The Hound of the Baskervilles | Page 5

into thin air, my dear Watson, and there
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 smaller 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 small medical shelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up the name. There
were several Mortimers, but only 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. Winner of the Jackson prize for Comparative
Pathology, with essay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?' Corresponding member of the
Swedish Pathological Society. Author of 'Some Freaks of Atavism' (Lancet 1882). 'Do
We Progress?' (Journal of Psychology, March, 1883). Medical Officer 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 remember right, amiable, unambitious, and
absent-minded. It is my experience that it is only an amiable man in this world who
receives testimonials, only an unambitious one who abandons a London career for the
country, and only an absent-minded one who leaves 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. Now he halted in the recess of the window.
There 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 there 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. Now is the dramatic moment of fate,
Watson, when you hear a step upon the stair which is walking into your life, and you
know 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 tall, thin man, with a long nose like a beak, which jutted out
between two keen, gray eyes, set closely together and sparkling brightly from behind a
pair of gold-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 here or in the Shipping Office. I would not lose that stick for the

world."
"A presentation, I see," said Holmes.
"Yes, sir."
"From Charing Cross Hospital?"
"From one or two friends there on the occasion of my marriage."
"Dear, dear, that's bad!" said Holmes, shaking his head.
Dr. Mortimer blinked through his glasses in mild astonishment.
"Why was it bad?"
"Only that you have disarranged our little deductions. Your marriage, you say?"
"Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital, and with it all hopes of a consulting practice.
It was necessary to make a home of my own."
"Come, come, we are not so far wrong, after all," said Holmes. "And now, Dr. James
Mortimer ------"
"Mister, sir, Mister--a humble M.R.C.S."
"And a man of precise mind, evidently."
"A dabbler in science, Mr. Holmes, a picker up of shells on the shores of the great
unknown ocean. I presume that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmes whom I