"Saw a part of him; in short, saw his hand. He was engaged in scattering crumbs for the pigeons."
"That does not look like starvation," smiled Mr. Gryce, with the first hint of sarcasm he had allowed himself to make use of in this interview.
"No," said I; "but the time may not have come to inflict this penalty on Silly Rufus. He has been there but a few days, and—well, what have I said now?"
"Nothing, ma'am, nothing. But what made you think the hand you saw belonged to Silly Rufus?"
"Because he was the last person to disappear from this lane. The last—what am I saying? He wasn't the last. Lucetta's lover was the last. Mr. Gryce, could that hand have belonged to Mr. Ostrander?"
I was intensely excited; so much so that Mr. Gryce made me a warning gesture.
"Hush!" he whispered; "you are attracting attention. That hand was the hand of Mr. Ostrander; and the reason why I did not accept William Knollys' suggestion to search the Deacon's barn-loft was because I knew it had been chosen as a place of refuge by this missing lover of Lucetta."