The moon shone clear above them, and they rode swiftly abreast, taking that course which the maid must needs have taken if she were to reach her own home. And the man, as the story goes, was so crazed with fear that he could scarce speak, but at last he said that he had indeed seen the unhappy maiden, with the hounds upon her track. But soon their skins turned cold, for there came a galloping across the moor, and the black mare, dabbled with white froth, went past with trailing bridle and empty saddle.
Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last upon the hounds. These, though known for their valour and their breed, were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip or goyal, as we call it, upon the moor, some slinking away and some, with starting hackles and staring eyes, gazing down the narrow valley before them. The most of them would by no means advance, but three of them, the boldest, or it may be the most drunken, rode forward down the goyal. The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, and there in the centre lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen, dead of fear and of fatigue.
But it was not the sight of her body, nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon the heads of these three dare-devil roysterers, but it was that, standing over Hugo, and plucking at his throat, there stood a foul thing, a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon.
And even as they looked the thing tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville, on which, as it turned its blazing eyes and dripping jaws upon them, the three shrieked with fear and rode for dear life, still screaming, across the moor. One, it is said, died that very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days. If I have set it down it is because that which is clearly known hath less terror than that which is but hinted at and guessed.
Nor can it be denied that many of the family have been unhappy in their deaths, which have been sudden, bloody, and mysterious. The latter yawned and tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket. Holmes, we will give you something a little more recent.
This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of this year. It is a short account of the facts elicited at the death of Sir Charles Baskerville which occurred a few days before that date. Our visitor readjusted his glasses and began: Though Sir Charles had resided at Baskerville Hall for a comparatively short period his amiability of character and ex-treme generosity had won the affection and respect of all who had been brought into contact with him.
In these days of nou- veaux riches it is refreshing to find a case where the scion of an old county family which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the fallen grandeur of his line. Sir Charles, as is well known, made large sums of money in South African speculation. More wise than those who go on until the wheel turns against them, he realized his gains and returned to England with them. It is only two years since he took up his residence at Baskerville Hall, and it is common talk how large were those schemes of reconstruction and improvement which have been interrupted by his death.
His generous donations to local and county charities have been frequently chronicled in these columns. There is no reason whatever to suspect foul play, or to imagine that death could be from any but natural causes. Sir Charles was a widower, and a man who may be said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind. Sir Charles Baskerville was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking down the famous yew alley of Baskerville Hall.
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The evidence of the Barrymores shows that this had been his custom. That night he went out as usual for his nocturnal walk, in the course of which he was in the habit of smoking a cigar. Halfway down this walk there is a gate which leads out on to the moor. There were indications that Sir Charles had stood for some little time here.
He then proceeded down the alley, and it was at the far end of it that his body was discovered. He declares that he heard cries but is unable to state from what direction they came. Mortimer refused at first to believe that it was indeed his friend and patient who lay before him—it was explained that that is a symptom which is not un-usual in cases of dyspnoea and death from cardiac exhaustion.
Had the prosaic finding of the coroner not finally put an end to the romantic stories which have been whispered in connection with the affair, it might have been difficult to find a tenant for Baskerville Hall. It is understood that the next of kin is Mr. The young man when last heard of was in America, and inquiries are being instituted with a view to informing him of his good fortune. Holmes, in connection with the death of Sir Charles Baskerville. I had observed some newspaper comment at the time, but I was exceedingly preoccupied by that little affair of the Vatican cameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I lost touch with several interesting English cases.
This article, you say, contains all the public facts? Mortimer, who had begun to show signs of some strong emotion, "I am telling that which I have not confided to anyone. My motive for withholding it from the coroner's inquiry is that a man of science shrinks from placing himself in the public position of seeming to indorse a popular superstition. I had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the paper says, would certainly remain untenanted if anything were done to increase its already rather grim reputation. For both these reasons I thought that I was justified in telling rather less than I knew, since no practical good could result from it, but with you there is no reason why I should not be perfectly frank.
For this reason I saw a good deal of Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr. Sir Charles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought us together, and a community of interests in science kept us so. He had brought back much scientific information from South Africa, and many a charming evening we have spent together discussing the comparative anatomy of the Bushman and the Hottentot.
He had taken this legend which I have read you exceedingly to heart—so much so that, although he would walk in his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out upon the moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. The idea of some ghastly presence constantly haunted him, and on more than one occasion he has asked me whether I had on my medical journeys at night ever seen any strange creature or heard the baying of a hound.
The latter question he put to me several times, and always with a voice which vibrated with excitement. He chanced to be at his hall door. I had descended from my gig and was standing in front of him, when I saw his eyes fix themselves over my shoulder and stare past me with an expression of the most dreadful horror. I whisked round and had just time to catch a glimpse of something which I took to be a large black calf passing at the head of the drive. It was gone, however, and the incident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind.
I stayed with him all the evening, and it was on that occasion, to explain the emotion which he had shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative which I read to you when first I came. His heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived, however chimerical the cause of it might be, was evidently having a serious effect upon his health.
I thought that a few months among the distractions of town would send him back a new man. Stapleton, a mutual friend who was much concerned at his state of health, was of the same opinion. At the last instant came this terrible catastrophe. But one false statement was made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground round the body. But I did—some little distance off, but fresh and clear. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound! Holmes leaned forward in his excitement and his eyes had the hard, dry glitter which shot from them when he was keenly interested.
The walk in the centre is about eight feet across. Mortimer—and this is important—the marks which you saw were on the path and not on the grass? Was the wicket- gate closed? Did no one examine? Sir Charles had evidently stood there for five or ten minutes. This is a colleague, Watson, after our own heart. I could discern no others. 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 peas-ants. Mortimer, to think that you should not have called me in! You have indeed much to answer for.
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? Holmes, there have come to my ears several incidents which are hard to reconcile with the settled order of Nature. They all agreed that it was a huge creature, luminous, ghastly, and spectral. 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. Yet you must admit that the footmark is material.
Mortimer, tell me this. If you hold these views why have you come to consult me at all? Mortimer looked at his watch—"in exactly one hour and a quarter. 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. 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 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. Holmes, what would you advise me to do with him? 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.
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But surely, if your supernatural theory be correct, it could work the young man evil in London as easily as in Devon-shire. A devil with merely local powers like a parish vestry would be too inconceivable a thing. 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? 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.
Holmes stopped him at the head of the stair. 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? 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 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.
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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. You have been at your club all day, I perceive. 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?
Where do you think that I have been? 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. That is Bask- erville Hall in the middle. I fancy the yew alley, though not marked under that name, must stretch along this line, with the moor, as you per-ceive, upon the right of it.
This small clump of buildings here is the hamlet of Grimpen, where our friend Dr. Mortimer has his headquarters. Within a radius of five miles there are, as you see, only a very few scattered dwellings. Here is Lafter Hall, which was mentioned in the narrative. 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. If the devil did desire to have a hand in the affairs of men—" "Then you are yourself inclining to the supernatural explanation. 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. 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? There are points of distinction about it. That change in the footprints, for example. What do you make of that?
Why should a man walk on tiptoe down the alley? There are indications that the man was crazed with fear before ever he began to run. 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. 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?
We can understand his tak-ing 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? 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. Mortimer and Sir Henry Baskerville in the morning. Our clients were punctual to their appointment, for the clock had just struck ten when Dr.
Mortimer was shown up, followed by the young bar-onet. 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.
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. Do I understand you to say that you have yourself had some remarkable experience since you arrived in London? Only a joke, as like as not. It was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which reached me this morning.
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. We only decided after I met Dr. Mortimer was no doubt already stopping there? Someone seems to be very deeply interested in your movements. 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.
As you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor. The word "moor" only was printed in ink. Holmes, what in thunder is the meaning of that, and who it is that takes so much interest in my affairs? You must allow that there is nothing supernatural about this, at any rate? I promise you that," said Sherlock Holmes. Permit me to give you an extract from it. Mortimer looked at Holmes with an air of professional in-terest, and Sir Henry Baskerville turned a pair of puzzled dark eyes upon me. 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.
Holmes, this exceeds anything which I could have imagined," said Dr. Mortimer, gazing at my friend in amazement. How did you do it? The differences are obvi-ous. The supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve, the—" "But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equally obvious. There is as much difference to my eyes between the leaded bourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of an evening half-penny paper as there could be between your negro and your Esquimau.
The detection of types is one of the most elementary branches of knowledge to the special expert in crime, though I confess that once when I was very young I confused the Leeds Mercury with the Western Morning News. But a Times leader is entirely distinctive, and these words could have been taken from nothing else. Holmes," said Sir Henry Baskerville, "someone cut out this message with a scissors—" "Nail-scissors," said Holmes. Someone, then, cut out the message with a pair of short-bladed scissors, pasted it with paste—" "Gum," said Holmes.
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. 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 in- terruption—and from whom?
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It is the scientific use of the imagin-ation, 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. 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. 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? You have nothing else to report to us before we go into this matter? But I hope that to lose one of your boots is not part of the ordinary routine of life over here.
Mortimer, "it is only mislaid. You will find it when you return to the hotel. Holmes with trifles of this kind? You have lost one of your boots, you say? 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. That was why I put them out.
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 is time that you kept your promise and gave me a full account of what we are all driving at. Mortimer, I think you could not do better than to tell your story as you told it to us. Sir Henry Baskerville listened with the deepest attention and with an occasional exclamation of surprise.
I suppose that fits into its place. I am very much in-debted to you, Dr. Mortimer, for introducing me to a problem which presents several interesting alternatives. 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. It was evident that the fiery temper of the Baskervilles was not extinct in this their last representative. I should like to have a quiet hour by myself to make up my mind. Now, look here, Mr. Suppose you and your friend, Dr.
Watson, come round and lunch with us at two. Shall I have a cab called? Au revoir, and good-morning! In an instant Holmes had changed from the languid dreamer to the man of action. Not a moment to lose! We hurried together down the stairs and into the street. Mortimer and Bask- erville were still visible about two hundred yards ahead of us in the direction of Oxford Street.
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. Then, still keeping a hundred yards behind, we followed into Oxford Street and so down Regent Street. Once our friends stopped and stared into a shop window, upon which Holmes did the same. An instant after-wards he gave a little cry of satisfaction, and, following the dir-ection 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.
We'll have a good look at him, if we can do no more. 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. 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. 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.
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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. But that is no use to us for the moment. I should then at my leisure have hired a second cab and followed the first at a respectful dis-tance, 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. Mortimer, with his companion, had long vanished in front of us. Could you swear to that man's face within the cab? A clever man upon so delicate an errand has no use for a beard save to conceal his features.
Come in here, Watson! You saved my good name, and perhaps my life. I have some recollection, Wilson, that you had among your boys a lad named Cartwright, who showed some ability during the investigation. And I should be glad to have change of this five-pound note. He stood now gazing with great rev-erence at the famous detective. Now, Cartwright, there are the names of twenty-three hotels here, all in the immediate neighbourhood of Charing Cross. Here are twenty-three shillings. You will say that an important telegram has miscar-ried and that you are looking for it.
Here is a copy of the Times. It is this page. You could easily recognize it, could you not? 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.
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. One was Theophilus Johnson and family, of New-castle; the other Mrs. Oldmore and maid, of High Lodge, Alton. Johnson, the coal-owner, a very active gentleman, not older than yourself. Oldmore, too; I seem to remember the name. Excuse my curiosity, but often in calling upon one friend one finds another. Her husband was once mayor of Gloucester. She always comes to us when she is in town. We have established a most important fact by these questions, Watson," he continued in a low voice as we went upstairs to-gether.
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. His face was flushed with anger, and he held an old and dusty boot in one of his hands. 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. And now it's an old black one.
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! It seems the very maddest, queerest thing that ever happened to me. 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. It was in the private sitting-room to which we afterwards repaired that Holmes asked Baskerville what were his intentions. 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. Have you among your neighbours or acquaintances on Dartmoor any man with a black, full beard? What is the nearest telegraph-office? Very good, we will send a second wire to the postmaster, Grimpen: Barrymore to be delivered into his own hand. Mortimer, who is this Barrymore, anyhow? 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.
Did they know that they would receive this? Mortimer, "that you do not look with suspi-cious eyes upon everyone who received a legacy from Sir Charles, for I also had a thousand pounds left to me. The residue all went to Sir Henry. The total value of the estate was close on to a million. It is a stake for which a man might well play a des-perate game. And one more question, Dr. These details are all of great interest. Have you met Mr. 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.
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. Holmes, I have not. But in any case I feel that the money should go with the title and estate. 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. 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. Mortimer returns with me. 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.
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. I suppose that by Saturday all might be ready? Another item had been added to that constant and apparently purposeless series of small mysteries which had succeeded each other so rapidly. All afternoon and late into the evening he sat lost in tobacco and thought. Just before dinner two telegrams were handed in.
Have just heard that Barrymore is at the Hall. Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry, to report unable to trace cut sheet of Times. There is nothing more stimulating than a case where everything goes against you. We must cast round for another scent. I had wired to get his name and address from the Official Registry. I came here straight from the Yard to ask you to your face what you had against me. You say that your fare told you that he was a detective? What was the name that he mentioned? For an instant he sat in silent amazement. Then he burst into a hearty laugh.
He got home upon me very prettily that time.
So his name was Sherlock Holmes, was it? Tell me where you picked him up and all that occurred. 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. We pulled up halfway down the street and waited an hour and a half.
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. Only just as he was leaving he turned round and he said: And you saw no more of him? He was dressed like a toff, and he had a black beard, cut square at the end, and a pale face. 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 can only wish you better luck in Devonshire. 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. The Red-Headed League General field: Sherlock Holmes, one day in the autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair.
With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me. I put him into a lovely red coat without a speck on it. I polished his boots,—observe the high light on the toe. I cleaned his rifle,—rifles are always clean on service,—because that is Art.
I pipeclayed his helmet,—pipeclay is always used on active service, and is indispensable to Art. I shaved his chin, I washed his hands, and gave him an air of fatted peace. Price, thank Heaven, twice as much as for the first sketch, which was moderately decent. Mouse Hector Hugh Munro extract General field: When she died she left Theodoric alone in a world that was as real as ever, and a good deal coarser than he had thought.
To a man of his temperament and upbringing even a simple railway journey was crammed with petty annoyances and minor discords, and as he settled himself down in a second-class compartment one September morning he was conscious of ruffled feelings and general mental discomposure.
He had been staying at a country vicarage, the inmates of which had been certainly neither brutal nor bacchanalian, but their supervision of the domestic establishment had been of that lax order which invites disaster. The pony carriage that was to take him to the station had never been properly ordered, and when the moment for his departure drew near the coachman was nowhere to be found.
In this emergency Theodoric, to his mute but very intense disgust, found himself obliged to collaborate with the vicar's daughter in the task of harnessing the pony, which necessitated groping about in an ill-lighted outhouse called a stable, and smelling very like one--except in patches where it smelt of mice. Without being actually afraid of mice, Theodoric classed them among the coarser incidents of life, and considered that Providence, with a little exercise of moral courage, might long ago have recognised that they were not indispensable, and have withdrawn them from circulation.
As the train glided out of the station Theodoric's nervous imagination accused himself of exhaling a weak odour of stable-yard, and possibly of displaying a mouldy straw or two on his usually well-brushed garments.
Fortunately the only other occupant of the compartment, a lady of about the same age as himself, seemed inclined for slumber rather than scrutiny; the train was not due to stop till the terminus was reached, in about an hour's time, and the carriage was of the old-fashioned sort, that held no communication with a corridor, therefore no further travelling companions were likely to intrude on Theodoric's semi- privacy. And yet the train had scarcely attained its normal speed before he became reluctantly but vividly aware that he was not alone with the slumbering lady; he was not even alone in his own clothes.
A warm, creeping movement over his flesh betrayed the unwelcome and highly resented presence, unseen but poignant, of a strayed mouse, that had evidently dashed into its present retreat during the episode of the pony harnessing. Furtive stamps and shakes and wildly directed pinches failed to dislodge the intruder, whose motto, indeed, seemed to be Excelsior; and the lawful occupant of the clothes lay back against the cushions and endeavoured rapidly to evolve some means for putting an end to the dual ownership.
It was unthinkable that he should continue for the space of a whole hour in the horrible position of a Rowton House for vagrant mice already his imagination had at least doubled the numbers of the alien invasion. On the other hand, nothing less drastic than partial disrobing would ease him of his tormentor, and to undress in the presence of a lady, even for so laudable a purpose, was an idea that made his eartips tingle in a blush of abject shame.
He had never been able to bring himself even to the mild exposure of open-work socks in the presence of the fair sex. And yet--the lady in this case was to all appearances soundly and securely asleep; the mouse, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to crowd a Wanderjahr into a few strenuous minutes. If there is any truth in the theory of transmigration, this particular mouse must certainly have been in a former state a member of the Alpine Club.
Sometimes in its eagerness it lost its footing and slipped for half an inch or so; and then, in fright, or more probably temper, it bit. Theodoric was goaded into the most audacious undertaking of his life. Profile last updated Jun 25, More translators and interpreters: Or create a new account. View Ideas submitted by the community. Post Your ideas for ProZ. Vote Promote or demote ideas.
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