The Hound of the Baskervilles HTML version

The Hound of the Baskervilles
Chapter 1
Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the
mornings, save upon those not infrequent occasions when
he was up all 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 known 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 friends 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.
‘Well, Watson, what do you make of it?’
Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had
given him no sign of my occupation.
‘How did you know what I was doing? I believe you
have eyes in the back of your head.’
‘I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-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
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