The motionless figure lay raggedly on the floor, an expression of horror contorting his face.
Holmes knelt at the body, the fourth found in as many days since the full moon. He reached inside the coat pocket, tossing me what he found there.
"One M. Garou you'll find," Holmes pronounced.
"Where has this one been bitten?" I inquired.
"Watson, look at his teeth."
The practice of dentistry was never my strong suit, yet as I looked at the yellowing teeth I saw the missing bicuspid, the canine teeth set at an unusual angle.
"These match the bite marks," I said, astounded, "but surely it was a great hound?"
"Honestly Watson, what have I told you about the improbable?" Holmes chuckled. "You skirt the truth quite delicately. Examine him. You'll find a shot to the upper chest. The bullet will be silver."
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