"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 eighteenth century, unless it is a forgery."

"How can you say that, sir?"

"You have presented an inch or two of it to my examinationall the time that you have been talking. It would be a poor expertwho could not give the date of a document within a decade or so.You may possibly have read my little monograph upon thesubject. I put that at 1730."

"The exact date is 1742." Dr. Mortimer drew it from hisbreast-pocket. "This family paper was committed to my care bySir Charles Baskerville, whose sudden and tragic death somethree months ago created so much excitement in Devonshire. Imay say that I was his personal friend as well as his medicalattendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical,and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this documentvery seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such an end asdid eventually overtake him."

Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattenedit upon his knee.

"You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long sand the short. It is one of several indications which enabled meto fix the date."

I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper and the fadedscript. At the head was written: "Baskerville Hall," and belowin large, scrawling figures: "1742."

"It appears to be a statement of some sort."

"Yes, it is a statement of a certain legend which runs in theBaskerville family."

"But I understand that it is something more modern andpractical upon which you wish to consult me?"

"Most modern. A most practical, pressing matter, which mustbe decided within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is shortand is intimately connected with the affair. With your permissionI will read it to you."

Holmes leaned back in his chair, placed his finger-tips 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 the following curious, old-world narrative:

"[This from Hugo Baskerville to his sons Rodger andJohn, with instructions that they say nothing thereof to theirsister Elizabeth.]"

When Dr. Mortimer had finished reading this singular narrative he pushed his spectacles up on his forehead and staredacross at Mr. Sherlock Holmes. The latter yawned and tossed theend of his cigarette into the fire.

"Well?" said he.

"Do you not find it interesting?"

"To a collector of fairy tales."

Dr. Mortimer drew a folded newspaper out of his pocket.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, we will give you something a little morerecent. This is the Devon County Chronicle of May 14th of thisyear. It is a short account of the facts elicited at the death of SirCharles Baskerville which occurred a few days before that date."

My friend leaned a little forward and his expression becameintent. Our visitor readjusted his glasses and began:

Dr. Mortimer refolded his paper and replaced it in his pocket.

"Those are the public facts, Mr. Holmes, in connection withthe death of Sir Charles Baskerville."

"I must thank you," said Sherlock Holmes, "for calling myattention to a case which certainly presents some features ofinterest. I had observed some newspaper comment at the time, butI was exceedingly preoccupied by that little affair of the Vaticancameos, and in my anxiety to oblige the Pope I lost touch withseveral interesting English cases. This article, you say, containsall the public facts?"

"It does."

"Then let me have the private ones." He leaned back, put hisfinger-tips together, and assumed his most impassive and judicialexpression.

"In doing so," said Dr. Mortimer, who had begun to showsigns of some strong emotion, "I am telling that which I havenot confided to anyone. My motive for withholding it from thecoroner's inquiry is that a man of science shrinks from placinghimself in the public position of seeming to indorse a popularsuperstition. I had the further motive that Baskerville Hall, as thepaper says, would certainly remain untenanted if anything weredone to increase its already rather grim reputation. For both thesereasons I thought that I was justified in telling rather less than Iknew, since no practical good could result from it, but with youthere is no reason why I should not be perfectly frank.

"The moor is very sparsely inhabited, and those who live neareach other are thrown very much together. For this reason I sawa good deal of Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception ofMr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist,there are no other men of education within many miles. SirCharles was a retiring man, but the chance of his illness broughtus together, and a community of interests in science kept us so.He had brought back much scientific information from SouthAfrica, and many a charming evening we have spent togetherdiscussing the comparative anatomy of the Bushman and theHottentot.

"Within the last few months it became increasingly plain tome that Sir Charles's nervous system was strained to the breaking point. He had taken this legend which I have read youexceedingly to heart -- so much so that, although he would walkin his own grounds, nothing would induce him to go out uponthe moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr.Holmes, he was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhunghis family, and certainly the records which he was able to give ofhis ancestors were not encouraging. The idea of some ghastlypresence constantly haunted him, and on more than one occasionhe has asked me whether I had on my medical journeys at nightever seen any strange creature or heard the baying of a hound.The latter question he put to me several times, and always with avoice which vibrated with excitement.

"I can well remember driving up to his house in the eveningsome three weeks before the fatal event. He chanced to be at hishall door. I had descended from my gig and was standing infront of him, when I saw his eyes fix themselves over myshoulder and stare past me with an expression of the mostdreadful horror. I whisked round and had just time to catch aglimpse of something which I took to be a large black calfpassing at the head of the drive. So excited and alarmed was hethat I was compelled to go down to the spot where the animalhad been and look around for it. It was gone, however, and theincident appeared to make the worst impression upon his mind. Istayed with him all the evening, and it was on that occasion, toexplain the emotion which he had shown, that he confided to mykeeping that narrative which I read to you when first I came. Imention this small episode because it assumes some importancein view of the tragedy which followed, but I was convinced atthe time that the matter was entirely trivial and that his excitement had no justification.

"It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go toLondon. His heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived, however chimerical the cause of it mightbe, was evidently having a serious effect upon his health. Ithought that a few months among the distractions of townwould send him back a new man. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual friendwho was much concerned at his state of health, was of the sameopinion. At the last instant came this terrible catastrophe.

"On the night of Sir Charles's death Barrymore the butlerwho made the discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback tome, and as I was sitting up late I was able to reach BaskervilleHall within an hour of the event. I checked and corroborated allthe facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed thefootsteps down the yew alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gatewhere he seemed to have waited, I remarked the change in theshape of the prints after that point, I noted that there were noother footsteps save those of Barrymore on the soft gravel, andfinally I carefully examined the body, which had not been toucheduntil my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, hisfingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed withsome strong emotion to such an extent that I could hardly havesworn to his identity. TheFe was certainly no physical injury ofany kind. But one false statement was made by Barrymore at theinquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground roundthe body. He did not observe any. But I did -- some little distanceoff, but fresh and clear."

"Footprints?"

"Footprints. "

"A man's or a woman's?"

Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and hisvoice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:

"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"