“Have they gotten the five hundred dollars’ reward already?” asked Mrs. Fletcher.

“Well,” said Leota, “at first Mr. Pike didn’t want to do anything about it. Can you feature that? Said he kinda liked that ole bird and said he was real nice to ’em, lent ’em money or somethin’. But Mrs. Pike simply tole him he could just go to hell, and I can see her point. She says, ‘You ain’t worked a lick in six months, and here I make five hundred dollars in two seconts, and what thanks do I get for it? You go to hell, Canfield,’ she says. So,” Leota went on in a despondent voice, “they called up the cops and they caught the ole bird, all right, right there in the freak show where I saw him with my own eyes, thinkin’ he was petrified. He’s the one. Did it under his real name—Mr. Petrie. Four women in California, all in the month of August. So Mrs. Pike gits five hundred dollars. And my magazine, and right next door to my beauty parlor. I cried all night, but Fred said it wasn’t a bit of use and to go to sleep, because the whole thing was just a sort of coincidence—you know: can’t do nothin’ about it. He says it put him clean out of the notion of goin’ to Vicksburg for a few days till we rent out the room agin—no tellin’ who we’ll git this time.”

“But can you imagine anybody knowing this old man, that’s raped four women?” persisted Mrs. Fletcher, and she shuddered audibly. “Did Mrs. Pike speak to him when she met him in the freak show?”

Leota had begun to comb Mrs. Fletcher’s hair. “I says to her, I says. ‘I didn’t notice you fallin’ on his neck when he was the petrified man—don’t tell me you didn’t recognize your fine friend?’ And she says, ‘I didn’t recognize him with that white powder all over his face. He just looked familiar,’ Mrs. Pike says, ‘and lots of people look familiar.’ But she says that ole petrified man did put her in mind of somebody. She wondered who it was! Kep’ her awake, which man she’d ever knew it reminded her of. So when she seen the photo, it all come to her. Like a flash. Mr. Petrie. The way he’d turn his head and look at her when she took him in his breakfast.”

“Took him in his breakfast!” shrieked Mrs. Fletcher. “Listen—don’t tell me. I’d ’a’ felt something.”

“Four women. I guess those women didn’t have the faintest notion at the time they’d be worth a hunderd an’ twenty-five bucks apiece some day to Mrs. Pike. We ast her how old the fella was then, an’ she says he musta had one foot in the grave, at least. Can you beat it?”