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 though a curtain, there stepped the man we were awaiting. As he walked, he glanced continually over either shoulder, like a man is ill at ease. 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 , 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 face. It was pale and exultant, eyes shining brightly in the moonlight. But suddenly stared forward in a rigid, fixed stare, and his lips parted in amazement. At the same instant Lestrade gave a yell of terror and threw face downward upon the ground. . . . A hound it was, an enormous coal-black hound, but not such a hound as mortal eyes have ever seen. Fire burst from open mouth. . . . Then Holmes and both fired together, and the creature gave a hideous howl. . . .

 

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