8
THAT WAS FRIDAY AFTERNOON. All that evening, and most of Saturday and Sunday, Mr. Holcombe sat on the floor, with his eye to the reflecting mirror and his note-book beside him. I have it before me.
On the first page is the "dog meat—two dollars" entry. On the next, the description of what occurred on Sunday night, March fourth, and Monday morning, the fifth. Following that came a sketch, made with a carbon sheet, of the torn paper found behind the wash-stand:
rope
knife
shoe towel
Horn
And then came the entries for Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Friday evening:
6:30—Eating hearty supper.
7:00—Lights cigarette and paces floor. Notice that when Mrs. P. knocks, he goes to desk and pretends to be writing.
8:00—Is examining book. Looks like a railway guide.
8:30—It is a steamship gu
