SEARCH
0-9 A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Prev | Current Page 162 | Next

Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Mystery of Cloomber"


All was dead and silent and deserted.
Our visit to the Hall was a very brief one, for every minute now was of
importance. Mordaunt rushed in and emerged with an old coat of his
father's, which he handed to Fullarton, who held it out to the dog.
The intelligent brute sniffed at it all over, then ran whining a little
way down the avenue, came back to sniff the coat again, and finally
elevating its stump of a tail in triumph, uttered a succession of sharp
yelps to show that it was satisfied that it had struck the trail. Its
owner tied a long cord to its collar to prevent it from going too fast
for us, and we all set off upon our search, the dog tugging and training
at its leash in its excitement as it followed in the general's
footsteps.
Our way lay for a couple of hundred yards along the high road, and then
passed through a gap In the hedge and on to the moor, across which we
were led in a bee-line to the northward.
The sun had by this time risen above the horizon, and the whole
countryside looked so fresh and sweet, from the blue, sparkling sea
to the purple mountains, that it was difficult to realise how weird and
uncanny was the enterprise upon which we were engaged.
The scent must have lain strongly upon the ground, for the dog never
hesitated nor stopped, dragging its master along at a pace which
rendered conversation impossible.
At one place, in crossing a small stream, we seemed to get off the trail
for a few minutes, but our keen-nosed ally soon picked it up on the
other side and followed it over the trackless moor, whining and yelping
all the time in its eagerness.


Pages:
150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174