But he turned to the left at the end of the lane, and with scarcely half a dozen bounds reached the railway station, grasping the map and murmuring to himself, "My Velvy!" all the way.
Any one who could have seen that happy boy's face at the window of the second-class carriage, as the train steamed majestically out of the station, would scarcely have dreamed of the deep meaning concealed beneath that ingenuous smile.
Smile on, Septimus, yet beware! The sleuth-hound is already on the track! Sub-Chapter III.
THE SLEUTH-HOUND.
Solomon Smellie, of Scotland Yard, had yet his way to make in the world.
He was not exactly young, for time had already thinned the luxuriant growth of his hair, nor was he without encumbrance, for he had fifteen children.

Yet he was an active and intelligent officer, and had once detected something--he forgot what.

But that is not to the point.
What brought him, walking on this particular evening, to the foot of the beetling cliffs?
Ask the howling wind, which ever and anon flattened him against the chalk or drove him miles inland up some cavernous cave.

Be that as it may, he walked.
"I wish I could detect something in all this," said he, pulling himself together, and glancing scornfully into the darkness.
As he did so, Captain Peeler's corpse alighted gracefully on the sand at his feet.
"Ah, ha!" said he, "this looks like business.

Now let me think.