The Hound of the Baskervilles
“I wonder he dares,” said Sir Henry.
“It may be so placed as to be only visible from here.”
“Very likely. How far do you think it is?”
“Out by the Cleft Tor, I think.”
“Not more than a mile or two off.”
“Hardly that.”
“Well, it cannot be far if Barrymore had to carry out the food to it. And he is waiting, this villain, beside that candle. By thunder, Watson, I am going out to take that man!”
The same thought had crossed my own mind. It was not as if the Barrymores had taken us into their confidence. Their secret had been forced from them. The man was a danger to the community, an unmitigated scoundrel for whom there was neither pity nor excuse. We were only doing our duty in taking this chance of putting him back where he could do no harm. With his brutal and violent nature, others would have to pay the price if we held our hands.
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