“I am presuming that the cause of his fears came to him acrossthe moor. If that were so, and it seems most probable, only a manwho had lost his wits would have run from the house instead oftowards it. If the gipsy’s evidence may be taken as true, he ranwith cries for help in the direction where help was least likely tobe. Then, again, whom was he waiting for that night, and why washe 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 histaking an evening stroll, but the ground was damp and thenight inclement. Is it natural that he should stand for five or tenminutes, as Dr. Mortimer, with more practical sense than I shouldhave 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 everyevening. On the contrary, the evidence is that he avoided themoor. That night he waited there. It was the night before hemade his departure for London. The thing takes shape, Watson.
It becomes coherent. Might I ask you to hand me my violin, andwe will postpone all further thought upon this business until wehave had the advantage of meeting Dr. Mortimer and Sir HenryBaskerville in the morning.”
Sir Henry Baskerville
Our breakfasttable was cleared early, and Holmes waited inhis dressing-gown for the promised interview. Our clients werepunctual to their appointment, for the clock had just struck tenwhen Dr. Mortimer was shown up, followed by the young baronet.
The latter was a small, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years ofage, very sturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a strong,pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and had theweather-beaten appearance of one who has spent most of his timein the open air, and yet there was something in his steady eye andthe 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. SherlockHolmes, that if my friend here had not proposed coming roundto you this morning I should have come on my own account. Iunderstand that you think out little puzzles, and I’ve had one thismorning 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 youhave yourself had some remarkable experience since you arrived inLondon?”
“Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes. Only a joke, as likeas not. It was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which reachedme this morning.”
He laid an envelope upon the table, and we all bent over it.
It was of common quality, grayish in colour. The address, “SirHenry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel,” was printed in roughcharacters; the post-mark “Charing Cross,” and the date of postingthe preceding evening.
“Who knew that you were going to the NorthumberlandHotel?” 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. “Therewas no possible indication that we intended to go to this hotel.”
“Hum! Someone seems to be very deeply interested in yourmovements.” Out of the envelope he took a half-sheet of foolscappaper folded into four. This he opened and spread flat upon thetable. Across the middle of it a single sentence had been formedby 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 thattakes so much interest in my affairs?”
“What do you make of it, Dr. Mortimer? You must allow thatthere is nothing supernatural about this, at any rate?”
“No, sir, but it might very well come from someone who wasconvinced that the business is supernatural.”
“What business?” asked Sir Henry sharply. “It seems to me thatall you gentlemen know a great deal more than I do about my ownaffairs.”
“You shall share our knowledge before you leave this room,Sir Henry. I promise you that,” said Sherlock Holmes. “We willconfine ourselves for the present with your permission to this veryinteresting document, which must have been put together andposted 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 theleading articles?” He glanced swiftly over it, running his eyes upand down the columns. “Capital article this on free trade. Permitme to give you an extract from it.
‘You may be cajoled into imagining that your own special trade oryour own industry will be encouraged by a protective tariff, but itstands to reason that such legislation must in the long run keepaway 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 highglee, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction. “Don’t youthink that is an admirable sentiment?”
Dr. Mortimer looked at Holmes with an air of professionalinterest, and Sir Henry Baskerville turned a pair of puzzled darkeyes 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 asthat 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 youdo, but I fear that even he has not quite grasped the significanceof this sentence.”
“No, I confess that I see no connection.”
“And yet, my dear Watson, there is so very close a connectionthat the one is extracted out of the other. ‘You,’ ‘your,’ ‘your,lifereason,’ ‘value,’ ‘keep away,’ ‘from the.’ Don’t you see now whencethese words have been taken?”
