“Quite so. And rather to Jonathan’s disgust， to judge by theway he stamped about when he got into the room. He bore nogrudge against Bartholomew Sholto and would have preferred ifhe could have been simply bound and gagged. He did not wishto put his head in a halter. There was no help for it， however： thesavage instincts of his companion had broken out， and the poisonhad done its work： so Jonathan Small left his record， lowered thetreasure-box to the ground， and followed it himself. That wasthe train of events as far as I can decipher them. Of course， asto his personal appearance， he must be middle-aged and must besunburned after serving his time in such an oven as the Andamans.
His height is readily calculated from the length of his stride， andwe know that he was bearded. His hairiness was the one pointwhich impressed itself upon Thaddeus Sholto when he saw him atthe window. I don’t know that there is anything else.”
“The associate？”
“Ah， well， there is no great mystery in that. But you will knowall about it soon enough. How sweet the morning air is！ See howthat one little cloud floats like a pink feather from some giganticflamingo. Now the red rim of the sun pushes itself over theLondon cloud-bank. It shines on a good many folk， but on none， Idare bet， who are on a stranger errand than you and I. How smallwe feel with our petty ambitions and strivings in the presence ofthe great elemental forces of nature！ Are you well up in your JeanPaul？”
“Fairly so. I worked back to him through Carlyle.”
“That was like following the brook to the parent lake. He makesone curious but profound remark. It is that the chief proof ofman’s real greatness lies in his perception of his own smallness. Itargues， you see， a power of comparison and of appreciation whichis in itself a proof of nobility. There is much food for thought inRichter. You have not a pistol， have you？”
“I have my stick.”
“It is just possible that we may need something of the sort if weget to their lair. Jonathan I shall leave to you， but if the other turnsnasty I shall shoot him dead.”
He took out his revolver as he spoke， and， having loaded twoof the chambers， he put it back into the right-hand pocket of hisjacket.
We had during this time been following the guidance of Tobydown the half-rural villa-lined roads which lead to the metropolis.
Now， however， we were beginning to come among continuousstreets， where laborers and dockmen were already astir， andslatternly women were taking down shutters and brushing doorsteps.
At the square-topped corner public-houses business wasjust beginning， and rough-looking men were emerging， rubbingtheir sleeves across their beards after their morning wet. Strangedogs sauntered up and stared wonderingly at us as we passed， butour inimitable Toby looked neither to the right nor to the left buttrotted onwards with his nose to the ground and an occasionaleager whine which spoke of a hot scent.
We had traversed Streatham， Brixton， Camberwell， and nowfound ourselves in Kennington Lane， having borne away throughthe side streets to the east of the Oval. The men whom wepursued seemed to have taken a curiously zigzag road， with theidea probably of escaping observation. They had never kept tothe main road if a parallel side street would serve their turn. Atthe foot of Kennington Lane they had edged away to the leftthrough Bond Street and Miles Street. Where the latter streetturns into Knight’s Place， Toby ceased to advance but began torun backwards and forwards with one ear cocked and the otherdrooping， the very picture of canine indecision. Then he waddledround in circles， looking up to us from time to time， as if to askfor sympathy in his embarrassment.
“What the deuce is the matter with the dog？” growled Holmes.
“They surely would not take a cab or go off in a balloon.”
“Perhaps they stood here for some time，” I suggested.
“Ah！ it’s all right. He’s off again，” said my companion in a tone ofrelief.
He was indeed off， for after sniffing round again he suddenlymade up his mind and darted away with an energy anddetermination such as he had not yet shown. The scent appearedto be much hotter than before， for he had not even to put his noseon the ground but tugged at his leash and tried to break into arun. I cold see by the gleam in Holmes’s eyes that he thought wewere nearing the end of our journey.
Our course now ran down Nine Elms until we came to Broderickand Nelson’s large timber-yard just past the White Eagle tavern.
Here the dog， frantic with excitement， turned down through theside gate into the enclosure， where the sawyers were already atwork. On the dog raced through sawdust and shavings， down analley， round a passage， between two wood-piles， and finally， witha triumphant yelp， sprang upon a large barrel which still stoodupon the hand-trolley on which it had been brought. With lollingtongue and blinking eyes Toby stood upon the cask， looking fromone to the other of us for some sign of appreciation. The staves ofthe barrel and the wheels of the trolley were smeared with a darkliquid， and the whole air was heavy with the smell of creasote.
Sherlock Holmes and I looked blankly at each other and thenburst simultaneously into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.
The Baker Street Irregulars
“What now？” I asked. “Toby has lost his character for infallibility.”
“He acted according to his lights，” said Holmes， lifting himdown from the barrel and walking him out of the timber-yard. “Ifyou consider how much creasote is carted about London in oneday， it is no great wonder that our trail should have been crossed.
It is much used now， especially for the seasoning of wood. PoorToby is not to blame.”
“We must get on the main scent again， I suppose.”
“Yes. And， fortunately， we have no distance to go. Evidentlywhat puzzled the dog at the corner of Knight’s Place was thatthere were two different trails running in opposite directions. Wetook the wrong one. It only remains to follow the other.”