Saturday. 20th October.

This morning the fog had lifted.  Led by the eager figure 
of the prisoner released from Merripit House last night, we 
found the pathway through the Mire.  A small wand planted here
and there showed where the path twisted among those green-
scummed pits and foul quagmires which barred the way of the 
strangers.  Rank reeds and lush, slimy water-plants sent an 
odour of decay and a heavy miasmatic vapour onto our faces, 
while a false step plunged us more than once thigh-deep into 
the dark, quivering bog, which shook for yards in soft 
undulations around our feet. Its tenacious grip plucked at our 
heels, as if some malignant hand was tugging us down into those 
obscene depths. Once only we saw a trace that someone had 
passed that way before us. Holmes retrieved an old black boot, 
"Meyers, Toronto" was printed on the leather inside. It was 
