Sherlock Holmes And The Zombie Problem - Plot & Excerpts
Our guns were caked in powder residue, our blades coated in congealed blood and our clothes stained by blood and powder. We were in a sorry state, but we pressed on. In the homely Alpine villages or in the lonely mountain passes, I could tell by Holmes’ quick glancing eyes and his sharp scrutiny of every place we passed, that he was well convinced that walk where we would, we could not walk ourselves clear of the danger which was dogging our footsteps. Once, I remember as we passed over the Gemmi, and walked along the border of the melancholy Daubensee, a large rock which had been dislodged from the ridge upon our right clattered down and roared into the lake behind us. In an instant Holmes had raced up onto the ridge and, standing upon a lofty pinnacle, craned his neck in every direction. It was in vain and I assured him that a fall of stones was a common chance in the springtime at that spot. He said nothing, but he smiled at me with the air of a man who sees the fulfilment of that which he had expected.
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