The Hound of the Baskervilles: Part One

When Sir Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock Holmes in the final problem, he believed

“that he and his readers had seen the last of the great detective.”

Doyle was looking forward to working on other projects, but his most devoted fans had difficulty letting Holmes go. Furious letters soon began arriving on the author's desk, calling him a brute for murdering his own creation. 20,000 dedicated readers cancelled their subscription to the Strand magazine, some even took to wearing black arm bands in an extraordinary act of

public mourning. After almost a decade Doyle finally bowed to public pressure,

pending a new Sherlock Holmes story, the Hound of the Baskerville's. He didn't quite go so far as to resurrect his hero, not yet at least, choosing instead to offer an extra novel length adventure that would fit neatly somewhere within the existing canon. It was released in monthly instalments spread across nine issues of the Strand, and it was the huge success of this new tale, perhaps the most beloved detective story in all literature, even more than a century later,

that ensured Holmes would inevitably return to the world of a living.

Appearing in another 30 odd stories produced over the next 25 years, and innumerable unofficial

adventures ever since, so it is that with Holmes missing presumed dead at the bottom of the Reichenbach Falls, over the next nine episodes will be bringing you his most popular adventure, just as his original readers experienced it. From the Noisa podcast network, this is the Hound of the Baskerville's part one. Mr Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings, savor upon those not in frequent occasions when he was up all night, was seated at the breakfast table.

I stood upon the hath rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left behind him the night

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. Two James Mortimer MRCS from his friends of the CCH was engraved upon it, with the date 1884. It was just such a stick 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 him no sign of my occupation. How did you know what I was doing?”

I believe you have eyes in the back of your head. I have at least a well-polished silver-plated coffee pot in front of me, said he. But tell me, Watson, what do you make of our visitor's stick since we have been so unfortunate as to miss him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir becomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an examination of it. I think, said I, following as far as I could, the methods of my companion,

that Dr Mortimer is a successful elderly medical man, well esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of their appreciation. Good, excellent. I think also that the probability is in

“favor of his being a country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on foot. Why so?”

Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one, has been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it, but thick iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with it. Perfectly sound, said Holmes. And then again, there is the friends of the CCH. I should guess that to be the something hunt that local hunt to whose members he has possibly given some surgical assistance and which has made him a small

presentation in return. "Really, Watson, you exhale yourself," said Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette. I am bound to say that in all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own small achievements, you have habitually underrated your own abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you are a conductor of light.

I confess my dear fellow that I am very much in your debt. He had never said as much before,

“and I must admit that his words gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been peaked by his indifference”

to my admiration, and to the attempts which I had made to give publicity to his methods. I was proud too to think that I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way which earned his approval. He now took the stick from my hands and examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then, with an expression of interest, he laid down his cigarette and carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a convex lens. "Interesting, bow, elementary," said he as he returned

to his favourite corner of the city. There are certainly one or two indications upon the stick.

It gives us the basis for several deductions. "There has anything escaped me?" I asked with some self-importance. I trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have overlooked.

“I am afraid my dear Watson that most of your conclusions were erroneous.”

When I said that you stimulated me, I meant to be frank that in noting your fallacies, I was occasionally guided towards the truth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this instance, the man is certainly a country 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, my name is all.

I would suggest, for example, that he presentation to a doctor is more likely to come from a hospital than from a hunt. When the initials see a place before that hospital, the words "charging cross" very naturally suggest themselves. "You may be right." The probability lies in that direction, and if we take this as a working hypothesis, we have a fresh basis from which to start our construction of this unknown visitor. Well, then, supposing that CCH does stand for "charging cross"

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 has practiced 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 most probable that such a presentation would be made? When would his friends unite to give him a pledge of their good will? Obviously, at the moment, when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the service of the hospital in order to start a practice for himself? We know there has been a presentation. We believe there has been a change from a town hospital to a country practice. Is it then stretching our inference too far to say 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 established in a London practice could hold such a position and such a one would not drift into the country. What was he then? If he was in the hospital and yet not on the staff, he could only have been a house surgeon or a house physician, little more than a senior student and he left five years ago,

the date is on the stick. So, your grave, mid-lazed family practitioner vanishes into thin air, my dear Watson, and their emerges a young fellow under 30, amiable and ambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favorite dog, which I should describe roughly is being larger than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff. I laughed incredulously at Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his city and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling. As to the latter part,

I have no means of checking you, but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars about the man's age and professional career. From my small medical shelf, I took down the medical directory and turned up the name. There were several mortemers, but only one who could be our visitor. I read his record aloud. Mortimer James MRCS 1882 Grimpen. More Devon. House surgeon from 1882 to 1884 at chairing cross hospital, winner of the Jackson Prize for

Comparative Pathology, with essay entitled Is Disease a Reversion. Corresponding member of the Swedish Pathological Society, author of some freaks of activism, Lansit 1882,

Thorsely and High Barrow. No mention of that local hunt, Watson, said Holmes with a mischievous smile,

“but a country doctor, as you very astutely observed. I think that I am fairly justified in my”

inferences. As to the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable and ambitious and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is only an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, not only an unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country, and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his visiting card after waiting an hour in your room. The dog has been in the habit of carrying the stick behind his master,

being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle and the marks of his teeth are

very plainly visible. The dog's jaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too broad in my opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It may have been just by you, it is a curly head spanial. He had risen and paced the room, as he spoke, now he halted in the recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his voice that I

“glanced up in surprise. But here fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?”

For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our very doorstep.

And there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I beg you Watson. He is a professional

brother of yours and your presence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment of fate Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life and you know not whether for good or ill. What does Dr James Mortimer, the man of science, ask of Sherlock Holmes, the specialist in crime. Come in. The appearance of our visitor was a surprise to me since I had expected a typical country practitioner. He was a very tall thin man with a long nose like a beak

“which jutted out between two keen gray eyes set closely together and sparkling brightly from behind”

a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. He was clad in a professional but rather slightly fashioned for his frock coat was dingy and his trousers frayed. Though young, his long back was already bowed and he walked with a forward thrust of his head and a general air of peering benevolence. As he entered his eyes fell upon the stick in Holmes's hand and he ran towards it with an exclamation of joy. "I am so very glad," said he. "I was not sure whether I had left it here or

in the shipping office. I would not lose that stick for the world. "A presentation, I see," said Holmes. "Yes, sir." From chatting across hospital, from one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage. "Dear, dear, that's bad," said Holmes, shaking his head. "Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment. Why was it bad? Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your marriage," you say. "Yes, sir. I married and so left the hospital and with it all hopes

of a consulting practice, it was necessary to make a home of my own. Come come, we are not so far wrong after all," said Holmes. "And now, Dr. James Mortimer, Mr. Sir, Mr. Humble, MRCS, and a man of precise mind evidently." "A tabular in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the shores of the Great Unknown Ocean. I presume that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmes who I am addressing and not know. This is my friend, Dr. Watson." "Claude, to meet you, sir. I have heard your name mentioned

in connection with that of your friend." "You, interest me very much, Mr. Holmes. I had hardly expected so a dollycocephalica skull, or such well-marked superorbital development. Would you have any objection to my running my finger along your parietal fissure?" "A cast of your skull, sir, until the original is available, would be an ornament to any anthropological museum. It is not my intention to be full soon, but I confess that I covered your skull."

Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair. "You are an enthusiast in your line of thought. I perceive, sir, as I am in mine. I observe from your forefinger that you make

twilled the one up in the other with surprising dexterity. He had long-quivering fingers as agile

“and restless as the antennae of an insect. Holmes was silent, but his little darting glasses showed”

me the interest which he took in our curious companion. "I presume, sir," said he at last, "that it was not merely for the purpose of examining my skull that you have done me the honour to call here last night and again today." "No, sir. No, though I am happy to have had the opportunity of doing that as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I recognize that I am myself an unpractical man and because I am suddenly confronted with a most serious and extraordinary problem.

Recognizing as I do, that you are the second highest expert in Europe, indeed, sir, may I inquire who has the honour to be the first?" asked Holmes with some disparity. "To the man of precisely

scientific mind, the work of Monsieur Bertiom must always appeal strongly. Then, had you not

better consult him?" "I said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind, but as a practical man of affairs, it is acknowledged that you stand alone. I trust, sir, that I have not inadvertently just a little,"

“said Holmes. "I think, Dr. Mortimer, you would do wisely if without more to do, you would kind”

it tell me painly what the exact nature of the problem is in which you demand my assistance. "I have, in my pocket, a manuscript," said Dr. James Mortimer. "I observed it as you entered the room," said Holmes. "It is an old manuscript, early 18th century, unless it is a forgery.

How can you say that, sir?" "You have presented an insured tool of it to my examination all the time

that you have been talking. It would be a poor expert who could not give the date of a document within a decade or so. You may possibly have read my little monograph upon the subject. I put that, at 1730, the exact date is 1742." Dr. Mortimer drew it from his breast pocket.

“"This family paper was committed to my care by such a child's basketball, whose sudden and”

tragic death, some three months ago, created so much excitement in Devencher. I may say that I was his personal friend as well as his medical attendant. He was a strong-minded man, a shrewd, practical, and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this document very seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end as did eventually overtake him. Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it upon his knee. "You will observe what's

and the alternative use of the long S and the short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix the date. I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the faded script. At the head was written basketball hall, and below in large, scrolling figures 1742. It appears to be a statement of some sort. Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend, which runs in the basketball family. But I understand that it is something more modern and

practical upon which you wish to consult me. Most, modern. A most practical pressing matter, which must be decided within 24 hours. But the manuscript is short and is intimately connected with the affair. With your permission, I will read it to you. Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his fingertips together, and closed his eyes with an air of resignation. Dr. Mortimer turned the manuscript to the light, and read in a high cracking voice that

following curious old world narrative. Of the origin of the hound of the basketballs, there have been many statements. Yet, as I come in a direct line from Hugo Baskerville, and as I had the story from my father, who also had it from his, I have set it down with all belief that it occurred even as his here set forth. And I would have you believe, my sons, that the same justice which punishes sin may also most graciously forgive it. And that no

ban is so heavy, but that by prayer and repentance it may be removed. Learn, then, from this story, not to fear the fruits of the past, but rather to be circumspect in the future, that those

Know, then, that in the time of the Great Rebellion, the history of which, by the

“learned Lord Clarandon I most earnestly commend to your attention, this manner of Baskerville”

was held by Hugo of that name. Nor can it be gain said that he was a most wild, profane and godless man. This in truth, his neighbors might have pardoned,

seeing that saints have never flourished in those parts, but there was in him a certain

wanton and cruel humour which made his name a byword through the West. It chanced that this Hugo came to love, if indeed so dark a passion may be known under so bright a name, the daughter of a youngman who held lands near the Baskerville estate. But the young maiden, being discreet and of good repute, would ever avoid him for she feared his evil name. So it came to pass that one

“Nicholas this Hugo, with five or six of his idol and wicked companions, stole down upon the farm”

and carried off the maiden, her father and brothers being from home as he will knew.

When they had brought her to the hall, the maiden was placed in an upper chamber.

While Hugo and his friends sat down to a long carous as was their nightly custom. Now the poor last upstairs was like to have her which turned at the singing and shouting and terrible oaths which came up to her from below, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville when he was in wine were such as might blast the man who said them. At last in the stress of her fear, she did that which might have daunted the bravest or

“most active man, for by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered and still covers the south”

wall she came down from under the eaves and so home would across them all.

They're being three leagues which wits the hall and her father's farm. It's chance that some little time later Hugo left his guests to carry food and drink with other worse things but chance to his captive and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then as it would seem he became as one that hath a devil, for rushing down the stairs into the dining hall he sprang upon the great table flaggons and trenches flying before him and he cried

aloud before all the company that he would that very night render his body and soul to the powers of evil if he might but overtake the witch. And while the revelers stood a guard at the fury of the man one more wicked or it may be more drunken than the rest cried out that they should put the hounds upon her. Hugo ran from the house crying to his grooms that they should saddle his mare and uncennled a pack and giving the hounds a curchee for the maids he swung them to the

line and so off full cry in the moonlight over the more. Now for some space the revelers stood a gap unable to understand all that had been done in such haste but an on their bemused wits awoke to the nature of the deed which was like to be done upon the moorlands. Everything was now in an uproar some calling for their pistols some for their horses and some for another flask of wine but at length some sense came back to their crazed minds and the whole of them

thirteen in number took horse and started in pursuit. The moon shone clear above them and they rode swiftly a breast taking that course which the maid must needs have taken if she were to reach her own home. They had gone a mile or two when they passed one of the night shepherds upon the moorlands and they cried to him to know if he had seen the hunt and the man as the story goes was so crazed with fear that he could scare speak but at last he said that he

had indeed seen the unhappy maid in with the hounds upon her track but I have seen more than that said he for Hugo basketball passed me upon his black mirror and their ran mute behind him such a hound of hell as God forbid should ever be at my heels. So the drunken squires cursed the shepherd and rode onward but soon their skins turned cold for their came a galloping across the

Then the revelers rode close together for a great fear was on them but they still followed

“over the moor though each had he been alone would have been right glad to have turned his horses head.”

Riding slowly in this fashion they came at last upon the hounds. These though known for their valor and their breed were whimpering in a cluster at the head of a deep dip or goil as we call it upon the moor some flinking away and some with starting hacles and staring eyes gazing down the narrow valley before them. The company had come to a halt more sober men as you may

guess than when they started. The most of them would by no means advance but three of them the

boldest or it may be the most drunken rode forward down the goil. Now it opened into a broad space in

“which stood two of those great stones still to be seen there which were set by certain for”

often peoples in the days of old. The moor was shining bright upon the clearing and there in the center lay the unhappy maid where she had fallen dead of fear and of fatigue. But it was not the sight of her body nor yet was it that of the body of Hugo Basqueville lying near her which raised the hair upon the heads of these three dare devil roisterers but it was that standing over Hugo and clucking at his throat their stood a foul thing. A great black beast shaped like a

hound yet larger than any hound that ever mortal eye has rested upon and even as they looked

“the thing tore the throat out of Hugo Basqueville. On which as it turned its blazing eyes”

and dripping jaws upon them the three shrieked with fear and roamed for dear life still screaming across the moor. One it is said died that very night of what he had seen and the other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days. Such is the tale my sons of the coming of the hound which is said to have plagued the family so sorely ever since. If I have set it down it is because that which is clearly known half less terror than that which is but hinted at and guessed.

Nor can it be denied that many of the family have been unhappy in their deaths which have been sudden bloody and mysterious yet may we shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of

providence which would not forever punish the innocent beyond that third or fourth generation

which is threatened in Holy Rit. To that providence my sons I hear by commend you and I counsel you by way of caution to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted. This from Hugo Basqueville to his sons Roger and John with instructions that they say nothing they are of to their sister Elizabeth. When Dr Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and stared across at Mr Sherlock Holmes.

The latter yarned and tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire. "Well," said he. "Do you not find it interesting? To a collector of fairytales?" Dr Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket. Now Mr Holmes we will give you something a little more recent. This is the Devon County Chronicle of May the 14th of this year. It is a shorter count of the facts illicited at the death of Sir Charles Basqueville which occurred a few days before that date. My friend leaned a little forward

and his expression became intent. Our visitor re-adjusted his glasses and began. The recent sudden death of Sir Charles Basqueville whose name has been mentioned as the

Though Sir Charles had resided at Basqueville Hall for a comparatively short period,

“his anniability of character and extreme generosity had won the affection and respect of all who”

had been brought into contact with him. In these days of Nouveau-Riche it is refreshing to find a case where the siren of an old county family which has fallen upon evil days is able to make his own fortune and to bring it back with him to restore the fallen grandeur of his line. Sir Charles, as his well-known, made large sums of money in South African speculation. More wise than those who go on until the wheel turns against them, he realized his gains

and returned to England with them. It is only two years since he took up his residence at Basqueville Hall and it is common to talk how large were those schemes of reconstruction and improvement, which have been interrupted by his death. Being himself childless, it was his openly expressed

“desire that the whole countryside should within his own lifetime profit by his good fortune and many”

will have personal reasons for the wailing his untimely end. His generous donations to local and county charities have been frequently chronicled in these columns. The circumstances connected with the death of Sir Charles cannot be said to have been entirely cleared up by the inquest, but at least enough has been done to dispose of those rumors to which local superstition has given rise. There is no reason whatever to suspect foul play or to imagine that death could be from any

but natural causes. Sir Charles was a widower and a man who maybe said to have been in some ways of an eccentric habit of mind. In spite of his considerable wealth he was simple in his personal tastes and his indoor servants at Basqueville Hall consisted of a married couple named Barrymore,

“the husband acting as Butler and the wife as housekeeper. Their evidence corroborated by that of”

several friends tends to show that Sir Charles's health has for some time been impaired and points especially to some affection of the heart, manifesting itself in changes of colour, breathlessness and acute attacks of nervous depression. Dr James Mortimer, the friend and medical attendant of the deceased has given evidence to the same effect. The facts of the case are simple. Sir Charles's basketball was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking down the

famous U. Alley of Basqueville Hall. The evidence of the Barrymore shows that this had been his custom. On the 4th of May Sir Charles had declared his intention of starting next day for London and had ordered Barrymore to prepare his luggage. That night he went out as usual for his

nocturnal walk in the course of which he was in the habit of smoking a cigar. He never returned.

At 12 o'clock Barrymore finding the hall door still open became alarmed and lighting a lantern went in search of his master. The day had been wet and Sir Charles's footmarks were easily traced down the Alley. Halfway down this walk there is a gate which leads out onto the moor. There were indications that Sir Charles had stood for some little time here. He then proceeded down the Alley and it was at the far end of it that his body was discovered.

One fact which has not been explained is the statement of Barrymore that his master's foot prints altered their character from the time that he passed the moor gate and that he appeared from then onwards to have been walking upon his toes. One Murphy, a gypsy horse dealer, was on the more at no great distance at the time but he appears by his own confession to have been the worse for drink. He declares that he heard cries but is unable to state from what direction they

came. No signs of violence were to be discovered upon Sir Charles's person and though the doctors

evidence pointed to an almost incredible facial distortion so great that Dr. Mortimer refused at first

to believe that it was indeed his friend and patient who lay before him it was explained that that is a symptom which is not unusual in cases of disdainer and death from cardiac exhaustion. This explanation was borne out by the post-mortem examination which showed long-standing organic disease and the coroner's jury returned a verdict in accordance with the medical evidence.

heir should settle at the hall and continue the good work which has been so sadly interrupted.

“Had the prosaic finding of the coroner not finally put an end to the romantic stories which have”

been whispered in connection with the affair, it might have been difficult to find a tenant for basketball hall. It is understood that the next of kin is Mr. Henry Baskerville. If he be still alive, the son of Sir Charles Baskerville's younger brother. The young man went last heard of was in America and inquiries are being instituted with a view to informing him of his good fortune. Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket.

Those are the public facts Mr. Holmes in connection with the death of Sir Charles Baskerville.

I must thank you, Sir Charles Holmes, for calling my attention to a case which certainly presents some features of interest. I had observed some newspaper comments at the time but I was

“exceedingly preoccupied by that little affair of the Vatican cameos and in my anxiety to”

oblige the Pope, I lost touch with several interesting English cases. This article you say contains all the public facts it does. Then let me have the private ones. He leaned back but his fingertips together and assumed his most impassive and judicial expression. In doing so said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to show signs of some strong emotion. I am telling that which I have not confided to anyone. My motive for withholding it from the

coroner's inquiry is that a man of science shrinks from placing himself in the public position of seeming to endorse a popular superstition. I had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as the paper says, would certainly remain untenanted if anything were done to increase its already rather grim reputation. For both these reasons I thought that I was justified in telling rather less than I knew, since no practical good could result from it, but with you there is no

reason why I should not be perfectly frank. The more is very sparsely inhabited and those who live near each other are thrown very much together. For this reason I saw a good deal of such Charles Baskerville, with the exception of Mr. Franklin, of laughter hall and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men of education within many miles. So Charles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness brought us together, and a community of interests in science

kept us so. He had brought back much scientific information from South Africa, and many a charming evening we have spent together discussing the comparative anatomy of the Bushman and the hot and tough. Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me that such as his nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He had taken this legend which I have read you exceedingly to heart, so much so that although he would walk in his own grounds nothing would induce him to go out

“upon the more at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. Holmes, he was honestly convinced”

that a dreadful fate overhang his family, and certainly the records which he was able to give of his ancestors were not encouraging. The idea of some ghastly presence constantly haunted him, and on more than one occasion he has asked me whether I had on my medical journeys at night ever seen any strange creature, or heard the baying of a hound. The latter question he put to

me several times, and always with a voice which, by braided with excitement. I can well remember

driving up to his house in the evening some three weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at his hall door. I had descended from my gig and was standing in front of him when I saw his eyes fixed themselves over my shoulder and stared past me with an expression of the most dreadful horror. I whisked round and had just time to catch a glimpse of something which I took to be a large black calf passing at the head of the drive. So excited and alarmed was he that I was compelled

to go down to the spot where the animal had been and look around for it. It was gone, however, and the incident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind. I stayed with him all the evening and it was on that occasion to explain the emotion which he had

I mentioned this small episode because it assumes some importance in view of the tragedy which

“followed. But I was convinced at the time that the matter was entirely trivial and that his”

excitement had no justification. It was at my advice that the Charles was about to go to London. His heart was I knew affected and the constant anxiety in which he lived, however,

clerical, the cause of it might be, was evidently having a serious effect upon his health.

I thought that a few months among the distractions of town would send him back a new man,

“Mr Stapleton, a mutual friend who was much concerned at his state of health,”

was of the same opinion. That the last instant came this terrible catastrophe. On the night of the Charles' death, Barrymore the Buckler, who made the discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as I was sitting up late I was able to reach basketball hall with an hour of the event. I checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed the footsteps down the U Alley, I saw the spot at the more

gate where he seemed to have waited. I remarked the change in the shape of the Prince after that point. I noted that there were no other footsteps saved those of Barrymore on the soft gravel,

and finally I carefully examined the body which had not been touched until my arrival.

The Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed with some strong emotion to such an extent that I could hardly have sworn to his identity. There was certainly no physical injury of any kind, but one false statement was made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground around the body. He did not observe

“any, but I did some little distance off, but fresh and clear. Footprints? Footprints?”

A man's or a woman's? Dr Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sang almost to a whisper as he answered. Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound. Next time in the hound of the basketballs, Holmes and Watson are visited by Sahenry basketball fresh off the boat from America. The new air to the basketball estate receives a sinister warning and a game of cat and mouse ensues across the west end of London.

That's next time.