"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. I do 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 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.
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.
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