The Case of Jennie Brice

by Mary Roberts Rinehart

  CHAPTER VI

  The newspapers were full of the Ladley case, with its curious solutionand many surprises. It was considered unique in many ways. Mr. Pitmanhad always read all the murder trials, and used to talk about the_corpus delicti_ and writs of _habeas corpus_--_corpus_ being thelegal way, I believe, of spelling corpse. But I came out of the Ladleytrial--for it came to trial ultimately--with only one point of lawthat I was sure of: that was, that it is mighty hard to prove a man amurderer unless you can show what he killed.

  And that was the weakness in the Ladley case. There was a body, but itcould not be identified.

  The police held Mr. Ladley for a day or two, and then, nothingappearing, they let him go. Mr. Holcombe, who was still occupying thesecond floor front, almost wept with rage and despair when he read thenews in the papers. He was still working on the case, in his curiousway, wandering along the wharves at night, and writing letters allover the country to learn about Philip Ladley's previous life, and hiswife's. But he did not seem to get anywhere.

  The newspapers had been full of the Jennie Brice disappearance. Fordisappearance it proved to be. So far as could be learned, she had notleft the city that night, or since, and as she was a striking-lookingwoman, very blond, as I have said, with a full voice and a languidmanner, she could hardly have taken refuge anywhere without beingdiscovered. The morning after her disappearance a young woman, talllike Jennie Brice and fair, had been seen in the Union Station. Butas she was accompanied by a young man, who bought her magazines andpapers, and bade her an excited farewell, sending his love to variousmembers of a family, and promising to feed the canary, this was notseriously considered. A sort of general alarm went over the country.When she was younger she had been pretty well known at the Broadwaytheaters in New York. One way or another, the Liberty Theater gota lot of free advertising from the case, and I believe Miss Hope'ssalary was raised.

  The police communicated with Jennie Brice's people--she had a sisterin Olean, New York, but she had not heard from her. The sisterwrote--I heard later--that Jennie had been unhappy with Philip Ladley,and afraid he would kill her. And Miss Hope told the same story.But--there was no _corpus_, as the lawyers say, and finally the policehad to free Mr. Ladley.

  Beyond making an attempt to get bail, and failing, he had donenothing. Asked about his wife, he merely shrugged his shouldersand said she had left him, and would turn up all right. He wasunconcerned: smoked cigarettes all day, ate and slept well, and lookedbetter since he had had nothing to drink. And two or three days afterthe arrest, he sent for the manuscript of his play.

  Mr. Howell came for it on the Thursday of that week.

  I was on my knees scrubbing the parlor floor, when he rang the bell. Ilet him in, and it seemed to me that he looked tired and pale.

  "Well, Mrs. Pitman," he said, smiling, "what did you find in thecellar when the water went down?"

  "I'm glad to say that I didn't find what I feared, Mr. Howell."

  "Not even the onyx clock?"

  "Not even the clock," I replied. "And I feel as if I'd lost a friend.A clock is a lot of company."

  "Do you know what I think?" he said, looking at me closely. "Ithink you put that clock away yourself, in the excitement, and haveforgotten all about it."

  "Nonsense."

  "Think hard." He was very much in earnest. "You knew the water wasrising and the Ladleys would have to be moved up to the second floorfront, where the clock stood. You went in there and looked around tosee if the room was ready, and you saw the clock. And knowing that theLadleys quarreled now and then, and were apt to throw things--"

  "Nothing but a soap-dish, and that only once."

  "--you took the clock to the attic and put it, say, in an old trunk."

  "I did nothing of the sort. I went in, as you say, and I put up an oldsplasher, because of the way he throws ink about. Then I wound theclock, put the key under it, and went out."

  "And the key is gone, too!" he said thoughtfully. "I wish I could findthat clock, Mrs. Pitman."

  "So do I."

  "Ladley went out Sunday afternoon about three, didn't he--and got backat five?"

  I turned and looked at him. "Yes, Mr. Howell," I said. "Perhaps _you_know something about that."

  "I?" He changed color. Twenty years of dunning boarders has made mepretty sharp at reading faces, and he looked as uncomfortable as if heowed me money. "I!" I knew then that I had been right about the voice.It had been his.

  "You!" I retorted. "You were here Sunday morning and spent some timewith the Ladleys. I am the old she-devil. I notice you didn't tellyour friend, Mr. Holcombe, about having been here on Sunday."

  He was quick to recover. "I'll tell you all about it, Mrs. Pitman,"he said smilingly. "You see, all my life, I have wished for an onyxclock. It has been my ambition, my _Great Desire_. Leaving the housethat Sunday morning, and hearing the ticking of the clock up-stairs, Irecognized that it was an _onyx_ clock, clambered from my boat throughan upper window, and so reached it. The clock showed fight, but afterstunning it with a chair--"

  "Exactly!" I said. "Then the thing Mrs. Ladley said she would not dowas probably to wind the clock?"

  He dropped his bantering manner at once. "Mrs. Pitman," he said, "Idon't know what you heard or did not hear. But I want you to give mea little time before you tell anybody that I was here that Sundaymorning. And, in return, I'll find your clock."

  I hesitated, but however put out he was, he didn't look like acriminal. Besides, he was a friend of my niece's, and blood is thickereven than flood-water.

  "There was nothing wrong about my being here," he went on, "but--Idon't want it known. Don't spoil a good story, Mrs. Pitman."

  I did not quite understand that, although those who followed the trialcarefully may do so. Poor Mr. Howell! I am sure he believed that itwas only a good story. He got the description of my onyx clock andwrote it down, and I gave him the manuscript for Mr. Ladley. That wasthe last I saw of him for some time.

  That Thursday proved to be an exciting day. For late in the afternoonTerry, digging the mud out of the cellar, came across my missing grayfalse front near the coal vault, and brought it up, grinning. And justbefore six, Mr. Graves, the detective, rang the bell and then lethimself in. I found him in the lower hall, looking around.

  "Well, Mrs. Pitman," he said, "has our friend come back yet?"

  "She was no friend of mine."

  "Not _she_. Ladley. He'll be out this evening, and he'll probably bearound for his clothes."

  I felt my knees waver, as they always did when he was spoken of.

  "He may want to stay here," said Mr. Graves. "In fact, I think that'sjust what he _will_ want."

  "Not here," I protested. "The very thought of him makes me quake."

  "If he comes here, better take him in. I want to know where he is."

  I tried to say that I wouldn't have him, but the old habit of the wardasserted itself. From taking a bottle of beer or a slice of pie,to telling one where one might or might not live, the police wereautocrats in that neighborhood. And, respectable woman that I am, myneighbors' fears of the front office have infected me.

  "All right, Mr. Graves," I said.

  He pushed the parlor door open and looked in, whistling. "This is theplace, isn't it?"

  "Yes. But it was up-stairs that he--"

  "I see. Tall woman, Mrs. Ladley?"

  "Tall and blond. Very airy in her manner."

  He nodded and still stood looking in and whistling. "Never heard herspeak of a town named Horner, did you?"

  "Horner? No."

  "I see." He turned and wandered out again into the hall, stillwhistling. At the door, however, he stopped and turned. "Look anythinglike this?" he asked, and held out one of his hands, with a smallkodak picture on the palm.

  It was a snap-shot of a children's frolic in a village street, withsome onlookers in the background. Around one of the heads had beendrawn a circle in pencil. I took it to the gas-jet and looked at itclosely. It was a tall woma
n with a hat on, not unlike Jennie Brice.She was looking over the crowd, and I could see only her face, andthat in shadow. I shook my head.

  "I thought not," he said. "We have a lot of stage pictures of her, butwhat with false hair and their being retouched beyond recognition,they don't amount to much." He started out, and stopped on thedoor-step to light a cigar.

  "Take him on if he comes," he said. "And keep your eyes open. Feed himwell, and he won't kill you!"

  I had plenty to think of when I was cooking Mr. Reynolds' supper: thechance that I might have Mr. Ladley again, and the woman at Horner.For it had come to me like a flash, as Mr. Graves left, that the"Horn--" on the paper slip might have been "Horner."