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I ran back to my room and locked myself in, and then stood, armed with the stove-lid-lifter, in case it should be Ladley and he should break the door in. The steps came up the stairs, and Peter barked furiously.
"From Alexander's Pharmacy." "At what time?" "I am not certain. About three o'clock, probably." "You went directly back home?" Mr. Ladley hesitated. "No," he said finally. "My wife had had these attacks, but they were not serious. I was curious to see how the river-front looked and rowed out too far. I was caught in the current and nearly carried away." "You came home after that?" "Yes, at once.
"Know this man Ladley?" he asked the others. None of them did, but they all knew of Jennie Brice, and some of them had seen her in the theater. "Get the theater, Tom," the chief said to one of the detectives. Luckily, what he learned over the telephone from the theater corroborated my story. No message had been received from her, and a substitute had been put in her place.
"I'll get a cup of coffee at the other end of the bridge. I'll take the boat and send it back with Terry." He turned and went along the hall and down to the boat. I heard him push off from the stairs with an oar and row out into the street. Peter followed him to the stairs. At a quarter after seven Mr. Ladley came out and called to me: "Just bring in a cup of coffee and some toast," he said.
Apparently been drinking all night. Can not eat. Sent out early for papers, and has searched them all. Found entry on second page, stared at it, then flung the paper away. Have sent out for same paper. 10:00 A.M. Paper says: "Body of woman washed ashore yesterday at Sewickley. Much mutilated by flood débris." Ladley in bed, staring at ceiling. Wonder if he sees tube? He is ghastly.
There were boats going back and forth all the time, carrying crowds of curious people, and taking the flood sufferers to the corner grocery, where they were lowering groceries in a basket on a rope from an upper window. I had been making tea when I heard Mr. Ladley go out. I fixed a tray with a cup of it and some crackers, and took it to their door. I had never liked Mrs.
"Why should I help him? He doesn't help me. He loafs here all day, smoking and sleeping, and sits up all night, drinking and keeping me awake." The voice went on again, as if in reply to this, and I heard a rattle of glasses, as if they were pouring drinks. They always had whisky, even when they were behind with their board. "That's all very well," Mrs. Ladley said.
Ladley, or Miss Brice, as she preferred to be known, had a small part at a local theater that kept a permanent company. Her husband was in that business, too, but he had nothing to do. It was the wife who paid the bills, and a lot of quarreling they did about it. I knocked at the door at ten o'clock, and Mr. Ladley opened it.
Ladley speaking. "Down, Peter," he said. "Down. Go and lie down." I took my candle and went out into the hall. Mr. Ladley was stooping over the boat, trying to tie it to the staircase. The rope was short, having been cut, and he was having trouble. Perhaps it was the candle-light, but he looked ghost-white and haggard. "I borrowed your boat, Mrs. Pitman," he said, civilly enough. "Mrs.
Bronson offered to put up the money, and I agreed. The flood came just then, and was considerable help. It made a good setting. I went to my city editor, and got an assignment to interview Ladley about this play of his. Then Bronson and I went together to see the Ladleys on Sunday morning, and as they needed money, they agreed.
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