Arthur Doyle - Essential Novelists - Arthur Conan Doyle

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 Baskerville

was in the habit every night before going to bed of walking

down the famous yew alley of Baskerville Hall. The evidence

of the Barrymores shows that this had been his custom.

On the fourth 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

twelve 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 on to 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 footprints altered their

character from the time that he passed the moor-gate, and

that he appeared from thence onward to have been walking

upon his toes. One Murphy, a gipsy horse-dealer, was on

the moor 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 doctor’s 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 dyspnoea 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. It is

well that this is so, for it is obviously of the utmost

importance that Sir Charles’s 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 Baskerville 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 when 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,” said Sherlock Holmes, “for calling my attention to a case which certainly presents some features of interest. I had observed some newspaper comment 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, put his finger-tips 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 indorse 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 moor 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 Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist, there are no other men of education within many miles. Sir 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 Hottentot.

“Within the last few months it became increasingly plain to me that Sir Charles’s 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 moor at night. Incredible as it may appear to you, Mr. Holmes, he was honestly convinced that a dreadful fate overhung 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 vibrated 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 fix themselves over my shoulder and stare 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 shown, that he confided to my keeping that narrative which I read to you when first I came. I mention 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 Sir Charles was about to go to London. His heart was, I knew, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived, however chimerical 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. At the last instant came this terrible catastrophe.