Chapter 4. Sir Henry Baskerville

by Arthur Conan Doyle

The breakfast table was cleared early, and Holmes waited in his dressing gown for the promised meeting. Our clients arrived right on time; the clock had just struck ten when Dr. Mortimer entered, followed closely by the young baronet. Sir Henry Baskerville was a small, alert man in his thirties, with dark eyes and a sturdy build. His thick black eyebrows framed a strong, determined face. He wore a tweed suit with a warm hue, and his weathered appearance suggested he spent a lot of time outdoors. Yet, there was something in his steady gaze and confident demeanor that spoke of his gentlemanly status.

“This is Sir Henry Baskerville,” Dr. Mortimer introduced.

“Indeed,” Sir Henry replied, “and the odd thing is, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, if my friend hadn’t suggested coming to see you this morning, I would have come on my own. I understand you solve little puzzles, and I have one this morning that needs more thought than I can give it.”

“Please, have a seat, Sir Henry. Are you saying you’ve had a remarkable experience since arriving in London?” Holmes asked.

“Nothing too important, Mr. Holmes. Just a joke, most likely. It’s this letter—if you can call it that—that I received this morning.”

He placed an envelope on the table, and we all leaned in to examine it. It was a plain, gray envelope. The address, “Sir Henry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel,” was printed in rough letters, with a postmark from Charing Cross dated the previous evening.

“Who knew you were going to the Northumberland Hotel?” Holmes asked, eyeing our visitor intently.

“No one could have known. We only decided after I met Dr. Mortimer,” Sir Henry replied.

“But Dr. Mortimer was already staying there, wasn’t he?” Holmes pressed.

“No, I had been with a friend,” the doctor clarified.

“There was no indication that we intended to go to this hotel,” Sir Henry added.

“Hmm! Someone seems very interested in your movements.” Holmes took out a half-sheet of paper folded into quarters from the envelope. He opened it and spread it flat on the table. Across the middle, a single sentence was formed by pasting printed words together. It read:

As you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor.

The word “moor” was the only part written in ink.

“Now,” Sir Henry said, “can you tell me what on earth this means, and who is so interested in my affairs?”

“What do you think, Dr. Mortimer? Surely you can agree there’s nothing supernatural about this?” Holmes asked.

“No, sir, but it could very well come from someone who believes the situation is supernatural,” the doctor replied.

“What situation?” Sir Henry asked sharply. “It seems you gentlemen know a lot more about my affairs than I do.”

“You will share our knowledge before you leave this room, Sir Henry. I promise you that,” Sherlock Holmes assured him. “For now, let’s focus on this intriguing document, which must have been put together and sent yesterday evening. Watson, do you have yesterday’s Times?”

“It’s over there in the corner,” I said.

“May I trouble you for it? The inside page, please, with the leading articles?” He quickly scanned the columns. “There’s a great article on free trade here. Let me share an excerpt with you.

‘You may be led to believe that your specific trade or industry will benefit from a protective tariff, but it stands to reason that such legislation will ultimately keep wealth from the country, reduce the value of our imports, and lower the overall quality of life on this island.’

“What do you think of that, Watson?” Holmes exclaimed, rubbing his hands together with delight. “Isn’t that an admirable sentiment?”

Dr. Mortimer regarded Holmes with professional curiosity, while Sir Henry looked at me with confusion in his dark eyes.

“I don’t know much about tariffs and things like that,” he admitted, “but it seems to me we’ve strayed a bit from the point regarding that note.”

“On the contrary, I believe we’re right on track, Sir Henry. Watson here knows more about my methods than you do, but I fear even he hasn’t fully grasped the significance of this sentence.”

“No, I confess I don’t see any connection,” I said.

“And yet, my dear Watson, there’s a very close connection; one is derived from the other. ‘You,’ ‘your,’ ‘your,’ ‘life,’ ‘reason,’ ‘value,’ ‘keep away,’ ‘from the.’ Don’t you see where these words have come from?”

“By thunder, you’re right! Well, if that isn’t clever!” Sir Henry exclaimed.

“If there was any doubt, it’s settled by the fact that ‘keep away’ and ‘from the’ are cut out in one piece.”

“Well, now—so it is!”

“Honestly, Mr. Holmes, this is beyond anything I could have imagined,” Dr. Mortimer said, staring at my friend in disbelief. “I could understand someone claiming the words came from a newspaper, but for you to name which one and specify that it was from the leading article is truly remarkable. How did you do it?”

“I assume, Doctor, that you can distinguish the skull of a Black person from that of an Eskimo?”

“Of course.”

“And how can you tell?”

“Because it’s my area of expertise. The differences are clear—the supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve, and so on—”

“But this is my area of expertise as well, and the differences are just as obvious. To me, there’s as much distinction between the polished style of a _Times_ article and the messy print of a cheap evening paper as there is between your Black person and your Eskimo. Recognizing types is one of the most fundamental skills for someone specialized in crime, though I admit that when I was younger, I once confused the _Leeds Mercury_ with the _Western Morning News_. But a leader from the _Times_ is unmistakable, and these words could only have come from there. Since it was published yesterday, it’s highly likely we’ll find it in that day’s issue.”

“So, if I’m following you correctly, Mr. Holmes,” Sir Henry Baskerville said, “someone cut out this message with scissors—”

“Nail scissors,” Holmes interjected. “You can tell it was a short-bladed pair since the cutter had to make two snips over ‘keep away.’”

“That’s true. So someone cut out the message with short-bladed scissors and pasted it onto the paper—”

“Gum,” Holmes corrected.

“With gum on the paper. But why was the word ‘moor’ written instead of cut out?”

“Because he couldn’t find it in print. The other words were all simple and could be found in any issue, but ‘moor’ is less common.”

“Of course, that makes sense. Have you noticed anything else in this message, Mr. Holmes?”

“There are a couple of clues, though great care has been taken to remove any traces. The address is printed in rough characters, but the _Times_ is usually only found in the hands of educated people. So we can conclude that the letter was written by someone educated who wanted to appear uneducated, and his attempt to disguise his handwriting suggests it might be recognized by you. Additionally, the words aren’t glued down in a straight line; some are much higher than others. For instance, ‘Life’ is completely out of place. This could indicate carelessness, or it might suggest agitation and haste on the part of the cutter. I lean toward the latter, considering the importance of the message. It’s unlikely someone would be careless with such a letter. If he was in a hurry, it raises an interesting question: why was he in a hurry? Any letter posted by early morning would reach Sir Henry before he left his hotel. Was the writer afraid of being interrupted—and by whom?”

“We’re starting to venture into speculation here,” Dr. Mortimer said.

“Let’s say we’re weighing probabilities and choosing the most likely scenario. It’s a scientific use of imagination, but we always have some material basis to start our speculation. You might call it a guess, but I’m fairly certain this address was written in a hotel.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“If you look closely, you’ll see that both the pen and ink gave the writer trouble. The pen spluttered twice in one word and ran dry three times in a short address, indicating there was very little ink in the bottle. A private pen or ink bottle rarely gets into such a state, and the combination of the two is quite unusual. But you know how hotel ink and pens are; it’s hard to find anything else. Yes, I have little doubt that if we searched the wastepaper baskets of hotels around Charing Cross until we found the remnants of the cut-up _Times_ leader, we could directly trace this message back to the person who sent it. Wait! What’s this?”

He leaned in closely to examine the sheet of paper with the pasted words, holding it just inches from his eyes.

“Well?”

“Nothing,” he said, tossing it aside. “It’s just a blank half-sheet of paper, not even a watermark. I think we’ve gleaned all we can from this curious letter. Now, Sir Henry, has anything else interesting happened to you since you arrived in London?”

“Not really, Mr. Holmes. I don’t think so.”

“You haven’t noticed anyone following or watching you?”

“I feel like I’ve walked right into a cheap novel,” our visitor replied. “Why on earth would anyone follow or watch me?”

“We're getting to that. Do you have anything else to share before we dive into this?”

“Well, it depends on what you consider worth sharing.”

“I think anything that deviates from the ordinary is worth mentioning.”

Sir Henry smiled. “I don’t know much about British life yet, having spent most of my time in the States and Canada. But I hope losing a boot isn’t part of the usual routine here.”

“You’ve lost a boot?”

“My dear sir,” Dr. Mortimer exclaimed, “it’s just misplaced. You’ll find it when you get back to the hotel. What’s the point of bothering Mr. Holmes with such trivial matters?”

“Well, he asked me for anything outside the ordinary routine.”

“Exactly,” Holmes interjected, “no matter how trivial it may seem. You say you’ve lost a boot?”

“Well, mislaid it, anyway. I left both of them outside my door last night, and only one was there in the morning. The cleaner didn’t make any sense. The worst part is that I just bought the pair last night in the Strand, and I’ve never even worn them.”

“If you’ve never worn them, why did you put them out to be cleaned?”

“They were tan boots and hadn’t been varnished yet. That’s why I put them out.”

“So, when you arrived in London yesterday, you immediately went out and bought a pair of boots?”

“I did quite a bit of shopping. Dr. Mortimer here accompanied me. You see, if I’m going to be a squire down there, I need to dress the part. I might have gotten a bit careless in my ways out West. Among other things, I bought these brown boots—paid six dollars for them—and then one got stolen before I even had a chance to wear them.”

“It seems like a rather pointless thing to steal,” Sherlock Holmes remarked. “I must admit, I share Dr. Mortimer’s belief that the missing boot will turn up soon.”

“And now, gentlemen,” the baronet said decisively, “I believe I’ve said enough about what little I know. It’s time for you to keep your promise and give me a full account of what we’re dealing with.”

“Your request is quite reasonable,” Holmes replied. “Dr. Mortimer, I think you should tell your story as you did for us earlier.”

Encouraged, our scientific friend pulled out his papers and presented the entire case just as he had the morning before. Sir Henry Baskerville listened intently, occasionally expressing surprise.

“Well, it seems I’ve inherited quite the situation,” he said when the lengthy narrative concluded. “Of course, I’ve heard about the hound since I was a child. It’s the family’s favorite story, though I never took it seriously before. But regarding my uncle’s death—everything feels jumbled in my head, and I can’t quite make sense of it yet. You don’t seem to have decided if this is a case for the police or for a clergyman.”

“Precisely.”

“And then there’s the matter of the letter sent to me at the hotel. I suppose that fits into this somehow.”

“It suggests that someone knows more than we do about what’s happening on the moor,” Dr. Mortimer said.

“And also,” Holmes added, “that this person isn’t ill-intentioned, since they’re warning you of danger.”

“Or they might have their own reasons for wanting to scare me off.”

“Well, that’s possible too. I’m very grateful to you, Dr. Mortimer, for introducing me to a problem that presents several intriguing possibilities. But the practical question we need to address, Sir Henry, is whether it’s wise for you to go to Baskerville Hall.”

“Why shouldn’t I go?”

“There seems to be danger.”

“Are you talking about danger from this family curse or danger from people?”

“Well, that’s what we need to figure out.”

“Regardless, my answer is firm. There’s no devil in hell, Mr. Holmes, and no man on earth can stop me from going to my family’s home. You can take that as my final answer.” His dark brows knitted together, and his face flushed a deep red as he spoke. It was clear that the fiery temper of the Baskervilles was alive and well in this last representative.

“Meanwhile,” he continued, “I haven’t had much time to think over everything you’ve told me. It’s a lot for a man to process and decide all at once. I’d like to have a quiet hour to gather my thoughts. Now, listen, Mr. Holmes, it’s half-past eleven, and I’m heading back to my hotel. Why don’t you and your friend, Dr. Watson, join me for lunch at two? I’ll be able to share my thoughts more clearly then.”

“Does that work for you, Watson?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then you can expect us. Should I call a cab?”

“I’d prefer to walk; this whole situation has me a bit flustered.”

“I’d be happy to join you for a walk,” his companion replied.

“Then we’ll meet again at two o’clock. Au revoir, and good morning!”

We heard the footsteps of our visitors coming down the stairs and the loud bang of the front door. In an instant, Holmes transformed from a relaxed dreamer into a man of action.

“Grab your hat and boots, Watson! We don’t have a moment to lose!” He dashed into his room in his dressing gown and returned moments later wearing a frock coat. We hurried down the stairs and out into the street. Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were still visible about two hundred yards ahead of us, heading toward Oxford Street.

“Should I run ahead and stop them?” I asked.

“Not for the world, my dear Watson. I’m perfectly happy with your company, if you don’t mind mine. Our friends are wise; it’s a lovely morning for a walk.”

He quickened his pace, and we closed the distance between us by half. Still keeping a hundred yards behind, we followed them onto Oxford Street and then down Regent Street. At one point, our friends paused to look into a shop window, and Holmes did the same. A moment later, he let out a small cry of satisfaction. Following the direction of his eager gaze, I noticed a hansom cab with a man inside that had stopped on the other side of the street. It was now moving slowly again.

“There’s our man, Watson! Let’s go! We’ll get a good look at him, even if that’s all we can do.”

Just then, I caught sight of a bushy black beard and a pair of piercing eyes staring at us through the cab’s side window. Suddenly, the trapdoor at the top flew open, something was shouted to the driver, and the cab sped off down Regent Street. Holmes looked around frantically for another cab, but none was in sight. He dashed into the flow of traffic, but the lead was too great, and the cab quickly disappeared from view.

“Just our luck!” Holmes exclaimed bitterly as he emerged, panting and pale with frustration, from the sea of vehicles. “What terrible luck and such poor management! Watson, if you’re an honest man, you’ll write this down and hold it against my successes!”

“Who was the man?” I asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“A spy?”

“Well, it’s clear from what we’ve heard that Baskerville has been closely followed by someone since he arrived in town. How else would they know so quickly that he chose the Northumberland Hotel? If they followed him on the first day, it stands to reason they would follow him again on the second. You may have noticed that I strolled over to the window twice while Dr. Mortimer was reading his legend.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I was watching for anyone loitering in the street, but I saw no one. We’re dealing with a clever individual, Watson. This situation runs deep, and while I haven’t decided if it’s a benevolent or malevolent force at work, I can sense a powerful design behind it. When our friends left, I immediately followed them, hoping to spot their unseen follower. He was so cunning that he didn’t trust himself to walk; instead, he took a cab so he could linger behind or dash past them without being noticed. This method also had the advantage that if they took a cab, he could follow them right away. However, it has one obvious drawback.”

“It puts him at the mercy of the cab driver.”

“Exactly.”

“What a shame we didn’t get the number!”

“My dear Watson, as clumsy as I’ve been, you can’t seriously think I neglected to get the number? No. 2704 is our man. But that doesn’t help us right now.”

“I don’t see how you could have done more.”

“If I had seen the cab, I should have turned and walked in the opposite direction. Then, at my leisure, I could have hired a second cab and followed the first from a respectful distance. Better yet, I could have gone to the Northumberland Hotel and waited there. Once our unknown had followed Baskerville home, we would have had the chance to turn the tables and see where he went. Instead, due to my indiscreet eagerness, which our opponent exploited with remarkable speed and cunning, we’ve revealed ourselves and lost our man.”

We had been strolling slowly down Regent Street during this conversation, and Dr. Mortimer, along with his companion, had long since vanished from view.

“There’s no point in following them now,” Holmes said. “The shadow has moved on and won’t return. We need to see what other options we have and play them decisively. Could you recognize that man’s face in the cab?”

“I could only swear to the beard.”

“And so could I—which suggests it was likely a false one. A clever person on such a delicate mission wouldn’t use a beard unless to hide their features. Come in here, Watson!”

He turned into a nearby district messenger office, where the manager greeted him warmly.

“Ah, Wilson! I see you haven’t forgotten the little case where I had the good fortune to assist you?”

“No, sir, I really haven’t. You saved my reputation, and maybe even my life.”

“My dear friend, you’re being dramatic. I remember, Wilson, that you had a boy named Cartwright among your group, who showed some promise during the investigation.”

“Yes, sir, he’s still with us.”

“Could you call him in? Thank you! And I’d appreciate it if you could change this five-pound note for me.”

A fourteen-year-old boy with a bright, eager face quickly answered the manager’s call. He stood there, staring in awe at the renowned detective.

“Let me have the Hotel Directory,” Holmes said. “Thank you! Now, Cartwright, here are the names of twenty-three hotels, all located near Charing Cross. Do you see them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will visit each one in order.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Start by giving the outside porter one shilling at each hotel. Here are twenty-three shillings.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell him you need to see the waste paper from yesterday. Say that an important telegram has gone missing and you’re trying to find it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“But what you’re really looking for is the center page of the _Times_ with some holes cut in it. Here’s a copy of the _Times_. It’s this page. You can recognize it, can’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“At each hotel, the outside porter will call for the hall porter, to whom you’ll also give a shilling. Here are twenty-three more shillings for that. You’ll likely find out that in about twenty of the hotels, the waste from the day before has been burned or removed. In the other three, you’ll be shown a pile of paper, and you’ll need to search for that page of the _Times_ among it. The odds are heavily against you finding it. I’ve set aside ten extra shillings for any emergencies. Please send me a report by wire at Baker Street before evening. Now, Watson, all that’s left is to find out the identity of cab driver No. 2704, and then we can stop by one of the picture galleries on Bond Street to pass the time until we need to be at the hotel.”