The Hound of the Baskervilles
I had been casting round for some excuse by which I could get away from his gossip, but now I began to wish to hear more of it. I had seen enough of the contrary nature of the old sinner to understand that any strong sign of interest would be the surest way to stop his confidences.
“Some poaching case, no doubt?” said I, with an indifferent manner.
“Ha, ha, my boy, a very much more important matter than that! What about the convict on the moor?”
I stared. “You don’t mean that you know where he is?” said I.
“I may not know exactly where he is, but I am quite sure that I could help the police to lay their hands on him. Has it never struck you that the way to catch that man was to find out where he got his food, and so trace it to him?”
He certainly seemed to be getting uncomfortably near the truth. “No doubt,” said I; “but how do you know that he is anywhere upon the moor?”
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