called to them.

"A quarter each, boys," he said, "if you'll take me on that raft to
the nearest pavement."

"Money first," said the oldest boy, holding his cap.

But Mr. Holcombe did not wait. He swung out over the window-sill,
holding by his hands, and lit fairly in the center of the raft.

"Don't touch anything in that room until I come back," he called to
me, and jerking the pole from one of the boys, propelled the raft with
amazing speed down the street.

The liver on the stove was burning. There was a smell of scorching
through the rooms and a sort of bluish haze of smoke. I hurried back
and took it off. By the time I had cleaned the pan, Mr. Holcombe was
back again, in his own boat. He had found it at the end of the next
street, where the flood ceased, but no sign of Ladley anywhere. He had
not seen the police boat.

"Perhaps that is just as well," he said philosophically. "We can't go
to the police with a wet slipper and a blood-stained rope and accuse a
man of murder. We have to have a body."

"He killed her," I said obstinately. "She told me yesterday he was a
fiend. He killed her and threw the body in the water."

"Very likely. But he didn't throw it here."