but first we should return to my charge at Baskerville Hall.
A few faint stars were gleaming in a violet sky. I asked Holmes
what was the meaning of all this, and Holmes replied that it was
murder - refined, cold-blooded, deliberate murder. I should not
ask him for particulars, he said, but his nets were closing upon
our quarry, even as our quarry's nets were themselves being
tightened about the victim. My companion's only fear was that our
enemy should strike before our case was complete.
Even as he said that, a terrible scream burst out of the silence
of the moor. That frightful cry turned the blood to ice in my veins.
Holmes sprang to his feet, and I saw his dark, athletic outline at
the door of the hut, his shoulders stooping, his head thrust forward,
his face peering into the darkness. We listened intently and we
