson.”
“The longer one stays here the more does the spirit of the moor sink into one’s soul, its vastness, and also its grim charm.”
“This is Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who lives some four miles to the south of us.”
“The night was very dark, so that I can hardly imagine how he could have hoped to see anyone.”
“I have said “by one night’s work,” but, in truth, it was by two nights’ work, for on the first we drew entirely blank.”
““A hound it was,” he said at last, “but it seemed to come from miles away, over yonder, I think.””
“I proceed, then, from the morning which followed our abortive chase of the convict and our other strange experiences upon the moor.”
“In the distant hollow on the left, half hidden by the mist, the two thin towers of Baskerville Hall rose above the trees.”
“I left Sir Henry behind, therefore, not without some prickings of conscience, and drove off upon my new quest.”
““No doubt,” said I; “but how do you know that he is anywhere upon the moor?””
““I never was more glad to see anyone in my life,” said I as I wrung him by the hand.”
““It is not the baronet—it is—why, it is my neighbour, the convict!””
““I’ve been moping in the house all day since Watson went off in the morning,” said the baronet.”
“He is the best of the professionals, I think, and we may need his assistance.”
““As long as I have my trousers I have a hip-pocket, and as long as I have my hip-pocket I have something in it.””
““It’s a thousand to one against our finding him at the house,” he continued as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path.”
““Perhaps you would kindly give me a sketch of the course of events from memory.””
“The man, like Mrs. Stapleton herself, spoke good English, but with a curious lisping accent.”

Classic·Detective Fiction
Arthur Conan Doyle
A convalescent army doctor meets an eccentric consulting detective, unraveling a bloody London mystery that spans two continents.

Classic·Detective Fiction
Arthur Conan Doyle
Step into 221B Baker Street and witness the world's greatest consulting detective dismantle London's most baffling enigmas through pure deduction.

Classic·Detective Fiction
Arthur Conan Doyle
A stolen Indian treasure, a deadly secret pact, and a baffling puzzle for Sherlock Holmes across foggy Victorian London.
Public-domain work (1902). Text: Project Gutenberg #2852. The Spanish version is an AI-assisted translation and may contain errors. Digital edition by Inkora Stories. Learn more