I looked at my watch. It was ten o'clock. "If we went to your nephew's house, do you think we should find him up?"
"Very likely."
"I am going there, Bob. I have a question to ask him."
He put no opposition in my way. A kind of stupefaction appeared to have come over him. We drove to the residence of Ronald Elsdale, and found him up; his mother had gone to bed. As we entered his room, I observed again an uneasy expression flash into his face, and I saw his blind eyes turn toward the spectral cat.
"Only yourselves?" he inquired.
I left it to Bob to reply, and he said, "Only ourselves."
"It is very odd," said Ronald, "but I have the same impression that I had when I entered my uncle's room this evening, that there is somebody or something else present. It is useless trying to account for it." Then he asked, "Is there anything you wish to know?"
"It is a late hour to visit you," I said; "but I have a reason, which I cannot at present explain, for asking you where the young lady to whom you were attached lived when she was in London?"
He turned his troubled face toward his uncle, who said, "It is not an idle question, Ronald. I should like you to answer it."
"She may not have lived there all the time she was in London," said Ronald; "but I heard where it is supposed she met her death. It was in the Northwestern district--Lamb's Terrace, No. 79."