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."

 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.

