EHM 77🔐

Chapter 77 …

Sally, brimming with excitement, recounted the whole story to me.

“I went down to the first floor to fetch your washing water, ma’am, but ever since morning, it’s been so chaotic. I wondered what was going on, so I peeked into the drawing room, and…”

She explained that the police had already arrived in full force.

“From now until the investigation is over, no one is allowed to leave the estate.”

Even just the guests invited to the Baskerville estate numbered around twenty. Add in the household staff and the merchants who visited daily for regular business, and the number of potential suspects reached as high as fifty.

“Apparently, they’re starting by questioning Sir Charles’s closest associates, then investigating the guests one by one.”

Until the police finished their investigation, even gathering together for meals was prohibited.

“Emily.”

Just after finishing the meal brought by the servant alongside Sally, there was a knock at the door.

“It’s me, Jimmy. May I come in?”

At my invitation, the door creaked open, and Jimmy stepped inside. Her face was pale, almost ghostly, as if she had seen something she shouldn’t.

“…I’ve just returned from examining Sir Charles’s body.”

Jimmy Miranda Barry.

Even she—renowned for having dissected countless corpses without ever flinching—was shaken.

This time, Sir Charles Baskerville’s body itself was shocking.

“It was the first time I felt that way,” she admitted, frowning as if recalling the horror.

“Of course, the exterior was gruesome. There were bite marks as if from a large dog or wild beast….”

Sir Charles had lost consciousness from the untreated wounds, and because he was left in that state, he suffered cardiac arrest due to excessive bleeding. The estimated time of death was 2 a.m.

“But that’s not the horror I mean. His expression… the corpse itself…”

Sir Charles had been found with his eyes wide open. His face was twisted in terror, as if confronted by something truly horrifying. So grotesque that it erased any trace of the handsome features he once had.

“From that corpse… there’s a very ominous feeling.”

“Jimmy, are you implying…?”

I spoke cautiously, and she lifted her gaze. Her expression mirrored a fear I had seen before—fear of something supernatural.

“Yes. Something beyond human reason, a mysterious and inexplicable existence.”

She was convinced that such a force had been involved in Sir Charles Baskerville’s death.

“Emily, have you heard of the ‘Curse of the Hellhound’ that’s passed down in this region?”

I hadn’t heard it directly, but I already knew the legend. It’s from Conan Doyle’s original story, The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Sir Charles Baskerville’s great-grandfather, Hugo Baskerville, entered the forest at night in pursuit of a woman who had fled him. There, he encountered a massive, pitch-black ‘hellhound’ with eyes glowing like blood.

‘Aaargh!’

Hugo Baskerville was killed instantly by the dog’s jaws. The estate staff also either died suddenly on the spot or, in the few who survived, lived lives worse than death, rendered almost broken.

“There’s been talk that this legend, passed down for over a hundred years, has manifested again in Sir Charles’s generation.”

Indeed, those before Sir Charles met similarly tragic ends.

His grandfather’s horse, perfectly fine the day before, went wild near a cliff, causing him to fall to his death. Sir Charles’s uncle, young and unmarried, drowned in a swamp. His father, even as the second son, inherited the family, but shortly after his second child was born, he developed sudden neurological issues and died under mysterious circumstances.

It was only natural that the Baskerville family, once rulers of vast lands, had gradually declined.

“Jimmy, do you really think so?”

I asked as a doctor’s professional opinion. She nodded.

“I’ve seen countless corpses in my career. Probably no one around here has dissected as many as I have.”

She was confident.

“And I can say with 100 percent certainty… whoever—or whatever—killed Sir Charles was not human.”

Not a person letting a hunting dog loose, as the police suspected.

“It’s a centuries-old malice, something horrifying and incomprehensible… almost like an ancient curse.”

When she first saw the body, an indescribable, terrifying energy engulfed her. She clung desperately to her reason, or else she might have fainted just like the maid who discovered the body.

Her conclusion was clear: she was certain that Sir Charles Baskerville’s death was caused by the ‘Curse of the Hellhound.’

“But the problem is—”

Currently, the police were treating Miss Titania Baskerville as the prime suspect.

By evening, it was my turn to be questioned.

“Are you Mrs. Emily Carter?”

The detective from Devon County Police looked exhausted. Fifteenth interrogation—he had every reason to be weary.

“Yes,” I replied, and he began his questioning.

Where had I been the night before? Could anyone confirm my whereabouts? When had I interacted with Charles, and what did we discuss?

Most questions focused on establishing an alibi and my relationship with Sir Charles.

“I returned straight to my room after the ball last night.”

The maid who brought me my nightgown could confirm, and Sally, my personal maid, had seen me asleep before leaving.

The detective seemed satisfied.

“Understood. You mentioned you had no special relationship with Sir Charles and only met him through Sir Henry… However…”

His eyes glimmered strangely.

“According to other testimonies, you were allegedly proposed to by Sir Charles yesterday at the hunting grounds.”

I didn’t know who had said that, though anyone could have overheard it. I admitted it immediately.

“Yes, that’s true. And I refused him immediately.”

“May I ask why? I understand it’s personal…”

Half professional, half prying curiosity came through in his voice.

“It is a personal matter, but for the sake of cooperation: Sir Charles was not my type, and I had no intention of accepting him.”

“Thank you for cooperating.”

Noticing my slight annoyance, the detective quickly let me go.

It was fortunate that the police investigation had so far bypassed me and those important to me—Sally, Jimmy, Jane, and Chris—but…

“Just as Jimmy said.”

Henry, deeply shocked by Sir Charles’s sudden death, came to my room with reddened eyes as if he might collapse. I held him tightly.

‘Emily, Emily, how… how could this happen to Charles…’

He sobbed incoherently, eventually regaining composure, and then began summarizing the estate’s situation to me.

“The police are not only treating Miss Titania as the prime suspect, but interpreting all evidence against her.”

According to Henry, investigators already assumed ‘Titania Baskerville’ as the culprit.

“How did they reach that conclusion?”

Henry explained:

• The autopsy showed the victim died from excessive bleeding, primarily from bite wounds on the neck.

• No wild animals inhabit the area; the only canines are the hunting dogs raised at the estate.

• These dogs are known to be vicious, only obedient to the old gamekeeper and Miss Titania.

“…So the dogs obey Miss Titania?”

I recalled Sir Charles’s extreme fear of barking dogs, and the fact he had restraining devices installed on their vocal cords.

“However, the old gamekeeper had taken leave and left the estate last night. He had no motive.”

“So…”

The only person with access to the dog pens and whom Sir Charles would open doors for without suspicion was…

“…Miss Titania. Moreover…”

The decisive reason police suspected her: she was the heir to the estate, its lands, and all of Sir Charles’s business assets.

“She would inherit everything?”

If Charles had married and had children, the majority of the inheritance would go to them, leaving her with only a pension. But dying childless meant…

“She would receive the entire inheritance.”

Strong suspicions but no concrete evidence. The police were now combing for the slightest clue.

“Yes, but Miss Titania claims complete innocence.”

Henry confirmed she had been alone in her room during the incident. The problem: no one saw her, not even the servants who could verify her alibi.

‘At this rate, she’ll be framed as the culprit without a chance to defend herself.’

Nineteenth-century England was harsh on criminals. A young woman accused of killing her family for inheritance would have newspapers spinning horrific stories with glee.

“Henry, can we meet with Miss Titania in secret?”

I couldn’t leave it alone.

I called Jimmy to explain the situation.

‘Jimmy, contact Inspector Lestrade immediately.’

Greg Lestrade would know how to handle this. Jimmy headed to the phone, while I began planning a way to meet Miss Titania unnoticed by the police.

A few hours later, Sally returned to my room, grabbing me excitedly.

“Ma’am, ma’am! Mr. Holmes is here!”

Sherlock Holmes.

The true protagonist of this Hound of the Baskervilles case had finally arrived.