"Where is it, Watson ?" "There, I think." I pointed into the darkness.
"No, there!" Again the agonized cry swept through the silent night, louder and much nearer than ever.

And a new sound mingled with it, a deep, muttered rumble, musical and yet menacing, rising and falling like the low, constant murmur of the sea.
"The hound!" cried Holmes.

"Come, Watson, come! Great heavens, if we are too late!" He had started running swiftly over the moor, and I had followed at his heels.

But now from somewhere among the broken ground immediately in front of us there came one last despairing yell, and then a dull, heavy thud.

We halted and listened.