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Updated: May 29, 2025
And all three were covered with broken ice, logs, and all sorts of debris from the upper valleys. A warning was sent out from the weather bureau, and I got my carpets ready to lift that morning. That was on the fourth of March, a Sunday. Mr. Ladley and his wife, Jennie Brice, had the parlor bedroom and the room behind it. Mrs.
She had only a little time, being due at the theater soon, but she sat down and told me the story she told afterward on the stand: She had known Jennie Brice for years, they having been together in the chorus as long before as Nadjy. "She was married then to a fellow on the vaudeville circuit," Miss Hope said. "He left her about that time, and she took up with Ladley.
4:15 Had Mrs. P. bring telephone book: six Llewellyns in the book; no Eliza Shaeffer. Ladley appears more cheerful since Bronson's visit. He has bought all the evening papers and is searching for something. Has not found it. 7:00 Ate well. Have asked Mrs. P. to take my place here, while I interview the six Llewellyns. 11:00 Mrs. P. reports a quiet evening. He read and smoked. Has gone to bed.
I tried to move, and then I saw that my feet were propped up on the edge of Peter's basket. "Better leave them up." Mr. Holcombe said. "It sends the blood back to the head. Half the damfool people in the world stick a pillow under a fainting woman's shoulders. How are you now?" "All right," I said feebly. "I thought you were Mr. Ladley."
I called in Terry, the Irishman who does odd jobs for me now and then, and we both got to work at the tacks in the carpet, Terry working by the window, and I by the door into the back parlor, which the Ladleys used as a bedroom. That was how I happened to hear what I afterward told the police. Some one a man, but not Mr. Ladley was talking. Mrs. Ladley broke in: "I won't do it!" she said flatly.
"Public hysteria has killed a man before this," he said, when I had read it. "Suppose that woman had been mangled, or the screw of the steamer had cut her head off! How many people do you suppose would have been willing to swear that it was my was Mrs. Ladley?" "Even without a head, I should know Mrs. Ladley," I retorted. He shrugged his shoulders.
He started out, and stopped on the door-step to light a cigar. "Take him on if he comes," he said. "And keep your eyes open. Feed him well, and he won't kill you!" I had plenty to think of when I was cooking Mr. Reynolds' supper: the chance that I might have Mr. Ladley again, and the woman at Horner. For it had come to me like a flash, as Mr.
I went in, as you say, and I put up an old splasher, because of the way he throws ink about. Then I wound the clock, put the key under it, and went out." "And the key is gone, too!" he said thoughtfully. "I wish I could find that clock, Mrs. Pitman." "So do I." "Ladley went out Sunday afternoon about three, didn't he and got back at five?" I turned and looked at him. "Yes, Mr. Howell," I said.
"Wait a moment," said the voice. There was a hum of conversation from the other end, and then another man came to the telephone. "Can you find out where Miss Brice has gone?" "I'll see." I went to Ladley's door and knocked. Mr. Ladley answered from just beyond. "The theater is asking where Mrs. Ladley is." "Tell them I don't know," he snarled, and shut the door.
Ladley is better," I said, getting my foot in the crack of the door, so he could not quite close it. It smelled to me as if he had accidentally set fire to something with his cigarette, and I tried to see into the room. "What about Mrs. Ladley?" he snapped. "You said she was ill last night." "Oh, yes! Well, she wasn't very sick. She's better." "Shall I bring her some tea?"
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