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We have just had another flood, bad enough, but only a foot or two of water on the first floor. Yesterday we got the mud shoveled out of the cellar and found Peter, the spaniel that Mr. Ladley left when he "went away". The flood, and the fact that it was Mr.
There's a drowning or two every year in these floods." "Then I hope he won't," she said calmly. "Do you know what I was doing when you came in? I was looking after his boat, and hoping it had a hole in it." "You won't feel that way to-morrow, Mrs. Ladley," I protested, shocked. "You're just nervous and put out. Most men have their ugly times. Many a time I wished Mr. Pitman was gone until he went.
"I'll not ask any questions. I guess there are some curious stories hidden in these old houses." Peter hobbled to the front door with him. He had not gone so far as the parlor once while Mr. Ladley was in the house. They had had a sale of spring flowers at the store that day, and Mr. Reynolds had brought me a pot of white tulips.
The very name of Ladley was horrible to me. The river went down almost entirely that day, although there was still considerable water in the cellars. It takes time to get rid of that. The lower floors showed nothing suspicious. The papers were ruined, of course, the doors warped and sprung, and the floors coated with mud and debris.
I seemed to hear again, all at once, the lapping of the water Sunday morning as it began to come in over the door-sill; the sound of Terry ripping up the parlor carpet, and Mrs. Ladley calling me a she-devil in the next room, in reply to this very voice. But when I got to the top of the stairs, it was only Mr.
Pitman, landlady at 42 Union Street, heard two of her boarders quarreling, a man and his wife. Man's name, Philip Ladley. Wife's name, Jennie Ladley, known as Jennie Brice at the Liberty Stock Company, where she has been playing small parts." Mr. Howell nodded. "I've heard of her," he said. "Not much of an actress, I believe."
Ladley, and that I'd been 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 as tall as Mrs.
I believe, had it gone to the jury then, Mr. Ladley would have been acquitted. But, late that afternoon, things took a new turn. Counsel for the prosecution stated to the court that he had a new and important witness, and got permission to introduce this further evidence. The witness was a Doctor Littlefield, and proved to be my one-night tenant of the second-story front.
We arranged a list of clues, to be left around, and Ladley was to go out in the night and to be heard coming back. I told him to quarrel with his wife that afternoon, although I don't believe they needed to be asked to do it, and I suggested also the shoe or slipper, to be found floating around." "Just a moment," said Mr. Holcombe, busy with his note-book. "Did you suggest the onyx clock?" "No.
But they found something an onyx clock, with the tattered remnant of a muslin pillow-slip wrapped around it. It only bore out the story, as we had known it for five years. The Murray girl had lived long enough to make a statement to the police, although Mr. Holcombe only learned this later. On the statement being shown to Ladley in the jail, and his learning of the girl's death, he collapsed.
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