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against the side of the house, and peered in through a window.   Empty room.   The third one I inspected let upon a skylighted room filled with plants.   Larry was there, staring into the depths of an enormous flower and smiling.   His lips were moving, and though I could hear low sounds, I could not distinguish the words he uttered.   The huge blossom moved before him, whether because of air currents or by its own volition I could not tell.   He continued to murmur, and finally I turned away.   Lots of people talk to their plants.
         Next, I oriented myself as best I could and attempted to follow a straight line from Larry's place to the Count's crypt.   I came to the ruined church first, and I paused there, trying to visualize the rest of the pattern.   By then, a faint lightening had begun in the east.
         As I lay puzzling, a large bat, much bigger than Needle, swooped in from the north, passing behind a big tree.   It did not emerge on the tree's other side, however.   Instead, I heard the softest of footfalls, and a dark-suited man in a black cloak stepped out from behind the tree.
         I stared.   His head snapped in my direction, and he spoke: "Who is there?"
         Suddenly, I felt very exposed.   There was only one role I could think to play.
         Uttering an idiot series of yips, I rushed forward, wagging my tail furiously, and threw myself on the ground before him, rolling about like some attention-starved stray.
         His bright lips twitched into a brief, small smile.   Then he leaned forward and scratched me behind the ears.
         "Good dog," he said, in slow, guttural tones.
         Then he patted my head, straightened, and walked off toward the crypt.   He halted when he reached it.   One moment he was standing there, the next moment he was gone.
         I decided it was time to get gone myself.   His touch had been very cold.
     
     October 11
         A brisk morning.   After I made my rounds I went outside.   I could discover nothing untoward, so I set off in the direction of the Good Doctor's place.   As I was trotting along the road, however, I heard a familiar voice from a small grove to my right:
         "That, sir, is the same dog," it said.
         "How can you be sure?" came the response.
         "I noted the markings, and his are identical.   Also, he has the same limp in his left foreleg, the same shredded right ear. . . ."
         . . . Old war injuries, disagreement with a mindless guy in the West Indies, long ago. . . .
         It was the Great Detective and his companion who had spoken, of course.
         "Here's a good fellow," he said.   "Good dog.   Good dog."
         I remembered my act of the previous evening, wagged my tail, and tried to look friendly.
         "Good dog," he repeated.   "Show us where you live.   Take us home."
         He patted my head as he said it, his hands being much warmer than the last friendly fellow's I'd met.
         "Home.   Go home now."
         Thinking of Graymalk in the well, I led them to Morris and MacCab's place.   I waited with them on the porch till I heard footsteps approaching inside in response to their knocking.   Then I withdrew and cut a straight line from there to the Count's crypt.   The results were interesting; and even more so when I ran in a line from there to the Good Doctor's.
         I did several more thereafter, confirming my results.
     
     October 12
         Slow day.   The thing in the circle tried being a greyhound.   I was never attracted to skinny ladies, though.   Growled a few times at the Thing in the Attic.   Watched the slitherers.   Watched Jack as he puttered with his acquisitions.   It was still too early for him actually to start using them.
         Heard from Graymalk later that Nightwind had seized Quicklime and borne him far out over the Thames and dropped him in.   He was washed ashore later.   Spent a