Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street would have failed to recognise him.

His face flushed and darkened.

His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter.
His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck.

His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply.

Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool.