ibed Jennie Brice for them carefully. Asked what
she probably wore, if she had gone away as her husband said, I had no
idea; she had a lot of clothes, and dressed a good bit. But I recalled
that I had seen, lying on the bed, the black and white dress with the
red collar, and they took that down, as well as the brown valise.

The chief rose and opened the door for me himself. "If she actually
left town at the time you mention," he said, "she ought not to be hard
to find. There are not many trains before seven in the morning, and
most of them are locals."

"And--and if she did not, if he--do you think she is in the
house--or--or--the cellar?"

"Not unless Ladley is more of a fool than I think he is," he said,
smiling. "Personally, I believe she has gone away, as he says she did.
But if she hasn't--He probably took the body with him when he said he
was getting medicine, and dropped it in the current somewhere. But we
must go slow with all this. There's no use shouting 'wolf' yet."

"But--the towel?"

"He may have cut himself, shaving. It _has_ been done."

"And the knife?"

He shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly.

"I've seen a perfectly good knife spoiled opening a bottle of
pickles."

"But the slippers? And the clock?"

"My good woman, enough shoes and slippers are forgotten in the bottoms
of cupboards year after year in flood-time, and are found floating
around the streets, to make all the old-clothesmen in town happy. I
have seen almost everything floating about, during one of these annual
floods."

"I dare say you never saw an onyx clock floating around," I replied a
little sharply. I had no sense of humor that day. He stopped smiling
at once, and stood tugging at his mustache.

"No," he admitted. "An onyx clock sinks, that's true. That's a very
nice little point, that onyx clock. He may be trying to sell it, or
perhaps--" He did not finish.

I went back immediately, only stopping at the market to get meat for
Mr. Reynolds' supper. It was after half past five and dusk was coming
on. I got a boat and was rowed directly home. Peter was not at the
foot of the steps. I paid the boatman and let him go, and turned to go
up the stairs. Some one was speaking in the hall above.

I have read somewhere that no two voices are exactly alike, just as no
two violins ever produce precisely the same sound. I think it is what
they call the timbre that is different. I have, for instance, never
heard a voice like Mr.