“Your marriage, you say?”

“Yes, sir. I married, and so left the hospital. It was necessary to make a home of my own.”

“We are not so wrong, after all,” said Holmes. “And now, Dr. James Mortimer—”

“I think that it is Mr. Sherlock Holmes to whom I am speaking—”

“Yes, and this is my friend Dr. Watson.”

“Glad to meet you, sir. I have heard your name and that of your friend. You interest me very much, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock Holmes asked our strange visitor to take a seat.

“I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I have a very serious and extraordinary problem. I called here last night and again today—”

“Indeed, sir! I would like to know, Dr. Mortimer, what your problem is in which you want my help.”

“I have a manuscript in my pocket,” said Dr. James Mortimer.

“The exact date is 1742.” Dr. Mortimer drew it from his pocket. “This family paper was given to me by Sir Charles Baskerville, whose sudden and tragic death three months ago was much talked about in Devonshire. I may say that I was his personal friend as well as his doctor. He was a shrewd, practical man, but he took this document very seriously, and his mind was prepared for just such a death as he met.”

Holmes took the manuscript and looked at it.

I looked over his shoulder at the yellow paper where it was written: “Baskerville Hall,” and below: “1742.”

“It is a legend of the Baskerville family.”

“But I understand that it is something more modern and practical upon which you wish to consult me?”

“Very modern. A very practical, pressing matter, which must be decided within twenty-four hours. But the manuscript is short and is connected with it. With your permission I will read it to you.”

Holmes leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. Dr. Mortimer turned the manuscript to the light and started reading:

“There have been many stories about the Hound of the Baskervilles. I come in a direct line from Hugo Baskerville, and I had the story from my father, who also had it from his. I have written it down with all belief that it occurred as is written here

“About a hundred years ago Baskerville Hall was owned by Hugo, a most wild, and godless man. It so happened that this Hugo fell in love (if, indeed, so dark a passion may be known under so bright a name) with the daughter of a farmer who had land near Baskerville Hall. But the young girl avoided him, for she feared this evil man. So it happened that one day this Hugo, with five or six of his idle and wicked companions, came to the farm and carried off the girl, as he knew that her father and brothers were away from home. When they had brought her to the Hall the girl was locked in a room upstairs, while Hugo and his friends sat down to a long dinner, as was their custom. Now, the poor girl upstairs was frightened by the wild singing and shouting and terrible cursing which came up to her from below, for they say that the words used by Hugo Baskerville, when he was in wine, were really terrible. And in her fear she did what could only be done by the bravest man. With the help of the ivy which covered (and still covers) the wall she came down, and ran across the moor to her father’s farm.

“It so happened that some little time later Hugo left his guests to carry food and drink to the girl, and so found the cage empty and the bird escaped. Then he rushed down the stairs into the dining-hall, sprang upon the great table, and he cried aloud before all the company that he would give up his body and soul to the Powers of Evil if he caught the girl. And while the guests stood frightened at the fury of the man, one more wicked or, it may be, more drunken than the rest, cried out that they should put the hounds upon her. At once Hugo ran from the house, crying to his grooms that they should saddle his horse. And giving the hounds a kerchief of the girl’s, he put them on the scent, and off they went over the moor.