"Look here, on the window-sill,--it's fresh paint," said Burton quickly. "I put my hand on it. Get a better light. See there,--and below there. Those marks must have been made by Ben when he climbed in. There must have been paint on his clothes somewhere."
"Perhaps," said Watson, looking carefully at the faint traces on the window-sill. "What of it?"
"When I was stumbling through Selby's back yard this evening, I noticed a painter's ladder there and an empty paint bucket on the ground. There must have been fresh paint on Selby's house tonight."
"My God!" said Ralston, and his tone was not irreverent. "Ben came here from Selby's! It was he who stabbed Selby. And he left Henry's cuff-button in the room to throw suspicion, as usual, on Henry. It was his last coup."
"Perhaps," Watson repeated slowly. "But--where is Henry?"
Like an answer, there was a sharp ring at the door-bell, and before any one could move, the house door was flung open and Henry himself stood in the hall below.
"I say, Watson!" he called aloud.
"Oh, yes, I'm coming," said Watson, in patient amaze, as he hurried down the stairs. The others were at his heels, and all four men faced Henry,--if this were Henry who awaited them. There was a sparkle of laughter in his eye and a flush of energy and happiness on his face that transformed him almost past recognition.
"Hope I don't disturb a secret midnight meeting of any sort," he said, glancing around at the group with obvious surprise. "I only wanted Watson. Mason let me get lost, and I was afraid Watson would be worried about me, so I came around to let him know that I am safe. Do you want me to go back home, or would you rather send some one to show me the way to jail?"
While Watson hunted for an answer, the doctor pushed in front of him.