“Yes.”

“Does Mr. Ladley live here?”

“Yes.  But he is not here now.”

“Are you Mrs. Pittock?”

“Pitman, yes.”

The boat bumped against the stairs, and the woman got out.  She was as tall as Mrs. Ladley, and when I saw her in the light from the upper hall, I knew her instantly.  It was Temple Hope, the leading woman from the Liberty Theater.

“I would like to talk to you, Mrs. Pitman,” she said.  “Where can we go?”

I led the way back to my room, and when she had followed me in, she turned and shut the door.

“Now then,” she said without any preliminary, “where is Jennie Brice?”

“I don’t know, Miss Hope,” I answered.

We looked at each other for a minute, and each of us saw what the other suspected.

“He has killed her!” she exclaimed.  “She was afraid he would do it, and—­he has.”

“Killed her and thrown her into the river,” I said.  “That’s what I think, and he’ll go free at that.  It seems there isn’t any murder when there isn’t any corpse.”

“Nonsense!  If he has done that, the river will give her up, eventually.”

“The river doesn’t always give them up,” I retorted.  “Not in flood-time, anyhow.  Or when they are found it is months later, and you can’t prove anything.”

She had only a little time, being due at the theater soon, but she sat down and told me the story she told afterward on the stand: 

She had known Jennie Brice for years, they having been together in the chorus as long before as Nadjy.

“She was married then to a fellow on the vaudeville circuit,” Miss Hope said.  “He left her about that time, and she took up with Ladley.  I don’t think they were ever married.”

“What!” I said, jumping to my feet, “and they came to a respectable house like this!  There’s never been a breath of scandal about this house, Miss Hope, and if this comes out I’m ruined.”

“Well, perhaps they were married,” she said.  “Anyhow, they were always quarreling.  And when he wasn’t playing, it was worse.  She used to come to my hotel, and cry her eyes out.”

“I knew you were friends,” I said.  “Almost the last thing she said to me was about the black and white dress of hers you were to borrow for the piece this week.”

“Black and white dress!  I borrow one of Jennie Brice’s dresses!” exclaimed Miss Hope.  “I should think not.  I have plenty of my own.”

That puzzled me; for she had said it, that was sure.  And then I remembered that I had not seen the dress in the room that day, and I went in to look for it.  It was gone.  I came back and told Miss Hope.

“A black and white dress!  Did it have a red collar?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Then I remember it.  She wore a small black hat with a red quill with that dress.  You might look for the hat.”

She followed me back to the room and stood in the doorway while I searched.  The hat was gone, too.