outtotakethatman!”
Thesamethoughthadcrossedmyownmind.ItwasnotasiftheBarrymoreshadtakenusintotheirconfidence.Theirsecrethadbeenforcedfromthem.Themanwasadangertothecommunity,anunmitigatedscoundrelforwhomtherewasneitherpitynorexcuse.Wewereonlydoingourdutyintakingthischanceofputtinghimbackwherehecoulddonoharm.Withhisbrutalandviolentnature,otherswouldhavetopaythepriceifweheldourhands.Anynight,forexample,ourneighbourstheStapletonsmightbeattackedbyhim,anditmayhavebeenthethoughtofthiswhichmadeSirHenrysokeenupontheadventure.
“Iwillcome,”saidI.
“Thengetyourrevolverandputonyourboots.Thesoonerwestartthebetter,asthefellowmayputouthislightandbeoff.”
Infiveminuteswewereoutsidethedoor,startinguponourexpedition.Wehurriedthroughthedarkshrubbery,amidthedullmoaningoftheautumnwindandtherustleofthefallingleaves.Thenightairwasheavywiththesmellofdampanddecay.Nowandagainthemoonpeepedoutforaninstant,butcloudsweredrivingoverthefaceofthesky,andjustaswecameoutonthemoorathinrainbegantofall.Thelightstillburnedsteadilyinfront.
“Areyouarmed?”Iasked.
“Ihaveahunting-crop.”
“Wemustcloseinonhimrapidly,forheissaidtobeadesperatefellow.Weshalltakehimbysurpriseandhavehimatourmercybeforehecanresist.”
“Isay,Watson,”saidthebaronet,“whatwouldHolmessaytothis?Howaboutthathourofdarknessinwhichthepowerofevilisexalted?”
AsifinanswertohiswordsthererosesuddenlyoutofthevastgloomofthemoorthatstrangecrywhichIhadalreadyhearduponthebordersofthegreatGrimpenMire.Itcamewiththewindthroughthesilenceofthenight,along,deepmutter,thenarisinghowl,andthenthesadmoaninwhichitdiedaway.Againandagainitsounded,thewholeairthrobbingwithit,strident,wild,andmenacing.Thebaronetcaughtmysleeveandhisfaceglimmeredwhitethroughthedarkness.
“MyGod,what’sthat,Watson?”
“Idon’tknow.It’sasoundtheyhaveonthemoor.Ihearditoncebefore.”
Itdiedaway,andanabsolutesilenceclosedinuponus.Westoodstrainingourears,butnothingcame.
“Watson,”saidthebaronet,“itwasthecryofahound.”
Mybloodrancoldinmyveins,fortherewasabreakinhisvoicewhichtoldofthesuddenhorrorwhichhadseizedhim.
“Whatdotheycallthissound?”heasked.
“Who?”
“Thefolkonthecountryside.”
“Oh,theyareignorantpeople.Whyshouldyoumindwhattheycallit?”
“Tellme,Watson.Whatdotheysayofit?”
Ihesitatedbutcouldnotescapethequestion.
“TheysayitisthecryoftheHoundoftheBaskervilles.”
Hegroanedandwassilentforafewmoments.
“Ahounditwas,”hesaidatlast,“butitseemedtocomefrommilesaway,overyonder,Ithink.”
“Itwashardtosaywhenceitcame.”
“Itroseandfellwiththewind.Isn’tthatthedirectionofthegreatGrimpenMire?”
“Yes,itis.”
“Well,itwasupthere.Comenow,Watson,didn’tyouthinkyourselfthatitwasthecryofahound?Iamnotachild.Youneednotfeartospeakthetruth.”
“StapletonwaswithmewhenIhearditlast.Hesaidthatitmightbethecallingofastrangebird.”
“No,no,itwasahound.MyGod,cantherebesometr