Chapter 3

Sir Charles’s Death

Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.

“Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something more recent. This is the paper from Devonshire of May 14th of this year. It is a short account of the death of Sir Charles Baskerville which occurred a few days before that date.”

My friend’s expression became interested. Our visitor began:

“The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Baskerville has struck everyone in the county. Though Sir Charles had lived at Baskerville Hall for a short period, his good character and generosity had won the love and respect of all who knew him. In these days of nouveaux riches, he was a rare man of an old county family who was able to make his own fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the fallen greatness of his family. Sir Charles, as is well known, made large sums of money in South Africa, and returned to England with them. It is only two years since he came to Baskerville Hall, and we all know how large were his plans of reconstruction. He had no children, and he was generous to many people.

“The circumstances of the death of Sir Charles have not become clear at the inquest. Sir Charles was simple in his tastes, and his servants at Baskerville Hall were a married couple named Barrymore, the husband was a butler and the wife a housekeeper. Their evidence, like that of several friends, showed that Sir Charles’s health had for some time been poor, especially the heart, and he had attacks of nervous depression.

“The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles Baskerville was in the habit of walking down the famous yew alley of Baskerville Hall every night before going to bed. On the fourth of May Sir Charles said he was starting next day for London. That night he went out as usual for his walk, where he was in the habit of smoking a cigar. He never returned. At twelve o’clock Barrymore, finding the hall door still open, became alarmed, and went to look for his master. The day had been wet, and Sir Charles’s footmarks were clearly seen in the alley. At the end of the alley there is a gate which leads out on to the moor. It was clear that Sir Charles had stood for some time there. He then went down the alley, his body was discovered at the far end of it. One thing which has not been explained is the fact that Sir Charles’s footprints changed their character from the time that he passed the moor gate to the place of his death. He seemed to have been walking upon his toes. No signs of violence were discovered on Sir Charles’s body, and though the doctor said his face was so distorted that Dr. Mortimer at first could not believe that it was his friend and patient who lay before him—it was explained that it was a symptom of heart exhaustion. There was a post-mortem examination, which showed long disease. It is understood that the heir is Mr. Henry Baskerville, if he is still alive, the son of Sir Charles Baskerville’s younger brother. The young man, when he was last heard of, was in America.”

Dr. Mortimer put his paper in his pocket. “Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, of the death of Sir Charles Baskerville.”

“I must thank you,” said Sherlock Holmes, “for telling me about a case which certainly may be of interest. This article, you say, contains all the public facts?”

“It does.”

“Have you any other facts?”

“I am telling something I have not told anyone,” said Dr. Mortimer. “My motive is that a man of science does not want to be associated with superstition. I had another motive that no one would want to live at Baskerville Hall, if anything increased its already rather bad reputation. That was why I said less than I knew.

“Very few people live on the moor, and those who live here know each other very well, so I saw a good deal of Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men of education within many miles. Sir Charles’s illness brought us together as well as our interests in science. He had brought back much scientific information from South Africa, and we have spent together many nice evenings discussing scientific problems.

“In the last few months it became clear to me that Sir Charles’s nervous system was near the breaking point. He had taken this legend close to heart—so much that nothing would make him go out on the moor at night. He was sure that his family was cursed. He asked me many times whether I had ever seen any strange beast or heard the barking of a hound on my medical journeys at night. He was sure there was a dreadful hound on the moor.

“I can well remember visiting him in his house in the evening some three weeks before his death. He was at the front door. I was standing in front of him, when I saw him looking over my shoulder with an expression of the most dreadful horror. I turned round and had just time to see something which I took for a large black calf passing the alley. So excited and alarmed was he that I had to go down to where the animal had been and look around for it. It was gone, but Sir Charles was very much alarmed. I stayed with him all the evening, and he gave me the manuscript, which I read to you.

“It was at my advice that Sir Charles decided to go to London. His heart was, I knew, weak, and the constant fear in which he lived, was evidently very bad for his health. I thought that a few months in town would do him a lot of good. Mr. Stapleton, our friend, was of the same opinion. And at the last moment this tragic death came.

“On the night of Sir Charles’s death Barrymore the butler sent Perkins the groom for me, and I was able to reach Baskerville Hall an hour after the death. I followed the footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the place at the moor gate where he evidently had waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the footsteps. I saw that there were no other footsteps except those of Barrymore, and I carefully examined the body, which had not been touched until my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug into the ground. I turned him over and saw that his face was so convulsed that I could hardly recognize my friend. There was no physical injury of any kind. Barrymore said at the inquest that there were no footprints on the ground round the body. He did not see any. But I did—some little distance off, but fresh and clear.”

“Footprints?”

“Footprints.”

“A man’s or a woman’s?”

Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for a moment, and said in a whisper:

“Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!”

Chapter 4

The Problem

I saw that Holmes was really interested.

“You saw this?”

“As clearly as I see you.”

“Why did not anyone else see it?”

“The footsteps were some distance away from the body. I should not have noticed them myself if I had not known this legend.”

“But they had not approached the body?”

“No.”

“What kind of night was it?”

“Damp but not raining.”

“Is there any other gate that leads on to the moor?”

“None.”

“Now, tell me, Dr. Mortimer—and this is important—was the gate closed?”

“Closed and locked.”

“How high was it?”

“About four feet high.”

“Then anyone could get over it?”

“Yes.”

“And what marks did you see by the gate?”

“Nothing interesting.”

“Good heaven! Did no one examine?”

“Yes, I examined, myself.”

“And found nothing?”

“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! But the marks?”

“He had left his own marks all over that small place. I could see no others.”

“If I had only been there!” he cried. “It is evidently a case of extraordinary interest. Oh, Dr. Mortimer, why did you not call me in!”

“I could not call you in, Mr. Holmes, without telling everyone about these facts, and I have explained why I did not wish to do so. Besides—”

“Yes?”

“There are things in which the best of detectives is helpless.”

“You mean that the thing is supernatural?”

“I did not say so.”

“No, but you evidently think it.”

“Since the tragedy, Mr. Holmes, I have heard some strange stories.”

“For example?”

“Before the terrible event occurred several people had seen a creature on the moor which looked like the Baskerville demon. They all said that it was huge and luminous, like a dreadful apparition of the legend. There is a feeling of terror in the district, and hardly anyone crosses the moor at night.”

“And you, a man of science, believe it to be supernatural?”

“I do not know what to believe.”

Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

“But, Dr. Mortimer, if you think that the hound is supernatural, why have you come to consult with me? You tell me that it is useless to investigate Sir Charles’s death, and that you want me to do it.”

“I did not say that I wanted you to do it.”

“Then, how can I help you?”

“By advising me what to do with Sir Henry Baskerville, who arrives at Waterloo Station today.”

“Is he the heir?”

“Yes. After the death of Sir Charles we looked for this young gentleman and found that he had been farming in Canada.”

“There is no other heir, I believe?”

“None. The only other relative whom we have been able to find was Rodger Baskerville, the youngest of three brothers of whom poor Sir Charles was the eldest. The second brother, who died young, is the father of Henry. The third, Rodger, was the black sheep of the family. He looked very much like the family picture of old Hugo, they tell me. He left England for Central America, and died there in 1876. Henry is the last of the Baskervilles. In one hour and five minutes I am meeting him at Waterloo Station. 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, every Baskerville who goes there meets with his death. That is why I ask for your advice. What would you recommend?”

Holmes thought for a little time.

“I recommend, sir, that 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, call on me here, and bring Sir Henry Baskerville with you.”

“I will do so, Mr. Holmes.”

“Good morning.”

Holmes returned to his seat with that quiet look of satisfaction which meant that he had an interesting task before him.

“Going out, Watson?”

“Yes.”

I knew that solitude was very necessary for my friend in the hours of mental concentration during which he solved difficult problems. 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 came into the sitting-room.

“After you left I sent for a map of this portion of the moor,” said Holmes.

He pointed to a map which he held on his knee. “That is Baskerville Hall in the middle. I believe this must be the yew alley, with the moor on the right of it. This small group of buildings here is the village of Grimpen. Within a radius of five miles there are, as you see, only a few houses. There is a house here which may be the home of the naturalist—Stapleton. Here are two farms. Then fourteen miles away is the prison of Princetown. Around these buildings extends the lifeless moor.”

“It must be a wild place.”

“Yes, there are two questions waiting for us. The first is whether any crime has been committed at all; the second is, what the crime is and how it was committed. What do you make of it?”

“I don’t know what to make of 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.”

“Why should a man walk on tiptoe down the alley? He was running, Watson—running for his life, running until he burst his heart—and fell dead.”

“Running from what?”

“There lies our problem. I presume that the man was crazy with fear before he began to run.”

“How can you say that?”

“I presume that the cause of his fears came to him across the moor. Only a man crazy with fear would have run from the house and not towards it. Then, 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 in poor health. The night was damp. Is it natural for him to stand for five or ten minutes? He avoided the moor. That night he waited there. It was the night before he left for London. Now, we will think over this business when we meet Dr. Mortimer and Sir Henry Baskerville in the morning.”