Chapter 1 Mr. Sherlock Holmes

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings,

save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all

night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the

hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left

behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood,

bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a "Penang lawyer."

Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch

across. "To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the

C.C.H.," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884." It was just

such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to

carry--dignified, solid, and reassuring.

"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"

Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no

sign of my occupation.

"How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in

the back of your head."

"I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in

front of me," said he. "But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of

our visitor's stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss

him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir

becomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an

examination of it."

"I think," said I, following as far as I could the methods of my

companion, "that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly medical

man, well-esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of

their appreciation."

"Good!" said Holmes. "Excellent!"

"I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a

country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on

foot."

"Why so?"

"Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has

been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town

practitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so

it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with

it."

"Perfectly sound!" said Holmes.

"And then again, there is the 'friends of the C.C.H.' I should

guess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose

members he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which

has made him a small presentation in return."

"Really, Watson, you excel yourself," said Holmes, pushing back

his chair and lighting a cigarette. "I am bound to say that in

all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own

small achievements you have habitually underrated your own

abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you

are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius

have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear

fellow, that I am very much in your debt."

He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his words

gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his

indifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had

made to give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think

that I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way

which earned his approval. He now took the stick from my hands

and examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then with

an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette, and

carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a

convex lens.

"Interesting, though elementary," said he as he returned to his

favourite corner of the settee. "There are certainly one or two

indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several

deductions."

"Has anything escaped me?" I asked with some self-importance. "I

trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have

overlooked?"

"I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions were

erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be

frank, that in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided

towards the truth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this

instance. The man is certainly a country practitioner. And he

walks a good deal."

"Then I was right."

"To that extent."

"But that was all."

"No, no, my dear Watson, not all--by no means all. I would

suggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more

likely to come from a hospital than from a hunt, and that when

the initials 'C.C.' are placed before that hospital the words'

Charing Cross' very naturally suggest themselves."

"You may be right."

"The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this as a

working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our

construction of this unknown visitor."

"Well, then, supposing that 'C.C.H.' does stand for 'Charing

Cross Hospital,' what further inferences may we draw?"

"Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply them!"

"I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man has

practised in town before going to the country."

"I think that we might venture a little farther than this. Look

at it in this light. On what occasion would it be most probable

that such a presentation would be made? When would his friends

unite to give him a pledge of their good will? Obviously at the

moment when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the service of the

hospital in order to start in practice for himself. We know there

has been a presentation. We believe there has been a change from

a town hospital to a country practice. Is it, then, stretching

our inference too far to say that the presentation was on the

occasion of the change?"

"It certainly seems probable."

"Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff

of the hospital, since only a man well-established in a London

practice could hold such a position, and such a one would not

drift into the country. What was he, then? If he was in the

hospital and yet not on the staff he could only have been a

house-surgeon or a house-physician--little more than a senior

student. And he left five years ago--the date is on the stick. So

your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin

air, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under

thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of

a favourite dog, which I should describe roughly as being larger

than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff."

I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his

settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling.

"As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you," said I,

"but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars

about the man's age and professional career." From my small

medical shelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up the

name. There were several Mortimers, but only one who could be our

visitor. I read his record aloud.

"Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor,

Devon. House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross

Hospital. Winner of the Jackson prize for Comparative Pathology,

with essay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?' Corresponding

member of the Swedish Pathological Society. Author of 'Some

Freaks of Atavism' (Lancet 1882). 'Do We Progress?' (Journal of

Psychology, March, 1883). Medical Officer for the parishes of

Grimpen, Thorsley, and High Barrow."

"No mention of that local hunt, Watson," said Holmes with a

mischievous smile, "but a country doctor, as you very astutely

observed. I think that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As

to the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable,

unambitious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is

only an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only

an unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country,

and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his

visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room."

"And the dog?"

"Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master.

Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle,

and the marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. The dog's

jaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too broad in

my opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It

may have been--yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel."

He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted in the

recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his

voice that I glanced up in surprise.

"My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?"

"For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our

very door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I

beg you, Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and your

presence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment

of fate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is

walking into your life, and you know not whether for good or ill.

What does Dr. James Mortimer, the man of science, ask of Sherlock

Holmes, the specialist in crime? Come in!"

The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since I had

expected a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall, thin

man, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two

keen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly from

behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a

professional but rather slovenly fashion, for his frock-coat was

dingy and his trousers frayed. Though young, his long back was

already bowed, and he walked with a forward thrust of his head

and a general air of peering benevolence. As he entered his eyes

fell upon the stick in Holmes's hand, and he ran towards it with

an exclamation of joy. "I am so very glad," said he. "I was not

sure whether I had left it here or in the Shipping Office. I

would not lose that stick for the world."

"A presentation, I see," said Holmes.

"Yes, sir."

"From Charing Cross Hospital?"

"From one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage."

"Dear, dear, that's bad!" said Holmes, shaking his head.

Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment.

"Why was it bad?"

"Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your

marriage, you say?"

"Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all

hopes of a consulting practice. It was necessary to make a home

of my own."

"Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all," said Holmes.

"And now, Dr. James Mortimer ------"

"Mister, sir, Mister--a humble M.R.C.S."

"And a man of precise mind, evidently."

"A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the

shores of the great unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr.

Sherlock Holmes whom I am addressing and not ------"

"No, this is my friend Dr. Watson."

"Glad to meet you, sir. I have heard your name mentioned in

connection with that of your friend. You interest me very much,

Mr. Holmes. I had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or

such well-marked supra-orbital development. Would you have any

objection to my running my finger along your parietal fissure? A

cast of your skull, sir, until the original is available, would

be an ornament to any anthropological museum. It is not my

intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet your skull."

Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair. "You are

an enthusiast in your line of thought, I perceive, sir, as I am

in mine," said he. "I observe from your forefinger that you make

your own cigarettes. Have no hesitation in lighting one."

The man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in the

other with surprising dexterity. He had long, quivering fingers

as agile and restless as the antennae of an insect.

Holmes was silent, but his little darting glances showed me the

interest which he took in our curious companion.

"I presume, sir," said he at last, "that it was not merely for

the purpose of examining my skull that you have done me the

honour to call here last night and again to-day?"

"No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had the opportunity of

doing that as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I

recognized that I am myself an unpractical man and because I am

suddenly confronted with a most serious and extraordinary

problem. Recognizing, as I do, that you are the second highest

expert in Europe ------"

"Indeed, sir! May I inquire who has the honour to be the first?"

asked Holmes with some asperity.

"To the man of precisely scientific mind the work of Monsieur

Bertillon must always appeal strongly."

"Then had you not better consult him?"

"I said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind. But as a

practical man of affairs it is acknowledged that you stand alone.

I trust, sir, that I have not inadvertently ------"

"Just a little," said Holmes. "I think, Dr. Mortimer, you would

do wisely if without more ado you would kindly tell me plainly

what the exact nature of the problem is in which you demand my

assistance."

Read next: Chapter 2 The Curse of the Baskervilles


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