Chapter 3

The Problem
At these words a shudder passed through me. Holmes leaned forward in
excitement. He was very interested.
"Did you see this?"
"As clearly as I see you."
"How was it that no one else saw it?"
"The marks were twenty yards from the body and no one thought to look
that far away. I knew this legend so I paid attention."
"Are there many sheep-dogs on the moor?"
"Yes, but this was no sheep-dog. It was enormous”
"But it had not gone near the body?
"No."
"What sort of night was it?"
"Wet and very cold. But it was not actually raining."
"What is the Alley like?"
"There are two lines of old yew hedge, twelve feet high and it is impossible
to get through it. 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 wide on either side."
"I understand that there is a gate in the yew hedge?"
"Yes, the gate leads on to the moor.”
"Is there any other opening?"
"None.”
"So you can enter the Yew Alley either from the house or 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."
"This is extremely interesting. Another question. Was the gate closed?"
"Closed and locked.”
"How high was it?"
"About four feet high."
"Then anyone could get over it?"
 "Yes."
"And what marks did you see by the gate?"
"None in particular. It was all very confused. Sir Charles had clearly stood
there for five or ten minutes.”
"How do you know that?"
"Because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar."
"Excellent!"
"He had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel. I could see no
others.”
Sherlock Holmes hit his hand against his knee with an impatient gesture.
“I'd like to see that myself!" he cried. "Oh, Dr. Mortimer, Dr. Mortimer, why
didn't you call me in!”
“There are some things which even the best detective in the world cannot
solve."
“You mean that the thing is supernatural?”
“I did not say so."
“No, but you clearly think so.”
“Since the tragedy, Mr. Holmes, I have heard about some things that seem
supernatural.”
"For example?"
"Before the terrible event happened several people had seen a creature on the
moor which looked like this Baskerville demon, and which could not possibly be
any animal known to science. I have talked to all of these men. They are all
sensible people. They all say that it was a huge creature, shining in the dark and
horrible. People in the district are terrified, and only the bravest will cross the moor
at night."
"And you, a man of science, believe that it is supernatural?"
"I do not know what to believe."
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
"But you must agree that the footmark is made by a living creature not a
ghost."
"When the hound first appeared it was real enough to pull a man's throat out,
and yet it was supernatural.”
"Dr. Mortimer, if you believe that the cause of Sir Charles's death is a
supernatural creature, then I cannot help you."
"I need your advice about what I should do with Sir Henry Baskerville. He
arrives at Waterloo Station,” Dr. Mortimer looked at his watch, "in exactly one
hour and a quarter.”
"You mean the heir?"
 "Yes. After the death of Sir Charles we looked for this young gentleman.
From what people say about him he is an excellent person in every way. I speak
now not as a medical man but as a person who has to take care of Sir Charles's
will."
"Are there any other relatives?"
"None. The only other relative was Rodger Baskerville, the youngest of
three brothers. The second brother, who died young, is the father of this Henry.
The third, Rodger, was the black sheep of the family. He was the very image of the
family picture of old Hugo. It was too dangerous for him to stay in England, so he
ran away 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. Now, Mr. Holmes, what would you advise me to do with him?"
"Because so many Baskervilles have died there horrible death. Sir Charles's
good work must go on. The whole community depends on this. I have some special
interest in the matter, and that is why I ask for your advice.”
Holmes thought for a little time.
"If your supernatural theory is correct, Sir Henry is not safe in both London
and Devonshire. It is unlikely that there is a devil with only local powers. So, take
a cab, go to Waterloo to meet Sir Henry Baskerville.'
"And then?'
"And then you will say nothing to him at all. I need twenty-four hours to
think. At ten o'clock tomorrow, Dr. Mortimer, I would like you to bring Sir Henry
Baskerville here.”
"I will do so, Mr. Holmes.”
"Only one more question, Dr. Mortimer. You say that before Sir Charles
Baskerville's death several people saw this creature on the moor?"
"Three people did.”
“Did anyone see it after?"
"I have not heard of anyone."
"Thank you. Good morning."
Holmes returned to his seat with that quiet look of pleasure which meant that
he had an interesting task before him.
I knew that my friend needed to be alone when he had a lot to think about. I
spent the day at my club and did not return to Baker Street until evening. It was
nearly nine o’clock when I entered the sitting-room.
My first impression as I opened the door was that a fire had broken out. The
room was so filled with smoke that the light of the lamp on the table was blurred
by it. It was the thick smoke of strong tobacco which took me by throat and made
me cough. Through the mist I had an unclear sight of Homes in his dressing-gown.
He was sitting in an armchair with his black pipe between his lips. Several rolls of
paper were around him on the floor.
"Caught a cold, Watson?” said he.
"No, it's the tobacco smoke.”
"I guess it is pretty thick, now that you mention it.”
"Thick! It is intolerable."
"Open the window, then! After you left I sent for the map of this part of the
moor.”
He unrolled one section and held it over his knee. "Here you have the
particular area which we are interested in. That is Baskerville Hall in the middle.”
"With a wood round it?"
"Exactly. I think the Yew Alley must stretch along this line, with the moor
on the right. This small group of buildings here is Grimpen, a small village, where
our friend Dr. Mortimer lives. Within a radius of five miles there are only a very
few houses here and there. Here is Lafter Hall, which was mentioned by Dr.
Mortimer. There is a house which may be the home of the naturalist Stapleton.
Here are two moorland farmhouses, High Tor and Foulmire. Then fourteen miles
away the great prison of Princetown. Between and around these scattered points
there is only the lifeless moor.”
"It must be a wild place."
"Have you thought of the case?"
“Yes, I have thought a lot of it during the day.”
"What do you think of it?'
"It is very confusing.”
"It has certainly a character of its own. That change in the footprints, for
example. Why should a man walk on tiptoe down the Alley? He was running,
Watson - running for his life, running until his heart stopped – and he fell dead on
his face.”
"Running from what?"
"There are facts that the man was mad with fear before he began to run."
"How can you say that?"
"I believe that the cause of his fears came to him across the moor. If the
gipsy's evidence is true, he ran with cries for help in the direction where he could
not have any help. No one in their right mind will run to the place where they
cannot get any help. Then, again, who was he waiting for that night, and why was
he waiting for him in the Yew Alley and not in his own house?"
"You think that he was waiting for someone?"
 "The man was elderly and not healthy. We can understand why he had an
evening walk, but the ground was wet and the night was cold. Why did he stand
there in a cold and wet place for five or ten minutes?"
"But he went out every evening.”
“I think it is unlikely that he waited at the moor gate every evening. He
avoided the moor. But that night he waited there. It was the night before he left for
London. The facts are very clear, Watson. Can you give me my violin, and let’s
wait till tomorrow when we meet Dr. Mortimer and Sir Henry Baskerville."