“I’ve gone to her house with messages more than once.”
“Where does she live?”
Bude told him.
“I’m afraid,” said the valet, “that Mr. Stolburst has met with some misfortune.”
“How came you to form that idea?” inquired the detective.
“Master has not been himself these last few days. There was a horrible-looking little man here the other day, and ever since Mr. Stolburst has seemed depressed. Who are you? I had almost forgotten to ask.”
“I am a detective.”
“Mr. Stolburst has not been murdered?”
Bude was alarmed.
“Not to my knowledge; but why do you fear that he has?”