The baronet caught my sleeve and his face glimmered white through the darkness.
"My God, what's that, Watson ?" "I don't know.

It's a sound they have on the moor.

I heard it once before." It died away, and an absolute silence closed in upon us.

We stood straining our ears, but nothing came.
"Watson," said the baronet, "it was the cry of a hound." My blood ran cold in my veins, for there was a break in his voice which told of the sudden horror which had seized him.
"What do they call this sound ?" he asked.
"Who ?" "The folk on the countryside." "Oh, they are ignorant people.

Why should you mind what they call it ?" "Tell me, Watson.