It was at my advice that Sir Charles was about to go
to London.  His heart was, I knew, affected, and the
constant anxiety was evidently having a serious effect upon
his health.  I thought that a few months among the
distractions of town would send him back a new man.  Mr. 
Stapleton, a mutual friend who was much concerned at his
state of health, was of the same opinion.  At the last
instant came this terrible catastrophe.
On the night of Sir Charles's death, Barrymore, the
butler, who made the discovery, sent Perkins, the groom, on
horseback to me, and as I was sitting up late I was able to
reach Baskerville Hall within an hour of the event.  I
checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned
at the inquest.  I followed the footsteps down the yew
alley, I saw the spot at the moon-gate where he seemed to
have waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the
