Holmes let Sir Henry walk home alone across the moor from Merripit House, as bait, while we lay hidden among the rocks with Lestrade from Scotland Yard. A thick white fog crept up from the Mire. We heard quick steps, and Sir Henry passed us, looking back often. Then out of the fog sprang a hound, an enormous coal-black hound, with fire bursting from its open mouth and its eyes glowing. We were so paralysed that it passed us before we fired. It caught Sir Henry and hurled him down, and Holmes emptied five barrels of his revolver into its side. The beast gave a last howl of agony and lay still. Its jaws had been painted with phosphorus. Stapleton fled into the Grimpen Mire in the fog that night, and we never found him. Somewhere in the heart of the great mire, down in the foul slime, this cold and cruel man is for ever buried.