Kabanata Kabanata 3 · The Problem

. The Problem

I confess at these words a shudder passed through me. There was a

thrill in the doctor’s voice which showed that he was himself

deeply moved by that which he told us. Holmes leaned forward in

his excitement and his eyes had the hard, dry glitter which shot

from them when he was keenly interested.

“You saw this?”

“As clearly as I see you.”

“And you said nothing?”

“What was the use?”

“How was it that no one else saw it?”

“The marks were some twenty yards from the body and no one gave

them a thought. I don’t suppose I should have done so had I not

known this legend.”

“There are many sheep-dogs on the moor?”

“No doubt, but this was no sheep-dog.”

“You say it was large?”

“Enormous.”

“But it had not approached the body?”

“No.”

“What sort of night was it?”

“Damp and raw.”

“But not actually raining?”

“No.”

“What is the alley like?”

“There are two lines of old yew hedge, twelve feet high and

impenetrable. The walk in the centre is about eight feet across.”

“Is there anything between the hedges and the walk?”

“Yes, there is a strip of grass about six feet broad on either

side.”

“I understand that the yew hedge is penetrated at one point by a

gate?”

“Yes, the wicket-gate which leads on to the moor.”

“Is there any other opening?”

“None.”

“So that to reach the yew alley one either has to come down it

from the house or else to enter it by the moor-gate?”

“There is an exit through a summer-house at the far end.”

“Had Sir Charles reached this?”

“No; he lay about fifty yards from it.”

“Now, tell me, Dr. Mortimer—and this is important—the marks which

you saw were on the path and not on the grass?”

“No marks could show on the grass.”

“Were they on the same side of the path as the moor-gate?”

“Yes; they were on the edge of the path on the same side as the

moor-gate.”

“You interest me exceedingly. Another point. Was the wicket-gate

closed?”

“Closed and padlocked.”

“How high was it?”

“About four feet high.”

“Then anyone could have got over it?”

“Yes.”

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

“None in particular.”

“Good heaven! Did no one examine?”

“Yes, I examined, myself.”

“And found nothing?”

“It was all very confused. Sir Charles had evidently stood there

for five or ten minutes.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar.”

“Excellent! This is a colleague, Watson, after our own heart. But

the marks?”

“He had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel. I

could discern no others.”

Sherlock Holmes struck his hand against his knee with an

impatient gesture.

“If I had only been there!” he cried. “It is evidently a case of

extraordinary interest, and one which presented immense

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