Watson halted, frowning. "Dawson, what's the matter?"

"Can't you hear the dog?" The mouse's face was deathly pale.

Watson strained his ears, noticing that Toby was doing the same, hackles raised, teeth bared in a silent growl. Yes, now that his colleague mentioned it, he could hear a faint, insistent barking up ahead.

"It's a terrier..." Dawson's whisper sent a chill down Watson's spine – a dog bred especially to hunt rats and mice...

Wordlessly, Watson unclipped Toby's lead, who raced on at top speed, while the exhausted human behind him did his utmost to keep him in sight.


Contrary to Holmes's expectations, the stray's yapping wasn't doing very much to help him stay awake, nor was Basil's choice of resting place: inside the detective's shirt collar. He'd tried pacing for a while to keep warm, until his stockinged foot had found a tiny stray fragment... of glass...

"Ngh!" Holmes grunted, head snapping back upright. "I don't suppose you brush those teeth at all?" he muttered sullenly, rubbing his neck.

"D'you think it's pleasant for me, biting a human?" Basil shot back sourly. "If I liked the taste of soap, I'd live under a bathhouse!" Then the mouse's ears pricked in excitement, while the stray's flattened in alarm, at a very welcome sound, rapidly drawing closer: a basset hound's deep, angry baying...