Part 11 (1/2)
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.
”Sorry to get you up, Mrs. Pitman,” said Mr. Graves, ”but this man says he has bought beer here to-day. That won't do, Mrs. Pitman.”
”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 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 to sh.o.r.e. But he got drawn out in the current.”
”Where did you see him first?”
”By the Ninth Street bridge.”
”Did you hail him?”
”He saw my light and hailed me. I was making fast to a coal barge after one of my ropes had busted.”
”You threw the line to him there?”
”No, sir. He tried to work in to sh.o.r.e. I ran along River Avenue to below the Sixth Street bridge. He got pretty close in there and I threw him a rope. He was about done up.”
”Would you know him again?”
”Yes, sir. He gave me five dollars, and said to say nothing about it.
He didn't want anybody to know he had been such a fool.”
They took him quietly up stairs then and let him look through the periscope. _He identified Mr. Ladley absolutely_.
When Tim and Mr. Graves had gone, Mr. Holcombe and I were left alone in the kitchen. Mr. Holcombe leaned over and patted Peter as he lay in his basket.
”We've got him, old boy,” he said. ”The chain is just about complete.
He'll never kick you again.”