et evening. He read and smoked. Has gone
to bed. Light burning. Saw five Llewellyns. None of them knew Bronson
or Ladley. Sixth--a lawyer--out at revival meeting. Went to the church
and walked home with him. He knows something. Acknowledged he knew
Bronson. Had met Ladley. Did not believe Mrs. Ladley dead. Regretted
I had not been to the meeting. Good sermon. Asked me for a dollar for
missions.

9:00 A.M.--Sunday. Ladley in bad shape. 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 debris." Ladley in bed, staring at
ceiling. Wonder if he sees tube? He is ghastly.

That is the last entry in the note-book for that day. Mr. Holcombe
called me in great excitement shortly after ten and showed me the
item. Neither of us doubted for a moment that it was Jennie Brice who
had been found. He started for Sewickley that same afternoon, and he
probably communicated with the police before he left. For once or
twice I saw Mr. Graves, the detective, sauntering past the house.

Mr. Ladley ate no dinner. He went out at four, and I had Mr. Reynolds
follow him. But they were both back in a half-hour. Mr. Reynolds
reported that Mr. Ladley had bought some headache tablets and some
bromide powders to make him sleep.

Mr. Holcombe came back that evening. He thought the body was that of
Jennie Brice, but the head was gone. He was much depressed, and did
not immediately go back to the periscope. I asked if the head had been
cut off or taken off by a steamer; he was afraid the latter, as a hand
was gone, too.

It was about eleven o'clock that night that the door-bell rang. It was
Mr. Graves, with a small man behind him. I knew the man; he lived in a
shanty-boat not far from my house--a curious affair with shelves
full of dishes and tinware. In the spring he would be towed up
the Monongahela a hundred miles or so and float down, tying up at
different landings and selling his wares. Timothy Senft was his name.
We called him Tim.

Mr. Graves motioned me to be quiet. Both of us knew that behind the
parlor door Ladley was probably listening.

"Sorry to get you up, Mrs. Pitman," said Mr. Graves, "but this man
says he has bought beer here to-day. That won't do, Mrs. Pitman."

"Beer! I haven