its eyes glowed with a smouldering
glare, its muzzle and hackles and dewlap were outlined in
flickering flame. Never in the delirious dream of a disordered
brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish be
conceived than that dark form and savage face which broke upon us
out of the wall of fog.

With long bounds the huge black creature was leaping down the
track, following hard upon the footsteps of our friend. So
paralyzed were we by the apparition that we allowed him to pass
before we had recovered our nerve. Then Holmes and I both fired
together, and the creature gave a hideous howl, which showed that
one at least had hit him. He did not pause, however, but bounded
onward. Far away on the path we saw Sir Henry looking back, his
face white in the moonlight, his hands raised in horror, glaring
helplessly at the frightful thing which was hunting him down.

But that cry of pain from the hound had blown all our fears to
the winds. If he was vulnerable he was mortal, and if we could
wound him we could kill him. Never have I seen a man run as
Holmes ran that night. I am reckoned fleet of foot, but he
outpaced me as much as I outpaced the little professional. In
front of us as we flew up the track we heard scream after scream
from Sir Henry and the deep roar of the hound. I was in time to
see the beast spring upon its victim, hurl him to the ground, and
worry at his throat. But the next instant Holmes had emptied five
barrels of his revolver into the creature's flank. With a last
howl of agony and a vicious snap in the air, it rolled upon its
back, four feet pawing furiously, and then fell limp upon its
side. I stooped, panting, and pressed my pistol to the dreadful,
shimmering head, but it was useless to press the trigger. The
giant hound was dead.

Sir Henry lay insensible where he had fallen. We tore away his
collar, and Holmes breathed a prayer of gratitude when we saw
that there was no sign of a wound and that the rescue had been in
time. Already our friend's eyelids shivered and he made a feeble
effort to move. Lestrade thrust his brandy-flask between the
baronet's teeth, and two frightened eyes were looking up at us.

"My God!" he whispered. "What was it? What, in heaven's name, was
it?"

"It's dead, whatever it is," said Holmes. "We've laid the family
ghost once and forever."

In mere size and strength it was a terrible creature which was
lying stretched before us. It was not a pure bloodho