"Ben, you say? Ben Bussey?" Henry repeated, in a bewildered manner.
The doctor went up to Henry and threw his arm across his shoulders.
"Ben has been able to walk for years, my boy. He concealed the fact and pretended to be helpless, but it seems clear that it is he who has been working all this mischief in High Ridge, and that he has now ended by killing Selby. Whether he had any grudge against Selby, or whether it was merely another attempt to involve you circumstantially, I don't know."
Henry did not speak. His face was hard set to hide the emotions that must have surged within.
"You go home with your father, Henry," said Watson gruffly. "You are still on parole,--that's all the guard I'll ask for. You will hear from me when I want anything more. Now it's so near daylight that if you don't mind, I am going to say good morning to you. I have a lot of work to do."
The four men shook hands with him and went out. The cool breeze of the early dawn was blowing freshly through the streets of the village and it struck their faces with a pleasant little tang.
"A great night," said the doctor thoughtfully, looking about.
"And a new day," said Burton, with a smile. "Good night, Mr. Underwood, and my congratulations. Good night, Doctor. I shall see you to-morrow,--or later in the day, I should say, rather."
"Good night," said Henry.
"Come early," said the doctor. They turned away together, and Burton saw with keen satisfaction that they had not gone half a dozen steps before they were arm in arm.