"What made you say to Selby, instead of of, by, for, or from Selby?" asked Ralston curiously. "What makes you think anything could have happened to Selby?"
"I hope nothing has," said Burton abruptly, "--but--"
"But what?"
"Don't tell Watson yet. He'll feel that he ought to investigate, and I want to keep him still for an hour or two. But the truth is, I'm uncomfortable over that cry, now that I come to think of it, because Henry Underwood is loose somewhere in town tonight."
"I thought Watson said he was under special guard."
"He was. He got away--through the window. I was passing the house and was just in time to see him escaping, but could not stop him. Of course it doesn't necessarily follow--"
"No, of course it doesn't," said Ralston, though he looked serious. "Henry wasn't in love with Selby, but it doesn't follow that he would--use violence in any way."
"Of course not," echoed Burton. In his own mind he was pushing away the thought of Selby's newly announced engagement as though he would force himself to ignore its significance. It was like the final bit in a puzzle which so obviously solves the whole mystery that no argument about its fitness is needed.
Watson returned softly. "I've sent a man out to look Selby's place over," he said quietly. "He won't let himself be seen unless he is satisfied something is wrong. Now, if you please, I'll take you upstairs. You'll have to follow me without a light."
He guided them to a rear room on the second floor with an open window looking out into the darkness of the night.