I raised the pistol, aimed between the creature’s eyes and fired. The bullet must have struck the top of its head and bounced harmlessly off the thick, armoured scales there, for it struck the brick wall with a ringing crack farther along the building.

“Watson!” came a shout from outside the shattered doors. “Leave it! Fly for your life!” But I could not. The creature was too close. In a moment it would be on top of me. Like something from an evil nightmare, it rose up out of the water before me, its huge red and grey mouth gaping open viciously, ready to crush me between its rows of colossal pointed teeth. I let off three shots in rapid succession as I backed away towards the door, at least two of which struck it in the throat. With a mighty splash, sending fountains of water up to the roof, it crashed down into the pool, but its wicked eyes were still fixed upon me as I backed out into the garden and turned to run.

Even as I did so, there came a cry of anger and a string of foul oaths from Silas Boldero. Glancing up, I saw that his face was contorted with rage, and he was stamping his foot in the doorway and shaking his fist at me, like a spoiled child whose plans have been thwarted. Behind him, in the gloom of the bedroom, there seemed some slight movement, and I thought I descried another, slighter figure, a woman clad in black; but I paid little heed, for I saw, too, that the crocodile was stirring once more. Clearly hurt by my shots, but not fatally so, it was beginning to rise out of the water once more.

I turned away, but I had not taken two paces when the shouting and foul language gave way all at once to a long shriek of terror. I turned quickly to see Silas Boldero tumbling headlong into the conservatory, his arms waving wildly and uselessly in the air. He hit the hard floor with a heavy thud, and lay perfectly still. Up above, in the open doorway, the woman in black looked down. Whether he had simply lost his footing in his agitation and slipped on the slimy edge of the doorway, or whether she had startled him, struck him, or even pushed him from the ledge deliberately, it was impossible to say. I had little time to consider the matter, however, for my attention at that moment was entirely directed at the crocodile. It was now out of the water, revealing its full gigantic length for the first time, and making its way towards the still figure of the recluse.

Holmes and Boldero were some way ahead of me, but had seen what had happened and ran back to join me outside the conservatory. It was clear, even at that distance, that Silas Boldero’s head and neck hung at a strange, unnatural angle, and that his eyes were wide open and unblinking.

“He’s dead,” cried Boldero. “We can do nothing for him now.”

Abruptly the crocodile lunged forward, its hideous mouth agape, seized hold of the crumpled body on the floor and made to drag it back into the water.

“Have you a round left, Watson?” said Holmes tersely.

I stepped forward and, from just outside the conservatory doorway, took careful aim and fired. The shot hit the monster in the side of the mouth and it stopped and loosed its grip on its terrible bundle. Then slowly, but with infinite menace, it turned its baleful eyes upon me.

“Quickly, Watson!” cried Holmes, tugging at my sleeve. “We can do no more here!”

We turned and ran, and as we did so there came a terrific crashing noise from behind us. I looked back in trepidation to see that the awesome creature was smashing its way through the remains of the conservatory doors as if they had been made of paper and card, and lumbering after us at a pace that both surprised and terrified me. Through the bushes we plunged, taking any route that seemed to offer a clear run, and dreading above all else running into a blind alley of vegetation, from which there would be no escape. Behind us, without pause, came the heavy padding of the monster, the constant crack and crash of broken branches as it forced its way through the undergrowth informing us that it was still upon our trail. All the time the rain lashed down remorselessly.

We must have run halfway round the grounds, in the direction of the road, when I saw Holmes stop a little way ahead of me and look in alarm at the path and the glass structure that covered it. We could neither pass it nor penetrate it, and could not, therefore, reach the gate.

“The wall!” he cried abruptly, and set off towards a section of the high wall that appeared to have lost much of its mortar, and which might thus offer the possibility of hand-holds. Then, just in front of me, Boldero put his foot into some small creature’s burrow and fell to the ground, crying out with pain. In a second, Holmes was back and had hold of his left arm. I took his right, and together we managed to get him to the foot of the wall. We could hear the crocodile close behind us now, smashing its way through the tangle of brambles near the wall.

In a trice, Holmes had shinned up the wall and was reaching down for Boldero’s hand, while I stayed at the bottom to help him up. I was still standing flat-footed on the ground as Boldero dragged himself onto the top of the wall when, with a deafening crash, the monster burst through the last of the undergrowth and thundered towards me.

“Your hand!” cried Holmes.

I thrust my arm up blindly, he seized it, and with quite extraordinary strength dragged me bodily up the wall. I swung my legs up onto the top just as the creature charged, its colossal, dripping mouth mere inches from my feet.

“You have saved my life!” I cried, panting with exhaustion.

“We have saved your foot, at any rate,” returned my friend in his customary dry manner.

“God’s mercy!” cried Boldero suddenly, in a voice suffused with terror. “It is climbing the wall!”

Indeed, incredible to see, it was raising itself up and clawing at the wall with its front feet, its fearsome snout almost reaching the top of the wall, where we stood. As one, the three of us sprang down into the road, Boldero crying out in pain as he landed on his twisted ankle.

“It will not get over that,” said Holmes, eyeing the wall as he dusted off the knees of his trousers. “Now we must make haste to notify the authorities of all that has occurred here.”

“The woman—” I began.

“Oh, ‘Mad Mary’ will be safe enough,” returned my friend. “When she leaves the house she will do so by the covered pathway from the front door, where the creature cannot get at her.”

After a moment to recover our breath, we set off at a brisk walk down the hill, through the pouring rain, and half an hour later, having described our experiences to an amazed and incredulous police inspector, we were sitting with a glass of brandy by the fire in the hotel. I was soaked to the skin and my clothes had been torn in several places during our flight through the garden, but the closeness of our escape from death had made me almost light-headed, so that such trivial matters seemed of no consequence. I believe the others were affected in the same way, for when Holmes spoke, there was a note of elation in his voice.

“Let me be the first to congratulate you upon at last coming into your inheritance!” said he, addressing David Boldero, who answered the remark with a rueful smile. “The circumstances may not have been ideal, I grant you, but they have a certain memorable quality! I am sure that Miss Underwood will be interested to hear of your adventures!”

“Beatrice!” cried Boldero abruptly, clutching his head. “I had quite forgotten! I am supposed to be dining with Beatrice and her parents this evening! I shall have to send a note to say I cannot come.”

“No, no! You must go!” insisted Holmes, laughing. “This may be the one evening in your life when your late arrival for dinner will earn no disapproval! After all, it is not every prospective son-in-law who can honestly inform his fiancée’s parents that he was delayed by an enraged crocodile!”