Somewhere--wherever they keep such things--was the headless body of
a woman with a hand missing, and with a curious scar across the left
breast. The slip of paper, however, which I had found behind the
base-board, was still in Mr. Holcombe's possession, nor had he
mentioned it to the police.
Mr. Holcombe had not come back. He wrote me twice asking me to hold
his room, once from New York and once from Chicago. To the second
letter he added a postscript:
"Have not found what I wanted, but am getting warm. If any news,
address me at Des Moines, Iowa, General Delivery. H."
It was nearly the end of April when I saw Lida again. I had seen by
the newspapers that she and her mother were coming home. I wondered if
she had heard from Mr. Howell, for I had not, and I wondered, too, if
she would send for me again.
But she came herself, on foot, late one afternoon, and the
school-teacher being out, I took her into the parlor bedroom. She
looked thinner than before, and rather white. My heart ached for her.
"I have been away," she explained.
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