it was nearing midnight when burton left his room and strolled out with a cigar. his objective point was watson's house, and it was by no means necessary to go by rowan street to get there. indeed, it was distinctly out of his way. nevertheless, that was the way he took. he stopped at the farthest corner of the grounds for a moment, and looked up at the great house hidden among the trees. if he were foolishly indulging in mere dreams, his fancies were suddenly and unexpectedly scattered, for while he looked, one of the windows on the second floor was pushed softly up and a man's form appeared in it for a moment. it was the window to henry's room. burton was instantly alert. henry was to be kept under strict guard. was it possible that he was trying to make an escape? a moment resolved the doubt, for henry came again to the window, let himself out with obvious precautions to go softly, and then swung himself into the branches of the oak from which burton himself had once looked into that room. with a vivid realization of what henry's escape on this night of all nights might mean, burton vaulted the fence and ran to the tree. he reached it just as henry touched the ground.
"see here, this won't do," he began argumentatively.
but henry was in no mood for argument. with an exclamation of surprise and impatience, he started for the street. but burton sprang after him and caught his arm.
"i say, underwood!" he panted.
"confound your meddling, i wish you would let me alone," henry answered between his teeth, and with a sudden effort he wrenched himself free and darted off. burton was staggered for a moment, then he set out in pursuit. whatever happened, henry's alibi must be clear! henry vaulted the fence, and burton went over a minute later. he was congratulating himself, with some surprise over it, that he was able to keep so nearly up with a young fellow who must be about ten years his junior, when henry disappeared. when burton came up to the spot he saw that henry must have gone between two close-set buildings; but there was little use in trying to follow. henry probably knew his way through the town as well as through his own garden. if he wanted to elude burton, it was a very easy feat. and it was quite clear to the dullest understanding that this was what he wanted to do. certainly the gods must have set their seal upon the man for early destruction. burton shrugged his shoulders, put his hat back at the customary angle, and set off for watson's.
he had not wished to arrive at watson's too early, but now he suddenly had a panic fear that he might be too late. he hurried on, trying to guess his way through an unfamiliar part of the town, and wondering what henry had done with the watchman who was supposed to keep him in sight. had he drugged him or tied him up as hadley had been tied, or merely and effectively killed him? nothing less would excuse the man's failure to keep the watch set. if he had any influence with watson, that man would have justice measured out to him.
presently he realized that he was in so unfamiliar a part of the town that he had practically lost his bearings. he knew the general direction he wished to take, but what with turnings and twistings he had no idea of the most direct way to get there. there seemed to be no street names on the corners here, and the streets were entirely deserted. he knew he wanted to go to his right, but he had got upon a winding street that ran along the edge of a bluff and seemed to have no opening to the right. in order to get out of the pocket into which he had dropped, he decided to cut through the yard of the house by which he had stopped to reconnoiter. it would, at any rate, enable him to get on another street, and perhaps then he would see his way clear. accordingly he jumped the low garden fence and picked his way among the vegetable beds and across the debris of a disorderly back yard. apparently the owner of the house was having some repairs done, for he stumbled over an empty paint bucket in the yard, and a painter's ladder was resting against the house. there was only a narrow walk between the house and the fence, but burton slipped past quietly, and thankfully saw that the way on the front was perfectly open and clear.
as he stepped out into the street, he thought he heard a cry. he stopped on the instant and listened intently, but it was not repeated. there had been some quality of terror in the cry that startled him,--or it might simply have been the effect of any sudden cry on the still night. he could not be sure whether it came from the house he had passed or elsewhere. if any one were in trouble, surely he would call again. burton felt that it would prove exceedingly embarrassing if he rang up the owner of the house only to find that he bad been waking himself up from a wholly personal and private nightmare.
after waiting a minute to make sure that there was no further call or sound of any kind, he hurried on. he knew that he was late for his appointment, and he might spoil the whole scheme by coming upon the scene at the wrong moment. at the next lamppost he found the name of the street,--larch. he knew now where he was. also, he suddenly remembered that selby lived on larch street.
