The Hound of the Baskervilles

By Arthur Conan Doyle

What happens when Sir Charles Baskerville of the Baskerville fame of Devonshire is found dead under suspicious conditions? As Sherlock Holmes and his trusted friend Dr. Watson are approached by Dr. Mortimer— Sir Charles' friend, to investigate the case, they find the death to be tied to the age-old legend of the bloody hound of the Baskervilles, a curse that has been passed down from generations. Will Holmes and Watson be able to unravel this strange mystery in the desolate moors and save the life of the next Baskerville in time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wonder House Books
• Release date: Jul 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9789390183258

Arthur Conan Doyle

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859–1930) was a Scottish writer and physician, most famous for his stories about the detective Sherlock Holmes and long-suffering sidekick Dr Watson. Conan Doyle was a prolific writer whose other works include fantasy and science fiction stories, plays, romances, poetry, non-fiction and historical novels.

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Stick

My friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and I were at breakfast. It was unusually early for Holmes who, due to frequent late nights, was never on time for breakfast. I walked over to the fire hearth and inspected the stick lying there. It had been left by a visitor the night before. It was made of wood and it had a fat and rotund head. There was an inch of a silver band under the head and on the band were engraved the words – ‘To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the C.C.H. 1884’. It was just an old-fashioned and respectable stick, much like the ones reputable doctors would carry.

Holmes asked, ‘So, Watson, what do you think of the stick? Can you make an idea in your head about the type of man he could be, by scrutinizing his stick?’

I immediately thought of the methods Holmes himself would have used and said, ‘I think our visitor Dr. Mortimer is an elderly, highly reputable doctor, who is well thought of, as these people presented him with this stick as a show of their appreciation.’

‘I think that’s a very good deduction!’ said Holmes.

Feeling encouraged, I continued, ‘I also think there is a fairly high chance of him being a country practitioner. It seems that he walks around quite a lot.’

‘Why would you assume that?’

‘I think so because this stick, though lovely, has seen better days. I cannot imagine a city doctor carrying a worn-out stick like this. The iron part of the stick looks really used, so he must have done a lot of walking with it.’

‘Wonderful thinking!’

‘I was also thinking about the friends of the C.C.H.. I think maybe it refers to the local hunt. He must have provided them with some kind of medical help and they gifted him the stick in gratitude.’

‘Watson! That was excellent!’ Holmes said, pushing his chair back and lighting a cigarette. He took the stick from me and stared at it with his naked eyes. Getting more interested, he put his cigarette down and carried the cane to the window. He examined the stick, this time with the help of magnifying glasses.

He said, ‘Fascinating, though elementary.’ He took position in his most favored corner of the settee. ‘There are surely one or two evidences that can lead to several conclusions. In my opinion, it is more probable that a gift to a doctor would have come from a hospital rather than a hunt and that the letters C.C.H. point to Charing Cross Hospital.’

‘That sounds probable.’

‘Come on, Watson, we can push a little more than that. Change your perspective. What occasions can you think of when such gifts would be appropriate? When would his friends come together to present him with such a token of their gratitude? It seems to me, when Dr. Mortimer resigned from work here in the city and moved to the country to start his own practice. So, what are the facts we are sure of? That it is a gift. That the doctor used to work in the city but gave it up to move to the country. Is it then too much to assume that the gifting was done on the occasion of the change?’

‘It certainly seems plausible.’

‘Yes. But, one can safely assume also, that he could not have been on the staff of the hospital as only a well-established doctor in London could have held such a position and no well-established doctor would have left everything to go to the country. Then, what kind of a doctor was he? If he was in the hospital without being on their staff, he could only have been a house physician which is little more than a senior student. He would have left five years ago as the date is on the stick. So, our serious, middle-aged family doctor disappears and is replaced by a young, thirty-year-old fellow who is friendly, unambitious and absent-minded and the owner of a dog that is bigger than a terrier but tinier than a mastiff.’

I laughed out in surprise at Holmes’ precise deductions as he sat back in the settee and continued smoking.

Chapter 2

Dr. James Mortimer

I said, ‘I don’t have a way to check all the facts that you so confidently proclaimed, but some of the particulars of this man will be easy to find out.’

From among my books, I took out the Medical Directory and looked for the man’s name. There were quite a few Mortimers, but I quickly understood the one who could have been our visitor. I read out his records.

‘Our Doctor James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., 1882 from Grimpen, Dartmoor and Devon, was a House-surgeon from 1882-1884 at Charing Cross Hospital. He is the winner of the Jackson Prize for Comparative Pathology for his essay, Is Disease a Reversion?. He is a corresponding member of the Swedish Pathological Society. He has authored books like Some Freaks of Atavism (Lancet, 1882), Do We Progress? (Journal of Psychology, March 1883). He is the medical officer of the parishes of Grimpen, Thorsley and High Barrow.’

Holmes said with a playful grin, ‘So he is a country doctor as you correctly deduced, but no mention of the local hunt. I think I am right with my assumptions. The adjectives that I used to describe him were amiable, unambitious and absent-minded.

I feel only an affable man receives gifts in appreciation, only an unenterprising one who leaves a London practice for a career in the country and only an absent-minded one who would leave his walking stick instead of his visiting card after waiting for an hour for someone.’

‘What about the dog?’

‘I think the dog has repeatedly carried this stick for his master, holding it tightly in the middle as the stick is heavy. See, the teeth have made marks on the stick. The space between the marks is too broad for a terrier’s jaws but not broad enough for it to be a mastiff’s. I’m quite sure it is a spaniel!’

Holmes had been walking in the room, to and fro, when he stopped suddenly near a window. I looked up questioningly as he had sounded so convinced. I said, ‘How can you be so sure of the dog’s breed?’

‘Simply because, as we speak, he is at our doorstep with his master. There they are ringing the doorbell. Now, Watson, please stay in the room. Since he’s in the same profession as you, your presence will be helpful to me. Now is the moment when our curiosity will be sated as we will get to know what Dr. James Mortimer, a man of science, wants with me, Sherlock Holmes, a man of crime?’

Just then there was a knock on the door and to Holmes’ ‘Come in’, entered a man whose appearance astonished me. He was a tall, thin man with a long, beak-shaped nose and sharp, grey, close-set eyes. Despite being young, he was hunched already. He wore professional clothes but they had a sloppy and disheveled appearance with his frayed trousers and dull frock coat. As he walked, he jutted his head forward, while his face had a look of compassion and care. As he came in, he saw the walking stick in Holmes’ hand and ran towards it happily.

He said, ‘Oh! My stick! I’m so relieved to see it here. I was wondering where I had left it – here or at the Shipping Office. I cannot imagine losing that stick for the world.’

‘It is a gift to you, I see,’ said Holmes.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘From your colleagues at the Charing Cross Hospital?’

‘Yes, a few friends gifted it to me as a wedding present.’

‘Oh no! That is bad.’

Dr. Mortimer looked incredulously at Holmes. ‘Why is it bad?’

‘Oh, just that our deductions were completely off the mark. We didn’t factor in your marriage. So, you are married?’

‘Yes, sir. That’s when I quit my job at the hospital here and thus all my dreams of having a consulting practice. It was imperative to make a home for myself.’

‘Ah! We were not so off the mark, then. So, Doctor ...’

‘Mister, sir I am a humble Mister Mortimer, M.R.C.S.’

‘You also have an accurate mind.’

‘Well, Mr. Holmes, I am a man of science. It’s like picking up shells on the shores of the infinite ocean that is Life. I hope I am right in addressing you as Mr. Holmes?’

‘Yes, you are. This is my friend, Dr. Watson.’

‘I’m happy to meet you, Dr. Watson,’ said Dr. Mortimer, shaking hands with me. ‘I have often heard your name in connection with Mr. Holmes’ many successes. In fact, Mr. Holmes, you do interest me. I did not expect so dolichocephalic a skull, that is such an elongated shape of your skull. Would you mind if I ran my finger along your parietal fissure? I do not mean to gush, but I do have a desire to possess your skull!’

Sherlock Holmes invited our odd guest to a chair and said, ‘You are keen in your line of thought, as I am in mine.’

Holmes was quiet, but I knew from the short glances he kept throwing towards our strange guest that he was intrigued. Finally, he said, ‘I’m sure Mr. Mortimer, you have not come to call on me merely to examine my skull?’

‘No sir, you are right. I do have a problem which I hope you will be able to help me with. Though, I must say, I am happy to have had the chance to examine your skull as well. You see, I am suddenly faced with an extraordinary issue and since I’m an impractical person and you are, after all, the second highest expert in Europe…’

Holmes interrupted coldly, ‘Really! May I know who you think is the first?’

‘To my scientific mind, Monsieur Bertillon’s work is hugely appreciated.’

‘Then why are you not consulting him?’

‘As I said, in matters of science, his mind is unparalleled. But, in practical matters, you are considered the best. I hope, Mr. Holmes that I have not mistakenly…’

‘Actually, yes, a little bit,’ said Holmes. ‘It would be better, Dr. Mortimer, if without beating around the bush further, you tell me the exact nature of your problem in which you think I might be of help.’