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The Hound of the Baskervilles. *ANOTHER ADVENTURE OFSHERLOCK HOLMES.BY CONAN DOYLE.CHAPTER I.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-rugand picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him thenight 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 astick 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 himno sign of my occupation."How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyesin the back of your head.""I have, at least, a well-polished silver-plated coffee-potin front of me," said he. "But, tell me, Watson, what doyou make of our visitor's stick? Since we have been sounfortunate as to miss him and have no notion of his errand,this accidental souvenir becomes of importance. Let me hearyou reconstruct the man by an examination of it."I think," said I, following as far as I could the methodsof my companion, "that Dr. Mortimer is a successful elderlymedical man, well-esteemed, since those who know him givehim this mark of their appreciation.""Good!" said Holmes. "Excellent!""I think also that the probability is in favour of his beinga country practitioner who does a great deal of his visitingon foot.""Why so?""Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one,has been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a townpractitioner carrying it. The thick iron ferrule is worndown, so it is evident that he has done a great amount ofwalking 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 huntto 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, pushingback his chair and lighting a cigarette. "I am bound to saythat in all the accounts which you have been so good as togive of my own small achievements you have habituallyunderrated your own abilities. It may be that you are notyourself luminous, but you are a conductor of light. Somepeople without possessing genius have a remarkable power ofstimulating it. I confess, my dear fellow, that I am verymuch in your debt."He had never said as much before, and I must admit that hiswords gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued byhis indifference to my admiration and to the attempts whichI had made to give publicity to his methods. I was proudtoo to think that I had so far mastered his system as toapply it in a way which earned his approval. He now tookthe stick from my hands and examined it for a few minuteswith his naked eyes. Then with an expression of interesthe laid down his cigarette and, carrying the cane to thewindow, he looked over it again with a convex lens."Interesting, though elementary," said he, as he returned tohis favourite corner of the settee. "There are certainlyone or two indications upon the stick. It gives us thebasis for several deductions.""Has anything escaped me?" I asked, with some self-importance."I trust that there is nothing of consequence which I haveoverlooked?""I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusionswere erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant,to be frank, that in noting your fallacies I wasoccasionally guided towards the truth. Not that you areentirely wrong in this instance. The man is certainly acountry 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 doctoris more likely to come from an hospital than from a hunt,and that when the initials 'C.C.' are placed before thathospital the words 'Charing Cross' very naturally suggestthemselves.""You may be right.""The probability lies in that direction. And if we takethis as a working hypothesis we have a fresh basis fromwhich to start our construction of this unknown visitor.""Well, then, supposing that 'C.C.H.' does stand for 'CharingCross 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 haspractised 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 mostprobable that such a presentation would be made? When wouldhis friends unite to give him a pledge of their good will?Obviously at the moment when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from theservice of the hospital in order to start in practice forhimself. We know there has been a presentation. We believethere has been a change from a town hospital to a countrypractice. Is it, then, stretching our inference too far tosay 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-establishedin a London practice could hold such a position, and such aone would not drift into the country. What was he, then?If he was in the hospital and yet not on the staff he couldonly have been a house-surgeon or a house-physician --little more than a senior student. And he left five yearsago -- the date is on the stick. So your grave, middle-agedfamily 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 favouritedog, which I should describe roughly as being larger than aterrier and smaller than a mastiff."I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back inhis settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to theceiling."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 fewparticulars about the man's age and professional career."From my small medical shelf I took down the MedicalDirectory and turned up the name. There were severalMortimers, 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, withessay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?' Correspondingmember of the Swedish Pathological Society. Author of 'SomeFreaks of Atavism' (_Lancet_, 1882). 'Do We Progress?'(_Journal of Psychology_, March, 1883). Medical Officer forthe 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 veryastutely observed. I think that I am fairly justified in myinferences. As to the adjectives, I said, if I rememberright, amiable, unambitious, and absent-minded. It is myexperience that it is only an amiable man in this world whoreceives testimonials, only an unambitious one who abandonsa London career for the country, and only an absent-mindedone who leaves his stick and not his visiting-card afterwaiting an hour in your room.""And the dog?""Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind hismaster. Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly bythe middle, and the marks of his teeth are very plainlyvisible. The dog's jaw, as shown in the space between thesemarks, is too broad in my opinion for a terrier and notbroad 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 haltedin the recess of the window. There was such a ring ofconviction 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 onour very doorstep, and there is the ring of its owner.Don't move, I beg you, Watson. He is a professional brotherof yours, and your presence may be of assistance to me. Nowis the dramatic moment of fate, Watson, when you hear a stepupon the stair which is walking into your life, and you knownot whether for good or ill. What does Dr. James Mortimer,the man of science, ask of Sherlock Holmes, the specialistin crime? Come in!"The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me, since Ihad expected a typical country practitioner. He was a verytall, thin man, with a long nose like a beak, which juttedout between two keen, grey eyes, set closely together andsparkling brightly from behind a pair of gold-rimmedglasses. He was clad in a professional but rather slovenlyfashion, for his frock-coat was dingy and his trousers frayed.Though young, his long back was already bowed, andhe walked with a forward thrust of his head and a generalair of peering benevolence. As he entered his eyes fellupon the stick in Holmes's hand, and ...
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