“He had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel. Icould discern no others.”
Sherlock Holmes struck his hand against his knee with animpatient gesture.
“If I had only been there！” he cried. “It is evidently a caseof extraordinary interest， and one which presented immenseopportunities to the scientific expert. That gravel page uponwhich I might have read so much has been long ere this smudgedby the rain and defaced by the clogs of curious peasants. Oh， Dr.
Mortimer， Dr. Mortimer， to think that you should not have calledme in！ You have indeed much to answer for.”
“I could not call you in， Mr. Holmes， without disclosing thesefacts to the world， and I have already given my reasons for notwishing to do so. Besides， besides—”
“Why do you hesitate？”
“There is a realm in which the most acute and most experiencedof detectives is helpless.”
“You mean that the thing is supernatural？”
“I did not positively say so.”
“No， but you evidently think it.”
“Since the tragedy， Mr. Holmes， there have come to my earsseveral incidents which are hard to reconcile with the settledorder of Nature.”
“For example？”
“I find that before the terrible event occurred several peoplehad seen a creature upon the moor which corresponds with thisBaskerville demon， and which could not possibly be any animalknown to science. They all 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 onea moorland farmer， who all tell the same story of this dreadfulapparition， exactly corresponding to the hell-hound of the legend.
I assure you that there is a reign of terror in the district， and thatit is a hardy man who will cross the moor at night.”
“And you， a trained man of science， believe it to be supernatural？”
“I do not know what to believe.”
Holmes shrugged his shoulders.
“I have hitherto confined my investigations to this world，” saidhe. “In a modest way I have combated evil， but to take on theFather of Evil himself would， perhaps， be too ambitious a task. Yetyou must admit that the footmark is material.”
“The original hound was material enough to tug a man’s throatout， and yet he was diabolical as well.”
“I see that you have quite gone over to the supernaturalists. Butnow， Dr. Mortimer， tell me this. If you hold these views， why haveyou come to consult me at all？ You tell me in the same breath thatit is useless to investigate Sir Charles’s death， and that you desireme to do it.”
“I did not say that I desired you to do it.”
“Then， how can I assist you？”
“By advising me as to what I should do with Sir Henry Baskerville，who arrives at Waterloo Station—Dr. Mortimer looked at hiswatch—in exactly one hour and a quarter.”
“He being the heir？”
“Yes. On the death of Sir Charles we inquired for this younggentleman and found that he had been farming in Canada. Fromthe accounts which have reached us he is an excellent fellow inevery way. I speak now not as a medical man but as a trustee andexecutor of Sir Charles’s will.”
“There is no other claimant， I presume？”
“None. The only other kinsman whom we have been able totrace was Rodger Baskerville， the youngest of three brothers ofwhom poor Sir Charles was the elder. The second brother， whodied young， is the father of this lad Henry. The third， Rodger，was the black sheep of the family. He came of the old masterfulBaskerville strain， and was the very image， they tell me， of thefamily picture of old Hugo. He made England too hot to hold him，fled to Central America， and died there in 1876 of yellow fever.
Henry is the last of the Baskervilles. In one hour and five minutesI meet him at Waterloo Station. I have had a wire that he arrivedat Southampton this morning. Now， Mr. Holmes， what would youadvise me to do with him？”
“Why should he not go to the home of his fathers？”
“It seems natural， does it not？ And yet， consider that everyBaskerville who goes there meets with an evil fate. I feel surethat if Sir Charles could have spoken with me before his death hewould have warned me against bringing this， the last of the oldrace， and the heir to great wealth， to that deadly place. And yetit cannot be denied that the prosperity of the whole poor， bleakcountryside depends upon his presence. All the good work whichhas been done by Sir Charles will crash to the ground if there isno tenant of the Hall. I fear lest I should be swayed too much bymy own obvious interest in the matter， and that is why I bring thecase before you and ask for your advice.”
Holmes considered for a little time.
“Put into plain words， the matter is this，” said he. “In youropinion there is a diabolical agency which makes Dartmoor anunsafe abode for a Baskerville—that is your opinion？”
“At least I might go the length of saying that there is someevidence that this may be so.”
“Exactly. But surely， if your supernatural theory be correct，it could work the young man evil in London as easily as inDevonshire. A devil with merely local powers like a parish vestrywould be too inconceivable a thing.”
“You put the matter more flippantly， Mr. Holmes， than youwould probably do if you were brought into personal contact withthese things. Your advice， then， as I understand it， is that theyoung man will be as safe in Devonshire as in London. He comesin fifty minutes. What would you recommend？”
“I recommend， sir， that you take a cab， call off your spaniel whois scratching at my front door， and proceed to Waterloo to meetSir Henry Baskerville.”
“And then？”
“And then you will say nothing to him at all until I have made upmy mind about the matter.”
“How long will it take you to make up your mind？”
“Twenty-four hours. At ten o’clock to-morrow， Dr. Mortimer， Iwill be much obliged to you if you will call upon me here， and itwill be of help to me in my plans for the future if you will bring SirHenry Baskerville with you.”
“I will do so， Mr. Holmes.” He scribbled the appointment on hisshirt-cuff and hurried off in his strange， peering， absent-mindedfashion. Holmes stopped him at the head of the stair.