บทที่ บทที่ 4 · 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.”

Chapter 4. Sir Henry Baskerville

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, greyish 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.”