The Syracuse Journal, Volume 7, Number 5, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 28 May 1914 — Page 4

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Be ' OF | “□ k\ k\ pi dIOWIL [owre MM By NARY KOBtKIS BOUT Copyright, 1913, by the Bobb»-Merrill Company '“You said site was ill last night” “Oh. yes! Well, she wasn’t very sick. She’s better.” “Shall 1 bring her some tea?” “Take your foot away!” he ordered. “No. She doesn’t want tea. She’s not here.” “Not here!” “Good heavens!’’ he snarled. “Is her going away anything to make such a fuss about? The Lord knows I’d be glad to get out of this infernal pig wallow myself.” “If you mean my house”— I began. But he had pulled himself together and was more polite when he answered: “I mean the neighborhood. Your house is all that could be desired for the money. If we do not have linen sheets and double cream we are paying muslin and milk prices.” Either my nose was growing accustomed to the odor or it was dying away. I took my foot away from the door. “When did Mrs. Ladley leave?” I asked. “This morning, very early. I rowed her to Federal street” “You couldn’t have had much sleep,” I said dryly, for he looked horrible. There were lines around his eyes, which were red, and his lips looked dry and cracked. “She’s not in the piece this week at the theater,” he said, licking his lips and looking past me, not at me. “She’ll be back by Saturday.” I did not believe him. Ido not think he imagined that I did. He shut the door in my face, and it caught poor Peter by the nose. The dog ran off howling. but although Mr. Ladley had been as fond'Uf 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 stales. Although the idea of murder had not entered my head at that time, the slipper gave me a turn. I picked it up and looked at It, a black one with a beaded toe, short in the vamp and high heeled, the sort most actresses wear. Then I went back and knocked at the door of the front room again. “What the devil do you want now?” he called from beyond the door. “Here's a slipper of Mrs. Ladley’s,” I said. “Peter found it floating in the lower hall.” He opened the door wide and let me in. The room was in tolerable or der, much better than when Mrs. Lad ley was about He looked at the slip per, but he did not touch it. “1 don’t think that is hers,” he said. “I’ve seen her wear it a hundred times.” V “Well, she’ll never wear it again.” And then, seeing me stare, he added: “Jt’s ruined with the water. Throw it out And. by the way, I'm sorry, but 1 set fire to one of the pillow slips: dropped asleep, and my cigarette did the rest. Just put it on the bill.” He pointed to the bed. One of the pillows had no slip, and the ticking cover had a scorch or two on it 1 went over and looked at it. _ “The pillow will have to be paid for. too, Mr. Ladley.” I said. “And there's a sign nailed on the door that forbids smoking in bed. If you are going to set fire to things 1 shall have to charge extra.” “Really!” he jeered, looking at me with his cold, fishy eyes. “Is there any sign on the door saying that boarders are charged extra for seven feet of -filthy river in the bedrooms?” I was never a match for him. and I make it a principle never to bandy words with my boarders. 1 took the pillow and the slipper and went out The telephone was ringing on the stair' anding. It was the theater, asking or Miss Brice. “She has gone away,” I said. “What do you mean? Moved away?” “Gone for a few days’ vacation,” 1 .•eplied. “She isn't playing this week, s she?” “Wait a moment.’’ said the voice There was a hum of conversation from the other end, and then another mao 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 beyond. “The theater is asking where Mrs. Ladley is.” “Tell them I don’t Jrnow,” be snarled, and shut the door. I took his message to the telephone. Whoever it was swore and hung up the receiver. All the morning I was uneasy—l hardly knew why. Peter felt it as I did. There was no sound from the Ladleys' room, and the house was quiet, except for the lapping water on the stairs and the police patrol going back and forth. At 11 o’clock a boy in the neighborhood, paddling on a raft, fell into the water and was drowned. 1 watched the police boat go past, carrying his little cold body, and after that 1 was good for nothing. I went and sat with Peter on the stairs. The dog’s conduct had been strange all morning. He had sat just above the water, looking at it and whimpering. Perhaps he was expecting another kitten or—. _

It Is tara to say hdw Ideas first enter one’s mind. But the notion that Mr. Ladley had killed his wife and thrown her body into the water came to me as I sat there. All at once I seemed to see it all—the quarreling the day before, the night trip in the boat, the water soaked slipper, his haggard face that morning—even the way the spaniel sat and stared at the flood. Terry brought the boat back at half past 11, towing it behind another. “Well,” I said from the stairs. “I hope you’ve had a pleasant morning.” “What doing?” he asked, not looking at me. “Rowing about the streets. You’ve had that boat for hours.” He tied it up without a word to me, but he spoke to the dog. “Good morning, Peter,” be said. “It’s nice weather—for fishes, ain’t It?” He picked out a bit of floating wood from the water, and. showing it to the dog, flung it into the parlor. Peter went after it with a splash. He was pretty fat. and when he came back I heard him wheezing. But what he brought back was not the stick of wood. It was the knife I use for cutting bread. It had been on a shelf in the room where 1 had slept the night before, and now Peter brought it out of the flood where its wooden handle had kept it afloat. The blade was broken off short. It is not unusual to find one’s household goods floating around during flood time. More than once I’ve lost a ’chair or two-and seen it after the water had gone down, new scrubbed and painted, in Molly Maguire’s kitchen next door. And perhaps now and then a bit of luck would come to” me —a dog kennel or a chicken house, or a kitchen table, or even, as happened once, a mouth old baby in a wooden cradle, that lodged against my back fence and had come forty miles, as it turned out, with no worse mishap than a cold in its bead. But the knife was different 1 bad put it on the mantel over the stove I was using upstairs the night before and hadn’t touched it since. As I sat staring at it Terry took it from Peter and handed it to me. "Better give me a penny, Mrs. Pitman.” he said in his impudent Irish way. “1 hate to give you a knife. It may cut our friendship.” I reached over to hit him a clout on the head, but I did not The sunlight was coming in through the window' at the top of the stairs, and shining on the roi>e that was tied to the banister. The end of the rope was covered with stains, bright with a glint of red in them. 1 got up shivering. “You can get the meat at the butcher’s, Terry,” 1 said, “and come back for me in half an hour.” Then 1 turned and went upstairs, weak in the knees, to put on my hat and coat I had made up my mind that there bad been murder done. I looked at my clock as I went downstairs. It was just 12:30. 1 thought of telephoning for Mr. Reynolds to meet me, but it was his lunch, hour, and besides, I was afraid to telephone from the house while Mr. Ladley was in it Peter had been whining again. When I came down the stairs be had stopped whimpering and was wagging his tail. A strange boat had put into the hallway and was coming back. “Now, old boy!” somebody was saying from the boat. “Steady, old chap! I’ve got something for you!” A little man, elderly and alert was standing up in the boat, poling it along with an oar. Peter gave vent to joyful yelps. The elderly gentleman brought his boat to a stop at the foot of the stairs and, reaching down into a tub at his feet, held up a large piece of raw liver. Peter almost went crazy, and 1 remember suddenly that I had forgo rick to feed the poor beast for more than a day K "Would you like it?” asked the gentleman. Peter sat up, as he had been taught to do. and barked. The gentleman reached down again, got a wooden platter from a stack of them at his feet and, placing the liver on it. put it on the step. The whole thing was so neat and businesslike that 1 could only gaze. “That’s a well trained dog. madam.” said the elderly gentleman, beaming at Pbter over his glasses. “You should not have neglected him.” “The flood put him out of my mind,” I explained, humbly enough, for 1 was ashamed. “Exactly. Do you know how many starving dogs and cats I have found this morning?” He. took a notebook out of his pocket and glanced at it “Forty-eight! Forty-eight madam! And ninety-three cats! I have found them marooned in trees, clinging to fences, floating on barrels, and I have found them in comfortable houses where there was no excuse for their neglect. Weil, I must be moving on. I have the report of a cat with a new litter in the loft of a stable near here.” He wiped his hands carefully on a fresh paper napkin, of which also a heap rested on one of the seats of the boat and picked up an oar, smiling benevolently at Peter. Then suddenly he bent over and looked at the stained rope end tied to the stair rail. “What’s that?” he said. “That’s what I’m going to find out,” I replied. I glanced up at the Ladleys’ door, but it was closed. The little man dropped his oar and, fumbling in his pocekts, pulled out a small magnifying gloss. He bent over, holding to the rail, and inspected the stains with the glass. I had taken a fancy to him at once, and in spite of my excitement I had to smile a little. “Humph,” he said and looked up at me; “that’s blood! Why did you cut the boat loose?” “1 didn’t,” I said. “If that is blood 1 want to know how it got there. That was a new rope last night” I glanced at the Ladleys’ door again, and he followed my eyes. “I wonder,” he said, raising his voice a little, “if I come into your kitchen if you will allow me to fry a little of that fiver. There’s a wretched Maltese in a tree at the corner of Fourth street that won’t touch it raw.” I saw that he wanted to talk to me, so I turned around and led the way to the temporary kitchen I had made. XNow,lhe said hQafi

closed 'the ‘door, ‘’’there’s something wrong here. Perhaps if you will tell me I can help. If I can’t it will do you good to talk about it. My name's Holcombe, retired merchant. Apply to First National bank for references.” “I’m not sure there is anything wrong,” I began. “I guess I’m only nervous and thinking little things are big ones. There’s nothing to tell.” “Nonsense. I come down the street in my boat. A white faced gentleman, with a cigarette, looks out from a window when I stop at the door and ducks back when I glance z up. I come in and find a pet dog, obviously overfed at ordinary times, whining with hunger on the stairs. As I prepare to feed him a pale woman comes down, trying to put a right hand glove on her left hand and with her jacket wrong side out What am I to think?” I started and looked at my coat. He was right And when as 1 tried to take it off he helped me and even patted me on the shoulder—what with his kindness and the long morning alone, worrying, and the sleepless night. I began to cry. He had a clean handkerchief in my hand before I had time to think of one. “That’s it” he said. “It will do you good, only don’t make a noise about it. If it’s a husband on the annual flood spree don’t worry, madam. They always come around in time to whitewash the cellars.” “It isn't a husband, ’ I sniffled. “Tell me about it.” he said. There was something so kindly in his face and it was so long since I had had a bit of human sympathy that I almost broke down again. CHAPTER 111.

SAT there, with a crowd of children paddling on a raft outside the window, and Molly Maguire, next door,

hauling the morning's milk up in a pail fastened to a rope, her doorway being too narrow to admit the milkman's boat, and I told him the whole story. “Humph!” he exclaimed, when I bad finished. “It's curious, but—you can’t prove a murder unless you can produce a body.” “When the river goes down we'll find the body,” said I, shivering. “It’s in the parlor.” “Then why doesn’t he try toj get away?” “He is ready to go now. He_, only went back when your boat came in.” Mr. Holcombe ran to the door and, flinging it open, peered into the lower hall. He was too late. His boat was gone, tub of liver, pile of wooden platters and all! We hurried to the room the Ladleys had occupied. It was empty. From the window, as we looked out. we could see the boat, almost a square away. It had stopped where, the street being higher, a doorstep rose above the flood. Ou the step was sitting a forlorn yellow puppy. As we stared Mr. Ladley stopped the boat, looked back at us, bent over, placed a, piece of liver on a platter and reached it over to the dog. Then, rising in the boat, he bowed, with his hat over his heart, In our direction, sat down calmly and rowed around the corner out of sight Mr. Holcombe was in a frenzy of rage. He jumped up and down, shaking his fist out of the window after the retreating boat He ran down the staircase,' only to come back and look out the window again. The police boat was not in sight, but the Maguire children had worked their raft around to the street and were under the window. He leaned out and called to them: “A quarter each, boys,” he said, “if you’ll take me on that raft to the nearest pavement” “Money first.” said the oldest boy, holding his cap. But Mr. Holcombe did not wait. He swung outj over the window sill, holding by his hands, and lit fairly in the center of the raft “Don’t touch anything in that room until 1 come back!” he called to me, and, jerking the pole from one of the boys, propelled the raft with amazing speed down the street. The liver on the stove was burning. There was a smell of scorching through the rooms and a sort of bluish haze of smoke. I 'hurried back and took it off. By the time I had cleaned the pari Mr. Holcombe was back again in his own boat. He had found it at the end of the pext street, where the flood ceased, but no sigh of Ladley anywhere. He had not seen the police boat. “Perhaps that is just as well,” he said philosophically. “We can’t go to the police with a wet slipper and a blood stained rope and accuse a man of murder. We have to have a body.” “He killed her,” I said obstinately. “She told me yesterday he was a fiend. He killed her and threw the body in the water.’’. “Very likely. But he didn’t throw it here.” But in spite of that he went oyer all the lower hall with his boat, feeling i

every foot of the floor with an- oar, and finally, at the back end, be looked up at me as I stood on the stairs. “There’s something here,” he said. I went cold all over and had to clutch the railing. But when Terry had come and the two of them brought the thing to the surface it was only the dining room rug, which I had rolled up and forgotten to carry upstairs! At 130 Mr. Holcombe wrote a note and sent it off with Terry and, borrowing my boots, which had been Mr. Pitman’s, investigated the dining room and kitchen from a floating plank; the doors were too narrow to admit the boat. But he found nothing more important than a rolling pin. He was not at all depressed by his failure. He came back, drenched to the skin, about 3 and asked permission to search the Ladleys’ bedroom. “I have a friend coming pretty soon. Mrs. Pitman.” he said, “a young newspaper man na'med Howell. He's a nice boy, and if there is anything to this I’d like him to have it for his paper. He and 1 have been having some arguments about circumstantial evidence, too, and I know he'd like to work on this.” I gave him a pair of Mr. Pitman’s socks, for his own were saturated and while he was changing them the telephone rang. It was the theater again, asking for Jennie Brice. “You are certain she is out of the city?” some one asked, the same votve as in the morning. “Her husband says so.” “Ask him to come to the phone.” “He is not here.” “When do you expect him back?'' “I'm not sure he is coming back.” “Look here.” said the voice angrily, “can’t you give me any satisfaction? Or don’t you care to?” “I’ve told you all I know.” “You don’t know where she is?” “No. sir.” “She didn't say she was coming back to rehearse for next week’s piece?” “Her husband said she went away for a few days’ rest. He went away about, noon and hasn’t come back. That’s all I know, except that they owe me three weeks’ rent that I’d like to get hold - of.” The owner of the voice hung up the receiver with a snap and left me pondering. It seemed to me that Mr. Ladley had been very reckless. Did he expect any one to believe that Jennie Brice had gone for a vacation without notifying the theater? Especially when she was to rehearse that week? I thought it curious, to say the least I went back and told Mr. Holcombe, ,who put it down In his notebook, and together we went to the Ladleys' room. The room was in better order than usual, as 1 have said. The bed was made—which was out of the ordinary, for Jennie Brice never made a bed—but made the way a man makes one. with the blankets wrinkled and crooked beneath and the white counterpane pulled smoothly over the top. showing every rtmp d<|ieath. 1 showed Mr. Holcombe the splasher dotted with ink as usual. “I’ll take it off and soak it in milk.” I said. "It’s his fountain pen. When the ink doesn't run be shakes it, and”— “Where's the clock?" said Mr. Holcombe, stopping in front of the mantel, with his notebook in his hand. “The clock?” I turned and looked. My onyx cloak was gone from the mantel shelf. Perhaps it seems strange, but from the moment I missed that clock my rage at Mr. Ladley increased to a fury. It was all I had left of my former gentility. When times were hard and I got behind with the rent, as happened now and then, more than once l’d been tempted to sell the clock or pawn It But I had never done it Its ticking had kept me company on many a lonely night, and its elegance had helped me to keep my pride and to retain the respect of my neighbors. For in the flood district onyx clocks are not plentiful. Mrs. Bryan, the saloonkeeper’s wife, had one, and I had another—that is, I had had. I stood staring at the mark in the dust of the mantel shelf, which Mr. Holcombe was measuring with a pocket tape measure. “You are sure you didn’t take it away yourself, Mrs. Pitman?” he asked. “Sure? Why, I could lyirdly lift it,” I said. He was looking carefully at the oblong of dust where the clock had stood. “The key is gone, too,” be said, busily making entries in his notebook. “What was the maker’s name?” “Why, I don’t think I ever noticed!" He turned to me angrily. “Why didn’t you notice?” he snapped. “Good God,' woman, do you only use your eyes to cry with? How can you wind a clock time after time and not know the maker’s name? It proves my contention—the average witness is totally unreliable.” “Not at all,” I snapped. “1 am ordinarily both accurate and observing.” “Indeed!” he said, putting his hands behind him. “Then perhaps you can tell me the color of the pencil 1 have been writing with.” “Certainly. Red.” Most pencils are red, and I thought this was safe. But he held his right hand out with a flourish. “I’ve been writing with a fountain pen,” he _said in deep disgust and turned his back on me. But the next moment he had run to the washstand and pull&l it out from the wall. Behind it, where it had fallen, lay a towel covered with stains as if some one had wiped bloody hands on it He held it up, his face working with excitement I could only cover my eyes. “This looks better,” he said and began making a quick search of the room, running from one piece of furniture to another, pulling out bureau drawers, drawing the bed out from the wall and crawling along the baseboard with a lighted match in his hand. He gave a shout of triumph finally and reappeared from behind the bed with the broken end of my knife in his hand. “Very clumsy," he said; “very clumsy. Peter, the dog, could have done better/.’ - - (To be continued—) —Underwear for every member of the family. A. W. Strieby & Son.

STATE B/kNK OF Syracuse $25000 Surplus S6OOO We pay 3 per cent Interest on Certificates of De >osit The Winona Interurban Ry 60. Effective Sunday June 29, ’l3. Time of arrival am departure of trains at Milfor i Junction, Ind. SOUTH NOXTH *7:19 a. m. 6:03 a. m. 7:52 “ 7:52 “ 9:00 “ 10:00 “ 11:00 “ *11:38 “ *1:00 p. m. xl.oo p. m. x |2:00 “ “ 2:00 “ 3:00 “ 4:00 “ 5:00 “ |5:00 “ xf6:oo “ 6:00 7:00 “ 7:00 “ 9:32 “ 8:00 “ 11:15 “ *10:16 “ t Winona Flyer throu h trains between Goshen and Ind: napolis. * Daily except Sunday x Runs to Warsaw only W. D. STANSIFi R G. F. & P. A. Wars iw, Ind EARNEST RICH kRT ' aCTgmii PUBLIC AUCTION? R A worthy successor to Li oln Cory See Geo. 0. Snyder at th< Journal office for dates. Horse and Automobile L ivery Good equipages f* r every occasion. Reasonable rices for drives anywhere. Hac : service to the depot Fare 10 Gents Ear i Way HEMRYSNOBfI (GER Barn on Main Street Phone 5 M. MANLY, WARSAW, INDANA Abstracts of Titles to I eal Estate. You can s ive money by sending me your orders. Orders May Be L< ft at Syracuse State B ink —— ■■ ■■■■ ■ l. J. H. BOWSER Physician and Suri eon Tel. 85—Offiice and E asidence Syracuse, Ind. - D. S. HONS Z a Dentist All branches of worl usually practiced by the pro: ?ssion. - Investigate our new filling material. AUCTIONE ER Cal. L. St tic km an Phone 535, Nappan se, Ind. sou can call me up without expense. BUTT & XAN IERS Attorneys-at-Ls ? Practice in all Courts tfoney to. Loan. Fire Insure ce. Phone 7 -SYRACUS- S, IND, J. M. Shafi ?r, Chiropractor Consultation and Exfiminr >n Free Chiropractic adjustments h iday and Thursday of each week at f s. Landis’ residence on Harrison street. SYRACUSE, r i-