The Hound of the Baskervilles
“And what marks did you see by the wicket-gate?”
“None in particular.”
“Good Heaven! Did no one examine?”
“Yes, I examined myself.”
“And found nothing?”
“It was all very confused. Sir Charles had evidently stood there for five or ten minutes.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the ash had twice dropped from his cigar.”
“Excellent! This is a colleague, Watson, after our own heart. But the marks?”
“He had left his own marks all over that small patch of gravel. I could discern no others.”
Sherlock Holmes struck his hand against his knee with an impatient gesture.
“If I had only been there!” he cried. “It is evidently a case of extraordinary interest, and one which presented immense opportunities to the scientific expert. That gravel page upon which I might have read
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