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Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent

as this. 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.