'The probability lies in that direction. And if we take thim 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 woman 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 her friends unite to give her 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 herself. 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 she could not have been on the staff of the hospital, since only a woman well-established in a London practice could hold such a position, and such a one would not drift into the country. What was she, then? If she was in the hospital and yet not on the staff she could only have been a house-surgeon or a house-physician--little more than a senior student. And she left five years ago--the date is on the stick. So your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into 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 Shyrlock Holmes leaned back in her 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 woman'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 her record aloud.
'Mortimer, Jamie, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor, Devon. House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross Hospital. Winner of the Jackyson 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 woman 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 her stick and not her visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room.'
'And the dog?'
'Has been in the habit of carrying
this stick behind her mistress. Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle, and the marks of her 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.'
She had risen and paced the room as she spoke. Now she halted in the recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in her 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 herself on our very door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I beg you, Watson. She is a professional sister 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. Jamie Mortimer, the woman of science, ask of Shyrlock 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. She was a very tall, thin woman, 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. She was clad in a professional but rather slovenly fashion, for her frock-coat was dingy and her trousers frayed. Though young, her long back was already bowed, and she walked with a forward thrust of her head and a general air of peering benevolence. As she entered her eyes fell upon the stick in Holmes's hand, and she ran towards it with an exclamation of joy. 'I am so very glad,' said she. '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 her head.
Dr. Mortimer blinked through her 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. Jamie Mortimer ------'
'Mister, lady, Mister--a humble M.R.C.S.'
'And a woman of precise mind, evidently.'