The Hound of the Baskervilles

Chapter 1
Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the
mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was
up all night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the
hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left
behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood,
bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a "Penang law-
yer." Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch
across. "To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the
C.C.H.," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884." It was
just such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to
carry -- dignified, solid, and reassuring.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"
Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him
no sign of my occupation.
"How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have
eyes in the back of your head."
"I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in
front of me," said he. "But, tell me, Watson, what do you make
of our visitor's stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to
miss him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental
souvenir becomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct
the man by an examination of it."
"I think," said I, following as far as I could the methods of
my companion, "that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly
medical man, well-esteemed since those who know him give
him this mark of their appreciation."
"Good!" said Holmes. "Excellent!"
"I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a
country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on
foot."
"Why so?"
"Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one
has been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town
practitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so it
is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with it."
"Perfectly sound!" said Holmes.
"And then again, there is the 'friends of the C.C.H.' I should
guess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose
members he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and
which has made him a small presentation in return."
"Really, Watson, you excel yourself," said Holmes, pushing
back his chair and lighting a cigarette. "I am bound to say that
in all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my
own small achievements you have habitually underrated your
own abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but
you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing
genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my
dear fellow, that I am very much in your debt."
He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his
words gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his
indifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had
made to give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think
that I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way
which earned his approval. He now took the stick from my hands
and examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then
with an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette, and
carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a
convex lens.
"Interesting, though elementary," said he as he returned to
his favourite corner of the settee. "There are certainly one or
two indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several
deductions."
"Has anything escaped me?" I asked with some self-
importance. "I trust that there is nothing of consequence which I
have overlooked?"
"I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions
were erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to
be frank, that in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided
towards the truth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this in-
stance. The man is certainly a country practitioner. And he walks
a good deal."
"Then I was right."
"To that extent."
"But that was all."
"No, no, my dear Watson, not all -- by no means all. I would
suggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more
likely to come from a hospital than from a hunt, and that when
the initials 'C.C.' are placed before that hospital the words
'Charing Cross' very naturally suggest themselves."
"You may be right."
"The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this as a
working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our
construction of this unknown visitor."
"Well, then, supposing that 'C.C.H.' does stand for 'Charing
Cross Hospital,' what further inferences may we draw?"
"Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply
them!"
"I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man has
practised in town before going to the country."
"I think that we might venture a little farther than this. Look
at it in this light. On what occasion would it be most probable
that such a presentation would be made? When would his friends
unite to give him a pledge of their good will? Obviously at the
moment when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the service of the
hospital in order to start in practice for himself. We know there
has been a presentation. We believe there has been a change
from a town hospital to a country practice. Is it, then, stretching
our inference too far to say that the presentation was on the
occasion of the change?"
"It certainly seems probable."
"Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the
staff of ohe hospital, since only a man well-established in a
London practice could hold such a position, and such a one
would not drift into the country. What was he, then? If he was in
the hospital and yet not on the staff he could only have been a
house-surpeon or a house-physician -- little more than a senior
student. And he left five years ago -- the date is on the stick. So
your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin
air, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under
thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor
of a favourite dog, which I should describe roughly as being
larger than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff."
I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his
settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling.
"As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you," said
I, "but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars
about the man's age and professional career." From my small
medical shelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up
the name. There were several Mortimers, but only one who
could be our visitor. I read his record aloud.

"Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor,
Devon. House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing
Cross Hospital. Winner of the Jackson prize for Compara-
tive Pathology, with essay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?'
Corresponding member of the Swedish Pathological Soci-
ety. Author of 'Some Freaks of Atavism' (Lancet 1882).
'Do We Progress?' (Journal of Psychology, March, 1883).
Medical Officer for the parishes of Grimpen, Thorsley, and
High Barrow."

"No mention of that local hunt, Watson," said Holmes with a
mischievous smile, "but a country doctor, as you very astutely
observed. I think that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As
to the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable, unambi-
tious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is only an
amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only an
unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country,
and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his
visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room."
"And the dog?"
"Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his
master. Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the
middle, and the marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. The
dog's jaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too
broad in my opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a
mastiff. It may have been -- yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired
spaniel."
He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted
in the recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction
in his voice that I glanced up in surprise.
"My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?"
"For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our
very door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I
beg you, Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and your
presence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic
moment of fate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair
which is walking into your life, and you know not whether for
good or ill. What does Dr. James Mortimer, the man of science,
ask of Sherlock Holmes, the specialist in crime? Come in!"
The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since I
had expected a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall,
thin man, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between
two keen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly
from behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a
professional but rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat was
dingy and his trousers frayed. Though young, his long back was
already bowed, and he walked with a forward thrust of his head
and a general air of peering benevolence. As he entered his eyes
fell upon the stick in Holmes's hand, and he ran towards it with
an exclamation of joy. "I am so very glad," said he. "I was not
sure whether I had left it here or in the Shipping Office. I would
not lose that stick for the world."
"A presentation, I see," said Holmes.
"Yes, sir."
"From Charing Cross Hospital?"
"From one or two friends there on the occasion of my
marriage."
"Dear, dear, that's bad!" said Holmes, shaking his head.
Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment.
"Why was it bad?"
"Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your
marriage, you say?"
"Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all
hopes of a consulting practice. It was necessary to make a home
of my own."
"Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all," said
Holmes. "And now, Dr. James Mortimer --"
"Mister, sir, Mister -- a humble M.R.C.S."
"And a man of precise mind, evidently."
"A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on
the shores of the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr.
Sherlock Holmes whom I am addressing and not --"
"No, this is my friend Dr. Watson."
"Glad to meet you, sir. I have heard your name mentioned in
connection with that of your friend. You interest me very much,
Mr. Holmes. I had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or
such well-marked supra-orbital development. Would you have
any objection to my running my finger along your parietal
fissure? A cast of your skull, sir, until the original is available,
would be an ornament to any anthropological museum. It is not
my intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet your
skull."
Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair. "You
are an enthusiast in your line of thought, I perceive, sir, as I am
in mine," said he. "I observe from your forefinger that you
make your own cigarettes. Have no hesitation in lighting one."
The man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in
the other with surprising dexterity. He had long, quivering fin-
gers as agile and restless as the antennae of an insect.
Holmes was silent, but his little darting glances showed me
the interest which he took in our curious companion.
"I presume, sir," said he at last, "that it was not merely for
the purpose of examining my skull that you have done me the
honour to call here last night and again to-day?"
"No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had the opportunity
of doing that as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I
recognized that I am myself an unpractical man and because I am
suddenly confronted with a most serious and extraordinary prob-
lem. Recognizing, as I do, that you are the second highest expert
in Europe --"
"Indeed, sir! May I inquire who has the honour to be the
first?" asked Holmes with some asperity.
"To the man of precisely scientific mind the work of Mon-
sieur Bertillon must always appeal strongly."
"Then had you not better consult him?"
"I said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind. But as a practical
man of affairs it is acknowledged that you stand alone. I trust,
sir, that I have not inadvertently --"
"Just a little," said Holmes. "I think, Dr. Mortimer, you
would do wisely if without more ado you would kindly tell me
plainly what the exact nature of the problem is in which you
demand my assistance."

Chapter 2
The Curse of the Baskervilles

"I have in my pocket a manuscript," said Dr. James Mortimer.
"I observed it as you entered the room," said Holmes.
"It is an old manuscript."
"Early eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery."
"How can you say that, sir?"
"You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination
all the time that you have been talking. It would be a poor expert
who could not give the date of a document within a decade or so.
You may possibly have read my little monograph upon the
subject. I put that at 1730."
"The exact date is 1742." Dr. Mortimer drew it from his
breast-pocket. "This family paper was committed to my care by
Sir Charles Baskerville, whose sudden and tragic death some
three months ago created so much excitement in Devonshire. I
may say that I was his personal friend as well as his medical
attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical,
and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this document
very seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end as
did eventually overtake him."
Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened
it upon his knee.
"You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s
and the short. It is one of several indications which enabled me
to fix the date."
I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded
script. At the head was written: "Baskerville Hall," and below
in large, scrawling figures: "1742."
"It appears to be a statement of some sort."
"Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in the
Baskerville family."
"But I understand that it is something more modern and
practical upon which you wish to consult me?"
"Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which must
be decided within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short
and is intimately connected with the affair. With your permission
I will read it to you."
Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips to-
gether, and closed his eyes, with an air of resignation. Dr.
Mortimer turned the manuscript to the light and read in a high,
cracking voice the following curious, old-world narrative:

"Of the origin of the Hound of the Baskervilles there
have been many statements, yet as I come in a direct line
from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from my
father, who also had it from his, I have set it down with all
belief that it occurred even as is here set forth. And I would
have you believe, my sons, that the same Justice which
punishes sin may also most graciously forgive it, and that
no ban is so heavy but that by prayer and repentance it may
be removed. Learn then from this story not to fear the fruits
of the past, but rather to be circumspect in the future, that
those foul passions whereby our family has suffered so
grievously may not again be loosed to our undoing.
"Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion (the
history of which by the learned Lord Clarendon I most
earnestly commend to your attention) this Manor of Basker-
ville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be gainsaid
that he was a most wild, profane, and godless man. This, in
truth, his neighbours might have pardoned, seeing that saints
have never flourished in those parts, but there was in him a
certain wanton and cruel humour which made his name a by-
word through the West. It chanced that this Hugo came to
love (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known under so
bright a name) the daughter of a yeoman who held lands
near the Baskerville estate. But the young maiden, being
discreet and of good repute, would ever avoid him, for she
feared his evil name. So it came to pass that one Michaelmas
this Hugo, with five or six of his idle and wicked compan-
ions, stole down upon the farm and carried off the maiden,
her father and brothers being from home, as he well knew.
When they had brought her to the Hall the maiden was
placed in an upper chamber, while Hugo and his friends sat
down to a long carouse, as was their nightly custom. Now,
the poor lass upstairs was like to have her wits turned at the
singing and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to
her from below, for they say that the words used by Hugo
Baskerville, when he was in wine, were such as might blast
the man who said them. At last in the stress of her fear she
did that which might have daunted the bravest or most
active man, for by the aid of the growth of ivy which
covered (and still covers) the south wall she came down
from under the eaves, and so homeward across the moor,
there being three leagues betwixt the Hall and her father's
farm.
"It chanced that some little time later Hugo left his
guests to carry food and drink -- with other worse things,
perchance -- to his captive, and so found the cage empty and
the bird escaped. Then, as it would seem, he became as one
that hath a devil, for, rushing down the stairs into the
dining-hall, he sprang upon the great table, flagons and
trenchers flying before him, and he cried aloud before all
the company that he would that very night render his body
and soul to the Powers of Evil if he might but overtake the
wench. And while the revellers stood aghast at the fury of
the man, one more wicked or, it may be, more drunken than
the rest, cried out that they should put the hounds upon her
Whereat Hugo ran from the house, crying to his grooms
that they should saddle his mare and unkennel the pack, and
giving the hounds a kerchief of the maid's, he swung them
to the line, and so off full cry in the moonlight over the
moor.
"Now, for some space the revellers stood agape, unable
to understand all that had been done in such haste. But anon
their bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which
was like to be done upon the moorlands. Everything was
now in an uproar, some calling for their pistols, some for
their horses, and some for another flask of wine. But at
length some sense came back to their crazed minds, and the
whole of them, thirteen in number, took horse and started in
pursuit. The moon shone clear above them, and they rode
swiftly abreast, taking that course which the maid must
needs have taken if she were to reach her own home.
"They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of
the night shepherds upon the moorlands, and they cried to
him to know if he had seen the hunt. And the man, as the
story goes, was so crazed with fear that he could scarce
speak, but at last he said that he had indeed seen the
unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track. 'But I
have seen more than that,' said he, 'for Hugo Baskerville
passed me upon his black mare, and there ran mute behind
him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at
my heels.' So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd and
rode onward. But soon their skins turned cold, for there
came a galloping across the moor, and the black mare,
dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing bridle and
empty saddle. Then the revellers rode close together, for a
great fear was on them, but they still followed over the
moor, though each, had he been alone, would have been
right glad to have turned his horse's head. Riding slowly in
this fashion they came at last upon the hounds. These,
though known for their valour and their breed, were whim-
pering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip or goyal, as we
call it, upon the moor, some slinking away and some, with
starting hackles and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow
valley before them.
"The company had come to a halt, more sober men, as
you may guess, than when they started. The most of them
would by no means advance, but three of them, the boldest,
or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the
goyal. Now, it opened into a broad space in which stood two
of those great stones, still to be seen there, which were set
by certain forgotten peoples in the days of old. The moon
was shining bright upon the clearing, and there in the centre
lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen, dead of fear and
of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body, nor yet was
it that of the body of Hugo Baskerviile lying near her,
which raised the hair upon the heads of these three dare-
devil roysterers, but it was that, standing over Hugo, and
plucking at his throat, there stood a foul thing, a great,
black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound
that ever mortal eye has rested upon. And even as they
looked the thing tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on
which, as it turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon
them, the three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life,
still screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that
very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were
but broken men for the rest of their days.
"Such is the tale, my sons, of the coming of the hound
which is said to have plagued the family so sorely ever
since. If I have set it down it is because that which is clearly
known hath less terror than that which is but hinted at and
guessed. Nor can it be denied that many of the family have
been unhappy in their deaths, which have been sudden,
bloody, and mysterious. Yet may we shelter ourselves in
the infinite goodness of Providence, which would not for-
ever punish the innocent beyond that third or fourth genera-
tion which is threatened in Holy Writ. To that Providence,
my sons, I hereby commend you, and I counsel you by way
of caution to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark
hours when the powers of evil are exalted.
"[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger and
John, with instructions that they say nothing thereof to their
sister Elizabeth.]"

When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narra-
tive he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared
across at Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed the
end of his cigarette into the fire.
"Well?" said he.
"Do you not find it interesting?"
"To a collector of fairy tales."
Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.
"Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little more
recent. This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this
year. It is a short account of the facts elicited at the death of Sir
Charles Baskerville which occurred a few days before that date."
My friend leaned a little forward and his expression became
intent. Our visitor readjusted his glasses and began:

"The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville,
whose name has been mentioned as the probable Liberal
candidate for Mid-Devon at the next election, has cast a
gloom over the county. Though Sir Charles had resided at
Baskerville Hall for a comparatively short period his amia-
bility of character and extreme generosity had won the
affection and respect of all who had been brought into
contact with him. In these days of nouveaux riches it is
refreshing to find a case where the scion of an old county
family which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his
own fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the
fallen grandeur of his line. Sir Charles, as is well known,
made large sums of money in South African speculation.
More wise than those who go on until the wheel turns
against them, he realized his gains and returned to England
with them. It is only two years since he took up his resi-
dence at Baskerville Hall, and it is common talk how large
were those schemes of reconstruction and improvement which
have been interrupted by his death. Being himself childless,
it was his openly expressed desire that the whole country-
side should, within his own lifetime, profit by his good
fortune, and many will have personal reasons for bewailing
his untimely end. His generous donations to local and county
charities have been frequently chronicled in these columns.
"The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charles
cannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the
inquest, but at least enough has been done to dispose of
those rumours to which local superstition has given rise.
There is no reason whatever to suspect foul play, or to
imagine that death could be from any but natural causes. Sir
Charles was a widower, and a man who may be said to have
been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind. In spite of
his considerable wealth he was simple in his personal tastes,
and bis indoor servants at Baskerville Hall consisted of a mar-
ried couple named Barrymore, the husband acting as butler
and the wife as housekeeper. Their evidence, corroborated
by that of several friends, tends to show that Sir Charles's
health has for some time been impaired, and points espe-
cially to some affection of the heart, manifesting itself in
changes of colour, breathlessness, and acute attacks of ner-
vous depression. Dr. James Mortimer, the friend and medi-
cal attendant of the deceased, has given evidence to the
same effect.
"The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville
was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking
down the famous yew alley of Baskerville Hall. The evi-
dence of the Barrymores shows that this had been his
custom. On the fourth of May Sir Charles had declared his
intention of starting next day for London, and had ordered
Barrymore to prepare his luggage. That night he went out as
usual for his nocturnal walk, in the course of which he was
in the habit of smoking a cigar. He never returned. At
twelve o'clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open,
became alarmed, and, lighting a lantern, went in search of
his master. The day had been wet, and Sir Charles's foot-
marks were easily traced down the alley. Halfway down this
walk there is a gate which leads out on to the moor. There
were indications that Sir Charles had stood for some little
time here. He then proceeded down the alley, and it was at
the far end of it that his body was discovered. One fact
which has not been explained is the statement of Barrymore
that his master's footprints altered their character from the
time that he passed the moor-gate, and that he appeared
from thence onward to have been walking upon his toes.
One Murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was on the moor at no
great distance at the time, but he appears by his own
confession to have been the worse for drink. He declares
that he heard cries but is unable to state from what direction
they came. No signs of violence were to be discovered upon
Sir Charles's person, and though the doctor's evidence pointed
to an almost incredible facial distortion -- so great that Dr.
Mortimer refused at first to believe that it was indeed his
friend and patient who lay before him -- it was explained
that that is a symptom which is not unusual in cases of
dyspnoea and death from cardiac exhaustion. This expla-
nation was borne out by the post-mortem examination, which
showed long-standing organic disease, and the coroner's
jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical evi-
dence. It is well that this is so, for it is obviously of the
utmost importance that Sir Charles's heir should settle at the
Hall and continue the good work which has been so sadly
interrupted. Had the prosaic finding of the coroner not
finally put an end to the romantic stories which have been
whispered in connection with the affair, it might have been
difficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall. It is under-
stood that the next of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville, if he be
still alive, the son of Sir Charles Baskerville's younger
brother. The young man when last heard of was in America,
and inquiries are being instituted with a view to informing
him of his good fortune."

Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket.
"Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection with
the death of Sir Charles Baskerville."
"I must thank you," said Sherlock Holmes, "for calling my
attention to a case which certainly presents some features of
interest. I had observed some newspaper comment at the time, but
I was exceedingly preoccupied by that little affair of the Vatican
cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I lost touch with
several interesting English cases. This article, you say, contains
all the public facts?"
"It does."
"Then let me have the private ones." He leaned back, put his
finger-tips together, and assumed his most impassive and judicial
expression.
"In doing so," said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to show
signs of some strong emotion, "I am telling that which I have
not confided to anyone. My motive for withholding it from the
coroner's inquiry is that a man of science shrinks from placing
himself in the public position of seeming to indorse a popular
superstition. I had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the
paper says, would certainly remain untenanted if anything were
done to increase its already rather grim reputation. For both these
reasons I thought that I was justified in telling rather less than I
knew, since no practical good could result from it, but with you
there is no reason why I should not be perfectly frank.
"The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live near
each other are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw
a good deal of Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of
Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist,
there are no other men of education within many miles. Sir
Charles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought
us together, and a community of interests in science kept us so.
He had brought back much scientific information from South
Africa, and many a charming evening we have spent together
discussing the comparative anatomy of the Bushman and the
Hottentot.
"Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to
me that Sir Charles's nervous system was strained to the break-
ing point. He had taken this legend which I have read you
exceedingly to heart -- so much so that, although he would walk
in his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon
the moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr.
Holmes, he was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung
his family, and certainly the records which he was able to give of
his ancestors were not encouraging. The idea of some ghastly
presence constantly haunted him, and on more than one occasion
he has asked me whether I had on my medical journeys at night
ever seen any strange creature or heard the baying of a hound.
The latter question he put to me several times, and always with a
voice which vibrated with excitement.
"I can well remember driving up to his house in the evening
some three weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his
hall door. I had descended from my gig and was standing in
front of him, when I saw his eyes fix themselves over my
shoulder and stare past me with an expression of the most
dreadful horror. I whisked round and had just time to catch a
glimpse of something which I took to be a large black calf
passing at the head of the drive. So excited and alarmed was he
that I was compelled to go down to the spot where the animal
had been and look around for it. It was gone, however, and the
incident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind. I
stayed with him all the evening, and it was on that occasion, to
explain the emotion which he had shown, that he confided to my
keeping that narrative which I read to you when first I came. I
mention this small episode because it assumes some importance
in view of the tragedy which followed, but I was convinced at
the time that the matter was entirely trivial and that his excite-
ment had no justification.
"It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go to
London. His heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxi-
ety in which he lived, however chimerical the cause of it might
be, was evidently having a serious effect upon his health. I
thought that a few months among the distractions of town
would send him back a new man. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual friend
who was much concerned at his state of health, was of the same
opinion. At the last instant came this terrible catastrophe.
"On the night of Sir Charles's death Barrymore the butler
who made the discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to
me, and as I was sitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville
Hall within an hour of the event. I checked and corroborated all
the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed the
footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gate
where he seemed to have waited, I remarked the change in the
shape of the prints after that point, I noted that there were no
other footsteps save those of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and
finally I carefully examined the body, which had not been touched
until my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his
fingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed with
some strong emotion to such an extent that I could hardly have
sworn to his identity. TheFe was certainly no physical injury of
any kind. But one false statement was made by Barrymore at the
inquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground round
the body. He did not observe any. But I did -- some little distance
off, but fresh and clear."
"Footprints?"
"Footprints. "
"A man's or a woman's?"
Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his
voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:
"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

Chapter 3
The Problem

I confess at these words a shudder passed through me.
There was a thrill in the doctor's voice which showed that he
was himself deeply moved by that which he told us. Holmes
leaned forward in his excitement and his eyes had the hard, dry
glitter which shot from them when he was keenly interested.
"You saw this?"
"As clearly as I see you."
"And you said nothing?"
"What was the use?"
"How was it that no one else saw it?"
"The marks were some twenty yards from the body and no
one gave them a thought. I don't suppose I should have done so
had I not known this legend."
"There are many sheep-dogs on the moor?"
"No doubt, but this was no sheep-dog."
"You say it was large?"
"Enormous. "
"But it had not approached the body?"
"No."
"What sort of night was it?'
"Damp and raw."
"But not actually raining?"
"No."
"What is the alley like?"
"There are two lines of old yew hedge, twelve feet high and
impenetrable. The walk in the centre is about eight feet across."
"Is there anything between the hedges and the walk?"
"Yes, there is a strip of grass about six feet broad on either
side."
"I understand that the yew hedge is penetrated at one point by
a gate?"
"Yes, the wicket-gate which leads on to the moor."
"Is there any other opening?"
"None."
"So that to reach the yew alley one either has to come down it
from the house or else to enter it by the moor-gate?"
"There is an exit through a summer-house at the far end."
"Had Sir Charles reached this?"
"No; he lay about fifty yards from it."
"Now, tell me, Dr. Mortimer -- and this is important -- the
marks which you saw were on the path and not on the grass?"
"No marks could show on the grass."
"Were they on the same side of the path as the moor-gate?"
"Yes; they were on the edge of the path on the same side as
the moor-gate."
"You interest me exceedingly. Another point. Was the wicket-
gate closed?"
"Closed and padlocked."
"How high was it?"
"About four feet high."
"Then anyone could have got over it?"
"Yes."
"And what marks did you see by the wicket-gate?"
"None in particular."
"Good heaven! Did no one examine?"
"Yes, I examined, myself."
"And found nothing?"
"It was all very confused. Sir Charles had evidently stood
there for five or ten minutes."
"How do you know that?"
"Because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar."
"Excellent! This is a colleague, Watson, after our own heart.
But the marks?"
"He had left his own marks all over that small patch of
gravel. I could discern no others."
Sherlock Holmes struck his hand against his knee with an
impatient gesture.
"If I had only been there!" he cried. "It is evidently a case of
extraordinary interest, and one which presented immense opportu-
nities to the scientific expert. That gravel page upon which I
might have read so much has been long ere this smudged by the
rain and defaced by the clogs of curious peasants. Oh, Dr.
Mortimer, Dr. Mortimer, to think that you should not have
called me in! You have indeed much to answer for."
"I could not call you in, Mr. Holmes, without disclosing these
facts to the world, and I have already given my reasons for not
wishing to do so. Besides, besides --"
"Why do you hesitate?"
"There is a realm in which the most acute and most experi-
enced of detectives is helpless."
"You mean that the thing is supernatural?"
"I did not positively say so."
"No, but you evidently think it."
"Since the tragedy, Mr. Holmes, there have come to my ears
several incidents which are hard to reconcile with the settled
order of Nature."
"For example?"
"I find that before the terrible event occurred several people
had seen a creature upon the moor which corresponds with this
Baskerville demon, and which could not possibly be any animal
known to science. They all agreed that it was a huge creature,
luminous, ghastly, and spectral. I have cross-examined these
men, one of them a hard-headed countryman, one a farrier, and
one a moorland farmer, who all tell the same story of this
dreadful apparition, exactly corresponding to the hell-hound of
the legend. I assure you that there is a reign of terror in the
district, and that it is a hardy man who will cross the moor at
night."
"And you, a trained man of science, believe it to be super-
natural?"
"I do not know what to believe."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"I have hitherto confined my investigations to this world,"
said he. "In a modest way I have combated evil, but to take on
the Father of Evil himself would, perhaps, be too ambitious a
task. Yet you must admit that the footmark is material."
"The original hound was material enough to tug a man's
throat out, and yet he was diabolical as well."
"I see that you have quite gone over to the supernaturalists.
But now, Dr. Mortimer, tell me this. If you hold these views
why have you come to consult me at all? You tell me in the same
breath that it is useless to investigate Sir Charles's death, and
that you desire me to do it."
"I did not say that I desired you to do it."
"Then, how can I assist you?"
"By advising me as to what I should do with Sir Henry
Baskerville, who arrives at Waterloo Station" -- Dr. Mortimer
looked at his watch -- "in exactly one hour and a quarter."
"He being the heir?"
"Yes. On the death of Sir Charles we inquired for this young
gentleman and found that he had been farming in Canada. From
the accounts which have reached us he is an excellent fellow in
every way. I speak now not as a medical man but as a trustee
and executor of Sir Charles's will."
"There is no other claimant, I presume?"
"None. The only other kinsman whom we have been able to
trace was Rodger Baskerville, the youngest of three brothers of
whom poor Sir Charles was the elder. The second brother, who
died young, is the father of this lad Henry. The third, Rodger,
was the black sheep of the family. He came of the old masterful
Baskerville strain and was the very image, they tell me, of the
family picture of old Hugo. He made England too hot to hold
him, fled to Central America, and died there in 1876 of yellow
fever. Henry is the last of the Baskervilles. In one hour and five
minutes I meet him at Waterloo Station. I have had a wire that
he arrived at Southampton this morning. Now, Mr. Holmes,
what would you advise me to do with him?"
"Why should he not go to the home of his fathers?"
"It seems natural, does it not? And yet, consider that every
Baskerville who goes there meets with an evil fate. I feel sure
that if Sir Charles could have spoken with me before his death he
would have warned me against bringing this, the last of the old
race, and the heir to great wealth, to that deadly place. And yet it
cannot be denied that the prosperity of the whole poor, bleak
countryside depends upon his presence. All the good work which
has been done by Sir Charles will crash to the ground if there is
no tenant of the Hall. I fear lest I should be swayed too much by
my own obvious interest in the matter, and that is why I bring
the case before you and ask for your advice."
Holmes considered for a little time.
"Put into plain words, the matter is this," said he. "In your
opinion there is a diabolical agency which makes Dartmoor an
unsafe abode for a Baskerville -- that is your opinion?"
"At least I might go the length of saying that there is some
evidence that this may be so."
"Exactly. But surely, if your supernatural theory be correct, it
could work the young man evil in London as easily as in
Devonshire. A devil with merely local powers like a parish
vestry would be too inconceivable a thing."
"You put the matter more flippantly, Mr. Holmes, than you
would probably do if you were brought into personal contact
with these things. Your advice, then, as I understand it, is that
the young man will be as safe in Devonshire as in London. He
comes in fifty minutes. What would you recommend?"
"I recommend, sir, that you take a cab, call off your spaniel
who is scratching at my front door, and proceed to Waterloo to
meet Sir Henry Baskerville."
"And then?"
"And then you will say nothing to him at all until I have made
up my mind about the matter."
"How long will it take you to make up your mind?"
"Twenty-four hours. At ten o'clock to-morrow, Dr. Morti-
mer, I will be much obliged to you if you will call upon me here,
and it will be of help to me in my plans for the future if you will
bring Sir Henry Baskerville with you."
"I will do so, Mr. Holmes." He scribbled the appointment on
his shirt-cuff and hurried off in his strange, peering, absent-
minded fashion. Holmes stopped him at the head of the stair.
"Only one more question, Dr. Mortimer. You say that before
Sir Charles Baskerville's death several people saw this apparition
upon the moor?"
"Three people did."
"Did any see it after?"
"I have not heard of any."
"Thank you. Good-morning."
Holmes returned to his seat with that quiet look of inward
satisfaction which meant that he had a congenial task before him.
"Going out, Watson?"
"Unless I can help you."
"No, my dear fellow, it is at the hour of action that I turn to
you for aid. But this is splendid, really unique from some points
of view. When you pass Bradley's, would you ask him to send
up a pound of the strongest shag tobacco? Thank you. It would
be as well if you could make it convenient not to return before
evening. Then I should be very glad to compare impressions as
to this most interesting problem which has been submined to us
this morning."
I knew that seclusion and solitude were very necessary for my
friend in those hours of intense mental concentration during
which he weighed every particle of evidence, constructed alter-
native theories, balanced one against the other, and made up his
mind as to which points were essential and which immaterial. I
therefore spent the day at my club and did not return to Baker
Street until evening. It was nearly nine o'clock when I found
myself in the sitting-room once more.
My first impression as I opened the door was that a fire had
broken out, for the room was so filled with smoke that the light
of the lamp upon the table was blurred by it. As I entered,
however, my fears were set at rest, for it was the acrid fumes of
strong coarse tobacco which took me by the throat and set me
coughing. Through the haze I had a vague vision of Holmes in
his dressing-gown coiled up in an armchair with his black clay
pipe between his lips. Several rolls of paper lay around him.
"Caught cold, Watson?" said he.
"No, it's this poisonous atmosphere."
"I suppose it is pretty thick, now that you mention it."
"Thick! It is intolerable."
"Open the window, then! You have been at your club all day,
I perceive."
"My dear Holmes!"
"Am I right?"
"Certainly, but how?"
He laughed at my bewildered expression.
"There is a delightful freshness about you, Watson, which
makes it a pleasure to exercise any small powers which I possess
at your expense. A gentleman goes forth on a showery and miry
day. He returns immaculate in the evening with the gloss still on
his hat and his boots. He has been a fixture therefore all day. He
is not a man with intimate friends. Where, then, could he have
been? Is it not obvious?"
"Well, it is rather obvious."
"The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any
chance ever observes. Where do you think that I have been?"
"A fixture also."
"On the contrary, I have been to Devonshire."
"In spirit?"
"Exactly. My body has remained in this armchair and has, I
regret to observe, consumed in my absence two large pots of
coffee and an incredible amount of tobacco. After you left I sent
down to Stamford's for the Ordnance map of this portion of the
moor, and my spirit has hovered over it all day. I flatter myself
that I could find my way about."
"A large-scale map, I presume?"
"Very large." He unrolled one section and held it over his
knee. "Here you have the particular district which concerns us.
That is Baskerville Hall in the middle."
"With a wood round it?"
"Exactly. I fancy the yew alley, though not marked under that
name, must stretch along this line, with the moor, as you per-
ceive, upon the right of it. This small clump of buildings here is
the hamlet of Grimpen, where our friend Dr. Mortimer has his
headquarters. Within a radius of five miles there are, as you see,
only a very few scattered dwellings. Here is Lafter Hall, which
was mentioned in the narrative. There is a house indicated here
which may be the residence of the naturalist -- Stapleton, if I
remember right, was his name. Here are two moorland farm-
houses, High Tor and Foulmire. Then fourteen miles away the
great convict prison of Princetown. Between and around these
scattered points extends the desolate, lifeless moor. This, then, is
the stage upon which tragedy has been played, and upon which
we may help to play it again."
"It must be a wild place."
"Yes, the setting is a worthy one. If the devil did desire to
have a hand in the affairs of men --"
"Then you are yourself inclining to the supernatural explanation."
"The devil's agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not?
There are two questions waiting for us at the outset. The one is
whether any crime has been committed at all; the second is, what
is the crime and how was it committed? Of course, if Dr.
Mortimer's surmise should be correct, and we are dealing with
forces outside the ordinary laws of Nature, there is an end of our
investigation. But we are bound to exhaust all other hypotheses
before falling back upon this one. I think we'll shut that window
again, if you don't mind. It is a singular thing, but I find that a
concentrated atmosphere helps a concentration of thought. I have
not pushed it to the length of getting into a box to think, but that
is the logical outcome of my convictions. Have you turned the
case over in your mind?"
"Yes, I have thought a good deal of it in the course of the
day."
"What do you make of it?"
"It is very bewildering."
"It has certainly a character of its own. There are points of
distinction about it. That change in the footprints, for example.
What do you make of that?"
"Mortimer said that the man had walked on tiptoe down that
portion of the alley."
"He only repeated what some fool had said at the inquest
Why should a man walk on tiptoe down the alley?"
"What then?"
"He was running, Watson -- running desperately, running for
his life, running until he burst his heart-and fell dead upon his
face."
"Running from what?"
"There lies our problem. There are indications that the man
was crazed with fear before ever he began to run."
"How can you say that?"
"I am presuming that the cause of his fears came to him
across the moor. If that were so, and it seems most probable
only a man who had lost his wits would have run from the house
instead of towards it. If the gipsy's evidence may be taken as
true, he ran with cries for help in the direction where help was
least likely to be. Then, again, whom was he waiting for that
night, and why was he waiting for him in the yew alley rather
than in his own house?"
"You think that he was waiting for someone?"
"The man was elderly and infirm. We can understand his
taking an evening stroll, but the ground was damp and the night
inclement. Is it natural that he should stand for five or ten
minutes, as Dr. Mortimer, with more practical sense than I
should have given him credit for, deduced from the cigar ash?"
"But he went out every evening."
"I think it unlikely that he waited at the moor-gate every
evening. On the contrary, the evidence is that he avoided the
moor. That night he waited there. It was the night before he
made his departure for London. The thing takes shape, Watson.
It becomes coherent. Might I ask you to hand me my violin, and
we will postpone all further thought upon this business until we
have had the advantage of meeting Dr. Mortimer and Sir Henry
Baskerville in the morning."

Chapter 4
Sir Henry Baskerville

Our breakfast table was cleared early, and Holmes waited in his
dressing-gown for the promised interview. Our clients were punc-
tual to their appointment, for the clock had just struck ten when
Dr. Mortimer was shown up, followed by the young baronet.
The latter was a small, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years of
age, very sturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a strong,
pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and had the
weather-beaten appearance of one who has spent most of his
time in the open air, and yet there was something in his steady
eye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which indicated the
gentleman.
"This is Sir Henry Baskerville," said Dr. Mortimer.
"Why, yes," said he, "and the strange thing is, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, that if my friend here had not proposed coming round to
you this morning I should have come on my own account. I
understand that you think out little puzzles, and I've had one this
morning which wants more thinking out than I am able to give
it."
"Pray take a seat, Sir Henry. Do I understand you to say that
you have yourself had some remarkable experience since you
arrived in London?"
"Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes. Only a joke, as
like as not. It was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which
reached me this morning."
He laid an envelope upon the table, and we all bent over it. It
was of common quality, grayish in colour. The address, "Sir
Henry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel," was printed in rough
characters; the post-mark "Charing Cross," and the date of
posting the preceding evening.
"Who knew that you were going to the Northumberland Ho-
tel?" asked Holmes, glancing keenly across at our visitor.
"No one could have known. We only decided after I met Dr.
Mortimer."
"But Dr. Mortimer was no doubt already stopping there?"
"No, I had been staying with a friend," said the doctor.
"There was no possible indication that we intended to go to this
hotel."
"Hum! Someone seems to be very deeply interested in your
movements." Out of the envelope he took a half-sheet of fools-
cap paper folded into four. This he opened and spread flat upon
the table. Across the middle of it a single sentence had been
formed by the expedient of pasting printed words upon it. It ran:

As you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor.

The word "moor" only was printed in ink.
"Now," said Sir Henry Baskerville, "perhaps you will tell
me, Mr. Holmes, what in thunder is the meaning of that, and
who it is that takes so much interest in my affairs?"
"What do you make of it, Dr. Mortimer? You must allow that
there is nothing supernatural about this, at any rate?"
"No, sir, but it might very well come from someone who was
convinced that the business is supernatural."
"What business?" asked Sir Henry sharply. "It seems to me
that all you gentlemen know a great deal more than I do about
my own affairs."
"You shall share our knowledge before you leave this room,
Sir Henry. I promise you that," said Sherlock Holmes. "We will
confine ourselves for the present with your permission to this
very interesting document, which must have been put together
and posted yesterday evening. Have you yesterday's Times,
Watson?"
"It is here in the corner."
"Might I trouble you for it -- the inside page, please, with the
leading articles?" He glanced swiftly over it, running his eyes up
and down the columns. "Capital article this on free trade. Permit
me to give you an extract from it.

"You may be cajoled into imagining that your own spe-
cial trade or your own industry will be encouraged by a
protective tariff, but it stands to reason that such legislation
must in the long run keep away wealth from the country,
diminish the value of our imports, and lower the general
conditions of life in this island.

"What do you think of that, Watson?" cried Holmes in high glee,
rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. "Don't you think
that is an admirable sentiment?"
Dr. Mortimer looked at Holmes with an air of professional
interest, and Sir Henry Baskerville turned a pair of puzzled dark
eyes upon me.
"I don't know much about the tariff and things of that kind,"
said he, "but it seems to me we've got a bit off the trail so far as
that note is concerned."
"On the contrary, I think we are particularly hot upon the
trail, Sir Henry. Watson here knows more about my methods
than you do, but I fear that even he has not quite grasped the
significance of this sentence."
"No, I confess that I see no connection."
"And yet, my dear Watson, there is so very close a connec-
tion that the one is extracted out of the other. 'You,' 'your,'
'your,' 'life,' 'reason,' 'value,' 'keep away,' 'from the.' Don't
you see now whence these words have been taken?"
"By thunder, you're right! Well, if that isn't smart!" cried Sir
Henry.
"If any possible doubt remained it is settled by the fact that
'keep away' and 'from the' are cut out in one piece."
"Well, now -- so it is!"
"Really, Mr. Holmes, this exceeds anything which I could
have imagined," said Dr. Mortimer, gazing at my friend in
amazement. "I could understand anyone saying that the words
were from a newspaper; but that you should name which, and
add that it came from the leading article, is really one of the
most remarkable things which I have ever known. How did you
do it?"
"I presume, Doctor, that you could tell the skull of a negro
from that of an Esquimau?"
"Most certainly."
"But how?"
"Because that is my special hobby. The differences are obvi-
ous. The supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve,
the --"
"But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally
obvious. There is as much difference to my eyes between the
leaded bourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of
an evening half-penny paper as there could be between your
negro and your Esquimau. The detection of types is one of the
most elementary branches of knowledge to the special expert in
crime, though I confess that once when I was very young I
confused the Leeds Mercury with the Western Morning News.
But a Times leader is entirely distinctive, and these words could
have been taken from nothing else. As it was done yesterday the
strong probability was that we should find the words in yester-
day's issue."
"So far as I can follow you, then, Mr. Holmes," said Sir
Henry Baskerville, "someone cut out this message with a
scissors --"
"Nail-scissors," said Holmes. "You can see that it was a
very short-bladed scissors, since the cutter had to take two snips
over 'keep away.' "
"That is so. Someone, then, cut out the message with a pair
of short-bladed scissors, pasted it with paste --"
"Gum," said Holmes.
"With gum on to the paper. But I want to know why the word
'moor' should have been written?"
"Because he could not find it in print. The other words were
all simple and might be found in any issue, but 'moor' would be
less common."
"Why, of course, that would explain it. Have you read any-
thing else in this message, Mr. Holmes?"
"There are one or two indications, and yet the utmost pains
have been taken to remove all clues. The address, you observe
is printed in rough characters. But the Times is a paper which is
seldom found in any hands but those of the highly educated. We
may take it, therefore, that the letter was composed by an
educated man who wished to pose as an uneducated one, and his
effort to conceal his own writing suggests that that writing might
be known, or come to be known, by you. Again, you will
observe that the words are not gummed on in an accurate line,
but that some are much higher than others. 'Life,' for example
is quite out of its proper place. That may point to carelessness or
it may point to agitation and hurry upon the part of the cutter. On
the whole I incline to the latter view, since the matter was
evidently important, and it is unlikely that the composer of such
a letter would be careless. If he were in a hurry it opens up the
interesting question why he should be in a hurry, since any letter
posted up to early morning would reach Sir Henry before he
would leave his hotel. Did the composer fear an interruption --
and from whom?"
"We are coming now rather into the region of guesswork,"
said Dr. Mortimer.
"Say, rather, into the region where we balance probabilities
and choose the most likely. It is the scientific use of the imagina-
tion, but we have always some material basis on which to start
our speculation. Now, you would call it a guess, no doubt, but I
am almost certain that this address has been written in a hotel."
"How in the world can you say that?"
"If you examine it carefully you will see that both the pen and
the ink have given the writer trouble. The pen has spluttered
twice in a single word and has run dry three times in a short
address, showing that there was very little ink in the bottle.
Now, a private pen or ink-bottle is seldom allowed to be in such
a state, and the combination of the two must be quite rare. But
you know the hotel ink and the hotel pen, where it is rare to get
anything else. Yes, I have very little hesitation in saying that
could we examine the waste-paper baskets of the hotels around
Charing Cross until we found the remains of the mutilated Times
leader we could lay our hands straight upon the person who sent
this singular message. Halloa! Halloa! What's this?"
He was carefully examining the foolscap, upon which the
words were pasted, holding it only an inch or two from his eyes.
"Well?"
"Nothing," said he, throwing it down. "It is a blank half-
sheet of paper, without even a water-mark upon it. I think we
have drawn as much as we can from this curious letter; and now,
Sir Henry, has anything else of interest happened to you since
you have been in London?"
"Why, no, Mr. Holmes. I think not."
"You have not observed anyone follow or watch you?"
"I seem to have walked right into the thick of a dime novel,"
said our visitor. "Why in thunder should anyone follow or watch
me?"
"We are coming to that. You have nothing else to report to us
before we go into this matter?"
"Well, it depends upon what you think worth reporting."
"I think anything out of the ordinary routine of life well worth
reporting."
Sir Henry smiled.
"I don't know much of British life yet, for I have spent nearly
all my time in the States and in Canada. But I hope that to lose
one of your boots is not part of the ordinary routine of life over
here."
"You have lost one of your boots?"
"My dear sir," cried Dr. Mortimer, "it is only mislaid. You
will find it when you return to the hotel. What is the use of
troubling Mr. Holmes with trifles of this kind?"
"Well, he asked me for anything outside the ordinary routine."
"Exactly," said Holmes, "however foolish the incident may
seem. You have lost one of your boots, you say?"
"Well, mislaid it, anyhow. I put them both outside my door
last night, and there was only one in the morning. I could get no
sense out of the chap who cleans them. The worst of it is that I
only bought the pair last night in the Strand, and I have never
had them on."
"If you have never worn them, why did you put them out to
be cleaned?"
"They were tan boots and had never been varnished. That was
why I put them out."
"Then I understand that on your arrival in London yesterday
you went out at once and bought a pair of boots?"
"I did a good deal of shopping. Dr. Mortimer here went round
with me. You see, if I am to be squire down there I must dress
the part, and it may be that I have got a little careless in my ways
out West. Among other things I bought these brown boots -- gave
six dollars for them -- and had one stolen before ever I had them
on my feet."
"It seems a singularly useless thing to steal," said Sherlock
Holmes. "I confess that I share Dr. Mortimer's belief that it will
not be long before the missing boot is found."
"And, now, gentlemen," said the baronet with decision, "it
seems to me that I have spoken quite enough about the little that
I know. It is time that you kept your promise and gave me a full
account of what we are all driving at."
"Your request is a very reasonable one," Holmes answered.
"Dr. Mortimer, I think you could not do better than to tell your
story as you told it to us."
Thus encouraged, our scientific friend drew his papers from
his pocket and presented the whole case as he had done upon the
morning before. Sir Henry Baskerville listened with the deepest
attention and with an occasional exclamation of surprise.
"Well, I seem to have come into an inheritance with a ven-
geance," said he when the long narrative was finished. "Of
course, I've heard of the hound ever since I was in the nursery.
It's the pet story of the family, though I never thought of taking
it seriously before. But as to my uncle's death -- well, it all
seems boiling up in my head, and I can't get it clear yet. You
don't seem quite to have made up your mind whether it's a case
for a policeman or a clergyman."
"Precisely."
"And now there's this affair of the letter to me at the hotel. I
suppose that fits into its place."
"It seems to show that someone knows more than we do about
what goes on upon the moor," said Dr. Mortimer.
"And also," said Holmes, "that someone is not ill-disposed
towards you, since they warn you of danger."
"Or it may be that they wish, for their own purposes, to scare
me away."
"Well, of course, that is possible also. I am very much
indebted to you, Dr. Mortimer, for introducing me to a problem
which presents several interesting alternatives. But the practical
point which we now have to decide, Sir Henry, is whether it is or
is not advisable for you to go to Baskerville Hall."
"Why should I not go?"
"There seems to be danger."
"Do you mean danger from this family fiend or do you mean
danger from human beings?"
"Well, that is what we have to find out."
"Whichever it is, my answer is fixed. There is no devil in
hell, Mr. Holmes, and there is no man upon earth who can
prevent me from going to the home of my own people, and you
may take that to be my final answer." His dark brows knitted
and his face flushed to a dusky red as he spoke. It was evident
that the fiery temper of the Baskervilles was not extinct in this
their last representative. "Meanwhile," said he, "I have hardly
had time to think over all that you have told me. It's a big thing
for a man to have to understand and to decide at one sitting. I
should like to have a quiet hour by myself to make up my mind.
Now, look here, Mr. Holmes, it's half-past eleven now and I am
going back right away to my hotel.- Suppose you and your friend,
Dr. Watson, come round and lunch with us at two. I'll be able to
tell you more clearly then how this thing strikes me."
"Is that convenient to you, Watson?"
"Perfectly."
"Then you may expect us. Shall I have a cab called?"
"I'd prefer to walk, for this affair has flurried me rather."
"I'll join you in a walk, with pleasure," said his companion.
"Then we meet again at two o'clock. Au revoir, and good-
morning!"
We heard the steps of our visitors descend the stair and the
bang of the front door. In an instant Holmes had changed from
the languid dreamer to the man of action.
"Your hat and boots, Watson, quick! Not a moment to lose!"
He rushed into his room in his dressing-gown and was back
again in a few seconds in a frock-coat. We hurried together down
the stairs and into the street. Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were
still visible about two hundred yards ahead of us in the direction
of Oxford Street.
"Shall I run on and stop them?"
"Not for the world, my dear Watson. I am perfectly satisfied
with your company if you will tolerate mine. Our friends are
wise, for it is certainly a very fine morning for a walk."
He quickened his pace until we had decreased the distance
which divided us by about half. Then, still keeping a hundred
yards behind, we followed into Oxford Street and so down
Regent Street. Once our friends stopped and stared into a shop
window, upon which Holmes did the same. An instant after-
wards he gave a little cry of satisfaction, and, following the
direction of his eager eyes, I saw that a hansom cab with a man
inside which had halted on the other side of the street was now
proceeding slowly onward again.
"There's our man, Watson! Come along! We'll have a good
look at him, if we can do no more."
At that instant I was aware of a bushy black beard and a pair
of piercing eyes turned upon us through the side window of the
cab. Instantly the trapdoor at the top flew up, something was
screamed to the driver, and the cab flew madly off down Regent
Street. Holmes looked eagerly round for another, but no-empty
one was in sight. Then he dashed in wild pursuit amid the stream
of the traffic, but the start was too great, and already the cab was
out of sight.
"There now!" said Holmes bitterly as he emerged panting and
white with vexation from the tide of vehicles. "Was ever such
bad luck and such bad management, too? Watson, Watson, if
you are an honest man you will record this also and set it against
my successes!"
"Who was the man?"
"I have not an idea."
"A spy?"
"Well, it was evident from what we have heard that Basker-
ville has been very closely shadowed by someone since he has
been in town. How else could it be known so quickly that it was
the Northumberland Hotel which he had chosen? If they had
followed him the first day I argued that they would follow him
also the second. You may have observed that I twice strolled
over to the window while Dr. Mortimer was reading his legend."
"Yes, I remember."
"I was looking out for loiterers in the street, but I saw none.
We are dealing with a clever man, Watson. This matter cuts very
deep, and though I have not finally made up my mind whether it
is a benevolent or a malevolent agency which is in touch with us,
I am conscious always of power and design. When our friends
left I at once followed them in the hopes of marking down their
invisible attendant. So wily was he that he had not trusted
himself upon foot, but he had availed himself of a cab so that he
could loiter behind or dash past them and so escape their notice.
His method had the additional advantage that if they were to take
a cab he was all ready to follow them. It has, however, one
obvious disadvantage."
"It puts him in the power of the cabman."
"Exactly."
"What a pity we did not get the number!"
"My dear Watson, clumsy as I have been, you surely do not
seriously imagine that I neglected to get the number? No. 2704
is our man. But that is no use to us for the moment."
"I fail to see how you could have done more."
"On observing the cab I should have instantly turned and
walked in the other direction. I should then at my leisure have
hired a second cab and followed the first at a respectful distance,
or, better still, have driven to the Northumberland Hotel and
waited there. When our unknown had followed Baskerville home
we should have had the opportunity of playing his own game
upon himself and seeing where he made for. As it is, by an
indiscreet eagerness, which was taken advantage of with extraor-
dinary quickness and energy by our opponent, we have betrayed
ourselves and lost our man."
We had been sauntering slowly down Regent Street during this
conversation, and Dr. Mortimer, with his companion, had long
vanished in front of us.
"There is no object in our following them," said Holmes.
"The shadow has departed and will not return. We must see
what further cards we have in our hands and play them with
decision. Could you swear to that man's face within the cab?"
"I could swear only to the beard."
"And so could I -- from which I gather that in all probability it
was a false one. A clever man upon so delicate an errand has no
use for a beard save to conceal his features. Come in here,
Watson!"
He turned into one of the district messenger offices, where he
was warmly greeted by the manager.
"Ah, Wilson, I see you have not forgotten the little case in
which I had the good fortune to help you?"
"No, sir, indeed I have not. You saved my good name, and
perhaps my life."
"My dear fellow, you exaggerate. I have some recollection,
Wilson, that you had among your boys a lad named Cartwright,
who showed some ability during the investigation."
"Yes, sir, he is still with us."
"Could you ring him up? -- thank you! And I should be glad to
have change of this five-pound note."
A lad of fourteen, with a bright, keen face, had obeyed the
summons of the manager. He stood now gazing with great
reverence at the famous detective.
"Let me have the Hotel Directory," said Holmes. "Thank
you! Now, Cartwright, there are the names of twenty-three
hotels here, all in the immediate neighbourhood of Charing
Cross. Do you see?"
"Yes, sir."
"You will visit each of these in turn."
"Yes, sir."
"You will begin in each case by giving the outside porter one
shilling. Here are twenty-three shillings."
"Yes, sir."
"You will tell him that you want to see the waste-paper of
yesterday. You will say that an important telegram has miscar-
ried and that you are looking for it. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"But what you are really looking for is the centre page of the
Times with some holes cut in it with scissors. Here is a copy of
the Times. It is this page. You could easily recognize it, could
you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"In each case the outside porter will send for the hall porter,
to whom also you will give a shilling. Here are twenty-three
shillings. You will then learn in possibly twenty cases out of the
twenty-three that the waste of the day before has been burned or
removed. In the three other cases you will be shown a heap of
paper and you will look for this page of the Times among it. The
odds are enormously against your finding it. There are ten
shillings over in case of emergencies. Let me have a report by
wire at Baker Street before evening. And now, Watson, it only
remains for us to find out by wire the identity of the cabman,
No. 2704, and then we will drop into one of the Bond Street
picture galleries and fill in the time until we are due at the
hotel."

Chapter 5
Three Broken Threads

Sherlock Holmes had, in a very remarkable degree, the power
of detaching his mind at will. For two hours the strange business
in which we had been involved appeared to be forgotten, and he
was entirely absorbed in the pictures of the modern Belgian
masters. He would talk of nothing but art, of which he had the
crudest ideas, from our leaving the gallery until we found our-
selves at the Northumberland Hotel.
"Sir Henry Baskerville is upstairs expecting you," said the
clerk. "He asked me to show you up at once when you came."
"Have you any objection to my looking at your register?"
said Holmes.
"Not in the least."
The book showed that two names had been added after that of
Baskerville. One was Theophilus Johnson and family, of New-
castle; the other Mrs. Oldmore and maid, of High Lodge, Alton.
"Surely that must be the same Johnson whom I used to
know," said Holmes to the porter. "A lawyer, is he not, gray-
headed, and walks with a limp?"
"No, sir, this is Mr. Johnson, the coal-owner, a very active
gentleman, not older than yourself."
"Surely you are mistaken about his trade?"
"No, sir! he has used this hotel for many years, and he is very
well known to us."
"Ah, that settles it. Mrs. Oldmore, too; I seem to remember
the name. Excuse my curiosity, but often in calling upon one
friend one finds another."
"She is an invalid lady, sir. Her husband was once mayor of
Gloucester. She always comes to us when she is in town."
"Thank you; I am afraid I cannot claim her acquaintance. We
have established a most important fact by these questions, Wat-
son," he continued in a low voice as we went upstairs together.
"We know now that the people who are so interested in our
friend have not settled down in his own hotel. That means that
while they are, as we have seen, very anxious to watch him, they
are equally anxious that he should not see them. Now, this is a
most suggestive fact."
"What does it suggest?"
"It suggests -- halloa, my dear fellow, what on earth is the
matter?"
As we came round the top of the stairs we had run up against
Sir Henry Baskerville himself. His face was flushed with anger,
and he held an old and dusty boot in one of his hands. So furious
was he that he was hardly articulate, and when he did speak it
was in a much broader and more Western dialect than any which
we had heard from him in the morning.
"Seems to me they are playing me for a sucker in this hotel,"
he cried. "They'll find they've stafted in to monkey with the
wrong man unless they are careful. By thunder, if that chap can't
find my missing boot there will be trouble. I can take a joke with
the best, Mr. Holmes, but they've got a bit over the mark this
time."
"Still looking for your boot?"
"Yes, sir, and mean to find it."
"But, surely, you said that it was a new brown boot?"
"So it was, sir. And now it's an old black one."
"What! you don't mean to say ?"
"That's just what I do mean to say. I only had three pairs in
the world -- the new brown, the old black, and the patent leath-
ers, which I am wearing. Last night they took one of my brown
ones, and to-day they have sneaked one of the black. Well, have
you got it? Speak out, man, and don't stand staring!"
An agitated German waiter had appeared upon the scene.
"No, sir; I have made inquiry all over the hotel, but I can hear
no word of it."
"Well, either that boot comes back before sundown or I'll see
the manager and tell him that I go right straight out of this
hotel."
"It shall be found, sir -- I promise you that if you will have a
little patience it will be found."
"Mind it is, for it's the last thing of mine that I'll lose in this
den of thieves. Well, well, Mr. Holmes, you'll excuse my
troubling you about such a trifle --"
"I think it's well worth troubling about."
"Why, you look very serious over it."
"How do you explain it?"
"I just don't attempt to explain it. It seems the very maddest,
queerest thing that ever happened to me."
"The queerest perhaps --" said Holmes thoughtfully.
"What do you make of it yourself?"
"Well, I don't profess to understand it yet. This case of yours
is very complex, Sir Henry. When taken in conjunction with
your uncle's death I am not sure that of all the five hundred cases
of capital importance which I have handled there is one which
cuts so deep. But we hold several threads in our hands, and the
odds are that one or other of them guides us to the truth. We may
waste time in following the wrong one, but sooner or later we
must come upon the right."
We had a pleasant luncheon in which little was said of the
business which had brought us together. It was in the private
sitting-room to which we afterwards repaired that Holmes asked
B