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So that your wealth grows consistently no matter what the market does, is passed on tax-frее to the next generation, and even acts as a family bаnk so your kids (and their kids) may never have to take out a student lоаn or mоrtgаgе again. What are these billionaire financial engines? [Tap hеrе to find out.]( Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usuy very late in the mornings, upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the hearth-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 kn as a Penang lawyer. Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch across. To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his s of the C.C.H., 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. I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated cee-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 medi man, well-esteemed since those who k him give him this mark of their appreciation. Good! said Holmes. Excellent! I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a country practitioner who does a of his visiting on foot. Why so? Because this stick, though originy a very handsome one has been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town practitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so it is evident that he has done a amount of walking with it. Perfectly sound! said Holmes. And then again, t is the ‘s of the C.C.H.’ I should guess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose s he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which has made him a sm presentation in return. Rey, Watson, you excel yourself, said Holmes, pushing back his chair and lighting a cigarette. I am bound to say that in the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own sm achievements you have habituy underd your own abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear fellow, that I am very much in your . He had said as much before, and I must admit that his words gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued 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 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, though elementary, said he as he returned to his favourite corner of the settee. T are certainly one or two indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several deductions. Has anything escaped me? I asked with some self-importance. I trust that t 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 facies I was occasiony 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 . No, no, my dear Watson, not —by no means . I would suggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more likely to come from a hospital than from a hunt, and that when the initials ‘C.C.’ are placed before that hospital the words ‘Charing Cross’ very natury 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 unkn visitor. Well, then, supposing that ‘C.C.H.’ does stand for ‘Charing Cross Hospital,’ what further inferences may we draw? Do none suggest themselves? You k my methods. Apply them! I can think of the obvious conclusion that the man has practised 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 s 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 to start a practice for himself. We k t has been a presentation. We believe t 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. , you will observe that he could not have been on the staff of the hospital, since 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 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, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin air, my dear Watson, and t emerges a young fellow under thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of a favourite dog, which I should describe roughly as being larger than a terrier and smer than a mastiff. I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling. As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you, said I, but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars about the man’s age and professional career. From my sm shelf I took down the Directory and turned up the . T were several Mortimers, but one who could be our visitor. I read his record aloud. Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor, Devon. House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross Hospital. of the Jackson for Comparative Pathology, with essay entitled ‘Is Disease a Reversion?’ Corresponding of the Swedish Pathological Society. Author of ‘Some Freaks of Atavism’ (Lancet 1882). ‘Do We Progress?’ (Journal of Psychology, March, 1883). icer for the parishes of Grimpen, Thorsley, 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 re right, amiable, unambitious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, an unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country, and an absent-minded one who s his stick and not his visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room. And the dog? Has been in the habit of carrying this 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—yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel. He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. he halted in the recess of the window. T was such a ring of conviction in his voice that I glanced up in surprise. My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that? For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our very door-step, and t 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. is the dramatic moment of fate, Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your , and you k 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 t, thin man, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out between two keen, grey eyes, set cly toher and sparkling brightly from behind a pair of -rimmed glasses. He was clad in a professional but rather slovenly fashion, 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 or in the Shipping ice. I would not that stick for the world. Glad to meet you, sir. I have heard your mentioned in connection with that of your . You interest me very much, Mr. Holmes. I had hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or such well-marked supra-orbital 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 ornt to any anthropological museum. It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet 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, said he. I observe from your forefinger that you make your own cigarettes. Have no hesitation in lighting one. The man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in the other with surprising dexterity. He had long, quivering fingers as agile and restless as the antennæ of an insect. Holmes was silent, but his little darting glances 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 c last night and again ? No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had the of doing that as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I recognized that I am myself an unpractical man and because I am suddenly confronted with a most and extraordinary . Recognizing, as I do, that you are the second highest expert in Europe— Chapter 2. You have presented an inch or two of it to my examination 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 Sir Charles Baskerville, whose sudden and tragic death some three months ago created so much excitement in Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal as well as his attendant. He was a strong-minded man, sir, shrewd, practical, and as unimaginative as I am myself. Yet he took this document very ly, and his mind was prepared for just such an end as did eventuy overtake him. Holmes stretched out his hand for the manuscript and flattened it upon his knee. You will observe, Watson, the alternative use of the long s and the short. It is one of several indications which enabled me to fix the date. 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 cing my attention to a case which certainly presents some features of interest. I had observed some spaper 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 the public facts? It does. Then let me have the private ones. He leaned back, put his finger-tips toher, 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 H, 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 k, since no practical good could result from it, but with you t 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 toher. For this reason I saw a good of Sir Charles Baskerville. With the exception of Mr. Frankland, of Lafter H, and Mr. Stapleton, the naturalist, t are no other men of education within many miles. Sir Charles was a retiring man, but the of his illness brought us toher, 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 toher 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 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 vibd with excitement. I can well re driving up to his house in the evening some three weeks before the fatal event. He d to be at his h 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 w 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 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 sm 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 k, affected, and the constant anxiety in which he lived, however chimerical the cause of it might be, was evidently having a effect upon his health. I thought that a few months among the distrs of town would send him back a man. Mr. Stapleton, a mutual who was much concerned at his state of health, was of the same opinion. At the last came this terrible catastrophe. On the night of Sir Charles’s death Barrymore the butler, who made the discovery, sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as I was sitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville H within an hour of the event. I checked and corrobod the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed the footsteps down the yew ey, I saw the spot at the moor-gate w he seemed to have waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the prints after that point, I noted that t were no other footsteps those of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and finy I carefully examined the body, which had not been touched until my arrival. Sir 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. T was certainly no physical injury of any kind. But one false statement was made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that t were no traces upon the ground round the body. He did not observe any. But I did—some little distance , but fresh and clear. I find that before the terrible event occurred several people had seen a creature upon the moor which corresponds with this Baskerville demon, and which could not possibly be any animal kn to science. They agreed that it was a huge creature, luminous, ghastly, and spectral. I have cross-examined these men, one of them a hard-headed countryman, one a farrier, and one a moorland farmer, who tell the same story of this dreadful apparition, exactly corresponding to the hell-hound of the legend. I assure you that t is a reign of terror in the district, and that it is a hardy man who will cross the moor at night. None. The other kinsman whom we have been able to trace was Rodger Baskerville, the youngest of three brothers of whom poor Sir Charles was the elder. The second brother, who died young, is the father of this lad Henry. The third, Rodger, was the black sheep of the family. He came of the old masterful Baskerville strain and was the very image, they tell me, of the family picture of old Hugo. He made England too hot to hold him, fled to Central America, and died t in 1876 of yellow fever. Henry is the last of the Baskervilles. In one hour and five minutes I meet him at Waterloo Station. I have had a wire that he arrived at Southampton this morning. , Mr. Holmes, what would you advise me to do with him? Why should he not go to the of his fathers? It seems natural, does it not? And yet, consider that every Baskerville who goes t meets with an evil fate. I feel sure that if Sir Charles could have spoken with me before his death he would have warned me against bringing this, the last of the old race, and the heir to wealth, to that deadly place. And yet it cannot be denied that the prosperity of the whole poor, bleak countryside depends upon his presence. the good work which has been done by Sir Charles will crash to the ground if t is no tenant of the H. I fear lest I should be swayed too much by my own obvious interest in the matter, and that is why I bring the case before you and ask for your advice. No, my dear fellow, it is at the hour of that I turn to you for aid. But this is splendid, rey unique from some points of view. When you pass Bradley’s, would you ask him to send up a pound of the strongest shag tobacco? Thank you. It would be as well if you could make it convenient not to return before evening. Then I should be very glad to impressions as to this most interesting which has been submitted to us this morning. I k that seclusion and solitude were very necessary for my in those hours of intense mental concentration during which he weighed every particle of evidence, constructed alternative theories, balanced one against the other, and made up his mind as to which points were essential and which immaterial. I tfore spent the day at my club and did not return to Baker Street until evening. It was nearly nine o’clock when I found myself in the sitting-room once more. My first impression as I ed the door was that a fire had broken out, for the room was so filled with smoke that the light of the lamp upon the table was blurred by it. As I entered, however, my fears were set at rest, for it was the acrid fumes of strong coarse tobacco which took me by the throat and set me coughing. Through the haze I had a vague vision of Holmes in his dressing-gown coiled up in an armchair with his black clay pipe between his lips. Several rolls of paper lay around him. He laughed at my bewildered expression. T is a delightful freshness about you, Watson, which makes it a pleasure to exercise any sm powers which I possess at your expense. A gentleman goes forth on a showery and miry day. He returns immaculate in the evening with the gloss still on his hat and his boots. He has been a fixture tfore day. He is not a man with intimate s. W, then, could he have been? Is it not obvious? Exactly. My body has remained in this armchair and has, I regret to observe, consumed in my absence two large pots of cee and an incredible amount of tobacco. After you left I sent down to Stamford’s for the Ordnance map of this portion of the moor, and my spirit has hovered over it day. I flatter myself that I could find my way about. He unrolled one section and held it over his knee. you have the particular district which concerns us. That is Baskerville H in the middle. With a wood round it? Exactly. I fancy the yew ey, though not marked under that , must stretch along this line, with the moor, as you perceive, upon the right of it. This sm clump of buildings is the hamlet of Grimpen, w our Dr. Mortimer has his headquarters. Within a radius of five miles t are, as you see, a very few scattered dwellings. is Lafter H, which was mentioned in the narrative. T is a house indicated which may be the residence of the naturalist—Stapleton, if I re right, was his . are two moorland farmhouses, High Tor and Foulmire. Then fourteen miles away the convict prison of Princetown. Between and around these scattered points extends the desolate, less moor. This, then, is the stage upon which tragedy has been played, and upon which we may help to play it again. The devil’s agents may be of flesh and blood, may they not? T are two questions waiting for us at the outset. The one is whether any crime has been committed at ; the second is, what is the crime and how was it committed? Of course, if Dr. Mortimer’s surmise should be correct, and we are ing with forces outside the ordinary laws of Nature, t is an end of our investigation. But we are bound to exhaust other hypotheses before fing back upon this one. I think we’ll shut that window again, if you don’t mind. It is a singular thing, but I find that a concentd atmosp helps a concentration of thought. I have not pushed it to the length of ting into a box to think, but that is the logical outcome of my convictions. Have you turned the case over in your mind? I am presuming that the cause of his fears came to him across the moor. If that were so, and it seems most probable, a man who had lost his wits would have run from the house instead of towards it. If the gipsy’s evidence may be taken as true, he ran with cries for help in the direction w help was least likely to be. Then, again, whom was he waiting for that night, and why was he waiting for him in the yew ey rather than in his own house? You think that he was waiting for someone? The man was elderly and infirm. We can understand his taking an evening stroll, but the ground was damp and the night inclement. Is it natural that he should stand for five or ten minutes, as Dr. Mortimer, with more practical sense than I should have given him for, deduced from the cigar ash? But he went out every evening. I think it unlikely that he waited at the moor-gate every evening. On the contrary, the evidence is that he ed the moor. That night he waited t. It was the night before he made his departure for London. The thing takes shape, Watson. It becomes cont. Might I ask you to hand me my violin, and we will postpone further thought upon this business until we have had the advantage of meeting Dr. Mortimer and Sir Henry Baskerville in the morning. Chapter 4. Sir Henry Baskerville Our breakfast table was cleared early, and Holmes waited in his dressing-gown for the promised interview. Our clients were punctual to their appointment, for the clock had just struck ten when Dr. Mortimer was shown up, followed by the young baronet. The latter was a sm, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years of age, very sturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a strong, pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and had the weather-beaten appearance of one who has spent most of his time in the air, and yet t was something in his steady eye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which indicated the gentleman. This is Sir Henry Baskerville, said Dr. Mortimer. Why, yes, said he, and the strange thing is, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, that if my had not proposed coming round to you this morning I should have come on my own account. I understand that you think out little puzzles, and I’ve had one this morning which wants more thinking out than I am able to give it. Pray take a seat, Sir Henry. Do I understand you to say that you have yourself had some remarkable experience since you arrived in London? Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes. a joke, as like as not. It was this letter, if you can c it a letter, which reached me this morning. He laid an envelope upon the table, and we bent over it. It was of common quality, greyish in colour. The address, Sir Henry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel, was printed in rough characters; the post-mark Charing Cross, and the date of posting the preceding evening. Hum! Someone seems to be very deeply interested in your movements. Out of the envelope he took a half-sheet of foolscap paper folded into four. This he ed and spread flat upon the table. Across the middle of it a single sentence had been formed by the expedient of pasting printed words upon it. It ran: , said Sir Henry Baskerville, perhaps you will tell me, Mr. Holmes, what in thunder is the meaning of that, and who it is that takes so much interest in my affairs? What do you make of it, Dr. Mortimer? You must ow that t is nothing supernatural about this, at any ? No, sir, but it might very well come from someone who was convinced that the business is supernatural. What business? asked Sir Henry sharply. It seems to me that you gentlemen k a more than I do about my own affairs. You sh share our kledge before you this room, Sir Henry. I that, said Sherlock Holmes. We will confine ourselves for the present with your permission to this very interesting document, which must have been put toher and posted yesterday evening. Have you yesterday’s Times, Watson? Rey, Mr. Holmes, this exceeds anything which I could have imagined, said Dr. Mortimer, gazing at my in amazement. I could understand anyone saying that the words were from a spaper; but that you should which, and add that it came from the leading article, is rey one of the most remarkable things which I have ever kn. How did you do it? I presume, Doctor, that you could tell the skull of a negro from that of an Esquimau? Because that is my special hobby. The differences are obvious. The supra-orbital crest, the facial angle, the maxillary curve, the— But this is my special hobby, and the differences are equy obvious. T is as much difference to my eyes between the leaded bourgeois type of a Times article and the slovenly print of an evening half-penny paper as t could be between your negro and your Esquimau. The detection of types is one of the most elementary branches of kledge to the special expert in crime, though I confess that once when I was very young I confused the Leeds Mercury with the Western Morning s. But a Times leader is entirely distinctive, and these words could have been taken from nothing else. As it was done yesterday the strong probability was that we should find the words in yesterday’s issue. [Small logotype (EMA)]( ExpertModernAdvice.com is sending this newsletter on behalf Inception Media Group. ІMG appreciates your comments and inquiries. Please keep in mind, that Inception Media Group are not permitted to provide іndivіdualіzed financial advіse. This email is not fіnаncіаl аdvіcе and any іnvеstmеnt decision you make is solely your responsibility. 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