CHAPTER V
Mr. Reynolds did not come home to dinner after all. The water had gotinto the basement at the store, he telephoned, one of the flood-gatesin a sewer having leaked, and they were moving some of the departmentsto an upper floor. I had expected to have him in the house thatevening, and now I was left alone again.
But, as it happened, I was not alone. Mr. Graves, one of the citydetectives, came at half past six, and went carefully over theLadleys' room. I showed him the towel and the slipper and thebroken knife, and where we had found the knife-blade. He was verynon-committal, and left in a half-hour, taking the articles with himin a newspaper.
At seven the door-bell rang. I went down as far as I could on thestaircase, and I saw a boat outside the door, with the boatman and awoman in it. I called to them to bring the boat back along the hall,and I had a queer feeling that it might be Mrs. Ladley, and that I'dbeen making a fool of myself all day for nothing. But it was not Mrs.Ladley.
"Is this number forty-two?" asked the woman, as the boat came back.
"Yes."
"Does Mr. Ladley live here?"
"Yes. But he is not here now."
"Are you Mrs. Pittock?"
"Pitman, yes."
The boat bumped against the stairs, and the woman got out. She was astall as Mrs. Ladley, and when I saw her in the light from the upperhall, I knew her instantly. It was Temple Hope, the leading woman fromthe Liberty Theater.
"I would like to talk to you, Mrs. Pitman," she said. "Where can wego?"
I led the way back to my room, and when she had followed me in, sheturned and shut the door.
"Now then," she said without any preliminary, "where is Jennie Brice?"
"I don't know, Miss Hope," I answered.
We looked at each other for a minute, and each of us saw what theother suspected.
"He has killed her!" she exclaimed. "She was afraid he would do it,and--he has."
"Killed her and thrown her into the river," I said. "That's what Ithink, and he'll go free at that. It seems there isn't any murder whenthere isn't any corpse."
"Nonsense! If he has done that, the river will give her up,eventually."
"The river doesn't always give them up," I retorted. "Not inflood-time, anyhow. Or when they are found it is months later, and youcan't prove anything."
She had only a little time, being due at the theater soon, but she satdown and told me the story she told afterward on the stand:
She had known Jennie Brice for years, they having been together in thechorus as long before as _Nadjy_.
"She was married then to a fellow on the vaudeville circuit," MissHope said. "He left her about that time, and she took up with Ladley.I don't think they were ever married."
"What!" I said, jumping to my feet, "and they came to a respectablehouse like this! There's never been a breath of scandal about thishouse, Miss Hope, and if this comes out I'm ruined."
"Well, perhaps they were married," she said. "Anyhow, they were alwaysquarreling. And when he wasn't playing, it was worse. She used to cometo my hotel, and cry her eyes out."
"I knew you were friends," I said. "Almost the last thing she said tome was about the black and white dress of hers you were to borrow forthe piece this week."
"Black and white dress! I borrow one of Jennie Brice's dresses!"exclaimed Miss Hope. "I should think not. I have plenty of my own."
That puzzled me; for she had said it, that was sure. And then Iremembered that I had not seen the dress in the room that day, and Iwent in to look for it. It was gone. I came back and told Miss Hope.
"A black and white dress! Did it have a red collar?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Then I remember it. She wore a small black hat with a red quill withthat dress. You might look for the hat."
She followed me back to the room and stood in the doorway while Isearched. The hat was gone, too.
"Perhaps, after all, he's telling the truth," she said thoughtfully."Her fur coat isn't in the closet, is it?"
_It_ was gone. It is strange that, all day, I had never thought oflooking over her clothes and seeing what was missing. I hadn't knownall she had, of course, but I had seen her all winter in her furcoat and admired it. It was a striped fur, brown and gray, and veryunusual. But with the coat missing, and a dress and hat gone, it beganto look as if I had been making a fool of myself, and stirring up atempest in a teacup. Miss Hope was as puzzled as I was.
"Anyhow, if he didn't kill her," she said, "it isn't because he didnot want to. Only last week she had hysterics in my dressing-room,and said he had threatened to poison her. It was all Mr. Bronson, thebusiness manager, and I could do to quiet her."
She looked at her watch, and exclaimed that she was late, and wouldhave to hurry. I saw her down to her boat. The river had been fallingrapidly for the last hour or two, and I heard the boat scrape as itwent over the door-sill. I did not know whether to be glad that thewater was going down and I could live like a Christian again, or to besorry, for fear of what we might find in the mud that was always left.
Peter was lying where I had put him, on a folded blanket laid in aclothes-basket. I went back to him, and sat down beside the basket.
"Peter!" I said. "Poor old Peter! Who did this to you? Who hurt you?"He looked at me and whined, as if he wanted to tell me, if only hecould.
"Was it Mr. Ladley?" I asked, and the poor thing cowered close to hisbed and shivered. I wondered if it had been he, and, if it had, why hehad come back. Perhaps he had remembered the towel. Perhaps he wouldcome again and spend the night there. I was like Peter: I cowered andshivered at the very thought.
At nine o'clock I heard a boat at the door. It had stuck there, andits occupant was scolding furiously at the boatman. Soon after I heardsplashing, and I knew that whoever it was was wading back to thestairs through the foot and a half or so of water still in the hall. Iran back to my room and locked myself in, and then stood, armed withthe stove-lid-lifter, in case it should be Ladley and he should breakthe door in.
The steps came up the stairs, and Peter barked furiously. It seemed tome that this was to be my end, killed like a rat in a trap and thrownout the window, to float, like my kitchen chair, into Mollie Maguire'skitchen, or to be found lying in the ooze of the yard after the riverhad gone down.
The steps hesitated at the top of the stairs, and turned back alongthe hall. Peter redoubled his noise; he never barked for Mr. Reynoldsor the Ladleys. I stood still, hardly able to breathe. The door wasthin, and the lock loose: one good blow, and--
The door-knob turned, and I screamed. I recall that the light turnedblack, and that is all I _do_ remember, until I came to, a half-hourlater, and saw Mr. Holcombe stooping over me. The door, with the lockbroken, was standing open. I tried to move, and then I saw that myfeet were propped up on the edge of Peter's basket.
"Better leave them up." Mr. Holcombe said. "It sends the blood back tothe head. Half the damfool people in the world stick a pillow under afainting woman's shoulders. How are you now?"
"All right," I said feebly. "I thought you were Mr. Ladley."
He helped me up, and I sat in a chair and tried to keep my lips fromshaking. And then I saw that Mr. Holcombe had brought a suit case withhim, and had set it inside the door.
"Ladley is safe, until he gets bail, anyhow," he said. "They pickedhim up as he was boarding a Pennsylvania train bound east."
"For murder?" I asked.
"As a suspicious character," he replied grimly. "That does as wellas anything for a time." He sat down opposite me, and looked at meintently.
"Mrs. Pitman," he said, "did you ever hear the story of the horse thatwandered out of a village and could not be found?"
I shook my head.
"Well, the best wit of the village failed to locate the horse. But oneday the village idiot walked into town, leading the missing animal bythe bridle. When they asked him how he had done it, he said: 'Well,I just thought what I'd do if I was a horse, and then I went and didit.'"
> "I see," I said, humoring him.
"You _don't_ see. Now, what are we trying to do?"
"We're trying to find a body. Do you intend to become a corpse?"
He leaned over and tapped on the table between us. "We are trying toprove a crime. I intend for the time to be the criminal."
He looked so curious, bent forward and glaring at me from under hisbushy eyebrows, with his shoes on his knee--for he had taken them offto wade to the stairs--and his trousers rolled to his knees, that Iwondered if he was entirely sane. But Mr. Holcombe, eccentric as hemight be, was sane enough.
"Not _really_ a criminal!"
"As really as lies in me. Listen, Mrs. Pitman. I want to put myselfin Ladley's place for a day or two, live as he lived, do what he did,even think as he thought, if I can. I am going to sleep in his roomto-night, with your permission."
I could not see any reason for objecting, although I thought it sillyand useless. I led the way to the front room, Mr. Holcombe followingwith his shoes and suit case. I lighted a lamp, and he stood lookingaround him.
"I see you have been here since we left this afternoon," he said.
"Twice," I replied. "First with Mr. Graves, and later--"
The words died on my tongue. Some one had been in the room since mylast visit there.
"He has been here!" I gasped. "I left the room in tolerable order.Look at it!"
"When were you here last?"
"At seven-thirty, or thereabouts."
"Where were you between seven-thirty and eight-thirty?"
"In the kitchen with Peter." I told him then about the dog, and aboutfinding him shut in the room.
The wash-stand was pulled out. The sheets of Mr. Ladley's manuscript,usually an orderly pile, were half on the floor. The bed coverings hadbeen jerked off and flung over the back of a chair.
Peter, imprisoned, _might_ have moved the wash-stand and upset themanuscript--Peter had never put the bed-clothing over the chair, orbroken his own leg.
"Humph!" he said, and getting out his note-book, he made an exactmemorandum of what I had told him, and of the condition of the room.That done, he turned to me.
"Mrs. Pitman," he said, "I'll thank you to call me Mr. Ladley for thenext day or so. I am an actor out of employment, forty-one years ofage, short, stout, and bald, married to a woman I would like to bequit of, and I am writing myself a play in which the Shuberts intendto star me, or in which I intend the Shuberts to star me."
"Very well, Mr. Ladley," I said, trying to enter into the spirit ofthe thing, and, God knows, seeing no humor in it. "Then you'll likeyour soda from the ice-box?"
"Soda? For what?"
"For your whisky and soda, before you go to bed, sir."
"Oh, certainly, yes. Bring the soda. And--just a moment, Mrs. Pitman:Mr. Holcombe is a total abstainer, and has always been so. It isLadley, not Holcombe, who takes this abominable stuff."
I said I quite understood, but that Mr. Ladley could skip a night, ifhe so wished. But the little gentleman would not hear to it, and whenI brought the soda, poured himself a double portion. He stood lookingat it, with his face screwed up, as if the very odor revolted him.
"The chances are," he said, "that Ladley--that I--having a nasty pieceof work to do during the night, would--will take a larger drink thanusual." He raised the glass, only to put it down. "Don't forget," hesaid, "to put a large knife where you left the one last night. I'msorry the water has gone down, but I shall imagine it still at theseventh step. Good night, Mrs. Pitman."
"Good night, Mr. Ladley," I said, smiling, "and remember, you arethree weeks in arrears with your board."
His eyes twinkled through his spectacles. "I shall imagine it paid,"he said.
I went out, and I heard him close the door behind me. Then, throughthe door, I heard a great sputtering and coughing, and I knew he hadgot the whisky down somehow. I put the knife out, as he had asked meto, and went to bed. I was ready to drop. Not even the knowledge thatan imaginary Mr. Ladley was about to commit an imaginary crime in thehouse that night could keep me awake.
Mr. Reynolds came in at eleven o'clock. I was roused when he bangedhis door. That was all I knew until morning. The sun on my facewakened me. Peter, in his basket, lifted his head as I moved, andthumped his tail against his pillow in greeting. I put on a wrapper,and called Mr. Reynolds by knocking at his door. Then I went on to thefront room. The door was closed, and some one beyond was groaning. Myheart stood still, and then raced on. I opened the door and looked in.
Mr. Holcombe was on the bed, fully dressed. He had a wet towel tiedaround his head, and his face looked swollen and puffy. He opened oneeye and looked at me.
"What a night!" he groaned.
"What happened! What did you find?"
He groaned again. "Find!" he said. "Nothing, except that there wassomething wrong with that whisky. It poisoned me. I haven't been outof the house!"
So for that day, at least, Mr. Ladley became Mr. Holcombe again,and as such accepted ice in quantities, a mustard plaster over hisstomach, and considerable nursing. By evening he was better, butalthough he clearly intended to stay on, he said nothing aboutchanging his identity again, and I was glad enough. The very name ofLadley was horrible to me.
The river went down almost entirely that day, although there was stillconsiderable water in the cellars. It takes time to get rid of that.The lower floors showed nothing suspicious. The papers were ruined, ofcourse, the doors warped and sprung, and the floors coated with mudand debris. Terry came in the afternoon, and together we hung thedining-room rug out to dry in the sun.
As I was coming in, I looked over at the Maguire yard. Molly Maguirewas there, and all her children around her, gaping. Molly was hangingout to dry a sodden fur coat, that had once been striped, brown andgray.
I went over after breakfast and claimed the coat as belonging to Mrs.Ladley. But she refused to give it up. There is a sort of unwrittenlaw concerning the salvage of flood articles, and I had to leave thecoat, as I had my kitchen chair. But it was Mrs. Ladley's, beyond adoubt.
I shuddered when I thought how it had probably got into the water.And yet it was curious, too, for if she had had it on, how did it getloose to go floating around Molly Maguire's yard? And if she had notworn it, how did it get in the water?
The Case of Jennie Brice Page 5