prompt:
Chapter: 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 opportunities 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 experienced 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 supernatural?"

"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 tomorrow, Dr. Mortimer, 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 submitted 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 alternative 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 perceive, 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 farmhouses, 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."

Our breakfast table was cleared early, and Holmes waited in his
dressing-gown for the promised interview. Our clients were punctual 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 Hotel?" 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 foolscap 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 special
     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 connection 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 obvious. 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 yesterday'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 anything 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 imagination, 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 vengeance," 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 afterwards 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 Baskerville 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
extraordinary 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 miscarried 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."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: The Problem Chapter III: The Problem Dr. Mortimer explains that the footprints were found 20 yards from the body, and that he would likely have overlooked them had it not been for the legend. Holmes then questions him, asking for details about the alley where Sir Charles died. As Dr. Mortimer explains, it consists of a gravel path surrounded by tall hedges on two sides. One part of the alley leads to a summer house; the other end leads to the main house. One hedge is interrupted by a wicket-gate, which opens out onto the moor. Hence, there are three entrances to the alley overall. Finally, he notes that the main alley path is separated from the hedges by strips of grass. Holmes is upset that Mortimer did not call him immediately, since clues have obviously been erased in the interim. Mortimer counters that the case might be beyond Holmes's abilities, since it features supernatural elements. According to reports, several people had seen an unnatural creature on the moor, even before Sir Charles died. No such reports have been filed since the death. Holmes then questions why Mortimer would include him at all, and Mortimer explains that Sir Charles's nephew and the next heir, Sir Henry Baskerville, is to arrive in London, and Dr. Mortimer is worried for his safety. He believes that it is important for the moor community to keep a resident in Baskerville Hall, one who can continue Sir Charles's philanthropy, or he would otherwise simply warn Sir Henry away. Holmes advises Dr. Mortimer to meet Sir Henry at Waterloo as they had planned, and to mention nothing about the hound. He further instructs Mortimer to bring Sir Henry to him on the next morning, by which point Holmes will have determined the proper course of action. After Dr. Mortimer leaves, Watson leaves Holmes alone to think. When Watson returns later, he finds the room filled with tobacco smoke. With little effort, Holmes perceives that Watson has spent all day at his club. He then shows Watson a map which he has obtained of the moor, and points out the various locations mentioned by both Dr. Mortimer and the manuscript author. Holmes proposes that there are two questions before them: first, has any crime been committed at all? And second, what is the crime and how was it committed? Watson finds the case bewildering; Holmes agrees that it has a "character of its own" . He believes the tip-toe footprints are signs that Sir Charles was running, though he does not know what the man was fleeing. The fact that he ran away from the house rather than towards it suggests he was terrified out of his wits. Holmes also believes that Sir Charles must have been waiting outside for someone, which would explain the cigar ash that Dr. Mortimer described. Chapter IV: Sir Henry Baskerville The next morning, Dr. Mortimer and Sir Henry arrive, with a brand new mystery. Someone has sent a letter to his hotel, constructed of printed words cut from somewhere and then pasted. It reads: "As you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor" . Only the word "moor" has been hand-written. The mystery is all the more disconcerting since nobody knew which hotel Sir Henry planned to stay at. From the typescript, Holmes quickly discerns not only which newspaper the words were taken from, but also from which article, and in fact determines that the words were cut with nail scissors. He further deduces that the person who composed this letter was educated, but wished to pose as an uneducated man. He suspects the culprit worried that Sir Henry would either recognize his handwriting or soon enough encounter it. Finally, he notes that the letter's composer was in a hurry, likely because he feared an interruption. Holmes asks Sir Henry if anything else of interest has happened to him. Though shocked at this turn of events, the man explains that one of his brand new boots is missing after he left them in the hotel hallway to be polished. Sir Henry demands to know what is happening, so Dr. Mortimer tells his story. Intrigued, Sir Henry admits he has heard the legend but never taken it seriously. When Holmes follows with his belief that there is some danger at Baskerville Hall, Sir Henry angrily declares that there is "no man upon earth who can prevent me from going to the home of my own people" . However, he invites Holmes to lunch later that day, at which point he will have though the matter through. As soon as Sir Henry and Dr. Mortimer leave, Holmes jumps to action. He and Watson follow the men, and notice another man following them from a cab. Watson notes that this man has a bushy black beard and a pair of piercing eyes. When the cab suddenly rushes off, Holmes attempts to hail his own cab, but fails. Cursing his bad luck, Holmes admires the culprit's cleverness, but is glad he was able to note the cab number before it left. Holmes asks Watson to summon a boy named Cartwright, whom Holmes then orders to check the waste baskets of all the nearby hotels, in search of the newspaper that was used to construct the note. Once Cartwright leaves, Holmes plans to send an inquiry after whomever the cab driver was. Chapter IV is notable too because it shows Holmes transitioning from a man of thought to a man of action. While he is able to deduce much from the past, he does not know where his future action will lead. And yet he is equally excited to follow the trail. This reveals another of his methods: he must facilitate the creation of clues, and not simply wait until they come to him. The mystery is very much alive, and he wishes to act as catalyst towards its unfolding.


prompt:
Chapter: 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 ourselves 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 Newcastle; 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, Watson," 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 started 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 leathers, which I am
wearing. Last night they took one of my brown ones, and today 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 Baskerville what were his
intentions.

"To go to Baskerville Hall."

"And when?"

"At the end of the week."

"On the whole," said Holmes, "I think that your decision is a wise one.
I have ample evidence that you are being dogged in London, and amid the
millions of this great city it is difficult to discover who these people
are or what their object can be. If their intentions are evil they might
do you a mischief, and we should be powerless to prevent it. You did not
know, Dr. Mortimer, that you were followed this morning from my house?"

Dr. Mortimer started violently. "Followed! By whom?"

"That, unfortunately, is what I cannot tell you. Have you among your
neighbours or acquaintances on Dartmoor any man with a black, full
beard?"

"No--or, let me see--why, yes. Barrymore, Sir Charles's butler, is a man
with a full, black beard."

"Ha! Where is Barrymore?"

"He is in charge of the Hall."

"We had best ascertain if he is really there, or if by any possibility
he might be in London."

"How can you do that?"

"Give me a telegraph form. 'Is all ready for Sir Henry?' That will
do. Address to Mr. Barrymore, Baskerville Hall. What is the nearest
telegraph-office? Grimpen. Very good, we will send a second wire to the
postmaster, Grimpen: 'Telegram to Mr. Barrymore to be delivered into
his own hand. If absent, please return wire to Sir Henry Baskerville,
Northumberland Hotel.' That should let us know before evening whether
Barrymore is at his post in Devonshire or not."

"That's so," said Baskerville. "By the way, Dr. Mortimer, who is this
Barrymore, anyhow?"

"He is the son of the old caretaker, who is dead. They have looked after
the Hall for four generations now. So far as I know, he and his wife are
as respectable a couple as any in the county."

"At the same time," said Baskerville, "it's clear enough that so long as
there are none of the family at the Hall these people have a mighty fine
home and nothing to do."

"That is true."

"Did Barrymore profit at all by Sir Charles's will?" asked Holmes.

"He and his wife had five hundred pounds each."

"Ha! Did they know that they would receive this?"

"Yes; Sir Charles was very fond of talking about the provisions of his
will."

"That is very interesting."

"I hope," said Dr. Mortimer, "that you do not look with suspicious eyes
upon everyone who received a legacy from Sir Charles, for I also had a
thousand pounds left to me."

"Indeed! And anyone else?"

"There were many insignificant sums to individuals, and a large number
of public charities. The residue all went to Sir Henry."

"And how much was the residue?"

"Seven hundred and forty thousand pounds."

Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I had no idea that so gigantic
a sum was involved," said he.

"Sir Charles had the reputation of being rich, but we did not know how
very rich he was until we came to examine his securities. The total
value of the estate was close on to a million."

"Dear me! It is a stake for which a man might well play a desperate
game. And one more question, Dr. Mortimer. Supposing that anything
happened to our young friend here--you will forgive the unpleasant
hypothesis!--who would inherit the estate?"

"Since Rodger Baskerville, Sir Charles's younger brother died unmarried,
the estate would descend to the Desmonds, who are distant cousins. James
Desmond is an elderly clergyman in Westmoreland."

"Thank you. These details are all of great interest. Have you met Mr.
James Desmond?"

"Yes; he once came down to visit Sir Charles. He is a man of venerable
appearance and of saintly life. I remember that he refused to accept any
settlement from Sir Charles, though he pressed it upon him."

"And this man of simple tastes would be the heir to Sir Charles's
thousands."

"He would be the heir to the estate because that is entailed. He would
also be the heir to the money unless it were willed otherwise by the
present owner, who can, of course, do what he likes with it."

"And have you made your will, Sir Henry?"

"No, Mr. Holmes, I have not. I've had no time, for it was only yesterday
that I learned how matters stood. But in any case I feel that the money
should go with the title and estate. That was my poor uncle's idea. How
is the owner going to restore the glories of the Baskervilles if he has
not money enough to keep up the property? House, land, and dollars must
go together."

"Quite so. Well, Sir Henry, I am of one mind with you as to the
advisability of your going down to Devonshire without delay. There is
only one provision which I must make. You certainly must not go alone."

"Dr. Mortimer returns with me."

"But Dr. Mortimer has his practice to attend to, and his house is miles
away from yours. With all the goodwill in the world he may be unable to
help you. No, Sir Henry, you must take with you someone, a trusty man,
who will be always by your side."

"Is it possible that you could come yourself, Mr. Holmes?"

"If matters came to a crisis I should endeavour to be present in person;
but you can understand that, with my extensive consulting practice
and with the constant appeals which reach me from many quarters, it is
impossible for me to be absent from London for an indefinite time. At
the present instant one of the most revered names in England is being
besmirched by a blackmailer, and only I can stop a disastrous scandal.
You will see how impossible it is for me to go to Dartmoor."

"Whom would you recommend, then?"

Holmes laid his hand upon my arm. "If my friend would undertake it there
is no man who is better worth having at your side when you are in a
tight place. No one can say so more confidently than I."

The proposition took me completely by surprise, but before I had time to
answer, Baskerville seized me by the hand and wrung it heartily.

"Well, now, that is real kind of you, Dr. Watson," said he. "You see how
it is with me, and you know just as much about the matter as I do. If
you will come down to Baskerville Hall and see me through I'll never
forget it."

The promise of adventure had always a fascination for me, and I was
complimented by the words of Holmes and by the eagerness with which the
baronet hailed me as a companion.

"I will come, with pleasure," said I. "I do not know how I could employ
my time better."

"And you will report very carefully to me," said Holmes. "When a crisis
comes, as it will do, I will direct how you shall act. I suppose that by
Saturday all might be ready?"

"Would that suit Dr. Watson?"

"Perfectly."

"Then on Saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet at the
ten-thirty train from Paddington."

We had risen to depart when Baskerville gave a cry, of triumph, and
diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown boot from
under a cabinet.

"My missing boot!" he cried.

"May all our difficulties vanish as easily!" said Sherlock Holmes.

"But it is a very singular thing," Dr. Mortimer remarked. "I searched
this room carefully before lunch."

"And so did I," said Baskerville. "Every inch of it."

"There was certainly no boot in it then."

"In that case the waiter must have placed it there while we were
lunching."

The German was sent for but professed to know nothing of the matter,
nor could any inquiry clear it up. Another item had been added to that
constant and apparently purposeless series of small mysteries which had
succeeded each other so rapidly. Setting aside the whole grim story of
Sir Charles's death, we had a line of inexplicable incidents all within
the limits of two days, which included the receipt of the printed
letter, the black-bearded spy in the hansom, the loss of the new brown
boot, the loss of the old black boot, and now the return of the new
brown boot. Holmes sat in silence in the cab as we drove back to Baker
Street, and I knew from his drawn brows and keen face that his mind,
like my own, was busy in endeavouring to frame some scheme into which
all these strange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted.
All afternoon and late into the evening he sat lost in tobacco and
thought.

Just before dinner two telegrams were handed in. The first ran:

Have just heard that Barrymore is at the Hall. BASKERVILLE.

The second:

Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry, to report unable to
trace cut sheet of Times. CARTWRIGHT.

"There go two of my threads, Watson. There is nothing more stimulating
than a case where everything goes against you. We must cast round for
another scent."

"We have still the cabman who drove the spy."

"Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from the Official
Registry. I should not be surprised if this were an answer to my
question."

The ring at the bell proved to be something even more satisfactory
than an answer, however, for the door opened and a rough-looking fellow
entered who was evidently the man himself.

"I got a message from the head office that a gent at this address had
been inquiring for No. 2704," said he. "I've driven my cab this seven
years and never a word of complaint. I came here straight from the Yard
to ask you to your face what you had against me."

"I have nothing in the world against you, my good man," said Holmes.
"On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if you will give me a
clear answer to my questions."

"Well, I've had a good day and no mistake," said the cabman with a grin.
"What was it you wanted to ask, sir?"

"First of all your name and address, in case I want you again."

"John Clayton, 3 Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out of Shipley's
Yard, near Waterloo Station."

Sherlock Holmes made a note of it.

"Now, Clayton, tell me all about the fare who came and watched this
house at ten o'clock this morning and afterwards followed the two
gentlemen down Regent Street."

The man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. "Why, there's no good
my telling you things, for you seem to know as much as I do already,"
said he. "The truth is that the gentleman told me that he was a
detective and that I was to say nothing about him to anyone."

"My good fellow; this is a very serious business, and you may find
yourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide anything from me.
You say that your fare told you that he was a detective?"

"Yes, he did."

"When did he say this?"

"When he left me."

"Did he say anything more?"

"He mentioned his name."

Holmes cast a swift glance of triumph at me. "Oh, he mentioned his name,
did he? That was imprudent. What was the name that he mentioned?"

"His name," said the cabman, "was Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Never have I seen my friend more completely taken aback than by the
cabman's reply. For an instant he sat in silent amazement. Then he burst
into a hearty laugh.

"A touch, Watson--an undeniable touch!" said he. "I feel a foil as quick
and supple as my own. He got home upon me very prettily that time. So
his name was Sherlock Holmes, was it?"

"Yes, sir, that was the gentleman's name."

"Excellent! Tell me where you picked him up and all that occurred."

"He hailed me at half-past nine in Trafalgar Square. He said that he was
a detective, and he offered me two guineas if I would do exactly what he
wanted all day and ask no questions. I was glad enough to agree. First
we drove down to the Northumberland Hotel and waited there until two
gentlemen came out and took a cab from the rank. We followed their cab
until it pulled up somewhere near here."

"This very door," said Holmes.

"Well, I couldn't be sure of that, but I dare say my fare knew all about
it. We pulled up halfway down the street and waited an hour and a half.
Then the two gentlemen passed us, walking, and we followed down Baker
Street and along--"

"I know," said Holmes.

"Until we got three-quarters down Regent Street. Then my gentleman threw
up the trap, and he cried that I should drive right away to Waterloo
Station as hard as I could go. I whipped up the mare and we were there
under the ten minutes. Then he paid up his two guineas, like a good one,
and away he went into the station. Only just as he was leaving he turned
round and he said: 'It might interest you to know that you have been
driving Mr. Sherlock Holmes.' That's how I come to know the name."

"I see. And you saw no more of him?"

"Not after he went into the station."

"And how would you describe Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

The cabman scratched his head. "Well, he wasn't altogether such an easy
gentleman to describe. I'd put him at forty years of age, and he was
of a middle height, two or three inches shorter than you, sir. He was
dressed like a toff, and he had a black beard, cut square at the end,
and a pale face. I don't know as I could say more than that."

"Colour of his eyes?"

"No, I can't say that."

"Nothing more that you can remember?"

"No, sir; nothing."

"Well, then, here is your half-sovereign. There's another one waiting
for you if you can bring any more information. Good-night!"

"Good-night, sir, and thank you!"

John Clayton departed chuckling, and Holmes turned to me with a shrug of
his shoulders and a rueful smile.

"Snap goes our third thread, and we end where we began," said he. "The
cunning rascal! He knew our number, knew that Sir Henry Baskerville had
consulted me, spotted who I was in Regent Street, conjectured that I had
got the number of the cab and would lay my hands on the driver, and so
sent back this audacious message. I tell you, Watson, this time we have
got a foeman who is worthy of our steel. I've been checkmated in London.
I can only wish you better luck in Devonshire. But I'm not easy in my
mind about it."

"About what?"

"About sending you. It's an ugly business, Watson, an ugly dangerous
business, and the more I see of it the less I like it. Yes, my dear
fellow, you may laugh, but I give you my word that I shall be very glad
to have you back safe and sound in Baker Street once more."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Three Broken Threads After two hours in a museum - Watson remarks on Holmes's unique ability to divert his attention when necessary - they visit the Northumberland Hotel, where Sir Henry Baskerville is staying. Examining the register, Holmes pretends to know two of the hotel's visitors, and fools the clerk into revealing information about them. As they are walking upstairs, they run into Sir Henry, who is angry because another of his boots is missing. He has no explanation for the disappearance. Later, after lunch in the hotel room, Holmes approves of Sir Henry's decision to inhabit Baskerville Hall, since it will allow Holmes to flush out the culprit more easily than he can in crowded London. From Dr. Mortimer, Holmes and Watson learn that the only moor resident with a black beard is Barrymore, Baskerville Hall's butler. Intrigued, Holmes orders a telegram sent to Devonshire, to determine whether Barrymore is there. Mortimer then discusses the contents of Sir Charles's will, in the hopes of sussing out a murder motive. Barrymore and his wife inherited money from Sir Charles's will, and they were aware of that intention. However, Dr. Mortimer adds that several people - himself included - were bequeathed money by the will. Sir Henry was naturally left the most money, and because he has no direct heir, that fortune and the estate would fall to some distant cousins, the Desmonds, if were to die. Holmes then proposes that Watson accompany Sir Henry to Baskerville Hall, as protection. Holmes will join them that Saturday, after completing some business on another case in London. Before the men leave, Sir Henry finds one of his brown boot under a cabinet, which is confusing since Mortimer had thoroughly searched the room before lunch. They surmise a waiter had found and placed it there, but the waiter knows nothing of it when he is called and questioned. That evening, Watson and Holmes receive two telegrams. The first is a return telegram from Barrymore, suggesting that he is indeed at Baskerville Hall. The second reports that Cartwright has been unable to find the cut sheet of the newspaper. At that moment, the cab driver, whom Holmes had sent for earlier, appears at the door. He tells Holmes that the bearded man had claimed to be a detective, and had told him to say nothing to anyone. Strangest of all, the man had claimed to be named "Mr. Sherlock Holmes" . Holmes is surprised and amused. He pays the cab driver for details of the day's journey, and then sends the driver away. Noting that "our third thread" has snapped, Holmes admires his adversary as "worthy of our steel" . He then wishes Watson luck in Devonshire, noting that this case is proving to be an ugly business.


prompt:
Chapter: Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon the appointed
day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr. Sherlock Holmes
drove with me to the station and gave me his last parting injunctions
and advice.

"I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions,
Watson," said he; "I wish you simply to report facts in the fullest
possible manner to me, and you can leave me to do the theorizing."

"What sort of facts?" I asked.

"Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect upon the
case, and especially the relations between young Baskerville and his
neighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death of Sir Charles.
I have made some inquiries myself in the last few days, but the results
have, I fear, been negative. One thing only appears to be certain, and
that is that Mr. James Desmond, who is the next heir, is an elderly
gentleman of a very amiable disposition, so that this persecution does
not arise from him. I really think that we may eliminate him entirely
from our calculations. There remain the people who will actually
surround Sir Henry Baskerville upon the moor."

"Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of this Barrymore
couple?"

"By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If they are innocent
it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty we should be
giving up all chance of bringing it home to them. No, no, we will
preserve them upon our list of suspects. Then there is a groom at the
Hall, if I remember right. There are two moorland farmers. There is our
friend Dr. Mortimer, whom I believe to be entirely honest, and there is
his wife, of whom we know nothing. There is this naturalist, Stapleton,
and there is his sister, who is said to be a young lady of attractions.
There is Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who is also an unknown factor,
and there are one or two other neighbours. These are the folk who must
be your very special study."

"I will do my best."

"You have arms, I suppose?"

"Yes, I thought it as well to take them."

"Most certainly. Keep your revolver near you night and day, and never
relax your precautions."

Our friends had already secured a first-class carriage and were waiting
for us upon the platform.

"No, we have no news of any kind," said Dr. Mortimer in answer to my
friend's questions. "I can swear to one thing, and that is that we
have not been shadowed during the last two days. We have never gone
out without keeping a sharp watch, and no one could have escaped our
notice."

"You have always kept together, I presume?"

"Except yesterday afternoon. I usually give up one day to pure amusement
when I come to town, so I spent it at the Museum of the College of
Surgeons."

"And I went to look at the folk in the park," said Baskerville.

"But we had no trouble of any kind."

"It was imprudent, all the same," said Holmes, shaking his head and
looking very grave. "I beg, Sir Henry, that you will not go about alone.
Some great misfortune will befall you if you do. Did you get your other
boot?"

"No, sir, it is gone forever."

"Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye," he added as the
train began to glide down the platform. "Bear in mind, Sir Henry, one of
the phrases in that queer old legend which Dr. Mortimer has read to us,
and avoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil
are exalted."

I looked back at the platform when we had left it far behind and saw the
tall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionless and gazing after us.

The journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it in making the
more intimate acquaintance of my two companions and in playing with
Dr. Mortimer's spaniel. In a very few hours the brown earth had
become ruddy, the brick had changed to granite, and red cows grazed in
well-hedged fields where the lush grasses and more luxuriant vegetation
spoke of a richer, if a damper, climate. Young Baskerville stared
eagerly out of the window and cried aloud with delight as he recognized
the familiar features of the Devon scenery.

"I've been over a good part of the world since I left it, Dr. Watson,"
said he; "but I have never seen a place to compare with it."

"I never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county," I
remarked.

"It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on the county," said
Dr. Mortimer. "A glance at our friend here reveals the rounded head of
the Celt, which carries inside it the Celtic enthusiasm and power
of attachment. Poor Sir Charles's head was of a very rare type, half
Gaelic, half Ivernian in its characteristics. But you were very young
when you last saw Baskerville Hall, were you not?"

"I was a boy in my teens at the time of my father's death and had never
seen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on the South Coast.
Thence I went straight to a friend in America. I tell you it is all as
new to me as it is to Dr. Watson, and I'm as keen as possible to see the
moor."

"Are you? Then your wish is easily granted, for there is your first
sight of the moor," said Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of the carriage
window.

Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood there
rose in the distance a gray, melancholy hill, with a strange jagged
summit, dim and vague in the distance, like some fantastic landscape in
a dream. Baskerville sat for a long time, his eyes fixed upon it, and I
read upon his eager face how much it meant to him, this first sight of
that strange spot where the men of his blood had held sway so long
and left their mark so deep. There he sat, with his tweed suit and his
American accent, in the corner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as
I looked at his dark and expressive face I felt more than ever how
true a descendant he was of that long line of high-blooded, fiery,
and masterful men. There were pride, valour, and strength in his thick
brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his large hazel eyes. If on that
forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous quest should lie before us,
this was at least a comrade for whom one might venture to take a risk
with the certainty that he would bravely share it.

The train pulled up at a small wayside station and we all descended.
Outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette with a pair of cobs
was waiting. Our coming was evidently a great event, for station-master
and porters clustered round us to carry out our luggage. It was a sweet,
simple country spot, but I was surprised to observe that by the gate
there stood two soldierly men in dark uniforms who leaned upon their
short rifles and glanced keenly at us as we passed. The coachman, a
hard-faced, gnarled little fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in
a few minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad, white road. Rolling
pasture lands curved upward on either side of us, and old gabled houses
peeped out from amid the thick green foliage, but behind the peaceful
and sunlit countryside there rose ever, dark against the evening sky,
the long, gloomy curve of the moor, broken by the jagged and sinister
hills.

The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upward through
deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on either side, heavy
with dripping moss and fleshy hart's-tongue ferns. Bronzing bracken and
mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. Still steadily
rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge and skirted a noisy
stream which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the gray
boulders. Both road and stream wound up through a valley dense with
scrub oak and fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation of
delight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions. To
his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon
the countryside, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year.
Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we
passed. The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of
rotting vegetation--sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw
before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.

"Halloa!" cried Dr. Mortimer, "what is this?"

A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay in
front of us. On the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue
upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle
poised ready over his forearm. He was watching the road along which we
travelled.

"What is this, Perkins?" asked Dr. Mortimer.

Our driver half turned in his seat. "There's a convict escaped from
Princetown, sir. He's been out three days now, and the warders watch
every road and every station, but they've had no sight of him yet. The
farmers about here don't like it, sir, and that's a fact."

"Well, I understand that they get five pounds if they can give
information."

"Yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is but a poor thing compared
to the chance of having your throat cut. You see, it isn't like any
ordinary convict. This is a man that would stick at nothing."

"Who is he, then?"

"It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer."

I remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmes had taken an
interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of the crime and the
wanton brutality which had marked all the actions of the assassin. The
commutation of his death sentence had been due to some doubts as to his
complete sanity, so atrocious was his conduct. Our wagonette had topped
a rise and in front of us rose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled
with gnarled and craggy cairns and tors. A cold wind swept down from
it and set us shivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was
lurking this fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his
heart full of malignancy against the whole race which had cast him out.
It needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness of the barren
waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky. Even Baskerville fell
silent and pulled his overcoat more closely around him.

We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We looked back on
it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads of
gold and glowing on the red earth new turned by the plough and the broad
tangle of the woodlands. The road in front of us grew bleaker and wilder
over huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now
and then we passed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone,
with no creeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into
a cuplike depression, patched with stunted oaks and firs which had been
twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Two high, narrow towers
rose over the trees. The driver pointed with his whip.

"Baskerville Hall," said he.

Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shining
eyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, a maze of
fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on either
side, blotched with lichens, and surmounted by the boars' heads of the
Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs of
rafters, but facing it was a new building, half constructed, the first
fruit of Sir Charles's South African gold.

Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheels were
again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their branches in a
sombre tunnel over our heads. Baskerville shuddered as he looked up
the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghost at the
farther end.

"Was it here?" he asked in a low voice.

"No, no, the yew alley is on the other side."

The young heir glanced round with a gloomy face.

"It's no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on him in such a
place as this," said he. "It's enough to scare any man. I'll have a row
of electric lamps up here inside of six months, and you won't know it
again, with a thousand candle-power Swan and Edison right here in front
of the hall door."

The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house lay before
us. In the fading light I could see that the centre was a heavy block
of building from which a porch projected. The whole front was draped in
ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there where a window or a coat
of arms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the
twin towers, ancient, crenelated, and pierced with many loopholes. To
right and left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite.
A dull light shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high
chimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a
single black column of smoke.

"Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!"

A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open the door of
the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouetted against the yellow
light of the hall. She came out and helped the man to hand down our
bags.

"You don't mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry?" said Dr. Mortimer.
"My wife is expecting me."

"Surely you will stay and have some dinner?"

"No, I must go. I shall probably find some work awaiting me. I would
stay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be a better guide
than I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day to send for me if I
can be of service."

The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned
into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine
apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily
raftered with huge baulks of age-blackened oak. In the great
old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled
and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb
from our long drive. Then we gazed round us at the high, thin window
of old stained glass, the oak panelling, the stags' heads, the coats
of arms upon the walls, all dim and sombre in the subdued light of the
central lamp.

"It's just as I imagined it," said Sir Henry. "Is it not the very
picture of an old family home? To think that this should be the same
hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me
solemn to think of it."

I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazed about
him. The light beat upon him where he stood, but long shadows trailed
down the walls and hung like a black canopy above him. Barrymore had
returned from taking our luggage to our rooms. He stood in front of
us now with the subdued manner of a well-trained servant. He was a
remarkable-looking man, tall, handsome, with a square black beard and
pale, distinguished features.

"Would you wish dinner to be served at once, sir?"

"Is it ready?"

"In a very few minutes, sir. You will find hot water in your rooms. My
wife and I will be happy, Sir Henry, to stay with you until you have
made your fresh arrangements, but you will understand that under the new
conditions this house will require a considerable staff."

"What new conditions?"

"I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very retired life, and we
were able to look after his wants. You would, naturally, wish to have
more company, and so you will need changes in your household."

"Do you mean that your wife and you wish to leave?"

"Only when it is quite convenient to you, sir."

"But your family have been with us for several generations, have they
not? I should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking an old family
connection."

I seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler's white face.

"I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell the truth, sir,
we were both very much attached to Sir Charles, and his death gave us
a shock and made these surroundings very painful to us. I fear that we
shall never again be easy in our minds at Baskerville Hall."

"But what do you intend to do?"

"I have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishing ourselves
in some business. Sir Charles's generosity has given us the means to do
so. And now, sir, perhaps I had best show you to your rooms."

A square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall,
approached by a double stair. From this central point two long corridors
extended the whole length of the building, from which all the bedrooms
opened. My own was in the same wing as Baskerville's and almost next
door to it. These rooms appeared to be much more modern than the
central part of the house, and the bright paper and numerous candles
did something to remove the sombre impression which our arrival had left
upon my mind.

But the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place of shadow
and gloom. It was a long chamber with a step separating the dais where
the family sat from the lower portion reserved for their dependents.
At one end a minstrel's gallery overlooked it. Black beams shot across
above our heads, with a smoke-darkened ceiling beyond them. With rows of
flaring torches to light it up, and the colour and rude hilarity of
an old-time banquet, it might have softened; but now, when two
black-clothed gentlemen sat in the little circle of light thrown by a
shaded lamp, one's voice became hushed and one's spirit subdued. A
dim line of ancestors, in every variety of dress, from the Elizabethan
knight to the buck of the Regency, stared down upon us and daunted us by
their silent company. We talked little, and I for one was glad when the
meal was over and we were able to retire into the modern billiard-room
and smoke a cigarette.

"My word, it isn't a very cheerful place," said Sir Henry. "I suppose
one can tone down to it, but I feel a bit out of the picture at present.
I don't wonder that my uncle got a little jumpy if he lived all alone
in such a house as this. However, if it suits you, we will retire early
tonight, and perhaps things may seem more cheerful in the morning."

I drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked out from my
window. It opened upon the grassy space which lay in front of the hall
door. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in a rising wind. A
half moon broke through the rifts of racing clouds. In its cold light I
saw beyond the trees a broken fringe of rocks, and the long, low curve
of the melancholy moor. I closed the curtain, feeling that my last
impression was in keeping with the rest.

And yet it was not quite the last. I found myself weary and yet wakeful,
tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for the sleep which would
not come. Far away a chiming clock struck out the quarters of the
hours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon the old house. And then
suddenly, in the very dead of the night, there came a sound to my
ears, clear, resonant, and unmistakable. It was the sob of a woman, the
muffled, strangling gasp of one who is torn by an uncontrollable sorrow.
I sat up in bed and listened intently. The noise could not have been
far away and was certainly in the house. For half an hour I waited with
every nerve on the alert, but there came no other sound save the chiming
clock and the rustle of the ivy on the wall.

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Baskerville Hall On the day of Watson, Dr. Mortimer and Sir Henry's departure, Holmes drives Watson to the station. En route, he instructs Watson to report only the facts to him, leaving his theories out of the letters. He also shares his own theories. He does not believes that the Desmond man - who would inherit Sir Henry's estate - is involved, but he believes that Barrymore and his wife are viable suspects. His other suspects include: a groom at the Hall, two farmers on the moor, Dr. Mortimer himself, Mortimer's wife, Stapleton the naturalist, and Mr. Frankland. Watson has brought his gun, in case he needs it. When they arrive in Devonshire, Sir Henry is impressed by the surroundings, never having seen the moor before. Watson imagines what it must be like for him to see the land where the men of his blood have made their mark. On their way to Baskerville Hall, they meet a man guarding part of the moor. Apparently, a convict had escaped three days earlier from the prison at nearby Princetown. This convict's name is Selden, and he is known as the Notting Hill murderer. Watson recalls Sherlock's interest in that case because of the criminal's brutality, and imagines Selden hiding out on the moor. At Baskerville Hall, Dr. Mortimer shows Sir Henry the yew alley where Sir Charles died, and then departs. Barrymore then tours them around the estate, admitting in the process that he and his wife plan to leave once Sir Henry has hired more staff. Having spent their lives there, they would like to travel with the money Sir Charles bequeathed them. Watson describes the bedrooms as seeming newer the rest of the house, and the dining room as having a somber atmosphere. Feeling the same way, Sir Henry comments that he understands why Sir Charles grew so anxious in such a place. That night, Watson does not sleep well. In the dead of night, he hears a woman's sob, and listens carefully for more. However, no more noise comes.