Собака Баскервилей / The Hound of the Baskervilles

“And the letter to you at the hotel shows that someone knows more than we do about what goes on upon the moor,” said Dr. Mortimer.

“We now have to decide, Sir Henry, whether it is good for you to go to Baskerville Hall.”

“Why should I not go?”

“It may be dangerous.”

“Do you mean danger from this supernatural hound or do you mean danger from man?”

“Well, that is what we have to find out.”

“No one can prevent me from going to the home of my family. Now, look here, Mr. Holmes, could you and your friend, Dr. Watson, come and lunch with us at two. I’ll be able to tell you more clearly then about my plans.”

“You may expect us.”

“Then we meet again at two o’clock. Good morning!”

We heard our visitors go down the stairs and the front door bang. In a moment Holmes changed from the dreamer to the man of action.

“Watson, quick! Not a moment to lose!” We hurried together down the stairs and into the street. Dr. Mortimer and Baskerville were walking a little distance ahead of us in the direction of Oxford Street.

We followed into Oxford Street and down Regent Street. When our friends stopped and looked into a shop window, Holmes did the same. A moment later he gave a little cry of satisfaction, and I saw that a cab with a man inside which had stopped on the other side of the street was now driving again.

“There’s our man, Watson! Come along! We’ll have a good look at him.”

At that moment I saw a black beard and a pair of piercing eyes turned upon us through the window of the cab. He screamed something, and the cab drove off down Regent Street. Holmes looked round for another cab, but there were no empty cabs in sight.

“Who was the man?”

“I have not an idea.”

“A spy?”

“Well, it was evident from what we have heard that Baskerville has been followed by someone since he has been in town. How else could it be known so quickly about the Northumberland Hotel?

“When our friends left I at once followed them in the hopes of seeing the spy. So clever was he that he did not follow them on foot, but he had got a cab so that they did not notice him. If they took a cab he was ready to follow them. We are dealing with a clever man, Watson.”

“What a pity we did not get the number!”

“My dear Watson, you don’t really think so! No. 2704 is our man. And now it only remains for us to find the cabman.”

Chapter 6

At the Northumberland Hotel

At two o’clock that afternoon we found ourselves at the Northumberland Hotel.

“Sir Henry Baskerville is upstairs expecting you,” said the clerk. “He asked me to show you up at once when you came.”

As we came to the top of the stairs we saw Sir Henry Baskerville himself. His face was red with anger, and he held an old boot in his hand. So furious was he that he could hardly speak.

“By thunder, if that fellow can’t find my missing boot there will be trouble,” he cried.

“Still looking for your boot?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You said that it was a new brown boot?”

“So it was, sir. And now it’s an old black one.”

“What!”

“Exactly. I only have three pairs of boots—new brown, old black, and the ones, which I am wearing. Last night they took one of my brown ones, and today they have stolen one of the black. Well, have you got it? Speak out, man!”

A clerk had appeared.

“No, sir; I have looked for it all over the hotel, but I have not found it.”

“Well, either that boot comes back today or I’ll see the manager and tell him that I leave this hotel.”

“I shall find it, sir—I promise you that.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, you’ll excuse my troubling you about such a trifle—”

“I do not think it is a trifle.”

“Why, you take it very seriously. What do you make of it?”

“Well, I don’t say I understand it yet. Your case is very complex, Sir Henry.”

We had a pleasant lunch in which little was said of the business which had brought us together.

After lunch we went to Sir Henry’s room, where Holmes asked Baskerville about his plans.

“To go to Baskerville Hall.”

“And when?”

“At the end of the week.”

“I think,” said Holmes, “that your decision is a good one. I have evidence that you are being followed in London, and in this great city it is difficult to discover who these people are or why they are doing it. You did not know, Dr. Mortimer, that you were followed this morning from my house?”

“Followed! By whom?”

“I have no idea. Do you know any man with a black, full beard?”

“No—or, let me see—why, yes. Barrymore, Sir Charles’s butler, is a man with a full, black beard.”