“Yes， sir， my name was Selden， and he is my younger brother. Wehumoured him too much when he was a lad， and gave him his ownway in everything until he came to think that the world was madefor his pleasure， and that he could do what he liked in it. Then ashe grew older he met wicked companions， and the devil enteredinto him until he broke my mother’s heart and dragged our namein the dirt. From crime to crime he sank lower and lower until it isonly the mercy of God which has snatched him from the scaffold；but to me， sir， he was always the little curly-headed boy that I hadnursed and played with， as an elder sister would. That was whyhe broke prison， sir. He knew that I was here and that we couldnot refuse to help him. When he dragged himself here one night，weary and starving， with the warders hard at his heels， what couldwe do？ We took him in and fed him and cared for him. Then youreturned， sir， and my brother thought he would be safer on themoor than anywhere else until the hue and cry was over， so he layin hiding there. But every second night we made sure if he was stillthere by putting a light in the window， and if there was an answermy husband took out some bread and meat to him. Every day wehoped that he was gone， but as long as he was there we could notdesert him. That is the whole truth， as I am an honest Christianwoman， and you will see that if there is blame in the matter it doesnot lie with my husband， but with me， for whose sake he has doneall that he has.”
The woman’s words came with an intense earnestness whichcarried conviction with them.
“Is this true， Barrymore？”
“Yes， Sir Henry. Every word of it.”
“Well， I cannot blame you for standing by your own wife. Forgetwhat I have said. Go to your room， you two， and we shall talkfurther about this matter in the morning.”
When they were gone we looked out of the window again. SirHenry had flung it open， and the cold night wind beat in upon ourfaces. Far away in the black distance there still glowed that onetiny point of yellow light.
“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 toit. 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 asif the Barrymores had taken us into their confidence. Theirsecret had been forced from them. The man was a danger to thecommunity， an unmitigated scoundrel for whom there was neitherpity nor excuse. We were only doing our duty in taking this chanceof putting him back where he could do no harm. With his brutaland violent nature， others would have to pay the price if we heldour hands. Any night， for example， our neighbours the Stapletonsmight be attacked by him， and it may have been the thought ofthis which made Sir Henry so keen upon the adventure.
“I will come，” said I.
“Then get your revolver and put on your boots. The sooner westart the better， as the fellow may put out his light and be off.”
In five minutes we were outside the door， starting upon ourexpedition. We hurried through the dark shrubbery， amid the dullmoaning of the autumn wind and the rustle of the falling leaves.
The night air was heavy with the smell of damp and decay. Nowand again the moon peeped out for an instant， but clouds weredriving over the face of the sky， and just as we came out on themoor a thin rain began to fall. The light still burned steadily infront.
“Are you armed？” I asked.
“I have a hunting-crop.”
“We must close in on him rapidly， for he is said to be a desperatefellow. We shall take him by surprise and have him at our mercybefore he can resist.”
“I say， Watson，” said the baronet， “what would Holmes say tothis？ How about that hour of darkness in which the power of evilis exalted？”
As if in answer to his words there rose suddenly out of the vastgloom of the moor that strange cry which I had already heardupon the borders of the great Grimpen Mire. It came with thewind through the silence of the night， a long， deep mutter， thena rising howl， and then the sad moan in which it died away. Againand again it sounded， the whole air throbbing with it， strident，wild， and menacing. The baronet caught my sleeve and his faceglimmered white through the darkness.
“My God， what’s that， Watson？”
“I don’t know. It’s a sound they have on the moor. I heard itonce before.”
It died away， and an absolute silence closed in upon us. We stoodstraining our ears， but nothing came.
“Watson，” said the baronet， “it was the cry of a hound.”
My blood ran cold in my veins， for there was a break in his voicewhich told of the sudden horror which had seized him.
“What do they call this sound？” he asked.
“Who？”
“The folk on the countryside.”
“Oh， they are ignorant people. Why should you mind what theycall it？”
“Tell me， Watson. What do they say of it？”
I hesitated but could not escape the question.
“They say it is the cry of the Hound of the Baskervilles.”
He groaned and was silent for a few moments.
“A hound it was，” he said， at last， “but it seemed to come frommiles away， over yonder， I think.”
“It was hard to say whence it came.”
“It rose and fell with the wind. Isn’t that the direction of thegreat Grimpen Mire？”
“Yes， it is.”
“Well， it was up there. Come now， Watson， didn’t you thinkyourself that it was the cry of a hound？ I am not a child. You neednot fear to speak the truth.”
“Stapleton was with me when I heard it last. He said that itmight be the calling of a strange bird.”
“No， no， it was a hound. My God， can there be some truth in allthese stories？ Is it possible that I am really in danger from so darka cause？ You don’t believe it， do you， Watson？”
