
‘See Dr Mostyn, these are supposed to be the footprints of the Great Grumpy Hound. It has Haunted these sands for many a year according to legend.’
Mostyn looked at Surlack Haymes in astonishment. ‘You don’t believe that do you Haymes?’ ‘Of course not, I’m no fool,’ replied his companion.
‘These, as you see are fresh marks, no age to them. I deduce a Staffordshire bull terrier has passed this way. The hind prints are slightly smaller than the front ones, indicating a dog with big shoulders and heavier towards its head and chest.’
Mostyn looked in admiration at Haymes.’ And the Grumpy hound? ‘ he asked. ‘Much bigger, said to be more Wolf hound than Bull terrier’.
They strolled along the sands, looking along the coast. Trying to see signs of their quarry. Suddenly a howl rent the air. ‘The game is on’, and ‘follow me’ shouted Haymes, dashing off into the sea mist. Moments later Mostyn found him, dead, his throat slashed open, deep incisor and canine teeth marks making a jagged hole in his neck.
‘I told you we should have waited for Sherlock Holmes’ , Mostyn muttered under his breath.