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Updated: May 29, 2025
"We propose, gentlemen, to prove that the prisoner, Philip Ladley, murdered his wife," he said in part. "We will show first that a crime was committed; then we will show a motive for this crime, and, finally, we expect to show that the body washed ashore at Sewickley is the body of the murdered woman, and thus establish beyond doubt the prisoner's guilt." Mr. Ladley listened with attention.
The dog ran off howling, but although Mr. Ladley had been as fond of the animal as it was in his nature to be fond of anything, he paid no attention. As I started down the hall after him, I saw what Peter had been carrying a slipper of Mrs. Ladley's. It was soaked with water; evidently Peter had found it floating at the foot of the stairs.
Ladley had once been well known in New York among the people who frequent the theaters, and Jennie Brice was even better known. A good many lawyers, I believe, said that the police had not a leg to stand on, and I know the case was watched with much interest by the legal profession. People wrote letters to the newspapers, protesting against Mr. Ladley being held.
They had opportunity, and they had a lot of straggling links of clues, which in the total made a fair chain of circumstantial evidence. But that was all. That is the way the case stood on Tuesday night, March the thirteenth. Mr. Ladley was taken away at nine o'clock. He was perfectly cool, asked me to help him pack a suit case, and whistled while it was being done.
But I came out of the Ladley trial for it came to trial ultimately with only one point of law that I was sure of: that was, that it is mighty hard to prove a man a murderer unless you can show what he killed. And that was the weakness in the Ladley case. There was a body, but it could not be identified. The police held Mr. Ladley for a day or two, and then, nothing appearing, they let him go. Mr.
It took all we could beg, borrow and steal. But now we have to come out with the story anyhow." Mr. Holcombe sat up and closed his note-book with a snap. "I'm not so sure of that," he said impressively. "I wonder if you realize, young man, that, having provided a perfect defense for this man Ladley, you provided him with every possible inducement to make away with his wife?
The chief hung up the receiver and turned to me. "You are sure about the clock, Mrs. Pitman?" he asked. "It was there when they moved up-stairs to the room?" "Yes, sir." "You are certain you will not find it on the parlor mantel when the water goes down?" "The mantels are uncovered now. It is not there." "You think Ladley has gone for good?" "Yes, sir."
Peter, imprisoned, might have moved the wash-stand and upset the manuscript Peter had never put the bed-clothing over the chair, or broken his own leg. "Humph!" he said, and getting out his note-book, he made an exact memorandum 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 the next day or so.
How had she gone? Mr. Ladley said he had rowed her to Federal Street at half after six and had brought the boat back. After they had quarreled violently all night, and when she was leaving him, wouldn't he have allowed her to take herself away? Besides, the police had found no trace of her on an early train. And then at daylight, between five and six, my own brother had seen a woman with Mr.
Graves thought as I did. Temple Hope, called to the inquest, said she had never heard of one, and Mr. Ladley himself, at the inquest, swore that his wife had had nothing of the sort. I was watching him, and I did not think he was lying. And yet the hand was very like Jennie Brice's. It was all bewildering. Mr. Ladley's testimoney at the inquest was disappointing.
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