Following the tiger had been a simple act of necessity in two ways. To rid the tiger of the pain it could not remove from itself and to rid society of the menace the beast had been and would continue to be until it was destroyed.
With his words to Scott, with that last thought, Bennington shook the lethargy, the stillness of deep thought that had contained and enveloped him since the report of this breaking and entering.
Now, as in that dash to the mess hall, he was ready for the fast sprint, the decisive action.
Before Scott could answer and possibly object, Thornberry had taken the flashlight from the chief's hand, was fumbling through the open pane for the lock inside.
"Give me a flashlight, too," Bennington said.
Patrolman Whelton responded.
At the same time, Mosby reversed the grip on the pistol in his right hand and offered the ivory butt to Bennington.
"What do you think I am, a psychologist?"
Bennington had kept his voice to a whisper, but he had made that whisper a snarl. He further emphasized that snap in his tone by pulling out his own pistol, throwing the beam of the flashlight on his hand, making both the sight and sound of the safety going off clear to the eyes and ears of those around him.
Then he followed Thornberry into the black cave of the warehouse.