Chapter 114: The Hound of the Baskervilles (2)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 114: The Hound of the Baskervilles (2)
After a heated debate over whether to hunt down Isaac Adler—who had clearly lured them here under false pretenses—or wait for him at the manor, the three women eventually settled on the latter.
“This way, please.”
“””………”””
Following the lead of the female butler, who had been waiting by the door for their decision, they crossed the threshold and finally entered the Baskerville estate.
“The interior is much cleaner than I expected.”
“…Indeed. It looked quite weathered from the outside.”
Watson and Lestrade whispered to each other, surprised by the pristine state of the manor as the butler ushered them inside.
“For a house passed down through generations, it’s remarkably well-maintained. I suppose the nobility really are in a league of their own.”
“………”
“As far as I am aware, this estate has been neglected for several years.”
Charlotte Holmes’s sharp voice cut through the air as she addressed the butler.
“…Why is it so meticulously refurbished?”
As Charlotte raised her voice in suspicion, the female butler, who had been standing with her head bowed, slowly lifted her gaze.
“Until recently, it was being used as a vacation home.”
“…Does that mean it will no longer be used as one?”
“Yes,” the butler replied flatly. “The heir to the estate is expected to return shortly.”
“…I see.”
Accepting the succinct answer, Charlotte nodded and continued down the hall.
“I heard the family abandoned this place because of a curse.”
“………”
“I take it the heir doesn’t care for such things?” Charlotte paused, glancing back over her shoulder to press the woman once more.
“It is merely baseless superstition.”
“In a world where superstition and irrationality have become the norm, that is a rather unfitting thing to say, isn't it?”
Charlotte let out a low chuckle at the butler’s immediate dismissal. Her eyes remained sharp, scanning every inch of the interior before she resumed her walk.
“…I apologize for her,” Watson whispered, leaning toward the butler with a sigh as Charlotte walked ahead. “She’s always been a bit… intense. I hope you can understand.”
“…There is no need.”
The butler bowed, her expression so gloomy and cold that Watson, despite being the one offering the apology, felt a chill run down her spine.
“………”
It wasn't just the butler; the entire estate shared that same oppressive temperament. From the ornaments and paintings lining the halls to the shade of the wallpaper and the dim glow of the wall lamps—everything felt heavy. Even the servants and maids standing silently behind the butler exuded a dark, unsettling aura.
“Come on, let’s head inside.”
“Ah, yes…”
Overwhelmed by the atmosphere, Watson followed Lestrade, feeling a wave of relief at the inspector’s indifferent tone.
As long as the Inspector is here, nothing will happen…
Watson had never envied Lestrade’s curse—which effortlessly nullified supernatural and bizarre forces—as much as she did in this moment. In fact, it felt more like a blessing than a curse.
However, she kept that thought to herself. Those who possessed a curse usually shared one thing in common: they loathed their power to the bone, regardless of how beneficial its side effects might be.
“So, the thing is…”
Once the three women were settled in the reception room, Charlotte was the first to speak.
“Miss Holmes. Perhaps you should compose yourself for a moment—”
“What is your relationship with Isaac Adler?”
“………”
Lestrade, who had tried to intervene to keep the peace, immediately shut her mouth and stole a glance at the butler.
“It is simply the relationship between a caretaker and a guest visiting the vacation home.”
“Is that so?” Charlotte leaned in, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Not a secret lover? An ex-girlfriend? A hidden fiancée? Or perhaps…”
“Excuse me, but you are being incredibly rude.”
“My apologies!” Watson barked, grabbing Charlotte by the scruff of her neck and forcing her into a bow. She shot a look at Lestrade that clearly asked: Are you just going to sit there?
“…If it’s none of those, could she be an agent of Professor Moriarty?” Lestrade muttered, her expression tense.
“What are you saying, Inspector? Even you need to keep your wits about you!”
“Or perhaps the heir is…”
“…Sigh.”
When even the inspector started muttering wild theories, Watson could only shake her head and let out a deep, weary sigh.
Do they both like Isaac Adler that much?
“Well, it doesn’t really matter. It’s a bit surprising, but looking back, everything leading up to this was odd anyway.” Charlotte brushed off the tension and crossed her legs. “Setting that aside, there is something I’d like to hear from a certain someone.”
“Are you addressing me, Charlotte Holmes?”
“You know who I am?”
“It would be difficult to find anyone in modern Britain who does not.”
The butler nodded slowly. Charlotte sighed, muttering to herself.
“…Sometimes I miss the days when I could walk through London and crimes would just happen on every street corner like a daily routine.”
“Holmes, you shouldn’t miss those dreadful days.”
“Watson, you’re quite talkative today, aren’t you?”
After shooting a blunt look at Watson, Charlotte turned her attention back to the butler.
“Anyway, I want to hear the legend regarding the ancestors of this estate.”
“…As I said before, it is merely baseless superstition.”
“Rumors and legends don’t spring from nothing. There is always an event that serves as the catalyst.”
The butler’s gaze darkened ominously. “I suppose detectives these days are keen on investigating matters from two hundred years ago…”
“…Not necessarily.” Charlotte met that dark gaze with a relaxed expression. “I’ve been working on a personal theory lately. The history of this family seems like the perfect piece to complete it.”
“Is that so?”
“Would you be so kind as to tell me?”
The air between them turned icy. It was a moment of peak tension until—
“…Allow me to take it from here. I’ll provide a satisfactory explanation.”
A cheerful voice rang out from behind them.
“So, would you please stop harassing our dear butler?”
Isaac Adler stood there, looking as though he had been brutally beaten. Blood dripped from his clothes, and the sight caused the three women’s eyes to widen in a mix of shock and inexplicable emotion.
.
.
.
“This time, it really wasn't a big deal.”
“”………””
“I just got hit by a carriage on the street. Haha.”
As Adler spoke cheerfully, wrapping a bandage provided by the butler around his torso, the three women stared at him in stunned silence.
“I have many questions,” Charlotte said, being the first to regain her composure. “But let’s start with the legend.”
“I didn’t know Miss Holmes was so interested in superstitions.”
“………”
“…Fine, fine. I’ll tell you. Why are you looking at me so fiercely?”
Adler chuckled, but under the chilling glares of Charlotte and Lestrade, he decided to get to the point.
“It happened about two hundred years ago.”
Just as he began, ignoring the dark look the butler was giving him from the side—
Creeeeak…
The sound of a door opening came from behind them.
“What is this? Who are all of you?”
A pale, dignified-looking girl appeared in the doorway. The room fell into a heavy silence.
“And who is this lady…?”
“…This is Miss Helen Baskerville, the heiress. She has recently returned from Canada.”
“Ah…”
The three women, already wary, became even more guarded at the butler’s explanation.
“I believe I made myself clear,” the girl whispered to the butler, her voice like ice. “I told you to have that man out of here by today.”
“…But, Miss. The residence rights to this estate belong to that gentleman for the next few weeks.”
“What?”
“You may be the heiress, but you have not yet inherited the estate from the Master. Mr. Adler, on the other hand, has a formal lodging contract already signed by him.”
“Haa…” The girl sighed in frustration, running a hand through her hair. “When your so-called vacation is over, leave immediately.”
“I was planning to do exactly that.”
“I don’t want someone like you in this house for a second longer.”
With a look of pure disgust directed at Adler, she turned and stormed out of the room.
“…It seems you all might be forgetting something,” Adler said, his voice carrying a faint note of amusement. “While it’s true I maintain intimate relationships with half the women in London, the other half find me utterly detestable.”
He glanced toward Lestrade and added, “Despite the fifty-fifty odds, it feels like it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone who hated me that much—not since Miss Lestrade, anyway.”
Adler looked around at the silent trio.
“Anyway, shall we get back to the main topic?”
A faint smile curled the corners of his mouth as his tone dropped.
“…It’s a tale from two hundred years ago.”
It was the legend of the Baskerville curse—a story that would bring devastating repercussions in just a few days’ time.
.
.
.
Meanwhile…
“Uh… ah…”
The current owner of the estate, Sir Charles Baskerville, Baronet, was stumbling backward, his face twisted in terror.
Grrrrr…
“No… stay back…”
He had encountered a monstrous creature while out for a brief stroll along the moorlands—a beast with eyes that glowed with a fierce, ghostly blue tint.
“AAAAAAHHHHHH!!”
Shortly after, the moorlands were stained crimson, the silence shattered by a chorus of endless, bloodcurdling screams.