taking us nearer to our supreme adventure.
Our conversation was hampered by the presence of the driver of the
hired wagonette, so that we were forced to talk of trivial matters
when our nerves were tense with emotion and anticipation. It was a
relief to me, after that unnatural restraint, when we at last passed
Frankland's house and knew that we were drawing near to the Hall and
to the scene of action. We did not drive up to the door but got down
near the gate of the avenue. The wagonette was paid off and ordered
to return to Coombe Tracey forthwith, while we started to walk to
Merripit House.
"Are you armed, Lestrade?"
The little detective smiled.
"As long as I have my trousers I have a hip-pocket, and as long as I
have my hip-pocket I have something in it."
"Good! My friend and I are also ready for emergencies."
"You're mighty close about this affair, Mr. Holmes. What's the game
now?"
"A waiting game."
"My word, it does not seem a very cheerful place," said the detective
with a shiver, glancing round him at the gloomy slopes of the hill
and at the huge lake of fog which lay over the Grimpen Mire. "I see
the lights of a house ahead of us."
"That is Merripit House and the end of our journey. I must request
you to walk on tiptoe and not to talk above a whisper."
We moved cautiously along the track as if we were bound for the
house, but Holmes halted us when we were about two hundred yards from
it.
"This will do," said he. "These rocks upon the right make an
admirable screen."
"We are to wait here?"
"Yes, we shall make our little ambush here. Get into this hollow,
Lestrade. You have been inside the house, have you not, Watson? Can
you tell the position of the rooms? What are those latticed windows
at this end?"
"I think they are the kitchen windows."
"And the one beyond, which shines so brightly?"
"That is certainly the dining-room."
"The blinds are up. You know the lie of the land best. Creep forward
quietly and see what they are doing--but for heaven's sake don't let
them know that they are watched!"
I tiptoed down the path and stooped behind the low wall which
surrounded the stunted orchard. Creeping in its shadow I reached a
point whence I could look straight through the uncurtained window.
There were only two men in the room, Sir Henry and Stapleton. They
sat with their profiles towards me on either side of the round table.
Both of them were smoking cigars, and coffee and wine were in front
of them. Stapleton was talking with animation, but the baronet looked
pale and distrait. Perhaps the thought of that lonely walk across the
ill-omened moor was weighing heavily upon his mind.
As I watched them Stapleton rose and left the room, while Sir Henry
filled his glass again and leaned back in his chair, puffing at his
cigar. I heard the creak of a door and the crisp sound of boots upon
gravel. The steps passed along the path on the other side of the wall
under which I crouched. Looking over, I saw the naturalist pause at
the door of an out-house in the corner of the orchard. A key turned
in a lock, and as he passed in there was a curious scuffling noise
from within. He was only a minute or so inside, and then I heard the
key turn once more and he passed me and re-entered the house. I saw
him rejoin his guest, and I crept quietly back to where my companions
were waiting to tell them what I had seen.
"You say, Watson, that the lady is not there?" Holmes asked, when I
had finished my report.
"No."
"Where can she be, then, since there is no light in any other room
except the kitchen?"
"I cannot think where she is."
I have said that over the great Grimpen Mire there hung a dense,
white fog. It was drifting slowly in our direction, and banked itself
up like a wall on that side of us, low, but thick and well defined.
The moon shone on it, and it looked like a great shimmering
ice-field, with the heads of the distant tors as rocks borne upon its
surface. Holmes's face was turned towards it, and he muttered
impatiently as he watched its sluggish drift.
"It's moving towards us, Watson."
"Is that serious?"
"Very serious, indeed--the one thing upon earth which could have
disarranged my plans. He can't be very long, now. It is already ten
o'clock. Our success and even his life may depend upon his coming out
before the fog is over the path."
The night was clear and fine above us. The stars shone cold and
bright, while a half-moon bathed the whole scene in a soft, uncertain
light. Before us lay the dark bulk of the house, its serrated roof
and bristling chimneys hard outlined against the silver-spangled sky.
Broad bars of golden light from the lower windows stretched across
the orchard and the moor. One of them was suddenly shut off. The
servants had left the kitchen. There only remained the lamp in the
dining-room where the two men, the murderous host and the unconscious
guest, still chatted over their cigars.
Every minute that white woolly plain which covered one half of the
moor was drifting closer and closer to the house. Already the first
thin wisps of it were curling across the golden square of the lighted
window. The farther wall of the orchard was already invisible, and
the trees were standing out of a swirl of white vapour. As we watched
it the fog-wreaths came crawling round both corners of the house and
rolled slowly into one dense bank, on which the upper floor and the
roof floated like a strange ship upon a shadowy sea. Holmes struck
his hand passionately upon the rock in front of us and stamped his
feet in his impatience.
"If he isn't out in a quarter of an hour the path will be covered. In
half an hour we won't be able to see our hands in front of us."
"Shall we move farther back upon higher ground?"
"Yes, I think it would be as well."
So as the fog-bank flowed onward we fell back before it until we were
half a mile from the house, and still that dense white sea, with the
moon silvering its upper edge, swept slowly and inexorably on.
"We are going too far," said Holmes. "We dare not take the chance of
his being overtaken before he can reach us. At all costs we must hold
our ground where we are." He dropped on his knees and clapped his ear
to the ground. "Thank God, I think that I hear him coming."
A sound of quick steps broke the silence of the moor. Crouching among
the stones we stared intently at the silver-tipped bank in front of
us. The steps grew louder, and through the fog, as through a curtain,
there stepped the man whom we were awaiting. He looked round him in
surprise as he emerged into the clear, starlit night. Then he came
swiftly along the path, passed close to where we lay, and went on up
the long slope behind us. As he walked he glanced continually over
either shoulder, like a man who is ill at ease.
"Hist!" cried Holmes, and I heard the sharp click of a cocking
pistol. "Look out! It's coming!"
There was a thin, crisp, continuous patter from somewhere in the
heart of that crawling bank. The cloud was within fifty yards of
where we lay, and we glared at it, all three, uncertain what horror
was about to break from the heart of it. I was at Holmes's elbow, and
I glanced for an instant at his face. It was pale and exultant, his
eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. But suddenly they started
forward in a rigid, fixed stare, and his lips parted in amazement. At
the same instant Lestrade gave a yell of terror and threw himself
face downward upon the ground. I sprang to my feet, my inert hand
grasping my pistol, my mind paralyzed by the dreadful shape which had
sprung out upon us from the shadows of the fog. A hound it was, an
enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have
ever seen. Fire burst from its open mouth, its eyes glowed with a
smouldering glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in
flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain
could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish be conceived
than that dark form and savage face which broke upon us out of the
wall of fog.
With long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down the track,
following hard upon the footsteps of our friend. So paralyzed were we
by the apparition that we allowed him to pass before we had recovered
our nerve. Then Holmes and I both fired together, and the creature
gave a hideous howl, which showed that one at least had hit him. He
did not pause, however, but bounded onward. Far away on the path we
saw Sir Henry looking back, his face white in the moonlight, his
hands raised in horror, glaring helplessly at the frightful thing
which was hunting him down.
But that cry of pain from the hound had blown all our fears to the
winds. If he was vulnerable he was mortal, and if we could wound him
we could kill him. Never have I seen a man run as Holmes ran that
night. I am reckoned fleet of foot, but he outpaced me as much as I
outpaced the little professional. In front of us as we flew up the
track we heard scream after scream from Sir Henry and the deep roar
of the hound. I was in time to see the beast spring upon its victim,
hurl him to the ground, and worry at his throat. But the next instant
Holmes had emptied five barrels of his revolver into the creature's
flank. With a last howl of agony and a vicious snap in the air, it
rolled upon its back, four feet pawing furiously, and then fell limp
upon its side. I stooped, panting, and pressed my pistol to the
dreadful, shimmering head, but it was useless to press the trigger.
The giant hound was dead.
Sir Henry lay insensible where he had fallen. We tore away his
collar, and Holmes breathed a prayer of gratitude when we saw that
there was no sign of a wound and that the rescue had been in time.
Already our friend's eyelids shivered and he made a feeble effort to
move. Lestrade thrust his brandy-flask between the baronet's teeth,
and two frightened eyes were looking up at us.
"My God!" he whispered. "What was it? What, in heaven's name, was
it?"
"It's dead, whatever it is," said Holmes. "We've laid the family
ghost once and forever."
In mere size and strength it was a terrible creature which was lying
stretched before us. It was not a pure bloodhound and it was not a
pure mastiff; but it appeared to be a combination of the two--gaunt,
savage, and as large as a small lioness. Even now, in the stillness
of death, the huge jaws seemed to be dripping with a bluish flame and
the small, deep-set, cruel eyes were ringed with fire. I placed my
hand upon the glowing muzzle, and as I held them up my own fingers
smouldered and gleamed in the darkness.
"Phosphorus," I said.
"A cunning preparation of it," said Holmes, sniffing at the dead
animal. "There is no smell which might have interfered with his power
of scent. We owe you a deep apology, Sir Henry, for having exposed
you to this fright. I was prepared for a hound, but not for such a
creature as this. And the fog gave us little time to receive him."
"You have saved my life."
"Having first endangered it. Are you strong enough to stand?"
"Give me another mouthful of that brandy and I shall be ready for
anything. So! Now, if you will help me up. What do you propose to
do?"
"To leave you here. You are not fit for further adventures to-night.
If you will wait, one or other of us will go back with you to the
Hall."
He tried to stagger to his feet; but he was still ghastly pale and
trembling in every limb. We helped him to a rock, where he sat
shivering with his face buried in his hands.
"We must leave you now," said Holmes. "The rest of our work must be
done, and every moment is of importance. We have our case, and now we
only want our man.
"It's a thousand to one against our finding him at the house," he
continued as we retraced our steps swiftly down the path. "Those
shots must have told him that the game was up."
"We were some distance off, and this fog may have deadened them."
"He followed the hound to call him off--of that you may be certain.
No, no, he's gone by this time! But we'll search the house and make
sure."
The front door was open, so we rushed in and hurried from room to
room to the amazement of a doddering old manservant, who met us in
the passage. There was no light save in the dining-room, but Holmes
caught up the lamp and left no corner of the house unexplored. No
sign could we see of the man whom we were chasing. On the upper
floor, however, one of the bedroom doors was locked.
"There's someone in here," cried Lestrade. "I can hear a movement.
