Many times, the streets of Old Dunling are crowded, so once someone starts running, it becomes especially difficult, like a fish trying to move in the mud, struggling with all its might but unable to move a bit.
The great detective quickened his pace, his figure moving with eerie swiftness through the crowd, leaving those following him far behind, finally ducking into a narrow alley. He took off his deerstalker hat, vigorously tousling his flattened pale golden hair, took off his coat and put it on inside out, then wiped the dirt and muddy water from the filthy ground onto his face.
Casually tossing his cane into a nearby trash can, he promptly sat down beside a homeless man in the corner. The man, wrapped in a filthy blanket, was soundly asleep, but suddenly someone disturbed his dream. The detective squeezed into his blanket forcefully, as intimately as brothers.
