Just bought. Unworn.
Vanished from hotel room.
Nothing to sniff about.
Snatched after black boot reappears.
Well-worn. Well-loved. Perhaps
better to go
Devil-bound hound howls
Man on the Tor
luminous, red-eyed agent of the Devil howling at the moon
pair of croaking ravens nesting on the craggy cairn
grey curlew soaring aloft in the blue heaven
pouring rain making morass of the firmest
rolling clouds rising now and then
last of the bitterns booming
flock of moor sheep
little curly-haired spaniel
dog-less, downhearted doctor
watchful, wondering, waterproofed Watson
mysterious man on the Tor
last of the Baskervilles beckoning fate
all-seeing eye of Mister Frankland’s rooftop telescope
boy bearing tinned peaches, clean collars, local-via-London news
sisters and wives, warning, aiding, heeding conscience, fearing man
butterfly-chasing villain losing his way for the very last time