t
a staunch hound on a scent. Well, Pompey, you may not be fast, but
I expect you will be too fast for a couple of middle-aged London
gentlemen, so I will take the liberty of fastening this leather leash to
your collar. Now, boy, come along, and show what you can do." He led him
across to the doctor's door. The dog sniffed round for an instant, and
then with a shrill whine of excitement started off down the street,
tugging at his leash in his efforts to go faster. In half an hour, we
were clear of the town and hastening down a country road.

"What have you done, Holmes?" I asked.

"A threadbare and venerable device, but useful upon occasion. I walked
into the doctor's yard this morning and shot my syringe full of aniseed
over the hind wheel. A draghound will follow aniseed from here to John
o' Groat's, and our friend Armstrong would have to drive through the Cam
before he would shake Pompey off his trail. Oh, the cunning rascal! This
is how he gave me the slip the other night."

The dog had suddenly turned out of the main road into a grass-grown
lane. Half a mile farther this opened into another broad road, and the
trail turned hard to the right in the direction of the town, which we
had just quitted. The road took a sweep to the south of the town and
continued in the opposite direction to that in which we started.

"This DETOUR has been entirely for our benefit, then?" said Holmes. "No
wonder that my inquiries among those villages led to nothing. The doctor
has certainly played the game for all it is worth, and one would like to
know the reason for such elaborate deception. This should be the village
of Trumpington to the right of us. And, by Jove! here is the brougham
coming round the corner. Quick, Watson, quick, or we are done!"

He sprang through a gate into a field, dragging the reluctant Pompey
after him. We had hardly got under the shelter of the hedge when the
carriage rattled past. I caught a glimpse of Dr. Armstrong within, his
shoulders bowed, his head sunk on his hands, the very image of distress.
I could tell by my companion's graver face that he also had seen.

"I fear there is some dark ending to our quest," said he. "It cannot
be long before we know it. Come, Pompey! Ah, it is the cottage in the
field!"

There could be no doubt that we had reached the end of our journey.
Pompey ran about and whined eagerly outside the gate where the marks of
the brougham's wheels were still to be seen. A footpath