Dogs Don't Make Mistakes.

Just As An Octopus May Have His Den In Some Ocean Cave, And Come Floating Out A Silent Image Of Horror To Attack A Swimmer, So I Picture Such A Spirit Lurking In The Dark Of The House Which He Curses By His Presence, And Ready To Float Out Upon All Whom He Can Injure.

...it Was A Huge Creature, Luminous, Ghastly, And Spectral. I Have Cross-examined These Men, One Of Them A Hard-headed Countryman, One A Farrier, And One A Moorland Farmer, Who All Tell The Same Story Of This Dreadful Apparition, Exactly Corresponding To The Hell-hound Of The Legend. I Assure You That There Is A Reign Of Terror In The District, And That It Is A Hardy Man Who Will Cross The Moor At Night.

It Is Quite A Three Pipe Problem, And I Beg That You Won't Speak To Me For Fifty Minutes.

Let Us Hear The Suspicions. I Will Look After The Proofs.

Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Who Was Usually Very Late In The Mornings, Save Upon Those Not Infrequent Occasions When He Was Up All Night, Was Seated At The Breakfast Table. I Stood Upon The Hearth-rug And Picked Up The Stick Which Our Visitor Had Left Behind Him The Night Before.