am wearing. Last night they took one of my brown ones, and to-day
they have sneaked one of the black. Well, have you got it? Speak out,
man, and don't stand staring!"
An agitated German waiter had appeared upon the scene.
"No, sir; I have made inquiry all over the hotel, but I can hear no
word of it."
"Well, either that boot comes back before sundown or I'll see the
manager and tell him that I go right straight out of this hotel."
"It shall be found, sir--I promise you that if you will have a little
patience it will be found."
"Mind it is, for it's the last thing of mine that I'll lose in this
den of thieves. Well, well, Mr. Holmes, you'll excuse my troubling
you about such a trifle--"
"I think it's well worth troubling about."
"Why, you look very serious over it."
"How do you explain it?"
"I just don't attempt to explain it. It seems the very maddest,
queerest thing that ever happened to me."
"The queerest perhaps--" said Holmes, thoughtfully.
"What do you make of it yourself?"
"Well, I don't profess to understand it yet. This case of yours is
very complex, Sir Henry. When taken in conjunction with your uncle's
death I am not sure that of all the five hundred cases of capital
importance which I have handled there is one which cuts so deep. But
we hold several threads in our hands, and the odds are that one or
other of them guides us to the truth. We may waste time in following
the wrong one, but sooner or later we must come upon the right."
We had a pleasant luncheon in which little was said of the business
which had brought us together. It was in the private sitting-room to
which we afterwards repaired that Holmes asked Baskerville what were
his intentions.
"To go to Baskerville Hall."
"And when?"
"At the end of the week."
"On the whole," said Holmes, "I think that your decision is a wise
one. I have ample evidence that you are being dogged in London, and
amid the millions of this great city it is difficult to discover who
these people are or what their object can be. If their intentions are
evil they might do you a mischief, and we should be powerless to
prevent it. You did not know, Dr. Mortimer, that you were followed
this morning from my house?"
Dr. Mortimer started violently.
"Followed! By whom?"
"That, unfortunately, is what I cannot tell you. Have you among your
neighbours or acquaintances on Dartmoor any man with a black, full
beard?"
"No--or, let me see--why, yes. Barrymore, Sir Charles's butler, is a
man with a full, black beard."
"Ha! Where is Barrymore?"
"He is in charge of the Hall."
"We had best ascertain if he is really there, or if by any
possibility he might be in London."
"How can you do that?"
"Give me a telegraph form. 'Is all ready for Sir Henry?' That will
do. Address to Mr. Barrymore, Baskerville Hall. What is the nearest
telegraph-office? Grimpen. Very good, we will send a second wire to
the postmaster, Grimpen: 'Telegram to Mr. Barrymore to be delivered
into his own hand. If absent, please return wire to Sir Henry
Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel.' That should let us know before
evening whether Barrymore is at his post in Devonshire or not."
"That's so," said Baskerville. "By the way, Dr. Mortimer, who is this
Barrymore, anyhow?"
"He is the son of the old caretaker, who is dead. They have looked
after the Hall for four generations now. So far as I know, he and his
wife are as respectable a couple as any in the county."
"At the same time," said Baskerville, "it's clear enough that so long
as there are none of the family at the Hall these people have a
mighty fine home and nothing to do."
"That is true."
"Did Barrymore profit at all by Sir Charles's will?" asked Holmes.
"He and his wife had five hundred pounds each."
"Ha! Did they know that they would receive this?"
"Yes; Sir Charles was very fond of talking about the provisions of
his will."
"That is very interesting."
"I hope," said Dr. Mortimer, "that you do not look with suspicious
eyes upon everyone who received a legacy from Sir Charles, for I also
had a thousand pounds left to me."
"Indeed! And anyone else?"
"There were many insignificant sums to individuals, and a large
number of public charities. The residue all went to Sir Henry."
"And how much was the residue?"
"Seven hundred and forty thousand pounds."
Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I had no idea that so
gigantic a sum was involved," said he.
"Sir Charles had the reputation of being rich, but we did not know
how very rich he was until we came to examine his securities. The
total value of the estate was close on to a million."
"Dear me! It is a stake for which a man might well play a desperate
game. And one more question, Dr. Mortimer. Supposing that anything
happened to our young friend here--you will forgive the unpleasant
hypothesis!--who would inherit the estate?"
"Since Rodger Baskerville, Sir Charles's younger brother died
unmarried, the estate would descend to the Desmonds, who are distant
cousins. James Desmond is an elderly clergyman in Westmoreland."
"Thank you. These details are all of great interest. Have you met Mr.
James Desmond?"
"Yes; he once came down to visit Sir Charles. He is a man of
venerable appearance and of saintly life. I remember that he refused
to accept any settlement from Sir Charles, though he pressed it upon
him."
"And this man of simple tastes would be the heir to Sir Charles's
thousands."
"He would be the heir to the estate because that is entailed. He
would also be the heir to the money unless it were willed otherwise
by the present owner, who can, of course, do what he likes with it."
"And have you made your will, Sir Henry?"
"No, Mr. Holmes, I have not. I've had no time, for it was only
yesterday that I learned how matters stood. But in any case I feel
that the money should go with the title and estate. That was my poor
uncle's idea. How is the owner going to restore the glories of the
Baskervilles if he has not money enough to keep up the property?
House, land, and dollars must go together."
"Quite so. Well, Sir Henry, I am of one mind with you as to the
advisability of your going down to Devonshire without delay. There is
only one provision which I must make. You certainly must not go
alone."
"Dr. Mortimer returns with me."
"But Dr. Mortimer has his practice to attend to, and his house is
miles away from yours. With all the good will in the world he may be
unable to help you. No, Sir Henry, you must take with you someone, a
trusty man, who will be always by your side."
"Is it possible that you could come yourself, Mr. Holmes?"
"If matters came to a crisis I should endeavour to be present in
person; but you can understand that, with my extensive consulting
practice and with the constant appeals which reach me from many
quarters, it is impossible for me to be absent from London for an
indefinite time. At the present instant one of the most revered names
in England is being besmirched by a blackmailer, and only I can stop
a disastrous scandal. You will see how impossible it is for me to go
to Dartmoor."
"Whom would you recommend, then?"
Holmes laid his hand upon my arm.
"If my friend would undertake it there is no man who is better worth
having at your side when you are in a tight place. No one can say so
more confidently than I."
The proposition took me completely by surprise, but before I had time
to answer, Baskerville seized me by the hand and wrung it heartily.
"Well, now, that is real kind of you, Dr. Watson," said he. "You see
how it is with me, and you know just as much about the matter as I
do. If you will come down to Baskerville Hall and see me through I'll
never forget it."
The promise of adventure had always a fascination for me, and I was
complimented by the words of Holmes and by the eagerness with which
the baronet hailed me as a companion.
"I will come, with pleasure," said I. "I do not know how I could
employ my time better."
"And you will report very carefully to me," said Holmes. "When a
crisis comes, as it will do, I will direct how you shall act. I
suppose that by Saturday all might be ready?"
"Would that suit Dr. Watson?"
"Perfectly."
"Then on Saturday, unless you hear to the contrary, we shall meet at
the 10.30 train from Paddington."
We had risen to depart when Baskerville gave a cry, of triumph, and
diving into one of the corners of the room he drew a brown boot from
under a cabinet.
"My missing boot!" he cried.
"May all our difficulties vanish as easily!" said Sherlock Holmes.
"But it is a very singular thing," Dr. Mortimer remarked. "I searched
this room carefully before lunch."
"And so did I," said Baskerville. "Every inch of it."
"There was certainly no boot in it then."
"In that case the waiter must have placed it there while we were
lunching."
The German was sent for but professed to know nothing of the matter,
nor could any inquiry clear it up. Another item had been added to
that constant and apparently purposeless series of small mysteries
which had succeeded each other so rapidly. Setting aside the whole
grim story of Sir Charles's death, we had a line of inexplicable
incidents all within the limits of two days, which included the
receipt of the printed letter, the black-bearded spy in the hansom,
the loss of the new brown boot, the loss of the old black boot, and
now the return of the new brown boot. Holmes sat in silence in the
cab as we drove back to Baker Street, and I knew from his drawn brows
and keen face that his mind, like my own, was busy in endeavouring to
frame some scheme into which all these strange and apparently
disconnected episodes could be fitted. All afternoon and late into
the evening he sat lost in tobacco and thought.
Just before dinner two telegrams were handed in. The first ran:
Have just heard that Barrymore is at the Hall.
Baskerville.
The second:
Visited twenty-three hotels as directed, but sorry to report unable
to trace cut sheet of Times.
Cartwright.
"There go two of my threads, Watson. There is nothing more
stimulating than a case where everything goes against you. We must
cast round for another scent."
"We have still the cabman who drove the spy."
"Exactly. I have wired to get his name and address from the Official
Registry. I should not be surprised if this were an answer to my
question."
The ring at the bell proved to be something even more satisfactory
than an answer, however, for the door opened and a rough-looking
fellow entered who was evidently the man himself.
"I got a message from the head office that a gent at this address had
been inquiring for 2704," said he. "I've driven my cab this seven
years and never a word of complaint. I came here straight from the
Yard to ask you to your face what you had against me."
"I have nothing in the world against you, my good man," said Holmes.
"On the contrary, I have half a sovereign for you if you will give me
a clear answer to my questions."
"Well, I've had a good day and no mistake," said the cabman, with a
grin. "What was it you wanted to ask, sir?"
"First of all your name and address, in case I want you again."
"John Clayton, 3 Turpey Street, the Borough. My cab is out of
Shipley's Yard, near Waterloo Station."
Sherlock Holmes made a note of it.
"Now, Clayton, tell me all about the fare who came and watched this
house at ten o'clock this morning and afterwards followed the two
gentlemen down Regent Street."
The man looked surprised and a little embarrassed. "Why, there's no
good my telling you things, for you seem to know as much as I do
already," said he. "The truth is that the gentleman told me that he
was a detective and that I was to say nothing about him to anyone."
"My good fellow, this is a very serious business, and you may find
yourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide anything from
me. You say that your fare told you that he was a detective?"
"Yes, he did."
"When did he say this?"
"When he left me."
