"Don't mind that, sir; it's only a slowworm. It
hain't got no fangs, so I gives it the run o' the room, for it keeps
the beetles down. You must not mind my bein' just a little short
wi' you at first, for I'm guyed at by the children, and there's
many a one just comes down this lane to knock me up. What
was it that Mr. Sherlock Holmes wanted, sir?"
"He wanted a dog of yours."
"Ah! that would be Toby."
"Yes, Toby was the name."
"Toby lives at No. 7 on the left here."
He moved slowly forward with his candle among the queer
animal family which he had gathered round him. In the uncer-
tain, shadowy light I could see dimly that there were glancing,
glimmering eyes peeping down at us from every cranny and
corner. Even the rafters above our heads were lined by solemn
fowls, who lazily shifted their weight from one leg to the other
as our voices disturbed their slumbers.
Toby proved to be an ugly, long-haired, lop-eared creature,
half spaniel and half lurcher, brown and white in colour, with a
very clumsy, waddling gait. It accepted, after some hesitation, a
lump of sugar which the old naturalist handed to me, and, having
thus sealed an alliance, it followed me to the cab and made no
difficulties about accompanying me. It had just struck three on
the Palace clock when I found myself back once more at
Pondicherry Lodge.
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