when Dr. Mortimer was shown up, followed by the young baronet.
The latter was a small, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years
of age, very sturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a
strong, pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and
had the weather-beaten appearance of one who has spent most of
his time in the open air, and yet there was something in his
steady eye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which
indicated the gentleman.

"This is Sir Henry Baskerville," said Dr. Mortimer.

"Why, yes," said he, "and the strange thing is, Mr. Sherlock
Holmes, that if my friend here had not proposed coming round to you
this morning I should have come on my own account. I understand
that you think out little puzzles, and I've had one this morning
which wants more thinking out than I am able to give it."

"Pray take a seat, Sir Henry. Do I understand you to say
that you have yourself had some remarkable experience since
you arrived in London?"

"Nothing of much importance, Mr. Holmes. Only a joke, as like
as not. It was this letter, if you can call it a letter, which
reached me this morning."

He laid an envelope upon the table, and we all bent over it. It
was of common quality, grayish in colour. The address, "Sir
Henry Baskerville, Northumberland Hotel," was printed in rough
characters; the post-mark "Charing Cross," and the date of
posting the preceding evening.