Собака Баскервіллів
Death on the Moor
Holmeshadsprungtohisfeet,andIsawhisdark,athleticoutlineatthedoorofthehut, hisshouldersstooping,hisheadthrustforward,hisfacepeeringintothedarkness.
"Hush!"hewhispered. "Hush!"
Thecryhadbeenloudonaccountofitsvehemence,butithadpealedoutfromsomewherefaroffontheshadowyplain. Nowitburstuponourears,nearer,louder,moreurgentthanbefore.
"Whereisit? "Holmeswhispered; andIknewfromthethrillofhisvoicethathe,themanofiron,wasshakentothesoul. "Whereisit,Watson?"
"There,Ithink. "Ipointedintothedarkness.
"No,there!"
Againtheagonizedcrysweptthroughthesilentnight,louderandmuchnearerthanever. Andanewsoundmingledwithit,adeep,mutteredrumble,musicalandyetmenacing,risingandfallinglikethelow,constantmurmurofthesea.
"Thehound! "criedHolmes. "Come,Watson,come! Greatheavens,ifwearetoolate!"
Hehadstartedrunningswiftlyoverthemoor,andIhadfollowedathisheels. Butnowfromsomewhereamongthebrokengroundimmediatelyinfrontofustherecameonelastdespairingyell,andthenadull,heavythud. Wehaltedandlistened. Notanothersoundbroketheheavysilenceofthewindlessnight.
IsawHolmesputhishandtohisforeheadlikeamandistracted. Hestampedhisfeetupontheground.
