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.
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