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 [Page 109] 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. "Beer! I haven't such a thing in the house. Come in and look," I snapped. And the two of them went back to the kitchen. "Now," said Mr. Graves, when I had shut the door, "where's the dog's-meat man?" "Up-stairs." "Bring him quietly." I called Mr. Holcombe, and he came eagerly, note-book and all. "Ah!" he said, when he saw Tim. "So you've turned up!" "Yes, sir." "It seems, Mr. Dog's -- Mr. Holcombe," said [Page 110] Mr. Graves, "that you are right, partly, anyhow. Tim here did help a man with a boat that night -- " "Threw him a rope, sir," Tim broke in. "He'd got out in the current, and what with the ice, and his not knowing much about a boat, he'd have kept on to New Orleans if I hadn't caught him -- or Kingdom Come." "Exactly. And what time did you say this was?" "Between three and four last Sunday night -- or Monday morning. He said he couldn't sleep and went out in a boat, meaning to keep in close