There is the less fear of you or me
finding one in our skin before long. I would sooner face a
Martini bullet, myself. Are you game for a six-mile trudge,
Watson?"
"Certainly," I answered.
"Your leg will stand it?"
"Oh, yes."
"Here you are, doggy! Good old Toby! Smell it, Toby, smell
it!" He pushed the creosote handkerchief under the dog's nose,
while the creature stood with its fluffy legs separated, and with a
most comical cock to its head, like a connoisseur sniffing the
bouquet of a famous vintage. Holmes then threw the handker-
chief to a distance, fastened a stout cord to the mongrel's collar,
and led him to the foot of the water-barrel. The creature instantly
broke into a succession of high, tremulous yelps and, with his
nose on the ground and his tail in the air, pattered off upon the
trail at a pace which strained his leash and kept us at the top of
our speed.
The east had been gradually whitening, and we could now see
some distance in the cold gray light. The square, massive house,
with its black, empty windows and high, bare walls, towered up,
sad and forlorn, behind us. Our course led right across the
grounds, in and out among the trenches and pits with which they
were scarred and intersected. The whole place, with its scattered
dirt-heaps and ill-grown shrubs, had a blighted, ill-omened look
which harmonized with the black tragedy which hung over it.
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