The True Ending of The Hound of the Baskervilles – Page Eight
	“Bloody hell!” cursed Lestrade, sitting back down on his rock.             “So,” I said, summarizing, “neither Selden nor the hound killed anyone, the Stapletons are merely pranksters who caused no real harm to anyone, and Stapleton did not even abuse his wife. Apparently the only villain in this case is the blackguard of an artist, Lyons, who deserted his wife, Laura.”             “Quite right,” came a voice from the fog, and out walked a tall, handsome man in a monk’s habit. His palms were pressed together in front of his chest, fingertips pointing upward, in a prayerful attitude. “I am George Lyons—rather, I should say that I was George Lyons. I am now called Brother Tobias. I have repented of my evil ways, taken my vows, and joined the monastery at Exeter. I now devote the artistic talents it has pleased God to bestow upon me to painting pictures of the Madonna and little cherubs.”
“What are you doing out here?” asked Holmes.             “I frequently come out onto the moor to flagellate myself,” the monk replied. Lestrade sprang to his feet. “Here, here, now!” he cried. “I know that a vow of chastity can be hard on a man, but you must try to restrain yourself! That’s no way for a man of the cloth to behave!” “You don’t understand,” said Brother Tobias. “I am here to mortify my flesh.” “See here,” said Lestrade, turning a bright crimson for the third time that night. “You go mortify your flesh all you want back in your cell at the monastery, but if you do it in front of these ladies here, I will arrest you in the name of the crown and will solemnly warn you that anything you say may be taken down and--”             Holmes interrupted him. “Calm down, Lestrade. Brother Tobias has come out here on the moor the way Saint Simeon Stylites and other medieval monks used to go into the desert to do penance by sitting on pillars, wearing hair shirts, and encouraging lice, which they called ‘pearls of God,’ to grow in their beards. ‘Self-flagellation’ means that he is going to beat himself with a whip or hit himself in the head with a piece of wood or something like that.”             “It’s much more fun to let your wife beat you with a whip,” Stapleton suggested. “But then, I guess the point is not to have fun.” “I have a question,” said Holmes, turning to Stapleton. “If your plan had worked and you had come into the succession, how could you have explained the fact that you, the heir, had been living unannounced under another name so close to the property? How could you claim it without causing suspicion and inquiry?”             Stapleton stood silent for several seconds. “Blast!” he said. “I never thought of that. It was a stupid idea and obviously would never have worked. What a twit I am! Uncle Charles and Cousin Henry, I apologize for causing all this trouble for no good reason.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Sir Henry. “No harm done. In fact, my share of the income from the Baskerville estate is more than I will ever be able to spend, so I’d be happy to share it with you. You and Beryl can even come up and live at the Hall, if you’d like. There is plenty of room.”             “I say,” said Stapleton. “That’s mighty white of you, old fellow, considering all the trouble we’ve caused! What do you say, Beryl?” She nodded. “We accept,” Stapleton continued. “And the three of us can share ownership of the Hound.” Sir Henry and Stapleton shook hands and embraced warmly.
“All’s well that ends well,” said Sir Henry. “There is only one problem from my point of view. Uncle Charles and Miss Lyons are engaged, Selden is back with his wife, Selden’s wife’s former lover is reconciled with his wife, the Stapletons are happily married, and even the dogs have mated. And here I am, left high and dry. I thought I had something going with Beryl, but that it was all a ruse. So, since there are no available women on this godforsaken moor, it appears that I am doomed to rattle around Baskerville Hall womanless for the rest of my days. Which seems unjust, since I’m so young and handsome and everything.” He stifled a sob.             “There, there, Sir Henry,” said Beryl. “As it happens, I have an identical-twin sister who has ruined her reputation back home in Costa Rica with her wild behavior and is coming to England to make a fresh start. She is due in on the 5:00 train tomorrow evening. I think that you and she would get along quite well.”
		Sir Henry brightened considerably at this news. “Well, now, that’s more like it!” he exclaimed. “Wild behavior, you say?” “Yes, indeed,” replied Beryl. “She is the biggest tramp in Central America. And over there they have no Queen Victoria and no Victorian Era, so being a tramp really counts for something.” “Wonderful!” leered sir Henry, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “And what is this lovely creature’s name?”             “Our parents named both of us after precious stones. I am Beryl, and her name is Sapphire.”             “Sapphire!” repeated Sir Henry. “Holy mackerel! It being the Victorian Era over here, I will, of course, marry her before any physicalities actually occur. You say that she gets in at 5:00 tomorrow; I will arrange to have the wedding at 6:00. And now, all of you are invited to a party at the Hall to celebrate the happy resolution of the case and my impending marriage to the lovely Sapphire Garcia. That includes you, Brother Tobias. We have a nice rack in the dungeon on which you can stretch yourself, and afterward you can call out the numbers for a few rounds of Bingo.”