Hart watched from the railing as the half elf and elf left and went to mingle amongst themselves and other patrons. He was fine with them using the room to take care of the elf's uncle. After all, it wasn't actually his room, who was he to complain. Hart slowly made his way back down to the main floor, taking a seat at the bar to order a drink. He debated leaving and heading back to the safe house, or staying here a little while longer. He kept the weaselfolk in the corner of his eye, making sure to keep a sizable amount of the crowd between them - the weaselfolk was easy to pick out in the crowd, tall, powerful. If it wasn't for the fact that Hart brought him to the attention of some goons, he may have proven to be a valuable asset. Maybe Hart would be able to smooth the wrinkles out later on.

Hart heard the grunt and burst of splinters from the wine cellar. He immediately recognized it as a struggle of some sort - Hart had been into enough situations during his more.. illicit activities that he knew an attack when he heard one. The fact that there was a more explosive grunt instead of silence implied that it was a violent exchange as opposed to a stealthy removal. Hart was considering giving it the benefit of a doubt when a second crashing sound was heard. A struggle was going on. 

Hart crossed over to the door to the cellar, his thumb toying with the sheathed knife on his chest, but he didn't go in just yet. He was smarter than to rush in blindly by himself. He scanned the crowd for anyone he knew- of course, that was a scant few, as he knew very few people in town.