The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1914-03-24
Mary Roberts
Rinehart
Copyright, 1913, the Bobbs-Mer-
rill Company.

Howell. He's a nice boy, and II
there is anything to this, I'd like
him to have 1t for his paper. He
and | have been having some ar
guments about circumstantial
evidence, too, and / know he'd
like to work on this"
gave him a pair of Mr.. Pit
mans socks, for his own were sat
urated, and while he was chang
ing them the telephone rang. 1t
was the theater again, asking for
Jennie Brice.
You are certain she Is out OF
the city," some one asked, the
same voice as in the morning.
Her husband says So"
ASK him to come to the
| phone"
"He is not here"
when do you expect him
back?"
I'm not sure he is coming
back"
Look here" said the voice
angrily, cant you give me any
satisfaction? Or don't you care
to-"
1--WE told you all I know"
"You don't know where she
is?"
mo, SIR"
"She didn't say she was com.
ing back to rehearse for next
weeks piece?"
Her husband said she went
away for a few days rest. He
went away about noon and hasn't
come back. That's o.! ! know ex-
cept that they owe me three
weeks rent that I'd like to get
hold Of"
The owner of the voice hung
up the receiver with a snap, and
left me bordering. 1t seemed to
me that Mr.. Ladley had been very
reckless. Did he expect one to
believe that Jennie Brice had
gone for a vacation without noti-
flying the theater? Especially
when she was to rehearse that
week? l thought 1t curious, to
say the least. / went back and
told Mr.. Holcombe, who put IT
down in his notebook, and to-
gether we went to the Ladleys'
| room.
The room was in better order
than usual, as | have said. The
bed was made-which was out of
the ordinary, for Jennie Brice
never made a bed-but made the
way a man makes one, with the
blankets wrinkled and crooked
beneath, and the white counter
pane pulled smoothly over the
top, showing every bump beneath,
/ showed Mr.. Holcombe the
splasher, dotted with ink as usual
"I'll take it off and soak it in
milk" said. Its his fountain
pen; when the ink doesn't run,
he shakes it, and"
where's the clpck?" said Mr.
Holcombe, stopping front of the
mantel with his notebook in his
hand.
1.-THE clock?"
| | turned and looked. My
onyx clock was gone from the
mantel-shelf.
Perhaps it seems strnage, but
from the moment l missed that
clock my rage at Mr.. Ladley in.
creased to a fury. 1t was all
had left of my former gentility
When times were hard and l got
behind with the rent, as happened
now and then, more than once I'd
been tempted to sell the clock, OF
to pawn it. But had never done
It. It's ticking had kept me com
pany on many a lonely night, and
its elegance had helped me I'd
keep my pride and to retain the
respect of my neighbors. For In
the flood district onyx clocks are
not plentiful. Mrs. Bryan, the
saloon-keeper's wife. had one, and
l had another. That is, I had
had.
| l stood staring at the mark in
the dust of the mantel-shelf
which Mr.. Holcombe was measur-
ing with a pocket tape-measure
you are sure you didn't take
1t away yourself, Mrs. Pitman?"
he asked.
Sure? Why, I could hardly
lift it," said.
He was looking carefully at
the oblong of dust where the clock
had stood. THE key is gone,
too" he said, busily making en-
tries In his notebook. "What
was the makers name?"
why, 1 don't think | ever no
ticed."
He turned to me angrily. "Wh,
didn't you notice?" he snapped
Good God, woman, do you onl,
use your eyes to cry with? How