“Come, Watson, come!" he cried. The game is afoot.”
“Come, Watson, come!' he cried. 'The game is afoot. Not a word! Into your clothes and come!'Ten minutes later we were both in a cab and rattling through the silent streets on our way to Charing Cross Station.”
“Quickly, Watson, the game’s afoot,” I said, but Deborah was not in a literary mood.”
“The game is afoot.”
“Watson. Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient, come all the same.”
“I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,Straining upon the start. The game's afoot;Follow your spirit: and upon this charge,Cry — God for Harry! England and Saint George!”