Chapter 3 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 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 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

country-side 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 to-morrow, 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

shirtcuff 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 arm-chair 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

farm-houses, 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."

Read next: Chapter 4 Sir Henry Baskerville

Read previous: Chapter 2 The Curse of the Baskervilles

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