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“Interesting, though elementary,” said he as he
returned to his favourite corner of the settee. “There are certainly one or two
indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several deductions.”
“Has anything escaped me?” I asked with some
self-importance. “I trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have
overlooked?”
“I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your
conclusions were erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be frank, that
in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided towards the truth. Not that you are
entirely wrong in this instance. The man is certainly a country practitioner. And he walks
a good deal.”
“Then I was right.”
“To that extent.”
“But that was all.”
“No, no, my dear Watson, not all–by no means all. I
would suggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more likely to come from a
hospital than from a hunt, and that when the initials ‘C.C.’ are placed before
that hospital the words ‘Charing Cross’ very naturally suggest themselves.”
“You may be right.”
“The probability lies in that direction. And if we take
this as a working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our construction of
this unknown visitor.”
“Well, then, supposing that ‘C.C.H.’ does stand
for ‘Charing Cross Hospital,’ what further inferences may we draw?”
“Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply
them!”
“I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man
has practised in town before going to the country.”
“I think that we might venture a little farther than
this. Look at it in this light. On what occasion would it be most probable that such a
presentation would be made? When would his friends unite to give him a pledge of their
good will? Obviously at the moment when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the service of the
hospital in order to start in practice for himself. We know there has been a presentation.
We believe there has been a change from a town hospital to a country practice. Is it,
then, stretching our inference too far to say that the presentation was on the occasion of
the change?”
“It certainly seems probable.”
“Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the
staff of the hospital, since only a man well-established in a London practice could hold
such a position, and such a one would not drift into the country. What was he, then? If he
was in the hospital and yet not on the staff he could only have been a house-surgeon or a
house-physician–little more than a senior student. And he left five years
ago–the date is on the stick. So your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes
into [671] 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 [672] 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
am addressing and not– –”
“No, this is my friend Dr. Watson.”
“Glad to meet you, sir. I have heard your name mentioned
in connection with that of your friend. You interest me very much, Mr. Holmes. I had
hardly expected so dolichocephalic a skull or such well-marked supra-orbital development.
Would you have any objection to my running my finger along your parietal fissure? A cast
of your skull, sir, until the original is available, would be an ornament to any
anthropological museum. It is not my intention to be fulsome, but I confess that I covet
your skull.”
Sherlock Holmes waved our strange visitor into a chair.
“You are an enthusiast in your line of thought, I perceive, sir, as I am in
mine,” said he. “I observe from your forefinger that you make your own
cigarettes. Have no hesitation in lighting one.”
The man drew out paper and tobacco and twirled the one up in
the other with surprising dexterity. He had long, quivering fingers as agile and restless
as the antennae of an insect.
Holmes was silent, but his little darting glances showed me
the interest which he took in our curious companion.
“I presume, sir,” said he at last, “that it was
not merely for the purpose of examining my skull that you have done me the honour to call
here last night and again to-day?”
“No, sir, no; though I am happy to have had the
opportunity of doing that as well. I came to you, Mr. Holmes, because I recognized that I
am myself an unpractical man and because I am suddenly confronted with a most serious and
extraordinary problem. Recognizing, as I do, that you are the second highest expert in
Europe– –”
“Indeed, sir! May I inquire who has the honour to be the
first?” asked Holmes with some asperity.
“To the man of precisely scientific mind the work of
Monsieur Bertillon must always appeal strongly.”
[673]
“Then had you not better consult him?”
“I said, sir, to the precisely scientific mind. But as a
practical man of affairs it is acknowledged that you stand alone. I trust, sir, that I
have not inadvertently– –”
“Just a little,” said Holmes. “I think, Dr.
Mortimer, you would do wisely if without more ado you would kindly tell me plainly what
the exact nature of the problem is in which you demand my assistance.”
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