VICKY VAN

BY CAROLYN WELLS

AUTHOR OF

"The Affair at Flower Acres, " "Anybody But Anne, ""The Mystery of the Sycamore, " "Raspberry Jam, ""The Vanishing of Betty Varian, " "Spooky Hollow, ""Feathers Left Around, " etc. 

TO

ONE OF MY BEST CHUMS

JULIAN KING SPRAGUE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. VICKY VAN II. MR. SOMERS III. THE WAITER'S STORY IV. SOMERS' REAL NAME V. THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD VI. VICKY'S WAYS VII. RUTH SCHUYLER VIII. THE LETTER BOX IX. THE SOCIAL SECRETARY X. THE INQUEST XI. A NOTE FROM VICKY XII. MORE NOTES XIII. FLEMING STONE XIV. WALLS HAVE TONGUES XV. FIBSY XVI. A FUTILE CHASE XVII. THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN XVIII. FIBSY DINES OUT XIX. PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS XX. THE TRUTH FROM RUTH

CHAPTER I

VICKY VAN

Victoria Van Allen was the name she signed to her letters and to hercheques, but Vicky Van, as her friends called her, was signed all overher captivating personality, from the top of her dainty, tossing headto the tips of her dainty, dancing feet. 

I liked her from the first, and if her "small and earlies" were saidto be so called because they were timed by the small and earlynumerals on the clock dial, and if her "little" bridge games kept inactive circulation a goodly share of our country's legal tender, thosethings are not crimes. 

I lived in one of the polite sections of New York City, up among theEast Sixties, and at the insistence of my sister and aunt, who livedwith me, our home was near enough the great boulevard to be designatedby that enviable phrase, "Just off Fifth Avenue. " We were on the northside of the street, and, nearer to the Avenue, on the south side, wasthe home of Vicky Van. 

Before I knew the girl, I saw her a few times, at long intervals, onthe steps of her house, or entering her little car, andhalf-consciously I noted her charm and her evident zest of life. 

Later, when a club friend offered to take me there to call, I acceptedgladly, and as I have said, I liked her from the first. 

And yet, I never said much about her to my sister. I am, in a way, responsible for Winnie, and too, she's too young to go where they playBridge for money. Little faddly prize bags or gift-shop novelties areher stakes. 

Also, Aunt Lucy, who helps me look after Win, wouldn't quiteunderstand the atmosphere at Vicky's. Not exactly Bohemian--and yet, I suppose it did represent one compartment of that handy-box of aterm. But I'm going to tell you, right now, about a party I went tothere, and you can see for yourself what Vicky Van was like. 

"How late you're going out, " said Winnie, as I slithered into mytopcoat. "It's after eleven. "

"Little girls mustn't make comments on big brothers, " I smiled back ather. Win was nineteen and I had attained the mature age oftwenty-seven. We were orphans and spinster Aunt Lucy did her best tobe a parent to us; and we got on smoothly enough, for none of us hadthe temperament that rouses friction in the home. 

"Across the street?" Aunt Lucy guessed, raising her aristocraticeyebrows a hair's breadth. 

"Yes, " I returned, the least bit irritated at the implication of thathairbreadth raise. "Steele will be over there and I want to see him--"

This time the said eyebrows went up frankly in amusement, and the kindblue eyes beamed as she said, "All right, Chet, run along. "

Though I was Chester Calhoun, the junior partner of the law firm ofBradbury and Calhoun, and held myself in due and consequent respect, Ididn't mind Aunt Lucy's calling me Chet, or even, as she sometimesdid, Chetty. A man puts up with those things from the women of hishousehold. As to Winnie, she called me anything that came handy, fromLord Chesterton to Chessy-Cat. 

I patted Aunt Lucy on her soft old shoulder and Winnie on her hardyoung head, and was off. 

True, I did expect to see Steele at Vicky Van's--he was the club chapwho had introduced me there--but as Aunt Lucy had so cleverlysuspected, he was not my sole reason for going. A bigger reason wasthat I always had a good time there, the sort of a good time I liked. 

I crossed the street diagonally, in defiance of much good advice Ihave heard and read against such a proceeding. But at eleven o'clockat night the traffic in those upper side streets is not sufficient toendanger life or limb, and I reached Vicky Van's house in safety. 

It was a very small house, and it was the one nearest to the FifthAvenue corner, though the long side of the first house on that blockof the Avenue lay between. 

The windows on each floor were brilliantly lighted, and I mounted thelong flight of stone steps sure of a merry welcome and a jolly time. 

I was admitted by a maid whom I already knew well enough to say"Evening, Julie, " as I passed her, and in another moment, I was in thelong, narrow living-room and was a part of the gay group there. 

"Angel child!" exclaimed Vicky Van herself, dancing toward me, "did hecome to see his little ole friend?" and laying her two hands in minefor an instant, she considered me sufficiently welcomed, and dancedoff again. She was a will o' the wisp, always tantalizing a man with ahope of special attention, and then flying away to another guest, onlyto treat him in the same way. 

I looked after her, a slim, graceful thing, vibrant with the joy ofliving, smiling in sheer gayety of heart, and pretty as a picture. 

Her black hair was arranged in the newest style, that covered her earswith soft loops and exposed the shape of her trim little head. It wasbanded with a jeweled fillet, or whatever they call those Orientalthings they wear, and her big eyes with their long, dark lashes, herpink cheeks and curved scarlet lips seemed to say, "the world owes mea living and I'm going to collect. "

Not as a matter of financial obligation, be it understood. 

Vicky Van had money enough and though nothing about her home wasostentatious or over ornate, it was quietly and in the best of tasteluxurious. 

But I was describing Vicky herself. Her gown, the skirt part of it, was a sort of mazy maize-colored thin stuff, rather short and ratherfull, that swirled as she moved, and fluttered when she danced. Thebodice part, was of heavily gold-spangled material, and a kind ofoverskirt arrangement was a lot of long gold fringe made of beads. Instead of a yoke, there were shoulder straps of these same beads, andthe sleeves weren't there. 

And yet, that costume was all right. Why, it was a rig I'd be glad tosee Winnie in, when she gets older, and if I've made it soundrather--er--gay and festive, it's my bungling way of describing it, and also, because Vicky's personality would add gayety and festivityto any raiment. 

Her little feet wore goldy slippers, and a lot of ribbonscriss-crossed over her ankles, and on the top of each slipper was agilt butterfly that fluttered. 

Yet with all this bewildering effect of frivolity, the first term I'dmake use of in describing Vick's character would be Touch-me-not. Ibelieve there's a flower called that--_noli me tangere_--or some suchname. Well, that's Vicky Van. She'd laugh and jest with you, and thenif you said anything by way of a personal compliment or flirtatiousfoolery, she was off and away from your side, like a thistle-down in asummer breeze. She was a witch, a madcap, but she had her own way ineverything, and her friends did her will without question. 

Her setting, too, just suited her. Her living room was one of thosevery narrow, very deep rooms so often seen in the New York sidestreets. It was done up in French gray and rose, as was the dictum ofthe moment. On the rose-brocaded walls were few pictures, but just theright ones. Gray enameled furniture and deep window-seats withrose-colored cushions provided resting-places, and soft rose-shadedlights gave a mild glow of illumination. 

Flowers were everywhere. Great bowls of roses, jars of pink carnationsand occasionally a vase of pink orchids were on mantel, low bookcasesor piano. And sometimes the odor of a cigarette or a burning pastilleof Oriental fragrance, added to the Bohemian effect which is, oftenerthan not, discernible by the sense of smell. 

Vicky herself, detested perfumes or odors of any kind, save freshflowers all about. Indeed, she detested Bohemianism, when it meantunconventional dress or manners or loud-voiced jests or songs. 

Her house was dainty, correct and artistic, and yet, I knew itsatmosphere would not please my Aunt Lucy, or be just the right placefor Winnie. 

Many of the guests I knew. Cassie Weldon was a concert singer andAriadne Gale an artist of some prominence, both socially and in herart circle. Jim Ferris and Bailey Mason were actors of a good sort, and Bert Garrison, a member of one of my best clubs, was a fast risingarchitect. Steele hadn't come yet. 

Two tables of bridge were playing in the back part of the room, and inthe rest of the rather limited space several couples were dancing. 

"Mayn't we open the doors to the dining room, Vicky?" called out oneof the card players. "The calorics of this room must be about ninetyin the shade. "

"Open them a little way, " returned Miss Van Allen. "But not wide, forthere's a surprise supper and I don't want you to see it yet. "

They set the double doors a few inches ajar and went on with theirgame. The dining room, as I knew, was a wide room that ran all acrossthe house behind both living-room and hall. It was beautifullydecorated in pale green and silver, and often Vicky Van would have a"surprise supper, " at which the favors or entertainers would be wellworth waiting for. 

Having greeted many whom I knew, I looked about for further speechwith my hostess. 

"She's upstairs in the music room, " said Cassie Weldon, seeing andinterpreting my questing glance. 

"Thank you, lady, for those kind words, " I called back over myshoulder, and went upstairs. 

The front room on the second floor was dubbed the "music room, " Vickysaid, because there was a banjo in it. Sometimes the guests broughtmore banjos and a concert of glees and college songs would ensue. Butmore often, as to-night, it was a little haven of rest and peace fromthe laughter and jest below stairs. 

It was an exquisite white and gold room, and here, too, as I entered, pale pink shades dimmed the lights to a soft radiance that seemed likea breaking dawn. 

Vicky sat enthroned on a white divan, her feet crossed on agold-embroidered white satin foot-cushion. In front of her sat threeor four of her guests all laughing and chatting. 

"But he vowed he was going to get here somehow, " Mrs. Reeves wassaying. 

"What's his name?" asked Vicky, though in a voice of little interest. 

"Somers, " returned Mrs. Reeves. 

"Never heard of him. Did you, Mr. Calhoun?" and Vicky Van looked up atme as I entered. 

"No; Miss Van Allen. Who is he?"

"I don't know and I don't care. Only as Mrs. Reeves says he is cominghere tonight, I'd like to know something about him. "

"Coming here! A man you don't know?" I drew up a chair to join thegroup. "How can he?"

"Mr. Steele is going to bring him, " said Mrs. Reeves. "Hesays--Norman Steele says, that Mr. Somers is a first-class all-aroundchap, and no end of fun. Says he's a millionaire. "

"What's a millionaire more or less to me?" laughed Vicky. "I choose myfriends for their lovely character, not for their wealth. "

"Yes, you've selected all of us for that, dear, " agreed Mrs. Reeves, "but this Somers gentleman may be amiable, too. "

Mrs. Reeves was a solid, sensible sort of person, who acted as ballastfor the volatile Vicky, and sometimes reprimanded her in a mild way. 

"I love the child, " she had said to me once, "and she is a littlebrick. But once in a while I have to tell her a few things for thegood of the community. She takes it all like an angel. "

"Well, I don't care, " Vicky went on, "Norman Steele has no right tobring anybody here whom he hasn't asked me about. If I don't like him, I shall ask some of you nice, amiable men to get me a long plank, andwe'll put it out of a window, and make him walk it. Shall we?"

We all agreed to do this, or to tar and feather and ride on a rail anygentleman who might in any way be so unfortunate as to fall one iotashort of Vicky Van's requirements. 

"And now, " said Vicky, "if you'll all please go downstairs, exceptMrs. Reeves and Mr. Garrison and my own sweet self, I'll be orflyobliged to you. "

The sweeping gesture with which she sought to dismiss us was a wave ofher white arms and a smile of her red lips, and I, for one, found itimpossible to obey. I started with the rest, and then after the gaycrowd were part way down stairs I turned back. 

"Please, mayn't I join your little class, if I'll be very good?" Ibegged. "I don't want Bert Garrison to be left alone at the mercy oftwo such sirens. "

Miss Van Allen hesitated. Her pink-tipped forefinger rested a momenton her curved lip. "Yes, " she said, nodding her head. "Yes, stay, Mr. Calhoun. You may be a help. Are you any good at getting theatre boxesafter they're all sold?"

"That's my profession, " I returned. "I learned it from acorrespondence school. Where's the theatre? Lead me to it!"

"It's the Metropolis Theatre, " she replied. "And I want to have aparty there to-morrow night, and I want two boxes, and this awful, dreadful, bad Mr. Garrison says they're all sold, and I can't get any!What can you do about it?"

"Oh, I'll fix it. I'll go to the people who bought the boxes you want, and--I don't know what I'll say to them, exactly--but I'll fix up sucha yarn that they'll beg me to take the boxes off their hands. "

"Oh, will you, really?" and the dazzling smile she gave me would haverepaid a much greater Herculean task than I had undertaken. And, ofcourse, I hadn't meant it, but when she thought I did, I couldn't goback on my word. 

"I'll do my best, Miss Van Allen, " I said, seriously, "and if I can'tpossibly turn the trick, I'll--well, I'll buy the Metropolitan OperaHouse, and put on a show of my own. "

"No, " she laughed, "you needn't do that. But if you try and fail--why, we'll just have a little party here, a sort of consolation party, and--oh, let's have some private theatricals. Wouldn't that be fun!"

"More fun than the original program?" I asked quickly, hoping to belet off my promise. 

"No, sir!" she cried, "decidedly not! I want especially to have thattheatre party and supper afterward at the Britz. Now you do all youcan, won't you?"

I promised to do all I could, and I had a partial hope I could getwhat she wanted by hook or crook, and then, as she heard a speciallyfavorite fox-trot being dashed off on the piano downstairs, she sprangfrom her seat, and kicking the satin cushion aside, asked me to dance. In a moment we were whirling around the music room to the zippingmusic, and Mrs. Reeve and Garrison followed in our steps. 

Vicky danced with a natural born talent that is quite unlike anythingacquired by lessons. I had no need to guide her, she divined my lead, and swayed in any direction, even as I was about to indicate it. I hadnever danced with anyone who danced so well, and I was profuse in mythanks and praise. 

"I love it, " she said simply, as she patted the gold fringes of hergown into place. "I adore dancing, and you are one of the bestpartners I have ever had. Come, let us go down and cut into a Bridgegame. We'll just about have time before supper. "

Pirouetting before me, she led the way, and we went down the longsteep stairs. 

A shout greeted her appearance in the doorway. 

"Oh, Vicky, we have missed you! Come over here and listen to Ted'slatest old joke!"

"No, come over here and hear this awful gossip Ariadne is telling forsolemn truth. It's the very worst taradiddle she ever got off!"

"Here's a place, Vicky Van, a nice cosy corner, 'tween Jim and me. Come on, Ladygirl. "

"No, thanks, everybody. I'm going to cut in at this table. May I? Am Ia nuisance?"

"A Vicky-nuisance! They ain't no such animal!" and Bailey Mason roseto give her his chair. 

"No, " said she, "I want you to stay, Mr. Mason. 'Cause why, I want toplay wiz you. Cassie, you give me your place, won't you, Ducky-Daddles? and you go and flirt with Mr. Calhoun. He knows thevery newest flirts! Go, give him a tryout. "

Vicky Van settled herself into her seat with the happy little sigh ofthe bridge lover, who sits down with three good players, and inanother moment she was breathlessly looking over her hand. "Without, "she said, triumphantly, and knowing she'd say no word more to me forthe present, I walked away with Cassie Weldon. 

And Cassie was good fun. She took me to the piano, and with the softpedal down, she showed me a new little tone picture she had made up, which was both picturesque and funny. 

"You'd better go into vaudeville!" I exclaimed, as she finished, "yourtalent is wasted on the concert platform. "

"That's what Vicky tells me, " she returned. "Sometimes I believe Iwill try it, just for fun. "

"You'll find it such fun, you'll stay in for earnest, " I assured her, for she had shown a bit of inventive genius that I felt sure wouldmake good in a little musical turn. 

CHAPTER II

MR. SOMERS

It was nearly midnight when Steele came, and with him was a man I hadnever seen before, and whom I assumed to be the Mr. Somers I had heardabout. 

And it was. As Steele entered, he cast his eye around for Vicky, andsaw her at the bridge table down at the end of the room. Her back wastoward us, and she was so absorbed in the game she did not look round, if, indeed, she heard the noise of their arrival. 

The two men stopped near the group I was with and Steele introducedMr. Somers. 

A little curiously I looked at him, and saw a large, self-satisfiedlooking man wearing an expansive smile and expensive apparel. Clothesthe very best procurable, jewelry just inside the limits of goodtaste--he bore himself like a gentleman, yet there was an unmistakableair of ostentatious wealth that repelled me. A second look made methink Mr. Somers had dined either late or twice, but his greetingswere courteous and genial and his manner sociable, if a littlepatronizing. He seemed a stranger to all present, and his eye rovedabout for the charming hostess Steele had told him of. 

"We'll reach Miss Van Allen presently. " Steele laughed, in answer tothe glance, "if, indeed, we dare interrupt her game. Let's makeprogress slowly. "

"No hurry, " returned Somers, affably, beaming on Cassie Weldon andmeeting Ariadne Gale's receptive smile. "I'm anchored here for themoment. Miss Weldon? Ah, yes, I've heard you sing. Voice like alark--like a lark. "

Clearly, Somers was not much of a purveyor of small talk. I sized himup for a lumbering oldster, who wanted to be playful but didn't quiteknow how. 

He had rather an austere face, yet there was a gleam in his eye thatbelied the austerity. His cheeks were fat and red, his nose prominent, and he was clean shaven, save for a thick white mustache, that droopedslightly on either side of a full-lipped mouth. His hair was white, his eyes dark and deep-set, and he could easily be called a handsomeman. He was surely fifty, and perhaps more. Had it not been for acertain effusiveness in his speech, I could have liked him, but heseemed to me to lack sincerity. 

However, I am not one to judge harshly or hastily, and I met him halfway, and even helped him in his efforts at gay affability. 

"You've never been here before?" I asked; "Good old Steele to bringyou to-night. "

"No, never before, " and he glanced around appreciatively, "but Ishall, I hope, come often. Charming little nest; charming ladies!" abow included those nearest. 

"Yes, indeed, " babbled Ariadne, "fair women and brave men. "

"Brave, yes, " agreed Somers, "to dare the glances of such bright eyes. I must protect my heart!" He clasped his fat hands pretty near wherehis heart was situated, and grinned with delight as Ariadne also"protected" her heart. 

"Ah, " he cried, "two hearts in danger! I feel sure we shall befriends, if only because misery loves company. "

"Is it really misery with you?" and Ariadne's sympathy was soevidently profound, that Cassie Weldon and I walked away. 

"I'll give Ariad her innings, " said the vivacious Miss Weldon, "andI'll make up to the Somers kid later. Where'd Vicky pick him up?"

"She doesn't know him at all. Norman Steele brought him unbeknownst. "

"No! Why, Vick doesn't allow that sort of thing. "

"So I'm told. Any way, Steele did it. "

"Well, Vicky's such a good-natured darling, maybe she won't mind foronce. She won't, if she likes the little stranger. He's well-meaning, at any rate. "

"So's Ariadne. From her smile, I think she well means to sell him herlatest 'Autumn In The Adirondacks, ' or 'Lady With A Handbag'. "

"Now, don't be mean!" but Cassie laughed. "And I don't blame her ifshe does. Poor Ad paints above the heads of the public, so if this isa high-up Publican, she'd better make sales while the sun shines. "

"What's her work like?"

"You can see more of it in this house than anywhere else. Vicky is sofond of Ariadne and so sorry her pictures don't sell better, that shebuys a lot herself. "

"Does Miss Gale know Miss Van Allen does it out of--"

"Don't say charity! No, they're really good stuff, and Vicky buys 'emfor Christmas gifts and bridge prizes. "

"Does she ever play for prizes? I thought she liked a bit of a stake, now. "

"Yes, at evening parties. But, often we have a dove game of anafternoon, with prizes and pink tea. Vicky Van isn't a gay doll, youknow. She's--sometimes, she's positively domestic. I wish she had anice husband and some little kiddies. "

"Why hasn't she?"

"Give it up. She's never seen any man she loved, I s'pose. "

"Perhaps she'll love this Somers person. "

"Heaven forbid! Nothing less than a crown prince would suit Vicky Van. Look, she's turning to meet him. Won't he be bowled over!"

I turned, and though there were several people between us, I caught aglimpse of Somers' face as he was presented to Miss Van Allen. He wasbowled over. His eyes beamed with admiration and he bowed low as heraised to his lips the dainty, bejeweled hand. 

Vicky, apparently, did not welcome this old-time greeting, and shedrew away her hand, saying, "not allowed. Naughty man! Express propercompunction, or you can't sit next me at supper!"

"Forgive me, " begged Somers. "I'm sorry! I'll never do itagain--until after I sit next you at supper!"

"More brains than I thought, " I said to Cassie, who nodded, and thenVicky Van rose from her chair. 

"Take my place for a moment, Mr. Somers, " she said, standing beforehim. "I--" she dropped her eyes adorably, "I must see about thearrangement of seats at the supper table. " With a merry laugh, she ranfrom the room, and through the long hall to the dining-room. 

Somers dropped into her vacant chair, and continued the Bridge gamewith the air of one who knows how to play. 

In less than five minutes Vicky was back. "No, keep the hand, " shesaid, as he rose. "I've played long enough. And supper will be readyshortly. "

"Finish the rubber, --I insist" Somers returned, and as he determinedlystood behind the chair, Vicky, perforce, sat down. 

He continued to stand behind her chair, watching her play. Vicky wastoo sure of her game to be rattled at his close scrutiny, but itseemed to me her shoulders shrugged a little impatiently, as hecriticized or commended her plays. 

She had thrown a light scarf of gauze or tulle around when she was outof the room, and being the same color as her gown, it made her seemmore than ever like an houri. She smiled up into Somers' face, andthen, coyly, her long lashes fell on her pink cheeks. Evidently, shehad concluded to bewitch the newcomer, and she was making good. 

I drew nearer, principally because I liked to look at her. She was alive wire to-night! She looked roguish, and she made most brilliantplays, tossing down her cards with gay little gestures, and doingtrick shuffles with her twinkling fingers. 

"You could have had that last trick, if you'd played for it, " Somerssaid, as the rubber finished. 

"I know it, " Vicky conceded. "I saw, just too late, that I was gettingthe lead into the wrong hand. "

"Well, don't ever do that again, " he said, lightly, "never again. "

As he said the last word, he laid his finger tips on her shoulder. Itwas the veriest touch, the shoulder was swathed in the transparenttulle, but still, it roused Vicky. She glanced up at him, and I lookedat him, too. But Somers was not in flirtatious mood. He said, "I begyour pardon, " in most correct fashion. Had he then, touched herinadvertently? It didn't seem so, but his speech assured it. 

Vicky jumped up from the table, and ignoring Somers, ran out to thehall, saying something about looking after the surprise for thesupper. To my surprise, Somers followed her, not hastily, but ratherdeliberately, and, quelling an absurd impulse to go, too, I turned toNorman Steele, who stood near. 

"Who's this Somers?" I asked him, rather abruptly. "Is he all right?"

"You bet, " said Steele, smiling. "He's a top-notcher. "

"In what respects?"

"Every and all. "

"You've known him long?"

"Yes. I tell you Cal, he's all right. Forget it. What's the surprisefor supper? Do you know?"

"Of course not. It wouldn't be a surprise if we all knew of it. "

"Well, Vicky's surprises are always great fun. Why the grouch, oldman? Can't you chirrup?"

"Oh, I'm all right, " and I felt annoyed that he read in my face that Iwas put out. But I didn't like the looks of Somers, and I couldn't sayso to the man who had brought him there. 

"Oh, please! Oh, _please!_" shouted a hoarse, strange voice, and onescarcely to be heard above the hum of gay voices and peals of gaylaughter, "oh, _somebody_, please!"

I looked across the room, and in the wide hall doorway stood a man, who was quite evidently a waiter. He was white-faced and staring-eyed, and he fairly hung on to a portiere for support, as he repeated hisagonized plea. 

"What is it?" said Mrs. Reeves, as everybody else stared at the man. "What do you want?" She stepped toward him, and we all turned to look. 

"Not you--no, Madame. Some man, please--some doctor. Is there onehere?"

"Some of the servants ill?" asked Mrs. Reeves, kindly. "Doctor Remson, will you come?"

The pleasant-faced capable-looking woman paused only until DoctorRemson joined her, and the two went into the hall, the waiterfollowing slowly. 

In a moment I heard a shriek, a wild scream. Partly curiosity andpartly a foreboding of harm to Vicky Van, made me rush forward. 

Mrs. Reeves had screamed, and I ran the length of the hall to thedining room. There I saw Somers on the floor, and Remson bending overhim. 

"He's killed! He's stabbed!" cried Mrs. Reeves, clutching at my armas I reached her. "Oh, what shall we do?"

She stood just in the dining-room doorway, which was at the end of thelong hall, as in most city houses. The room was but dimly lighted, thetable candles not yet burning. 

"Keep the people back!" I shouted, as those in the living-room pressedout into the hall. "Steele, keep those girls back!"

There was an awful commotion. The men urged the women back, butcuriosity and horror made them surge forward in irresistible force. 

"Shut the door, " whispered Remson. "This man is dead. It's an awfulsituation. Shut that door!"

Somehow, I managed to get the door closed between the dining-room andhall. On the inside were Remson, Mrs. Reeves, who wouldn't budge, andmyself. Outside in the hall was a crowd of hysterical women andfrightened men. 

"Are you sure?" I asked, in a low voice, going nearer to the doctorand looking at Somers' fast-glazing eyes. 

"Sure. He was stabbed straight to the heart with--see--a small, sharpknife. "

Her hands over her eyes, but peering through her fingers, Mrs. Reevesdrew near. "Not really, " she moaned. "Oh, not really dead! Can't we doanything for him?"

"No, " said Remson, rising to his feet, from his kneeling position. "He's dead, I tell you. Who did it?"

"That waiter--" I began, and then stopped. Looking in from a dooropposite the hall door, probably one that led to a butler's pantry orkitchen, were half a dozen white-faced waiters. 

"Come in here, " said Remson; "not all of you. Which is chief?"

"I am, sir, " and a head waiter came into the room. "What hashappened?"

"A man has been killed, " said the doctor, shortly. "Who are you? Whoare you all? House servants?"

"No sir, " said the chief. "We're caterer's men. From Fraschini's. I'mLuigi. We are here to serve supper. "

"What do you know of this?"

"Nothing, sir, " and the Italian looked truthful, though scared. 

"Haven't you been in and out of the dining-room all evening?"

"Yes, sir. Setting the table, and such. But now it's all ready, and Iwas waiting Miss Van Allen's word to serve it. "

"Where is Miss Van Allen?" I broke in. 

"I--I don't know, sir, " Luigi hesitated, and Doctor Remsoninterrupted. 

"We mustn't ask these questions, Mr. Calhoun. We must call thepolice. "

"The police!" cried Mrs. Reeves, "oh no! no! don't do that. "

"It is my duty, " said the doctor, firmly. "And no one must enter orleave this room until an officer arrives. You waiters, stay there inthat pantry. Close those doors to the other room, Mr. Calhoun, please. Mrs. Reeves, I'm sorry, but I must ask you to stay here--"

"I won't do it!" declared the lady. "You're not an officer of the law. I'll stay in the house, but not in this room. "

She stalked out into the hall, and Doctor Remson went at once to thetelephone and called up headquarters. 

The guests in the living room, hearing this, flew into a panic. 

Of course, it was no longer possible, nor, as I could see, desirableto keep them in ignorance of what had happened. 

After calling the police, Doctor Remson returned to his post justinside the dining-room door. He answered questions patiently, atfirst, but after being nearly driven crazy by the frantic women, hesaid, sharply, "You may all do just as you like. I've no authorityhere, except that the ethics of my profession dictate. That does notextend to jurisdiction over the guests present. But I advise you as amatter of common decency to stay here until this affair isinvestigated. "

But they didn't. Many of them hastily gathered up their wraps and wentout of the house as quickly as possible. 

Cassie Weldon came to me in her distress. 

"I must go, Mr. Calhoun, " she said. "Don't you think I may? Why, itwould interfere greatly with my work to have it known that I was mixedup in a--"

"You're not mixed up in it, Miss Weldon. " I began to speak a littlesternly, but the look in her eyes aroused my sympathy. "Well, go on, "I said, "I suppose you will testify if called on. Everybody knowswhere to find you. "

"Yes, " she said, slowly, "but I hope I won't be called on. Why, itmight spoil my whole career. "

She slipped out of the door, in the wake of some other departingguests. After all, I thought, it couldn't matter much. Few, if any, ofthem were implicated, and they could all be found at their homes. 

And yet, I had a vague idea that we ought all to stay. 

"I shall remain and face the music, " I heard Mrs. Reeves saying. "Where _is_ Vicky? Do you suppose she knows about this? I'm going upin the music room to see if she's there. You know, with all theexcitement down here, those upstairs may know nothing of it. "

"I shall remain, too" said Ariadne Gale. "Why should anyone kill Mr. Somers? Did the caterer's people do it? What an awful thing! Will itbe in the papers?"

"_Will_ it!" said Garrison, who was standing near. "Reporters may behere any minute. Must be here as soon as the police come. Where isMiss Van Allen?"

"I don't know, " and Ariadne began to cry. 

"Stop that, " said Mrs. Reeves, gruffly, but not unkindly. "Stay if youwant to, Ariadne, but behave like a sensible woman, not a sillyschoolgirl. This is an awful tragedy, of some sort. "

"What do you mean, of some sort?" asked Miss Gale. 

"I mean we don't know what revelations are yet to come. Where's NormanSteele? Where's the man who brought this Somers here?"

Sure enough, where was Steele? I had forgotten all about him. And itwas he who had introduced Somers to the Van Allen house, and no oneelse present, so far as I knew, was previously acquainted with the mannow lying dead the other side of that closed door. 

I looked over the people who had stayed. Only a handful--perhaps halfa dozen. 

And then I wondered if I'd better go home myself. Not for my own sake, in any way; indeed, I preferred to remain, but I thought of Aunt Lucyand Win. Ought I to bring on them any shadow of trouble or opprobriumthat might result from my presence in that house at that time? Wouldit not be better to go while I could do so? For, once the police tookcharge, I knew I should be called on to testify in public. And even asI debated with myself, the police arrived. 

CHAPTER III

THE WAITER'S STORY

Doctor Remson's police call had been imperative, and Inspector Masoncame in with two men. 

"What's this? What's wrong here?" the big burly inspector said, as hefaced the few of us who had remained. 

"Come in here, inspector, " said the doctor, from the dining-room door. 

And from that moment the whole aspect of the house seemed to change. No longer a gay little bijou residence, it became a court of justice. 

One of the men was stationed at the street door and one at the areadoor below. Headquarters was notified of details. The coroner wassummoned, and we were all for the moment under detention. 

"Where is Miss Van Allen? Where is the lady of the house?" askedMason. "Where are the servants? Who is in charge here?"

Was ever a string of questions so impossible of answers!

Doctor Remson told the main facts, but he was reticent. I, too, hesitated to say much, for the case was strange indeed. 

Mrs. Reeves looked gravely concerned, but said nothing. 

Ariadne Gale began to babble. That girl didn't know how to be quiet. 

"I guess Miss Van Allen is upstairs, " she volunteered. "She was inthe dining-room, but she isn't here now, so she must be upstairs. Shall I go and see?"

"No!" thundered the inspector. "Stay where you are. Search the house, Breen. I'll cover the street door. "

The man he called Breen went upstairs on the jump, and Masoncontinued. "Tell the story, one of you. Who is this man? Who killedhim?"

As he talked, the inspector was examining Somers' body, making rapidnotes in a little book, keeping his eye on the door, and darting quickglances at each of us, as he tried to grasp the situation. 

I looked at Bert Garrison, who was perhaps the most favored of MissVan Allen's friends, but he shook his head, so I threw myself into thebreach. 

"Inspector, " I said, "that man's name is Somers. Further than that Iknow nothing. He is a stranger to all of us, and he came to this houseto-night for the first time in his life. "

"How'd he happen to come? Friend of Miss Van Allen?"

"He met her to-night for the first time. He came here with--" Ipaused. It was so hard to know what to do. Steele had gone home, oughtI to implicate him?

"Go on--came here with whom? The truth, now. "

"I usually speak the truth" I returned, shortly. "He came with Mr. Norman Steele. "

"Where is Mr. Steele?"

"He has gone. There were a great many people here, and, naturally, some of them went away when this tragedy was discovered. "

"Humph! Then, of course, the guilty party escaped. But we are gettingnowhere. Does nobody know anything of this man, but his name?"

Nobody did; but Ariadne piped up, "He was a delightful man. He told mehe was a great patron of art, and often bought pictures. "

Paying little heed to her, the inspector was endeavoring to learn fromthe dead man's property something more about him. 

"No letters or papers, " he said, disappointedly, as he turned out thepockets. "Not unusual--in evening togs--but not even a card oranything personal--looks queer--"

"Look in his watch, " said Ariadne, bridling with importance. 

Giving her a keen glance, the inspector followed her suggestion. Inthe back of the case was a picture of a coquettish face, undoubtedlythat of an actress. It was not carefully fastened in, but roughly cutout and pressed in with ragged edges. 

"Temporary, " grunted the inspector, "and recently stuck in. Somechicken he took out to supper. He's a club man, you say?"

"Yes, Mr. Steele said so, and also vouched for his worth andcharacter. " I resented the inspector's attitude. Though I knew nothingof Somers, and didn't altogether like him, yet, I saw no reason tothink ill of the dead, until circumstances warranted it. 

Further search brought a thick roll of money, some loose silver, akey-ring with seven or eight keys, eyeglasses in a silver case, handkerchiefs, a gold pencil, a knife, and such trifles as any manmight have in his pockets, but no directly identifying piece ofproperty. 

R. S. Was embroidered in tiny white letters on the handkerchiefs, anda monogram R. S. Was on his seal ring. 

His jewelry, which was costly, the inspector did not touch. There weremagnificent pearl studs, a watch fob, set with a black opal and pearlcufflinks. Examination of his hat showed the pierced letters R. S. , but nothing gave clue to his Christian name. 

"Somers, " said the inspector, musingly. "What club does he belong to?"

"I don't know, " I replied. "Mr. Steele belongs to several, but Mr. Somers does not belong to any that I do. At least, I've never seen himat any. "

"Call in the servants. Let's find out something about this household. "

As no one else moved to do it, I stepped to the door of the butler'spantry, and summoned the head waiter of the caterer. 

"Where are the house servants?" I asked him. 

"There aren't any, sir, " he replied, looking shudderingly at thegrisly form on the floor. 

"No servants? In a house of this type! What do you mean?"

"That's true, " said Mrs. Reeves, breaking her silence, at last. "MissVan Allen has a very capable woman, who is housekeeper and ladies'maid in one. But when guests are here, the suppers are served from thecaterer's. "

"Then call the housekeeper. And where is Miss Van Allen herself?"

"She's not in the house, " said the policeman Breen, returning from hissearch. 

"Not in the house!" cried Mrs. Reeves. "Where is she?"

"I've been all over--every room--every floor. She isn't in the house. There's nobody upstairs at all. "

"No housekeeper or maid?" demanded Mason. "Then they've got away!Here, waiter, tell me all you know of this thing. "

The Italian Luigi came forward, shaking with terror, and wringing hisfingers nervously. 

"I d--don't know anything about it, " he began, but Mason interrupted, "You do! You know all about it! Did you kill this man?"

"No! Dio mio! No! a thousand no's!"

"Then, unless you wish to be suspected of it, tell all you know. "

A commotion at the door heralded the coroner's arrival, also adetective and a couple of plain clothes men. Clearly, here was amysterious case. 

The coroner at once took matters in his own hands. Inspector Masontold him all that had been learned so far, and though Coroner Fennseemed to think matters had been pretty well bungled, he made nocomment and proceeded with the inquiries. 

"Sure there's nobody upstairs?" he asked Breen. 

"Positive. I looked in every nook and cranny. I've raked the wholehouse, but the basement and kitchen part. "

"Go down there, then, and then go back and search upstairs again. Somebody may be hiding. Who here knows Miss Van Allen the mostintimately?"

"Perhaps I do, " said Mrs. Reeves. "Or Miss Gale. We are both her warmfriends. "

"I'm also her friend, " volunteered Bert Garrison. "And I canguarantee that if Miss Van Allen has fled from this house it was outof sheer fright. She never saw this man until to-night. He was astranger to us all. "

"Where's the housekeeper?" went on Fenn. 

"I think she must be somewhere about, " said Mrs. Reeves. "Perhaps inthe kitchen. Julie is an all round capable woman. When there are noguests she prepares Miss Van Allen's meals herself. When company ispresent the caterer always is employed. "

"And there are no other servants?"

"Not permanent ones, " replied Mrs. Reeves. "I believe the laundressand chore boy come by the day, also cleaning women and such. But Iknow that Miss Van Allen has no resident servant besides the maidJulie. "

"This woman must be found, " snapped the coroner. "But we must firstof all identify the body. Mason, call up the principal clubs on thetelephone, and locate R. Somers. Also find Mr. Norman Steele. Now, Luigi, let's have your story. "

The trembling waiter stammered incoherently, and said little ofmoment. 

"Look here, " said Fenn, bluntly, "is that your knife sticking in him?I mean, is it one belonging to Fraschini's service? Don't touch it, but look at it, you can tell. "

Luigi leaned over the dead man. "Yes, it is one of our boning knives, "he said. "We always bring our own hardware. "

"Well, then, if you want to clear yourself and your men of doubt, tellall you know. "

"I know this, " and Luigi braced himself to the ordeal. "I was waitingin the pantry for Miss Van Allen to send me word to serve supper, andI peeped in the dining-room now and then to see if it was time. Iheard, presently, Miss Van Allen's voice, also a man's voice. I didn'twant to intrude, so waited for a summons. After a moment or two Iheard a little scream, and heard somebody or something fall. I had nothought of anything wrong, but thought the guests wereunusually--er--riotous. "

"Are Miss Van Allen's guests inclined to be riotous?"

"No, sir, oh, no, " asseverated the man, while Mrs. Reeves and Ariadnelooked indignant. "And for that reason, I felt a little curious, so Ipushed the door ajar and peeped in. "

"What did you see?"

"I saw, " Luigi paused so long that I feared he was going to collapse. But the coroner eyed him sternly, and he went on. "I saw Miss VanAllen standing, looking down at this--this gentleman on the floor, andmaking as if to pull out the knife. I could scarcely believe my eyes, and I watched her. She didn't pull the knife, but she straightenedup, looked around, glanced down at her gown, which--which was stainedwith blood--and then--she ran out into the hall. "

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know. I couldn't see, as the door was but on a crack. Then Ithought I ought to go into the dining-room, and I did. I looked at thegentleman, and I didn't know what to do. So I went into the hall, tothe parlor door, and called for help, for a doctor or somebody. Andthen they all came out here. That's all I know. "

Luigi's nerve gave way, and he sank into a chair with a sob. Fennlooked at him, and considerately left him alone for the time. 

"Can this be true?" he said, turning to us. "Can you suspect Miss VanAllen of this crime?"

"No!" cried Bert Garrison and the women, at once. And, "No!" said I. "I am positive Miss Van Allen did not know Mr. Somers and could nothave killed an utter stranger--on no provocation whatever. "

"You do not know what provocation she may have had, " suggested Fenn. 

"Now, look here, Mr. Coroner, " said Mrs. Reeves very decidedly, "Iwon't have Miss Van Allen spoken of in any such way. I assume you meanthat this man, though a stranger, might have said or done something toannoy or offend Miss Van Allen. Well, if he had done so, Victoria VanAllen never would have killed him! She is the gentlest, most gay andlight-hearted girl, and though she never tolerates any rudeness orfamiliarity, the idea of her killing a man is too absurd. You might aswell suspect a dove or a butterfly of crime!"

"That's right, Mr. Coroner, " said Garrison. "That waiter's story isan hallucination of some sort--if it isn't a deliberate falsification. Miss Van Allen is a dainty, happy creature, and to connect her withanything like this _is_ absurd!"

"That's to be found out, Mr. Garrison. "Why did Miss Van Allen runaway?"

"I don't admit that she did run away--in the sense of flight. If shewere frightened at this thing--if she saw it--she may have run out ofthe door in hysterics or in a panic of terror. But she theperpetrator! Never!"

"Never!" echoed Mrs. Reeves. "The poor child! If she did come outhere--and saw this awful sight--why, I think it would unhinge hermind!"

"Who is Miss Van Allen?" asked Fenn. "What is her occupation?"

"She hasn't an occupation, " said Mrs. Reeves. "She is a young lady ofindependent fortune. As to her people or immediate relatives, I knownothing at all. I've known her a year or so, and as she never referredto such matters I never inquired. But she's a thorough littlegentlewoman, and I'll defend her against any slander to my utmostpowers. "

"And so will I, " said Miss Gale. "I'm sure of her fineness ofcharacter, and lovely nature--"

"But these opinions, ladies, don't help our inquiries, " interruptedFenn. "What can you men tell us? What I want first, is to identifythis body, or, rather to learn more of R. Somers, and to find Miss VanAllen. I can't hold an inquest until these points are cleared up. Mason, have you found out anything?"

"No, " said the inspector, returning from his long telephone quest. "Icalled up four clubs. Norman Steele belongs to three of them, butthis man doesn't seem to belong to any. That is, there are Somersesand even R. Somerses, but they all have middle names, and, too, theirdescription doesn't fit this Somers. "

"Then Mr. Steele misrepresented him. Did you get Steele, Mason?"

"No, he wasn't at any of the clubs. I found his residence, a bachelorapartment house, but he isn't there, either. "

"Find Steele; find Miss Van Allen; find the maid, what's hername--Julia?"

"Julie, she was always called, " said Mrs. Reeves. "If Miss Van Allenwent away, I've no doubt Julie went with her. She is a most devotedcaretaker of her mistress. "

"An oldish woman?"

"No. Perhaps between thirty-five and forty. "

"What's she look like?"

"Describe her, Ariadne, you're an artist. "

"Julie, " said Miss Gale, "is a good sort. She's medium-sized, she hasbrown hair and rather hazel eyes. She wears glasses, and she stoops alittle in her walk. She has perfect training and correct manners, andshe is a model servant, but she gives the impression of watching overMiss Van Allen, whatever else she may be engaged in at the same time. "

"Wears black?"

"No; usually gray gowns, or sometimes white. Inconspicuous aprons andno cap. She's not quite a menial, but yet, not entirely ahousekeeper. "

"English?"

"English speaking, if that's what you mean. But I think she's anAmerican. Don't you, Mrs Reeves?"

"American? Yes, of course. "

CHAPTER IV

SOMERS' REAL NAME

Detective Lowney, who had come with the coroner, had said little buthad listened to all. Occasionally he would dart from the room, andreturn a few moments later, scribbling in his notebook. He was analert little man, with beady black eyes and a stubby black mustache. 

"I want a few words with that caterer's man, " he said, suddenly, "andthen they'd better clear away this supper business and go home. "

We all turned to look at the table. It stood in the end of thedining-room that was back of the living-room. The sideboard was at theopposite end, back of the hall, and it was directly in front of thesideboard that Somers' body lay. 

Lowney turned on more light, and a thrill went through us at theincongruity of that gay table and the tragedy so near it. As always atVicky Van's parties, the appointments were dainty and elaborate. Flowers decorated the table; lace, silver, and glass were of finestquality; and in the centre was the contrivance known as a "Jack HornerPie. "

"That was to be the surprise, " said Mrs. Reeves. "I knew about it. The pie is full of lovely trinkets and little jokes on the guests. "

"I thought those things were for children's parties, " observed Fenn, looking with interest at the gorgeous confection. 

"They're really for birthdays, " said Mrs. Reeves, "and to-day isVicky's birthday. That was part of her surprise. She didn't want itknown, lest the guests should bring gifts. She's like a child, Vickyis, just as happy over a birthday party as a little girl would be. "

"What does Miss Van Allen look like?" asked the detective. 

"She's pretty, " replied Mrs. Reeves, "awfully pretty, but not a ravingbeauty. Black hair, and bright, fresh coloring--"

"How was she dressed? Giddy clothes?"

"In an evening gown, " returned Mrs. Reeves, who resented thedetective's off-hand manner. "A beautiful French gown, of tulle andgold trimmings. "

"Low-necked, and all that? Jewels?"

"Yes, " I said, as Mrs. Reeves disdained to answer. "Full eveningcostume, and a necklace and earrings of amber set in gold. "

"Well, what I'm getting at is, " said Lowney, "a woman dressed likethat couldn't go very far in the streets without being noticed. We'llsurely be able to trace Miss Van Allen. Where would she be likely togo?"

"I don't know, " said Mrs. Reeves. "She wouldn't go to my home, I live'way down in Washington Square. "

"Nor to mine, " chirped Ariadne, "it's over on the west side. "

"I don't believe she left the house, " declared the coroner. 

"Tell us again, Luigi, " asked Lowney, "just where did the lady seem togo, when you saw her leave this room?"

"I can't say, sir. I was looking through a small opening, as I pushedthe door ajar, and I was so amazed at what I saw, that I was sort ofparalyzed and didn't dare open the door further. "

"Go back to the pantry, " commanded Fenn, "and look in, just as youdid. "

The waiter retreated to the post he had held, and setting the door afew inches ajar, proved that he could see body by the sideboard, butcould not command a view of the hall. 

"Now, I'll represent Miss Van Allen, " and Lowney stood over the bodyof Somers. "Is this the place?"

"A little farther to the right, sir, " and Luigi's earnestness and goodfaith were unmistakable. "Yes, sir, just there. "

"Now, I walk out into the hall. Is this the way she went?"

"Yes, sir, the same. "

Lowney went from the dining-room to the hall, and it was clear thathis further progress could not be seen by the peeping waiter. 

"You see, Fenn, " the detective went on, "from here, in the back ofthis long hall, Miss Van Allen could have left the house by two ways. She could have gone out at the front door, passing the parlor, or, shecould have gone down these basement stairs, which are just under thestairs to the second story. Then she could have gone out by the frontarea door, which would give her access to the street. She could havecaught up a cloak as she went. "

"Or, " said Fenn, musingly, "she could have run upstairs. The staircaseis so far back in the hall, that the guests in the parlor would nothave seen her. This is a very deep house, you see. "

It was true. The stairs began so far back in the long hall, that Vickycould easily have slipped upstairs after leaving the dining-room, without being seen by any of us in the living-room, unless we were inits doorway, looking out. Was anybody? So many guests had left, thatthis point could not be revealed. 

"I didn't see her, " declared Mrs. Reeves, "and I don't believe she wasin the dining-room at all. I don't care what that waiter says!"

"Oh, yes, Madame, " reiterated Luigi. "It was Miss Van Allen. I knowher well. Often she comes to Fraschini's, and always I take herorders. She came even this afternoon, to make sure the great cake--theJack Horner, was all right. And she approved it, ah, she clapped herhands at sight of it. We all do our best for Miss Van Allen, she is alovely lady. "

"Miss Van Allen is one of your regular customers?"

"One of our best. Very often we serve her, and always she orders ourfinest wares. "

"You provide everything?"

"Everything. Candles, flowers, decorations--all"

"And she pays her bills?"

"Most promptly. "

"By cheque?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And there are no servants here but the maid Julie?"

"I have often seen others. But I fancy they do not live in the house. Madame Julie superintends and directs us always. Miss Van Allen leavesmuch to her. She is most capable. "

"When did you see this woman, this Julie, last?"

"A short time before--before that happened. " Luigi looked toward thebody. "She was in and out of the pantries all the evening. Sheadmitted the guests, she acted as ladies' maid, and she arranged thefavors in the pie. It was, I should say, ten minutes or so since shewas last in the pantry, when I peeped in at the door. "

"Where was Julie then?"

"I don't know. I did not see her. Perhaps upstairs, or maybe in thefront of the hall, waiting to bring me word to serve supper. "

"Tell me something distinctive about this maid's appearance. Was shegood-looking?"

"Yes, a good-looking woman. But nothing especial about her. She hadmany gold fillings in her teeth--"

"That's something, " and Lowney noted it with satisfaction. "Go on. "

But Luigi seemed to know nothing else that differentiated Julie fromher sisters in service, and Lowney changed his questions. 

"How could Miss Van Allen get that knife of yours?" he asked. 

"I don't know, sir. It was, I suppose, in the pantry, with our otherknives. "

"What is its use?"

"It is a boning knife, but doubtless one of our men used it in cuttingcelery for salad, or some such purpose. "

"Ask them. "

Inquiry showed that a man, named Palma, had used the knife for makinga salad, and had left it in the butler's pantry an hour or so beforethe crime was committed. Any one could have taken the knife withoutits being missed, as the salad had been completed and put aside. 

"In that case, Miss Van Allen must have secured the knife some littletime before it was used, as Luigi was in the pantry just previously, "observed Fenn. "That shows premeditation. It wasn't done with a weaponpicked up at the moment. "

"Then it couldn't have been done by Miss Van Allen!" exclaimed Mrs. Reeves triumphantly, "for Vicky had no reason to premeditate killing aman she had never seen before. "

"Vicky didn't do it, " wailed Ariadne. "I know she didn't. "

"She must be found, " said Lowney. "But she will be found. If she'sinnocent, she will return herself. If guilty, we must find her. And wewill. A householder cannot drop out of existence unnoticed by anyone. Does she own this house?"

"I think so, " said Mrs. Reeves. "I'm not positive, but it's myimpression that she does. Vicky Van never boasts or talks of her moneyor of herself. But I know she gives a good deal in charity, and isalways ready to subscribe to philanthropic causes. I tell you she isnot the criminal, and I don't believe she ever left this house in themiddle of the night in evening dress! That child is scared to death, and is hiding--in the attic or somewhere. "

"Suppose, Mrs. Reeves, " said the coroner, "you go with Mr. Lowney, andlook over the house again. Search the bedrooms and store-rooms. "

"I will, " and Mrs. Reeves seemed to welcome an opportunity to help. She was a good-hearted woman, and a staunch friend of Vicky Van. I wasglad she was on hand to stand up for the girl, for I confess thingslooked, to me, pretty dubious. 

"Come along, too, Mr. Calhoun, " said Mrs. Reeves. "There's no tellingwhat we may find. Perhaps there's further--tragedy. "

I knew what was in her mind. That if Vicky had done the thing, shemight have, in an agony of remorse, taken her own life. 

Thrilled with this new fear, I followed Lowney and Mrs. Reeves. Wewent downstairs first. We examined all the basement rooms and thesmall, city back yard. There was no sign of Vicky Van or of Julie, andnext we came back to the first floor, hunted that, and then onupstairs. The music room was soon searched, and I fell back as theothers went into Vicky's bedroom. 

"Come on, Mr. Calhoun, " said Lowney, "we must make a thorough job ofit this time. "

The bedroom was, it seemed to me, like a fairy dream. Furniture ofwhite enameled wicker, with pink satin cushions. Everywhere the mostexquisite appointments of silver, crystal and embroidered fabrics, anda bed fit for a princess. It seemed profanation for the littledetective to poke and pry around in wardrobes and cupboards, though Iknew it must be done. He was not only looking for Vicky, but notinganything that might bear on her disappearance. 

But there was no clue. Everything was in order, and all just as awell-bred, refined woman would have her belongings. 

The bedroom was over the dining-room, and back of this, over thepantry extension, was Vicky Van's dressing-room. 

This was a bijou boudoir, and dressing-table, chiffonier, robe-chests, and jewel-caskets were all in keeping with the personality of theirowner. The walls were panelled in pale rose color, and a few finepictures were in absolute harmony. A long mirror was in a Florentinegilt frame, and a _chaise longue_, by a reading table, bespoke hoursof ease. 

Ruthlessly, Lowney pried into everything, ran his arm among the gownshanging in the wardrobe, and looked into the carved chests. 

Again no clue. The perfect order everywhere, showed, perhaps, preparation for guests, but nothing indicated flight or hiding. Thedressing-table boxes held some bits of jewelry but nothing of reallygreat value. An escritoire was full of letters and papers, and this, Lowney locked, and put the key in his pocket. 

"If it's all right, " he said, "there's no harm done. And if the ladydoesn't show up, we must examine the stuff. "

On we went to the third floor of the house. The rooms here wereunused, save one that was evidently Julie's. The furnishings, thoughsimple, were attractive, and showed a thoughtful mistress and anappreciative maid. Everything was in order. Several uniforms of blackand of gray were in the cupboard, and several white aprons and onewhite dress. There were books, and a work-basket and such things asbetokened the life of a sedate, busy woman. 

We left no room, no cupboard unopened. No hall or loft unsearched. Welooked in, under and behind every piece of furniture, and came, atlast, to the unescapable conclusion that wherever Vicky Van might be, she was not in her own house. 

Downstairs we went, and found Coroner Fenn and Inspector Mason in thehall. They had let Doctor Remson go home, also Garrison and Miss Gale. The waiters, too, had been sent off. 

"You people can go, if you like, " Fenn said, to Mrs. Reeves andmyself. "I'll take your addresses, and you can expect to be called onas witnesses. If we ever get anything to witness! I never saw such acase! No criminal to arrest, and nobody knows the victim! He must befrom out of town. We'll nail Mr. Steele to-morrow, and begin to getsomewhere. Also we'll look up Miss Van Allen's credits and businessacquaintances. A woman can't have lived two years in a house likethis, and not have somebody know her antecedents and relatives. Isuppose Mr. Steele brought his friend here, and then, when this thinghappened he was scared and lit out. "

"Maybe Steele did the killing, " suggested Lowney. 

"No, " disagreed Fenn. "I believe that Dago waiter's yarn. Icross-questioned him a lot before I let him go, and I'm sure he'stelling what he saw. I'll see Fraschini's head man to-morrow--or, Isuppose it's to-morrow now--hello, who's that?"

Another policeman came in at the street door. 

"What's up?" he said, looking about in amazement. "You here, Mr. Fenn? Lowney? What's doing?"

It was Patrolman Ferrall, the officer on the beat. 

"Where you been?" asked the coroner. "Don't you know what hashappened?"

"No; ever since midnight I been handling a crowd at a fire a coupleblocks away. This is Miss Van Allen's house. "

"Sure it is, and a friend of hers named Somers has been bumped off. "

"What? Killed?"

"That's it. What do you know of Miss Van Allen?"

"Nothing, except that she lives here. Quiet young lady. Nothin' to besaid about her. Who's the man?"

"Don't know, except named Somers. R. Somers. "

"Never heard of him. Where's Miss Van Allen?"

"Skipped. "

"What! That little thoroughbred can't be mixed up in a shootin'!"

"He isn't shot. Stabbed. With a kitchen knife. "

"Let's see him. "

The coroner and Ferrall went toward the dining room, and, on anirresistible impulse of curiosity, I followed. 

"Him!" exclaimed Ferrall, as he caught sight of the dead man'sfeatures. "That ain't no Somers. That's Randolph Schuyler. "

"What!"

"Sure it is. Schuyler, the millionaire. Lives on Fifth Avenue, not fardown from here. Who killed him?"

"But look here. Are you sure this is Randolph Schuyler?"

"Sure? Of course I'm sure. His house is on my beat. I see him often, goin' in or comin' out. "

"Well, then we _have_ got a big case on our hands! Mason!"

The inspector could scarcely believe Ferrall's statement, but realizedthat the policeman must know. 

"Whew!" he said, trying to think of a dozen things at once. "ThenSteele knew him, and introduced him as Somers on purpose. No wonderthe clubs didn't know of R. Somers! R. S. On his handkerchiefs and allthat. He used a false name 'cause he didn't want it known thatRandolph Schuyler came to see Miss Van Allen! Oh, here's a mess!Where's that girl? Why did she kill him?"

"She didn't!" Mrs. Reeves began to cry. "She didn't know it _was_ Mr. Schuyler. She doesn't _know_ Mr. Schuyler. I'm sure she doesn't, because we were making lists for bazar patrons and she said she wouldask only people she knew, and we tried to find somebody who knewRandolph Schuyler, to ask him, but we didn't know anybody who wasacquainted with him at all. Oh, it can't be the rich Schuyler! Whywould he come here?"

"We must get hold of Mr. Steele as soon as possible, " said Fenn, excitedly. "Breen, call up his home address again, and if he isn'tthere, go there and stick till he comes. Now, for some one to identifythis body. Call up the Schuyler house--no, better go around there. Where is it, Ferrall?"

"Go straight out to the Avenue, and turn down. It's No. --only part ofa block down. Who's going?"

"You go, Lowney, " said Fenn. "Mason, will you go?"

"Yes, of course. Come on, Lowney. "

The coroner gave Mrs. Reeves and myself permission to go home, and Iwas glad to go. But Mrs. Reeves declared her intention of staying thenight, what was left of it, in Miss Van Allen's house. 

"It's too late for me to go down alone, " she said, in her sensibleway. "And, too, I'd rather be here, in case--in case Miss Van Allencomes home. I'm her friend, and I know she'd like me to stay. "

CHAPTER V

THE SCHUYLER HOUSEHOLD

As for me, I began to collect my senses after the shock of learningthe true identity of the dead man. Though I had never met him, Randolph Schuyler was a client and friend of my partner, CharlesBradbury, and I suddenly felt a sort of personal responsibility ofaction. 

For one thing, I disliked the idea of Mr. Schuyler's wife and familyreceiving the first tidings of the tragedy from the police. It seemedto me a friend ought to break the news, if possible. 

I said as much to Coroner Fenn, and he agreed. 

"That's so, " he said. "It'll be an awful errand. In the middle of thenight, too. If you're acquainted, suppose you go there with the boys, Mr. Calhoun. "

"I'm not personally acquainted, but Mr. Schuyler is my partner'sclient, though there's been little business of his with our firm oflate. But, as a matter of humanity, I'll go, if you say so, and be ofany help I can. "

"Go, by all means. Probably they'll be glad of your advice andassistance in many ways. "

I dreaded the errand, yet I thought if the police had had to go andtell Winnie and Aunt Lucy any such awful news, how glad they'd be tohave somebody present of their own world, even of their ownneighborhood. So I went. 

As we had been told, the Schuyler house was only a few doors below theAvenue corner. Even as Mason rang the bell, I was thinking how strangethat a man should go to a house where he desired to conceal his ownname, when it was so near his own dwelling. 

And yet, I knew, too, that the houses on Fifth Avenue are as farremoved from houses just off the Avenue, as if they were in adifferent town. 

Mason's ring was answered by a keen-eyed man of imperturbablecountenance. 

"What's wanted?" he said, gazing calmly at the policemen. 

"Where is Mr. Schuyler?" asked the inspector, in a matter-of-fact way. 

"He's out, " said the man, respectfully enough, but of no mind to beloquacious. 

"Where?"

"I don't know. He went to his club after dinner, and has not yetreturned. "

"Are you his valet?"

"Yes, I wait up for him. He comes in with his key. I've no idea whenhe will return. "

"Is his wife at home?"

"Yes, Mrs. Schuyler is at home. " Clearly, this man was answeringquestions only because he recognized the authority that asked them. But he volunteered no information. 

"Who else is in the family? Children?"

"No, Mr. Schuyler has no children. His two sisters are here, and Mrs. Schuyler. That is all. "

"They are all in bed?"

"Yes, sir. Has anything happened to Mr. Schuyler?"

"Yes, there has. Mr. Schuyler is dead. "

"Dead!" The imperturbable calm gave way, and the valet becamenervously excited. "What do you mean? Where is he? Shall I go to him?"

"We will come in, " said Lowney, for until now, we had stood outside. "Then we will tell you. Are any of the other servants about?"

"No, sir, they are all in bed. "

"Then--what is your name?"

"Cooper, sir. "

"Then, Cooper, call the butler, or whoever is in general charge. And--summon Mrs. Schuyler. "

"I'll call Jepson, he's the butler, sir. And I'll call Mrs. Schuyler'smaid, Tibbetts, if she's in. And the maid, Hester, who waits on theMisses Schuyler. Shall I?"

"Yes, get things started. Get Jepson as soon as you can. "

"This is an awful affair, " said Mason, as Cooper went off. We were inthe hall, a great apartment more like a room, save that a broadstaircase curved up at one side. The furnishings were magnificent, butin a taste heavily ornate and a little old-fashioned. There werecarved and upholstered benches, but none of us cared to sit. Thetension was too great. 

"Keep your eyes open, Lowney, " he went on. "There's lots to be pickedup from servants, before they're really on their guard. Get all youcan about Mr. Schuyler's evening habits from the man, Cooper. But goeasy with the ladies. It's hard enough for them at best. "

The valet reappeared with Jepson. This butler was of the acceptedtype, portly and important, but the staggering news Cooper hadevidently told him, had made him a man among men. 

"What's this?" he said, gravely. "The master dead? Apoplexy?"

"No, Jepson. Mr. Schuyler was killed by some one. We don't know whodid it. "

"Killed! Murdered! My God!" The butler spoke in a strong, low voicewith no hint of dramatic effect. "How will Mrs. Schuyler bear it?"

"How shall we tell her, Jepson?" Mason showed a consultant air, forthe butler was so evidently a man of judgment and sense. 

"We must waken her maid, and let her rouse Mrs. Schuyler. Then theother ladies, Mr. Schuyler's sisters, we must _call_ them. "

"Yes, Jepson, do all those things, as quickly as you can. "

But the wait seemed interminable. 

At last the butler came back, and asked us up to the library, thefront room on the floor above. Here a footman was lighting a fire onthe hearth, for the house had the chill of the small hours. 

First came the two sisters. These ladies, though not elderly, weremiddle-aged, and perhaps, a few years older than their brother. Theywere austere and prim, of aristocratic features and patrician air. 

But they were almost hysterical in their excitement. A distressedmaid hovered behind them with sal volatile. The ladies were fullyattired, but caps on their heads and woolly wraps flung round thembore witness to hasty dressing. 

"What is it?" cried Miss Rhoda, the younger of the two. "What hashappened to Randolph?"

I introduced myself to them. I told them, as gently as I could, thebare facts, deeming it wise to make no prevarication. 

So raptly did they listen and so earnestly did I try to omit horribledetails, and yet tell the truth, that I did not hear Mrs. Schuylerenter the room. But she did come in, and heard also, the story as Itold it. 

"Can it not be, " I heard a soft voice behind me say, "can it not yetbe there is some mistake? Who says that man is my husband?"

I turned to see the white face and clenched hands of RandolphSchuyler's widow. She was holding herself together, and trying to geta gleam of hope from uncertainty. 

If I had felt pity and sorrow for her before I saw her, it was doublypoignant now. 

Ruth Schuyler was one of those gentle, appealing women, helplesslyfeminine in emergency. Her frightened, grief-stricken eyes looked outof a small, pale face, and her bloodless lips quivered as she caughtthem between her teeth in an effort to preserve her self-control. 

"I am Chester Calhoun, " I said, and she bowed in acknowledgment. "I amjunior partner in the firm of Bradbury and Calhoun. Mr. Bradbury isone of your husband's lawyers and also a friend, so, as circumstancesbrought it about, I came here, with Inspector Mason, to tell you--totell you--"

Mrs. Schuyler sank into a seat. Still with that air of determinationto be calm, she gripped the chair arms and said, "I heard you tellMiss Schuyler that Randolph has been killed. I ask you, may it not besome one else? Why should he be at a house where people called him bya name not his own?"

She had heard, then, all I had told the older ladies. For Mrs. Schuyler was not old. She must be, I thought at once, years youngerthan her husband. Perhaps a second wife. I was glad she had heard, for it saved repeating the awful narrative. 

"He has not been identified, Mrs. Schuyler, " I said, "except by thepoliceman of this precinct, who declares he knows him well. "

I was glad to give her this tiny loophole of possibility of mistakenidentity, and she eagerly grasped at it. 

"You must make sure, " she said, looking at Inspector Mason. 

"I'm afraid there's no room for doubt, ma'am, but I'm about to sendthe man, the valet, over to see him. Do you wish any one else togo--from the house?"

Mrs. Schuyler shuddered. "Don't ask me to go, " she said, piteously. "For I can't think it is really Mr. Schuyler--and if it should be--"

"Oh, no ma'am, you needn't go. None of the family, I should say. "Mason looked at the elder ladies. 

"No, no, " cried Miss Sarah, "we couldn't think of it! But let Jepsongo. He is a most reliable man. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Schuyler, "send Cooper and Jepson both. Oh, goquickly--I cannot bear this suspense!" She turned to me, as the twomen who had been hovering in the doorway, came in to take Mason'sorders. "I thank you, Mr. Calhoun. It was truly kind of you to come. Tibbetts, get me a wrap, please. "

This was Mrs. Schuyler's own maid, who went on the errand at once. More servants had gathered; one or two footmen, a silly Frenchparlor-maid or waitress, and from downstairs I heard the hushed voicesof others. 

Tibbetts returned, and laid a fleecy white shawl about her mistress'shoulders. Mrs. Schuyler wore a house dress of dull blue. Her hair ofan ash-blonde hue, was coiled on top of her head; and to my surprise, when I noticed it, she wore a string of large pearls round her throat, and on her hands were two rings, each set with an enormous pearl. 

I must have been awkward enough to glance at the pearls, for Mrs. Schuyler remarked, "I dressed so hastily, I kept on my pearls. I wearthem at night sometimes, to preserve their luster. "

Then she apparently forgot them, for without self-consciousness sheturned to the detective and began asking questions. Nervously sheinquired concerning minutest details, and I surmised that side by sidewith her grief at the tragedy was a very human and feminine dismay atthe thought of her husband, stabbed to death in another woman's house!

"Who is Miss Van Allen?" she asked over and over again, unsatisfiedwith the scant information Lowney could give. 

"And she lives near here? Just down the side street? Who _is_ she?"

"I don't think she is anyone you ever heard of, " I said to her. "Sheis a pleasant young woman, and so far as I know, all that is correctand proper. "

"Then why would she have Randolph Schuyler visiting her?" flashed theretort. "Is that correct and proper?"

"It may be so, " I said, for I felt a sort of loyalty to Vicky Van. "You see, she was not acquainted with Mr. Schuyler until thisevening. "

"Why did he go there, then?"

"Steele brought him--Norman Steele. "

"I don't know any Mr. Steele. "

I began to think that Randolph Schuyler had possessed manyacquaintances of whom his wife knew nothing, and I concluded to seeBradbury before I revealed any more of Schuyler's affairs. 

And then, Lowney began adroitly to put questions instead of answeringthem. 

He inquired concerning Mr. Schuyler's habits and pursuits, hisrecreations and his social life. 

All three of the women gave responses to these queries, and I learnedmany things. 

First, that Randolph Schuyler was one manner of man at home andanother abroad. The household, it was plain to be seen, was one ofmost conservative customs and rigidly straightbacked in itsconventions. 

Mrs. Schuyler was not a second wife. She had been married about sevenyears, and had lived the last five of them in the house we were nowin. She was much younger than her husband, and he had, I could see, kept her from all knowledge of or participation in his Bohemiantastes. They were the sort of people who have a box at the opera andare patrons of the best and most exclusive functions of the highestsociety. Mrs. Schuyler, after the first shock, recovered her poise, and though now and then a tremor shook her slight frame, she boreherself with dignity and calm. 

The two maiden ladies also grew quieter, but we all nervously awaitedthe return of the butler. 

At last he came. 

"It's the master, Madame, " he said, simply, to his mistress as heentered the room. "He is dead. "

The deferential gravity of his tone impressed me anew with the man'sworth, and I felt that the stricken wife had a tower of strength inthe faithful servitor. 

"I left Cooper there, Madame, " he went on. "They--they will not bringMr. Schuyler home tonight. In the morning, perhaps. And now, Madame, will you not go to rest? I will be at the service of these gentlemen. "

It seemed cruel to torture them further that night, and the threeladies were dismissed by Lowney, and, attended by their maids, theyleft us. 

"Now, Jepson, " Lowney began, "tell us all you know about Mr. Schuyler's doings. I daresay you know as much as the valet does. WasMr. Schuyler as a man of the world, different from his life in thishouse?"

Jepson looked perturbed. "That's not for me to say, sir. "

"Oh, yes, it is, my man. The law asks you, and it is for you to tellall you know. "

"Well, then, " and the butler weighed his words, "my master was alwaysmost strict of habit in his home. The ladies are very reserved, andabide by rules and standards, that are, if I may say so, out of dateto-day. But, though Mr. Schuyler was by no means a gay man or a memberof any fast set, yet I have reason to think, sir, that at times hemight go to places where he would not take Mrs. Schuyler, and where hewould not wish Mrs. Schuyler to know he had been himself. "

"That's enough, " said Lowney. "I've got his number. Now, Jepson, hadyour master any enemies, that you know of?"

"Not that I know of. But I know nothing of Mr. Schuyler's affairs. Isee him go out of an evening, and I may notice that he comes in verylate, but as to his friends or enemies, I know nothing at all. I amnot one to pry, sir, and my master has always trusted me. I haveendeavored not to betray that trust. "

This might have sounded pharisaical in a man of less sincerity ofspeech. But Jepson's clear, straightforward eyes forbade any doubt ofhis honesty and truth. 

Again I was glad that Mrs. Schuyler had this staunch helper at herside, for I foresaw troublous times in store for her. 

"And you never heard of this Miss Van Allen? Never was in her housebefore?"

"Never, sir. I know nothing of the houses on the side blocks. " Iwinced at this. "Of course, I know the people who come to this house, but there is among them no Miss Van Allen. "

"Rather not!" I thought to myself. And then I sighed at the memory ofVicky Van. Had she killed this millionaire? And if so, why?

I was sure Vicky had never met Randolph Schuyler before that evening. I had seen their meeting, and it was too surely the glance of strangerto stranger that had passed between them, to make a previousacquaintance possible. Vicky had been charming to him, as she alwayswas to every one, but she showed no special interest, and if she didreally kill him, it was some unguessable motive that prompted thedeed. 

I thought it over. Schuyler, at the club, dined and wined, had perhapsheard Norman Steele extol the charms of Vicky Van. Interested, he hadasked to be taken to Vicky's house, but, as it was so near his own, asense of precaution led him to adopt another name. 

Then the inexplicable sequel!

And the mysterious disappearance of Vicky herself. 

Though, of course, the girl would return. As Mrs. Reeves had said, doubtless she had witnessed the crime, and, scared out of her wits, had run away. Her return would clear up the matter. 

Then the waiter's story?

Well, there was much to be done. And, as I suddenly bethought me, itwas time I, myself went home!

As I passed Vicky Van's house, on my way home, I saw lights prettymuch all over it, and was strongly tempted to go in. But common sensetold me I needed rest, and not only did I have many matters to attendto on the morrow, but I had to tell the story to Aunt Lucy and Winnie!

That, of itself, would require some thought and tactful management, for I was not willing to have them condemn Vicky Van entirely, andyet, I could think of no argument to put forth for the girl'sinnocence. 

Time alone must tell. 

CHAPTER VI

VICKY'S WAYS

"Ches-ter Cal-houn! Get up this minute! There's a reporterdownstairs! A reporter!"

My sleepy eyes opened to find Winnie pounding my shoulder as it humpedbeneath the blanket. 

"Hey? What?" I grunted, trying to collect my perceptions. 

"A _reporter!_" If Winnie had said a Bengal tiger, she couldn't havelooked more terrified. 

"Great Scott! Win--I remember! Clear out, I'll be down in a minute. "

I dressed in record time and went downstairs in three leaps. 

In the library, I found Aunt Lucy, wearing an expression that shemight have shown if the garbage man had asked her to a dance. 

But Winnie was eagerly drinking in the story poured forth by the saidreporter, who was quite evidently enjoying his audience. 

"Oh, Chet, this is Mr. Bemis of _The Meteor_. He's telling us allabout the--you know--what happened. "

Winnie was too timid to say the word _murder, _ and I was sorry she hadto hear the awful tale from any one but myself. However, there was nohelp for it now, and I joined the group and did all I could to bringAunt Lucy's eyebrows and nose down to their accustomed levels. 

But it _was_ an awful story, make the best of it, and the truth had tobe told. 

"It is appalling, " conceded Aunt Lucy, at length, "but the mostregrettable circumstance, to my mind, is your connection with it all, Chester. "

"Now, Auntie, have a little heart for poor Mrs. Schuyler, and thoseold lady sisters. Also for the man himself--"

"Oh, I have, Chet. I'm not inhuman. But those things are in the papersevery day, and while one feels a general sympathy, it can't bepersonal if one doesn't know the people. But, for you to be mixed upin such matters--"

"I wasn't mixed up in it, Aunt Lucy, except as I chose to mix myself. And I've no doubt I should have gotten into it anyway. Mr. Bradburywill have a lot to do with it, I'm sure. I'm no better than he to mixin. "

"In a business way, yes. But you were there socially--where a murderwas committed--"

Aunt Lucy could have shown no more horror of it all, if I had been theconvicted criminal. 

"And, I'm glad I was!" I cried, losing patience a little. "If I can beof any help to the Schuyler people or to Miss Van Allen, I shall bewilling to do all I can. 

"But Miss Van Allen is the--the murderer!" and Aunt Lucy whispered theword. 

"Don't say that!" I cried sharply. "You don't know it at all, andthere's no reason to condemn the girl--"

I paused. Bemis was taking in my every word with a canny understandingof what I said, and also of what I didn't say. 

"Where do your suspicions tend, Mr. Calhoun?" he said smoothly. 

"Frankly, Mr. Bemis, I don't know. I am an acquaintance of Miss VanAllen and I cannot reconcile the idea of crime with her happy, gentlenature. Nor can I see any reason to suspect the waiter who first toldof the matter. But might not some person, some enemy of Mr. Schuyler, have been secreted in the house--"

"A plausible theory, " agreed Bemis, "even an obvious one, but almostno chance of it. I've seen the caterer's people, and they were incharge of the basement rooms and the dining-room all the evening. Unless it were one of the guests at the party, I think no intrudercould have gotten in. "

"Well, " I returned, uneasily, for I wished he would go, "it isn't upto us to invent theories or to defend them. I will answer yournecessary questions, but pardon me, if I remind you that I am a busyman and I haven't yet had my breakfast. "

Bemis took the hint, and after a string of definite and pertinentquestions, he left. 

Winnie tried to detain him, but my curt courtesy made it difficult forhim to linger. 

"Oh, Chessy, " cried my sister, as soon as Bemis had gone, "it's awful, I know, but _isn't_ it exciting?"

"Hush, Winnie, " reproved Aunt Lucy. "A girl of your age should knownothing of these things, and I want you to put it out of your mind. You can be of no help, and I do not want your nerves disturbed by theharrowing details. "

"That's all right, Aunt Lucy, " I put in, "but this is going to be acelebrated case, and Winnie can't be kept in ignorance of itsdevelopments. Now be a good sort, Auntie--accept the inevitable. Tryto realize that I must do what seems to me my duty, and if that bringsus more or less into the limelight of publicity, it is a pity, but itcan't be helped. "

"I agree to all that, Chester, dear. But you are so mixed in itsocially. Why did you ever get into that set?"

"It isn't a bad set, Aunt Lu. It isn't a fast set, by any means. "

"You wouldn't see Winnie or me there. "

"No, but a decent man goes to places where he wouldn't take his womenpeople. Now, let up, Auntie. Trust your good-for-nothing nevvy, andjust do all you can to help--by doing nothing. "

"I'll help you, Chessy-Cat. I'll do exactly as you tell me, if you'llonly let me know about it, and not treat me like a baby, " said Winnie, who was wheedlesomely assisting my breakfast arrangements. Shesugared and creamed my cereal, and, as I dispatched it, she butteredtoast and poured coffee and deftly sliced off the top of a soft-boiledegg. 

I managed to eat some of these viands between answers to theirrapid-fire volley of questions and at last I made ready to go downtown. 

"And remember, " I said, as I departed, "if a lot of gossippy old henscome around here to-day--or your chicken friends--Winnie, don't tellthem a thing. Let 'em get it from the papers, or apply to information, or any old way, but don't you two give out a line of talk! See?"

I kissed them both, and started off. 

Of course, I went over to Vicky Van's first. I had been on theproverbial pins and needles to get there ever since I woke toconsciousness by reason of the sisterly pounding that brought me fromthe land of dreams. 

The house had an inhabited look, and when I went in, I was greeted bythe odor of boiling coffee. 

"Come right down here, " called Mrs. Reeves from the basement. 

I went down, passing the closed dining-room door with a shudder. Twoor three policemen were about, in charge of things generally, but nonewhom I knew. They had been relieved for the present. 

"You're still here?" I said, a little inanely. 

"Yes, " returned Mrs. Reeves, who looked tired and wan. "I stayed, youknow, but I couldn't sleep any. I lay down on the music-room couch, but I only dozed a few minutes at a time. I kept hearing strangesounds or imagining I did, and the police were back and forth tillnearly daylight. Downstairs, they were. I didn't bother them, but theyknew I was in the house, if--if Vicky should come home. "

Her face was wistful and her eyes very sad. I looked my sympathy. 

"You liked her, I know, " she went on. "But everybody 'most, has turnedagainst her. Since they found the man was Randolph Schuyler, allsympathy is for him and his widow. They all condemn Vicky. "

"You can scarcely blame them, " I began, but she interrupted, "I do blame them! They've no right to accuse that girl unheard. "

"The waiter--"

"Oh, yes, I know, the waiter! Well, don't let's quarrel about it. Ican't stay here much longer, though. I made coffee and got myself somebreakfast--but, honest, Mr. Calhoun, it pretty nearly choked me to eatsandwiches that had been made for last night's surprise supper!"

"I should think it would! Didn't any rolls come, or milk, you know?"

"I didn't see any. Well, I'll go home this morning, but I shalltelephone up here every little while. The police will stay here, Isuppose. "

"Yes, for a day or two. Do you think Vicky will come back?"

"I don't know. She'll have to, sooner or later. I tried to makemyself sleep in her room last night, but I just couldn't. So I stayedin the music room, I thought--I suppose it was foolish--but I thoughtmaybe she might telephone. "

"She'd hardly do that. "

"I don't know. It's impossible to say _what_ she might do. Oh, thewhole thing is impossible! Think of it, Mr. Calhoun. Where could thatgirl have gone? Alone, at midnight, in that gorgeous gown, no hat orwrap--"

"How do you know that?"

"I don't--not positively. But if she had put on wraps and gone out byeither door she would surely have been seen by some one in the house. I'm just sure she didn't go out by the front street door, for we inthe living-room must have noticed her. And she couldn't have gone outby the area door, for there were waiters all about, down here. "

We were sitting in the front basement room, a pleasant enough place, evidently a servants' sitting room. Before Mrs. Reeves, on the table, were the remnants of her scarce tasted breakfast. As she had said, thetiny sandwiches and rich salad, which she had procured from the unusedstores of the caterer's provision, did seem too closely connected withthe tragedy to be appetizing. 

"The kitchen is back of this?" I asked. 

"Yes, and dumb waiters to the dining-room. I confess I've lookedabout a bit. I'm not a prying woman--but I felt I was justified. "

"You certainly are, Mrs. Reeves, " I said, warmly, for she wasthoroughly good-hearted, and a staunch friend of Vicky Van. "Have youlearned anything illuminating?"

"No; but things are queer. "

"Queer, how?"

"Well, you wouldn't understand. A man couldn't. But it's this way. Lots of potted meats and jars of jam and cans of tea and coffee andcocoa in the pantry, but no fresh meat or green vegetables about. Nobutter in the icebox, and no eggs or bacon. "

"Well, what does that imply? I'm no housekeeper, I admit. "

"It looks to me as if Vicky was leaving this morning--I mean as if shehad expected to go away to-day, and so had no stuff on hand to spoil. "

"Perhaps this is her market day. "

"No; it's queer, that's what it is. You know sometimes Vicky does goaway for days at a time. "

"Hasn't she a right to?"

"Of course she has. I'm thinking it out. Where does she go? Andwherever it is, that's where she is now!"

Mrs. Reeves' triumphant air seemed to settle the question. 

"But all that isn't queer, my dear lady, " I said. "We all know VickyVan gads about a lot. I've telephoned her myself twice, and she wasn'there. Once, Julie answered, and once there was no response of anysort. "

"Yes, I suppose that's the case. She was going away on a visit to-day, maybe, and so had little food on hand to be disposed of. A goodhousekeeper would look after that. Of course, it wouldn't be Vicky'sdoing, but Julie's. That housekeeper is a treasure. She could run ahotel if she wanted to. "

"Then, perhaps, " I mused, aloud, "Vicky ran away and went to theplace, wherever it is, that she expected to visit to-day. "

"Oh, I don't know. This is all merely conjecture. And, too, how couldshe, in that dress? No, she has gone to some friend in town. She musthave done so. A hotel wouldn't take her in--why, " Mrs. Reeves' voicebroke, "you know that waiter said there--there was blood on Vicky'sgown!"

"Do you believe that?"

"If we believe him at all, why shouldn't we believe the whole tale? Idon't know Vicky Van, you understand, except as a casual friend. Imean, I know nothing of her family, her past, or her personality, except as I've seen her in a friendly way. I like her, thoroughly, butI can't honestly say that I know her. "

"Who does?"

"Nobody. All her friends say the same thing. She is lovely and dear, but never confidential, or communicative regarding herself. "

"Wherever she went, Julie must be with her, " I suggested. 

"I don't know. I dare say that is so, but how on earth could _two_women get out of this house without its being known?"

"And yet, they did. Whether alone or together, they both got away lastnight. You don't think they're still concealed in the house?"

"Oh, no, of course not; after the search we made. "

"I can't help thinking they'll turn up to-day. Julie, anyway. Why, Miss Van Allen must come back or send back for her valuables. I sawjewelry and money in the dressing-room. "

"Yes; but, of course, they're safe enough. They're all in care of thepolice. "

We were interrupted by the entrance of a policeman and a woman who hadcome to work. 

"She says, " the policeman addressed Mrs. Reeves, "that she wasexpected here to-day to clean. Now, we can't let her disturb thingsmuch, but she'd better wash up a little, and throw away some of thesupper stuff that won't keep. "

Everybody seemed to look to Mrs. Reeves as a sort of proxyhousekeeper, and I wondered what they would have done without her. Though I suppose they would have managed. 

"Yes, indeed, " was her glad response. "Let her tidy up these breakfastthings I've used, and there's some cups and plates in the kitchen, forI gave those poor policemen some food 'long 'bout three o'clock thismorning. And she can throw out the melted ice cream, it's no good toanybody, and it surely isn't evidence!"

I determined to ask the working-woman some questions, but the policeforestalled me. 

Ferrall came down and joined us, and spoke to her at once. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Flaherty. Don't you do anything now, but just whatyou're told to do. And first, tell us a thing or two. How often do youcome here? I've seen you in and out, now and again. "

"Yes, I do be comin' whin I'm sint for; not of a reg'lar day. Maybewanst a week, maybe of'ner. Thin agin, not for a fortnight. "

"Just as I said, " declared Mrs. Reeves. "Vicky often goes away fordays at a time. "

"Shure she does that. Miss Van Allen is here to-day an' goneto-morrow, but Miss Julie she looks after me wurruk, so she does. "

"She engages you when you are needed?" I asked. 

"Yes, sir. They's a tillyphone in me husband's shop, an' if anny wancalls me, he lets me know. "

"When did they tell you to come here to-day?"

"'Twas yisterday, sir. Miss Julie, she sinds wurrud for me to comethis marnin' to clane, as they do be havin' a party last night. Ach, that this thrubble should come!"

"There, now, Mrs. Flaherty, never mind your personal feelings. We'rein a hurry. " Ferrall was busy making notes of the information he wasgetting, and I could well understand, that any side-light on Vicky'shome life was of importance. So I tarried to listen. 

"How long have you worked for Miss Van Allen?"

"A matther av a year or more. "

"You clean the rooms upstairs, sometimes?"

"All over the house. Manny's the time I've shwept an' vacuumed MissVan Allen's own bedroom an' boodore. An' likewise the music room an'parlure an' all. Yis, sor, I'm here frekint. "

"What other servants does Miss Van Allen employ?"

"Nobody that lives in, 'ceptin' Miss Julie. But there's the laundrywoman, as comes--though more often the wash goes out. Thin, there's achore boy, as runs arrants; an' sometimes a sewin' woman; an' oftenthe caterer man's dagoes. Yis, an' a boy, a Buttons you know, to openthe dure for, say, an afternoon party. You see, Miss Van Allen is offvisitin' so much, she don't want steady help. "

"Where does she visit?"

"That I dunno. But go, she does, an' I'm thinkin' it's good times shehas. For she comes back, chipper an' merry an' glad to see herfriends--an' thin, all of a suddint, up an' off agin. "

I knew that was Vicky Van's habit. All that the woman saidcorroborated my idea of the little butterfly's frivolous life. So, whyshould she keep permanent servants if she was at home only half thetime? I knew the troubles Aunt Lucy had with her menials, and Iapproved of Vicky's wisdom. 

"And that explains the empty icebox, " Mrs. Reeves was saying, noddingher head in satisfaction. "Vicky meant to go off to-day, after thehouse was put in order, and she didn't want a lot of food left tospoil. "

"Yis, mum, " agreed Mrs. Flaherty. "Shall I wash thim dishes now, mum?"

And she was allowed to set to work. 

CHAPTER VII

RUTH SCHUYLER

There were many calls on Vicky Van's telephone that morning. It seemedto me that the bell rang almost continually. The police peopleanswered it, and one time, I was surprised to learn that the call wasfor me. 

I took up the receiver and heard Mr. Bradbury's voice. 

"I called up your home, " he said, "and your sister told me to try thisnumber. Now, look here, Calhoun, I wish you'd go to see Mrs. Schuyler. I've talked with her over the telephone, and she asked me to come upthere, but I've got the Crittendon case on this morning, and I can'tget away very well. So you go and see what you can do for her. Shetold me you were there last night, and she's willing to have you in myplace. "

I agreed, feeling rather flattered that the rich man's widow should soreadily accept me as Mr. Bradbury's substitute. 

"I'm sorry you're going there, " said Mrs. Reeves, her eyes fillingwith tears, as I took leave of her. "Of course, the Schuylers willpump you about Vicky, and try to make you say that she killed thatman!"

"I must tell Mrs. Schuyler the truth, " I said. 

"Yes, but can't you give Vicky the benefit of the doubt? For there isa doubt. Why should she kill a man she never had seen before?"

"Perhaps he wasn't a stranger to her, after all. "

"Why, I heard her say, before he came, that she didn't know him. "

"You heard her say she didn't know Mr. Somers, " I corrected. "I'vebeen thinking this thing over. Suppose Vicky did know Mr. Schuyler, and when Steele proposed bringing a Mr. Somers--"

"No, you're all wrong!" she exclaimed. "I saw them when they met, andI'm sure they had never laid eyes on each other before. There was notthe least sign of recognition. Besides, that isn't like Vicky--to havea millionaire and a married man for her friend. That girl is allright, Mr. Calhoun, and I don't want you to let Mrs. Schuyler thinkshe isn't. "

"Perhaps Mrs. Schuyler knows something about her. "

"I doubt it. Anyway, you stand up for Vicky, as far as you can do sohonestly. Won't you?"

"I can surely promise that, " I replied, as I started on my errand. 

Approaching the Fifth Avenue residence, I looked at the house, which Ihad been unable to see clearly the night before. 

It was large and handsome, but not one of the most modern mansions. Four stories, it was, and as I glanced up I noticed that all thewindow shades were down. The floral emblem of death hung at one sideof the wide entrance, and as I approached, the door silently swungopen. 

A footman was in charge, and I was ushered at once to the librarywhere I had been some hours earlier. It was not a cheerful room; theappointments were heavy and somber, though evidently the woods andfabrics were of great value. A shaded electrolier gave a dim light, for the drawn blinds precluded daylight. 

A soft step, and Mrs. Schuyler came into the room. 

Black garb was not becoming to her. The night before, in her bluehouse-dress, she had looked almost pretty, but now, in a black gown, without even a bit of relieving white at her throat, she was plain andvery pathetic. 

Her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes showed dark shadows, as ofutter weariness. She greeted me simply and glided to a nearby chair. 

"It is kind of you to come, Mr. Calhoun, " and the fine quality of hervoice and inflection betokened New England ancestry, or training. "Asyou were here last night--you seem more like a friend than a merebusiness acquaintance. "

"I am very glad, Mrs. Schuyler, " and I spoke sincerely, "that you lookon me like that. Please tell me anything you wish to, and command mein any way I can serve you. "

The speech sounded a little stilted, I knew, but there was somethingabout Ruth Schuyler that called for dignified address. She had the airof bewildered helplessness that always appeals to a man, but she had, too, a look of determination as to one who would do the right thing atany cost of personal unpleasantness. 

"It is all so dreadful, " she began, and an insuppressible sobthreatened her speech. But she controlled it, and went on. "There isso much to be gone through with and I am so ignorant of--of lawand--you know--of police doings. "

"I understand, " I returned, "and anything that you can be spared, restassured you shall be. But there is much ahead of you that will be hardfor you--very hard, and perhaps I can help you get ready for it. "

"Will there be an inquest, and all that?" she whispered the word halffearfully. 

"Yes, there must be; though not for several days, probably. You knowthey can't find Miss Van Allen. "

"No. Where can she be? I don't suppose they will ever find her. Whyshould she kill my husband? Have you any theory, Mr. Calhoun? Howwell did you know this--this person?"

"Only fairly well. By which I mean, I have met her some half a dozentimes. "

"Always in her own house?"

"Not always. I've attended studio parties where she was present--"

"Oh, Bohemian affairs?"

"Not exactly. Miss Van Allen is a delightful girl, bright and of merryspirits, but in no way fast or of questionable habits. "

"That's what they tell me; but pardon me, if I cannot believe a reallynice, correct young woman would have a married man visiting her. "

"But remember, Mrs. Schuyler, Miss Van Allen did not invite Mr. Schuyler to her house. As near as we can make out, Mr. Steele broughthim, without Miss Van Allen's permission. And under an assumed name. "

A blush of shame stained her face. 

"I realize, " she said, "how that reflects against my husband. Must allthis be made public, Mr. Calhoun?"

"I fear it must. The law is inexorable in its demands for justice. "

"But if they can't find Miss Van Allen, how can they indict her? orwhatever the term is. Why can't the whole affair be hushed up?Personally, I would far rather never find the girl--never have herpunished, than to drag the Schuyler name through the horrors of amurder trial. "

"I quite understand your position, but it will not be possible toevade the legal proceedings. Of course, if Miss Van Allen is neverfound, the affair must remain a mystery. But she will be found. A ladylike that can't drop out of existence. "

"No, of course not. Why, her bills must be paid, her household effectslooked after; is she in a house or an apartment?"

"A house. I understand she owns it. "

"Then she must communicate with her business people--lawyer, bank orcreditors. Can't you trace her that way?"

"We hope to. As you say, she must surely return to attend to suchmatters. "

"And her servants? What do they say?"

I described the unusual menage that Vicky Van supported, and Mrs. Schuyler was interested. 

"How strange, " she said. "She sounds to me like an adventuress!"

"No, she isn't that. She has money enough. "

"Where does she get it?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. But she is a quiet, self-reliant littleperson, and not at all of the adventuress type. "

"It doesn't matter, " and Mrs. Schuyler sighed. "I don't care anythingabout her personality. She must be bad or she wouldn't have killed myhusband. I'm not defending him, but men don't go to the houses ofcomplete strangers and get murdered by them! And I hope she will neverbe found, for it might bring out a story of scandal or shame that willalways cling to Mr. Schuyler's memory. But, of course, she will comeback, and she will plead innocence and lay all blame on Mr. Schuyler. Can't we buy her off? I would pay a large sum to keep her story fromthe world. "

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Schuyler, but that can't be done. "

"I thought you would help me--I'm so disappointed. "

Tears gathered in her eyes, and her voice trembled. I wished Bradburyhad had this job instead of myself, for I am soft-hearted wherefeminine appeal is concerned, and I didn't know quite what to say. 

But just then the two Schuyler sisters came into the library and Irose to greet them. 

"Oh, " cried Miss Rhoda, "it's all too awful! We can't believe it! Iwish I had that girl here! You must find her, Mr. Calhoun--you must!"

"Yes, " chimed in Miss Sarah; "she must be brought to judgment. An eyefor an eye and a life for a life. That's the Scripture law. "

"Don't talk so, Sarah, " pleaded Ruth Schuyler. "It won't bringRandolph back, to punish his murderer. And think of the awfulpublicity!"

"I don't care for that. Murder has been done and murder must beavenged. I'm ashamed of you, Ruth, if you let any idea of personaldistaste stand in the way of righteous law and order. "

"I, too, " agreed Rhoda. "Spare no effort or expense, Mr. Calhoun, tofind that wicked girl and have her arrested. "

"I daresay you are right, " and Mrs. Schuyler's acquiescence showed herto be more or less under the iron hand of the family opinion. "Ofcourse, if you feel that way, I shall raise no obstacle to the law'sprogress. Whatever you advise, Rhoda, I agree to. "

"Certainly you do. You are young, Ruth, and you are not a Schuyler. Why, the very name demands the strongest powers of the law. I onlyfear that the most desperate efforts may not succeed. What is youropinion, Mr. Calhoun? Can they find that woman?"

The scorn of the last two words, as uttered by Rhoda Schuyler's sharptongue, is not to be reproduced in print. 

"I think most probably, yes, Miss Schuyler. I think she must returnsooner or later. "

"Don't wait for that!" exclaimed Sarah. "Send people to search forher. Scour the country. Don't let her get away beyond retrieval. Offera reward, if necessary, but get her!"

"A reward!" repeated Rhoda. "Yes, that's it. Put it in the paper atonce; a large reward for any information of Miss Van Allen. "

"Stay, " I urged; "don't decide on such measures too hastily. Might younot defeat your own purpose? Miss Van Allen doubtless will see thepapers, wherever she may be. If she learns of the reward, she willhide herself more securely than ever. "

"I think so, too, " said Ruth, in her gentle voice. "I am sure, Rhoda, we oughtn't to do anything like that just yet. Oh, how hard it is toknow what to do. "

"Yes, we've always deferred everything to Randolph. How can we getalong without him?"

"We must, " and Mrs. Schuyler set her pale lips together in an evidentdetermination to be brave and strong. "Now, Mr. Calhoun, what is thereto be discussed in a business way? I mean regarding Mr. Schuyler'sbusiness with you or Mr. Bradbury?"

"Nothing at present, " I returned, feeling sure the poor woman hadquite enough on her mind. "The will can be examined at yourconvenience, and any questions of securities or money can rest overfor a time. Do you wish any ready cash? Or shall we look after anymoney matters?"

"Thank you, no. Such things are systematically arranged in thehousehold. Jepson attends to bills and tradesmen. My greatest wish isfor a secretary or some person to write notes and look after the floodof letters and telegrams that has already begun. "

I felt surprised, for I had assumed that the rich man's wife had asocial secretary of her own. 

"I've no one, " she said, in response to my glance, "Mr. Schuylerdidn't wish me to have a secretary, and indeed I didn't need one. Butnow--"

"Of course, it is necessary now. "

"Not at all, " interrupted Miss Rhoda. "I am surprised at you, Ruth!You know how Randolph objected to such things, and now, as soon as heis gone, you begin to--"

"Hush, Rhoda, " said Ruth, with gentle dignity. "It was not necessarybefore, but it is now. You've no idea what a task it will be. All ourfriends and many of Randolph's acquaintances will call or sendmessages and they must be acknowledged--"

"And, pray, what else have you to do, but acknowledge them? Sarah andI will attend to our own. A great many, doubtless, but not too much ofa task for us, when it is in memory of our dear brother!"

"Very well, " and Ruth spoke calmly, "we will wait for a day or two, Mr. Calhoun, and then, if, as I believe, the matter requires furtherconsideration, we will discuss it again. "

Clever woman, I thought to myself. She isn't altogether chummy withthose old maid sisters, and yet she knows better than to have any opendisagreement. I'll bet she gets her secretary when she gets ready forone! I'll be on the lookout for the right girl for her. 

"When will they bring my husband home?" she continued, without waitingfor comment on her decision about the secretary. 

"Some time to-day, " I returned, looking commiseratingly at theharassed white face. "Probably this afternoon. Can I take any messageregarding the funeral arrangements?"

"Not yet, " and Ruth Schuyler shuddered. "Those details are soterrible--"

"Terrible, yes, " said Miss Sarah, "but they must be looked after. Wewill see the undertaker's men, Ruth. I think Rhoda and I will knowbetter what is fit and proper for Randolph's burial ceremonies thanyou possibly can. "

I began to realize that the sisters had a family pride which did notinclude their brother's wife in their councils. Apparently she was, orthey deemed her, of lesser birth or social standing. Personally, however, I greatly preferred the gentle kindliness of the widow to thearistocratic hauteur of the sisters. 

Ruth Schuyler made no objection to the proposition, and seemedrelieved that her advice would not be required. 

"Who is in the house where Mr. Schuyler was--where he died?" sheasked, hesitatingly. 

"Only the police, " I answered, "unless Miss Van Allen has returned. "

"Were--were there many people there--last night?"

Clearly, she wanted to know more details of the occasion, but didn'tlike to show curiosity. 

"Yes, " I informed her, "quite a number. It was Miss Van Allen'sbirthday, and so, a sort of little celebration. "

"Her birthday? How old was she?"

"I've no idea. I should guess about twenty-two or twenty-three. "

"Is she--is--what does she look like?"

The eternal feminine wanted to ask "is she pretty?" but RuthSchuyler's dignity scarcely permitted the question. I noticed, too, that the sisters listened attentively for my reply. 

"Yes, " I said, truthfully, "she is pretty. She is small, with veryblack hair, and large, dark gray eyes. She is exceedingly chic andup-to-date as to costumes, and is of vivacious and charming manner. "

"Humph!" sniffed Miss Rhoda, "an actress?"

"Not at all! Victoria Van Allen is a well-bred lady if there ever wasone. "

"You are a staunch friend, Mr. Calhoun, " and Mrs. Schuyler looked hersurprise. 

"I speak only as I feel; I can't say surely that Miss Van Allen didnot commit this crime, for I know there is evidence against her. But Ican't reconcile the deed with her character, as I know it, and I, forone, shall wait further developments before I condemn her. But, ofcourse, Mrs. Schuyler, my personal feelings in the matter have noweight in law, and I stand ready to obey whatever orders you may givein connection with a search for the missing girl. "

"I don't know exactly what I do want done, yet, Mr. Calhoun, " and RuthSchuyler glanced deferringly toward the sisters. 

"No, we don't. " For once Sarah agreed with Ruth. "After the funeral, we can set our minds to the finding of the criminal. Of course, thepolice will do all they can, meantime, to trace her?"

"Of course. And such a plan is best. She may return--"

"To a house guarded by police?" asked Ruth. 

"Possibly. If she is innocent, why not?"

"Innocent!" exclaimed Miss Rhoda with utmost scorn. 

"Some of her friends think her so, " I observed. "Mrs. Reeves, a ladywho was at the party, stayed in the house all night, and is, I think, there still. "

"Why did she do that?" asked Mrs. Schuyler, looking puzzled. 

"She hoped Miss Van Allen would return, and she waited there to lookafter her. "

"That was kind. Who is this lady?"

"She lives down on Washington Square. I only know her slightly, butshe is a warm-hearted and a most capable and sensible one. She refusesto believe that Vicky Van--"

"What do you call her?"

"Her friends call her Vicky Van. It--it sort of suits her. "

"From what you say, I judge she is not the terror I thought her atfirst; but, all the same, she murdered my husband, and I cannot lookon her as you seem to. "

"Nor can I blame you. Your feelings toward her are entirely just, Mrs. Schuyler. "

CHAPTER VIII

THE LETTER-BOX

"It's a queer case, " said Mr. Bradbury to me, when I reached theoffice that afternoon. "Of course, I know Randolph Schuyler was nosaint, but I never supposed he was deep enough in any affair to have awoman kill him. And so near his own home, too! He might have had thedecency to choose his lady acquaintances in more remote sections ofthe city. "

"That isn't the queerest part to me, " I returned. "What I can'tunderstand is, why that girl stabbed him. She didn't know him--"

"Now, now, Calhoun, she must have known him. She didn't know anySomers, we'll say, but she must have known Schuyler. A murder has tohave a motive. She had provided herself with that knife beforehand, you see, and she got him out to the dining-room purposely. "

"I can't think it, " I said, and I sighed. "I know Vicky Van fairlywell, and she wouldn't--"

"You can't say what a woman would or wouldn't do. But it's not ourbusiness to look after the criminal part of it, we've got all we canhandle, attending to the estate. And here's another thing. I wishyou'd do all that's necessary up at the house. I always got along allright with Randolph Schuyler, but I can't stand those sisters of his. His wife I have never met. But those old Schuyler women get on mynerves. So you look after them. You're more of a ladies' man than Iam, so you go there and talk pretty when they want legal advice. "

"I'm willing, " I agreed. "I don't care such a lot for the sistersmyself, but Mrs. Schuyler is a young thing, ignorant of her ownrights, and those old maids boss her like fury. I'm going to see thatshe has her own way in some few things, at least. She inherits halfthe fortune, you know. "

"Yes, and the sisters a quarter each. That is, after some minorbequests and charitable donations are settled. Schuyler was a goodsort--as men go. "

"Then men go pretty badly! He was a brute to his wife; I've been toldhe ruled her with a rod of iron, and what he didn't bother her about, the old sisters did. "

"That's neither here nor there. Don't you try to be a peacemaker inthat family. I know those two old ladies, and they'd resent anythingin the way of criticism of their treatment of their sister-in-law. And, if Schuyler didn't treat his wife handsomely, she's rid of himnow, at any rate. "

"You're a cold-blooded thing, Bradbury, " I informed him, "and I amgoing to do all I can for that young widow. She'll have a lot ofunpleasant publicity at best, and if I can shield her from part of it, so much the better. "

"All right, Calhoun. Do what you like, but don't get in on thedetective work. I know your weakness for that sort of thing, and Iknow if you begin, you'll never let up. "

Bradbury was right. I have a fondness for detective work--not thepolice part of it, but the inquiry into mystery, the deduction fromclues and the sifting of evidence. I had no mind to miss the inquest, and I had a burning curiosity to know what had become of Vicky Van. This was not only curiosity, either. I had a high respect and agenuine liking for that little lady, and, as Mrs. Reeves had put it, Iwas only too willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. 

Though I couldn't feel any real doubt that she had killed Schuyler. AsBradbury said, she didn't know a Mr. Somers, but she may have knownthe millionaire Schuyler. I had never seen anything of a seamy side toVicky's character; but then, I didn't know her so very well, and theman was dead, and who else _could_ have killed him?

I went around to the caterer's on my way uptown that afternoon, andasked him as to the reliability of Luigi and the probable truth of hisstory. 

"That man, " Fraschini told me, "is as honest as the day. I've had himlonger than any of my other waiters, and he has never said or doneanything to make me doubt his accuracy. I believe, Mr. Calhoun, thatLuigi saw exactly what he said he saw. "

"Might he not have been mistaken in the identity of the woman?"

"Not likely. I'll call him, and you can question him. "

This was what I wanted, to question the waiter alone, and I welcomedthe opportunity. 

"I know it was Miss Van Allen, " was the quiet response of the Italianto my inquiry. "I cannot be mistaken. I had seen her many times duringthe evening. I, therefore, recognized the gown she wore, of lightyellow gauzy stuff and an over-dress of long gold bead fringes. I sawher stand above the fallen body, looking down at it with a horrifiedface. I saw stains of blood on her gown--"

"Where?" I interrupted. "What part of her gown?"

Luigi thought a moment. "On the lower flounces, as if her skirts hadbrushed against the--the victim, when she stooped over him. "

"Did she herself observe these stains?"

"Yes; she looked at them, and looked frightened and then she ran tothe hall. "

"And you saw no other person near?"

"None. "

"And heard nobody?"

"I heard only the voices from the parlor. There was much noise oflaughter and talk there. "

No amount of questioning could change or add to Luigi's story. It wasquite evident that he was telling just what he saw, and had nointerest in coloring it to make it appear different in any way. Headmired Miss Van Allen, he said she was a pleasant lady and not hardto please if her orders were faithfully carried out. He expressed nopersonal interest in the question of her guilt or innocence, he simplytold what he had seen. I didn't altogether like his stolidindifference, it seemed impossible there should be so little humanityin a fellow-being, but I knew he was a good and conscientious waiter, and I concluded he was nothing more. 

I went home, and, of course, was met by Aunt Lucy and Winnie with aperfect storm of questions. 

"After dinner, " I begged. "Let me get a little rest and food, and thenI'll tell you all I know. "

But after a few spoonfuls of soup, Winnie declared I was too nervousto eat and I might as well talk. 

"Well, I will, " I said. "But, look here, you two. To begin with, Iwant you to understand that I'm involved in this matter in a businessway, and I'm also interested in a personal way. And I don't want anysilly talk about it's being unfortunate or regrettable that I shouldbe. It's a business case, Aunt Lucy, as far as the settlement of Mr. Schuyler's estate is concerned, and it's a personal affair that I'macquainted with Miss Van Allen; and I propose to make more or lesseffort to find some trace of that girl, and to see if there is anypossible chance that she may not be the guilty one after all. "

"Good for you, Lord Chesterton!" cried Winnie. "I always knew you werethe soul of chivalry, and now you're proving it! What are you going todo--to find out things, I mean?"

"I don't know yet, Win. But if you want to help me, you can do a lot. "

"Indeed, she won't!" declared Aunt Lucy. "If you have to do thesethings as a matter of business, I can't object. But I won't haveWinnie dragged into it. "

"No dragging, Aunt Lu, and nothing very desperate for Winnie to do. But, I'd be jolly glad if both of you would just glance out of thewindow occasionally and see if you see anything going on at the VanAllen house, that's all. "

"Oh, I'll do that!" Winnie cried. "Nobody can see me, I'll keep behindour curtains, and I can see that house perfectly well. "

"I don't mean all the time, child. But I do feel sure that Vicky Vanwill come back there, and if you glance out now and then, you mightsee her go in or out. "

"But it's dark, " said Aunt Lucy, who was becoming interested, in spiteof her scruples. 

"I don't mean to-night, or any night. But in the daytime. She's likelyto come, if at all, in broad daylight, I think. "

"Aren't the police keeping guard on the house?" inquired my aunt. 

"Only the regular patrolman. He passes it every few hours, joggles thedoorknob, and goes on. If Vicky is as clever as I think she is, she'll time that policeman, and sneak into the house between hisrounds. It's only a chance, you know, but you might see her. "

And then I told them all I knew myself of the whole affair. And seeingthat I was deeply into the turmoil of it all, and had graveresponsibilities, Aunt Lucy withdrew all objections and sympathizedwith me. Also, she was impressed with my important businessconnections with the Schuyler family, and was frankly curious aboutthat aristocratic household. I was asked over and over again as totheir mode of living, the furniture and appointments of the house, andthe attitudes of the widow and the sisters toward each other. 

It was late in the evening before I remembered some important papersMr. Bradbury had given me to hand to Mrs. Schuyler, and as soon as Ithought of them I telephoned to know if I might then bring them over. 

"Yes, " came back Ruth Schuyler's soft voice. "I wish you would. Iwant to consult you about some other things also. "

The interview was less trying than that of the morning had been. Several matters of inheritance, insurance, and such things werediscussed, and Mrs. Schuyler was more composed and calm. 

She looked better, too, though this was doubtless due, in part, to thefact that she wore a white house dress which was far more becomingthan black to her colorless face and light hair. 

"I don't know, " she said, at length, "whether what I want to sayshould be said to you or to the detective. "

"Tell me first, " I said, "and I may be able to advise you. In anycase, it will be confidential. "

"You are kind, " she said, and her grateful eyes smiled appreciatively. "It's this. I'd rather not have that--that Miss Van Allen traced, ifit can be prevented in any way. I have a special reason for this, which I think I will tell you. It is, that, on thinking it over I havebecome convinced that my husband must have known the young woman, andthe acquaintance was not to his credit. For some reason, I think, shemust have forbidden him the house, and that is why he went there underan assumed name. Mr. Lowney succeeded in getting Mr. Steele on thelong distance telephone--"

"Why, where is Steele?"

"In Chicago. Mr. Lowney says that he had to go there on the midnighttrain, and that is why he left the lady's house--Miss Van Allen'shouse, so suddenly. "

"Really? Well, I am surprised. But, go on, what else did Steele say?"

"He said that Mr. Schuyler was with him at the club, and that he, Mr. Steele, said he was going to Miss Van Allen's party and Mr. Schuylerbegged him to take him along, and introduce him as Mr. Somers. Itseems he had asked Mr. Steele before to do this, but this time he wasmore insistent. So Mr. Steele did it. Of course, Mr. Calhoun, I askedMr. Lowney minutely about all this, because I want to know just whatcircumstances led up to my husband's going to that house. "

"Of course, Mrs. Schuyler, you have every right to know. And didSteele say that was Mr. Schuyler's first visit there or merely hisfirst visit as Mr. Somers?"

"Mr. Steele thought Mr. Schuyler had never been to the house before atall. But may he not have been mistaken? May not Mr. Schuyler haveknown the lady previously--oh, it is such a moil! But, in any case, Mr. Calhoun, it seems to me that further probing and searching willonly pile up opprobrium on the name of Schuyler, and--I can't standit. I am so unused to notoriety or publicity I can't face all theunpleasantness that must follow! Do help me to avoid it, won't you?"

"I certainly will, if I can. But I fear you ask the impossible, Mrs. Schuyler. The law will not be stopped in its course by personalinclinations. "

"No, I suppose not. What is it, Tibbetts?"

The last question was addressed to her maid, who appeared at thedoorway. The sad-faced woman looked at her mistress with a mingled airof deference and commiseration. 

"The telephone, ma'am, " she said. "I said you were busily engaged, butit is some young woman who begs to speak to you a moment. "

Mrs. Schuyler excused herself and left the room, and Tibbetts, smoothing down her trim white apron, followed. 

"Another would-be secretary, " my hostess said, as she returned. "Idon't know how a report that I wanted one travelled so quickly, butI've had three offered since noon. "

"Do the Schuyler ladies still object?"

"No; at least, they are willing. But I don't want any except a capableone. Not so much experienced, as quick-witted and intelligent. You mayas well know, Mr. Calhoun, since you are to look after my affairs, that my late husband was of strictly plain habits. He was almostfrugal in his ideas of how little womankind should be indulged in anyluxuries or unnecessary comforts. This did not incommode his sistersfor they were of the same mind. But I desired certain things which hesaw fit to deny me. I make no complaint, I bear his memory no illwill, but I feel that now I may have some of these things. I am my ownmistress, and while I have no wish to cast any reflection on Mr. Schuyler's management of his own house, yet, it is now my house, and Imust have the privilege of ordering it as I choose. "

It had come already, then. Ruth Schuyler and her Puritanicalsisters-in-law had met the issue, and Ruth had stood up for herrights. I felt that I knew the woman well enough to know she would nothave taken this stand so soon after her husband's death except thatsome discussion or disagreement had made it necessary for her toassert herself. I bowed in acquiescence, and said, "I am sure, Mrs. Schuyler, there can be no objection to your doing exactly as youplease. This house is entirely your own, half Mr. Schuyler's fortuneis yours, and you are responsible to nobody for your actions. If notintrusive, I will offer to look you up a suitable secretary. I have ayoung woman in mind, whom I think you would like. "

"I am not easy to please, " she said, smiling a little; "I have a verydefinite idea of what I want. Who is your friend?"

"Not a friend, exactly. An acquaintance of my sister's, who iseligible for the post, if she suits you. Shall I send her round tosee you to-morrow?"

"Yes, please. Your mention of her is enough recommendation. I want, Mr. Calhoun, to do more or less charitable work this winter. That wasanother of Mr. Schuyler's whims, to attend to all charities himself, and to object to my giving anything personally. As I shall be quietand unoccupied this winter, I plan to do some systematic work in abenevolent way. I know this sounds strange to you, that I should beplanning these things so soon. But the truth is, I do plan them, purposely, because I don't want to think about the present horror. Ineed something to keep my mind from thinking of the awful tragedy or Ishall go mad. It seemed to me not wrong to think about some work thatshould benefit others; and to do this, will give me an outlet for myenergies and be helpful to the poor and suffering. "

Ruth Schuyler looked almost beautiful as her face glowed withenthusiasm on her subject. I realized how the nervous, highstrungwoman must be torn with agony at the revelations of her husband'sdefects and the uncertainty of his honor and morality, and all inaddition to the terrible experiences she was undergoing and must yetencounter. 

I went home filled with a desire to help her in every way I could, andthough I went to my room at once, I could not think of sleep. I feltlike planning ways to put the police off the track or finding somemethod of making them cease their hunt for Vicky Van. 

I went down to the library, and sat down for a smoke and a revery. AndI sat there until very late, after two o'clock, in fact, withoutgetting any nearer a plan than I was at the start. 

It was nearly three, when I concluded that I could sleep at last. Istood by the front window a moment, looking over at Vicky Van's house, across the street, and a few doors from our own. 

As I looked at the darkened dwelling, I saw the front door slowlyopen. There was no one outside, it was being opened from inside. As Iknew the body of Mr. Schuyler had been taken away, and the house hadbeen deserted by all who had been there, and that it was in custody ofthe police, I looked curiously to see what would happen next. 

Out of the door came a slight, small figure. It was, I felt positive, Vicky Van herself! I couldn't mistake that sleek, black head--she woreno hat--or those short, full skirts, that she always wore. She lookedabout cautiously, and then with swift motions she unlocked theletter-box that was beside her front door, took out several letters, relocked the box and slipped back into the house again!

Without stopping to think I opened my front door, and flew across thestreet. Mounting her steps, I rang the doorbell hard. There was noresponse, and I kept on ringing--a veritable bombardment. Then thedoor opened a very little bit--I could see it was on a night-chain--andVicky's voice said, "Please go away. "

"No, I won't, " I said, "let me come in. "

"I can't let you come in. Go away, _please. _"

And then the door closed, in my very face, and though I pleaded, "Vicky, _do_ let me in!" there was no response. 

CHAPTER IX

THE SOCIAL SECRETARY

I stood staring at the closed door. What did it mean? Why was Vicky inthere and why wouldn't she let me come in?

Then, as I collected my wits, I laughed at myself. I knew why she wasthere--to get her mail. Doubtless there were important letters thatshe must have, and she had dared discovery to come at dead of night toget them. The patrolman was not in sight. She had looked out for this, of course. It was the merest chance that I had seen her, otherwise shewould have escaped all observation. At three in the morning there arealmost no people abroad in the quieter streets of the city, and Vickyhad timed her visit well. Of course, she had her own keys, and I feltsure she had stealthily entered at the basement door, and waited hertime to secure the letters from the mail-box. 

I looked at the mail-box, an unusual appendage to a private residence, but Vicky was away from home so much, it was doubtless necessary. Itried to look in at a window, but all shades were down and there wereno lights inside. I wanted to ring the doorbell again, but a sense ofdelicacy forbade me. I was not a detective, and if I persisted, Imight attract the attention of a passer-by or of the returningpoliceman, and so get Vicky into all sorts of trouble. I wasn'ttracking the girl down. If she was a criminal, let the police findher, I had no desire to aid their efforts, but I did want to see VickyVan. I wanted to offer her my help--not in escaping justice, exactly--but I wondered if I mightn't do some little errands or favorsthat would show my friendliness. 

I went slowly toward home, when I had an inspiration. Hastening intomy own house, I flew to the telephone and called Vicky's number, whichI knew well. 

I waited some time for a response, but at last I heard Vicky's voicesay, "Who is it, please?"

An impulse of protection for her, not for myself, led me to withholdmy name. Nor did I speak hers. 

I said, "This is the man who just left your house. I called up tooffer help, if I can render you any. "

"That's good of you, " she returned, in a heartfelt way. "I appreciatesuch kindness, but you can do nothing--nothing, thank you. "

"At least, talk to me a few minutes. I'm so anxious about you. You arenot implicated in the--in the matter, are you?"

"Don't ask me, " she murmured, in such a serious voice, that my heartsank. "What I did--or didn't do--must always remain a mystery. Icannot tell you--anything. Don't ask. And, if you would help me, tryyour best to have inquiries stopped. Can you do this?"

"I fear not. But can't I see you--somewhere--and we can talk plainly?"

"Do you want to?"

"Indeed I do. "

"Then you do believe in me? Do you hold me blameless?"

I hesitated at this. I couldn't lie to her, nor could I rid my mind ofthe conviction of her guilt I said, "I will, if you assure me that isthe truth. "

"I--I can't do that--good-bye. "

"Wait a minute. Did you know the expected guest was coming under anassumed name?"

"I did not. "

"Did you know any Somers?"

"No. "

"Did you know--the real man?"

"I had met him once, at a dance. "

"Did you like him?"

"I neither liked nor disliked. He was an object of utter indifferenceto me. "

"Then why did you--"

"Hush! You can never know. I can't tell you--"

"Then don't. Please believe I want to befriend you. " The agony andfear in Vicky's voice thrilled me, and I desired only to shield andprotect her. She was so young and alone. 

"It is good to have a friendly voice speak to me. But you can onlyforget me. "

"No, let me do something definite. Some errand of trust, some matterof confidence--"

"Do you mean it? Will you?"

"Gladly! What is it?"

"Then if you will collect my mail from the box at the door, after afew days--say, three days--and put it aside for me. You saw me get itto-night, I suppose, and it is a dangerous thing for me to do. "

"Where are you--I mean, where are you staying?"

"Don't ask. I am safe. I see the newspapers and I know I am to behunted down. So I must hide. I cannot face the inquiries--I feararrest and--and punishment--"

Her tones betrayed guilty fear, and I shuddered at the confirmation ofmy suspicions. But I would do what I could for her. 

"How shall I get your letters?" I asked, and I honestly tried not todisclose my sudden knowledge of her guilt. But her quick ears caughtmy changed inflection. 

"You believe me guilty!" she said, and she stifled a sob. "Yet, still, you will help me! God bless you! Listen, then, for I must stop thistalking, it is too desperately dangerous. I will leave the key of themail box--no, I will send it to you by mail, that will be the safest. Then will you get the letters and put them--where shall I say?"

"I'll mail them to you. "

"No, that would never do. You can get into this house, can't you? Thepolice will let you in at any time?"

"Yes, I can probably manage that. "

"Then bring them with you, all of the three days' mail at once, youunderstand, and put them in that great Chinese jar, in the music room. The one with the gold dragon on the cover. No one will look there forthem. I will manage to come and get them very soon. Please don't spyon me, will you, Chester?"

The use of my first name was, I knew, inadvertent and unconscious. Itthrilled me. There was a marvellous fascination always about VickyVan, and now, at the end of this my mysterious night telephoneconversation, I felt its thrill and I agreed to her plea. 

"No, dear, " I said, and not till afterward did I realize the term Ihad used, "I will not spy. But promise me that you will call on me forany help you may need. And tell me--are you alone or is Julie withyou?"

"Julie is with me, " she returned. "She helps protect me, and with yourfriendship, too, I am blessed indeed. But this is good-bye. I shallleave New York in a few days never to return. I must have that mail, or I would go at once. If you will help me get that, you will do allthere is left for any one to do for me in the world. "

Her tone frightened me. "Vicky!" I cried, forgetting all caution. "Don't--my dear, don't--" but I could not put in words the fear thathad suddenly come to me, and even as I stammered for speech, the clickcame that told me she had hung up the receiver. 

I cursed myself for my stupidity in speaking her name. Such a blunder!Why, it might have been overheard by anybody on the line. No wondershe left me. Doubtless I had driven her from her house. 

I flew to the window. Then I remembered I had promised not to spy, andI turned quickly away. If she were about to disappear silently andstealthily from that house, I must not know it. 

I went to my room, but not to sleep. Clearly, I was not to knowuntroubled slumber again very soon. I sat up and thought it all over. 

How strange that I should have "spied" on her just at the moment shewas secretly getting her letters. But, I realized, I had looked atthe house so often it would be stranger still if I had missed her!

And she was to send me her box key, and I was to secrete her lettersfor her. Important indeed, those letters must be, that she should goto such lengths to get them. Well, I had constituted myself her knighterrant in that particular, and I would fulfil the trust. 

Beneath the thrilling excitement of the night's occurrence, I felt adull, sad foreboding. All Vicky had said or done pointed to guilt. Hadshe been innocent, she would have told me so, by word or byimplication. She would have given me a tacit assurance of herguiltlessness, or would have cried out at the injustice of suspicion. 

But none of these things entered into her talk, or even into her voiceor intonations. She had sounded sad, hopeless, despairing. And herlast words made me fear she contemplated taking her own life. 

Poor little Vicky Van. Light-hearted, joy-loving Vicky. What was themystery back of it all? What could it be? Well, at least, I wouldscrupulously perform the task she had set me, and I would do it well. I knew I could manage to get into the house by making up some storyfor the police. But I must wait for the promised key. 

With a glimmer of hope that the mailed parcel containing the key mightgive me a clue to Vicky's whereabouts, I at last went to sleep. 

Next morning at breakfast I said nothing of my night experiences. Itold Winnie, however, that she needn't watch the Van Allen house, as Ihad heard that Vicky had left it permanently. 

"However could you hear that?" exclaimed my wideawake sister. "Haveyou had a wireless from the fugitive?"

"Something of the sort, " I said, smilingly. "And now, listen here, Win. How do you think that friend of yours, Miss Crowell, would liketo be a social secretary for Mrs. Schuyler?"

"She'd love it!" cried Winnie. "Does Mrs. Schuyler want one?"

"Yes, and she wants her mighty quick. From what you've said of theCrowell girl, I should think she'd be just the one. Can you get her onthe telephone?"

"Yes, but not so early as this. I'll call her about ten. "

"All right, you fix it up. I expect Mrs. Schuyler will pay propersalary to the right secretary. Of course, Miss Crowell isexperienced?"

"Oh, yes, " assured Win, "and I'm sure she'll love to go. Why, anysecretary would be glad to go there. "

"Not just now, I should think, " observed Aunt Lucy. "The amount ofwork there must be something fearful. "

"It will be heavy, for a time, " I agreed, "but it is only for Mrs. Schuyler's personal correspondence and business. I mean, the other twoladies would not expect to use her services. "

"All right, " said Winnie, "I'll fix it up with Edith Crowell, and ifshe can't go, I'll ask her to recommend somebody. Shall I send herthere to-day?"

"Yes, as soon as she will go. And let me know--telephone the officeabout noon. "

"Yep, " Winnie promised, and I went away, my head in a whirl with thevarious and sundry matters I had to attend to. 

I don't think I thought of the secretary matter again, until at noon, Winnie telephoned me that it was all right. I thanked her, andpromptly forgot the episode. 

And so it was, that when I reached home that night, I had one of thesurprises of my life. 

Winnie came to dinner, smiling, and rather excited-looking. 

"What's up, Infant?" I asked. "Have you accepted a proposal from anice college lad?"

"Huh!" and Win's head tossed. "I guess you'll open your eyes when Itell you what I have accepted!"

"Tell it out, Angel Child. Relieve your own impatience. "

"Well, if you please, I have accepted the post of social secretary toMrs. Randolph Schuyler. "

"Winifred Elizabeth Calhoun! You haven't!"

"I thought I'd arouse some slight interest, " she said, and she calmlywent on with her dinner. 

I looked at Aunt Lucy, who sat with a resigned expression, toying withher unused oyster-fork. 

"What does she mean?" I asked. 

"She has done just what she says, " replied Aunt Lucy. "But only for afew days. Miss Crowell--"

"Let me tell!" interrupted Winnie. "It's my party! You see, Chet, Edith Crowell is wild to have the place, and is going to take it, butshe can't go until the first of next week. And she doesn't want tolose the chance, so I went over and told Mrs. Schuyler about it. Andthen as she was simply swamped with letters and telegrams andtelephones and callers, and goodness knows what all, I offered to helpher out till Edith can get there. And she was so grateful--oh, I thinkshe is a darling. I never saw anyone I liked and admired so much atfirst sight. "

"She is charming, " I conceded, "but what a crazy scheme, Win! How didyou persuade Aunt Lucy to agree?"

"I managed her, " and Winnie bobbed her wise young head, cannily. 

It came to me in a moment. Though not exactly a tuft hunter, Aunt Lucywas deeply impressed by real grandeur and elegance. And it came to meat once, that Winnie's tales of the great house and the aristocraticpeople, had a strong influence on our aunt's views and had broughtabout her permission for Win to go there for a few days. And it was noharm. It wasn't as if Winnie were a regular secretary, but just tohold the place for Miss Crowell, was simply a kindly deed. 

And so, after dinner, I settled myself in our cosy library for acomfortable smoke, and bade Winnie tell me every single thing that hadhappened through the day. 

"Oh, it was thrilling!" Winnie exclaimed. "Part of the time I was atthe desk in the library, and part of the time upstairs in Mrs. Schuyler's very own room. She was so kind to me, but she is nearlydistracted and I don't wonder! The undertakers' men were in and out, and those two old maids--his sisters, you know--were everlastinglyappearing and disappearing. And they don't like Mrs. Schuyler an awfullot, nor she them. Oh, they're polite and all that, but you can seethey're of totally different types. I like Mrs. Schuyler heaps better, but still, there's something about the old girls that's the realthing. They're Schuylers and also they're Salton-stalls, and fartherback, I believe they're Cabots or something. "

"And Mrs. Schuyler, what is she?" I asked, as Win paused for breath. 

"I don't know. Nothing particular, I guess. Oh, yes, I learned hername was Ellison before she was married, but the sisters don't consulther about family matters at all. They do about clothes, though. Andshe knows a lot. Why, Chess, she's having the loveliest things made, if they _are_ mourning, and the sisters, they ask her about everythingthey order--to wear, I mean. And, just think! Mrs. Schuyler neverwears any jewels but pearls! It's a whim, you know, or it was herhusband's whim, or something, but anyway, she has oceans of pearls, and no other gems at all. "

"Did she tell you so?"

"Yes; but it came in the conversation, you know. She is no boaster. No sir-ee! She's the modestest, gentlest, sweetest little lady I eversaw. I just love her! Well, I answered a lot of letters for her, andshe liked the way I did it, and she liked me, I guess, for she saidshe only hoped Miss Crowell would suit her as well. "

"She knows you're my sister?"

"Of course. But that isn't why she likes me, old bunch of conceit!Though, I must admit, she likes you, Chet. She said you were not onlykind, but you have a fair amount of intelligence--no, she didn't usethose words, exactly, but I gathered that was what she meant. Thefuneral is to be tomorrow evening, you know. I had to write andtelephone quite a good deal about that, though the sisters tended toit mostly. "

"Was there much said about--about the actual case--Winnie?"

"You mean about the murder?" Win's clear eyes didn't blink at theword; "no, not much in my hearing. But Mrs. Schuyler wasn't in theroom all the time. And I know Mr. Lowney--isn't he the detective?--wasthere once, and I think, twice. "

"Did you see anyone else?"

"Only some of the servants. Mrs. Schuyler's own maid, her name isTibbetts, is the sort you read about in English novels. A nice, motherly woman, with gray hair and a black silk apron. I liked her, but the maid who looks after the old sisters, I didn't like so well. "

"Never mind the maids, tell me more about Mrs. Schuyler. Does shethink Vicky Van killed Mr. Schuyler? Since you're in this thing sodeep Win, there's no use mincing matters. "

"I should say not! Yes, of course, she thinks the Vicky person did thekilling. How could she think anything else? And the two sisters aremadly revengeful. As soon as the funeral is over, they're going towork to find that girl and bring her to justice! They say the inquestwill help a lot. When will that be, Chess? Can I go to it?"

"No, of course not, Winnie?" This from Aunt Lucy. "It's one thing foryou to help Mrs. Schuyler out in an emergency, but you're not to getmixed up in a murder trial!"

"An inquest isn't a trial, Auntie, " and Win looked like a wise owl, asshe aired her new and suddenly acquired knowledge. "Can't I go, Chess?"

"We'll see, Infant. Perhaps, if Mrs. Schuyler needs your services shemay want you there with her. "

"Oh, in that case--" began Aunt Lucy, but Winnie was off again on oneof her enthusiastic descriptions of the grand ways of the Schuylerhousehold, and Aunt Lucy was quite willing to listen. 

As for me, I wanted the benefit of every possible sidelight on thewhole business, and I, too, took in all Winnie's detailed narrations. 

CHAPTER X

THE INQUEST

The inquest was in progress. In the coroner's courtroom inquiry wasbeing made in an endeavor to discover who was responsible for thedeath of Randolph Schuyler. The funeral of the millionaire had takenplace, and the will had been read, and now the public awaited news ofthe action of the police in placing the crime and producing thecriminal. 

The case had become a celebrated one, not only because of theprominence of the victim, but because of the mystery surrounding theyoung woman suspected of the deed of murder. 

Many voluntary witnesses had come forward with additional informationregarding Victoria Van Allen, but none of these knew anything more ofher relatives or progenitors than I did myself. 

Some of these were asked to testify at the inquest, but more were notso called on, as their testimony was in no way material or vital. 

I did not propose to attend all the sessions, myself, but I wanted tohear the opening queries and learn just how the case was to bemanaged. 

Doctor Remson told of his examination of Mr. Schuyler's body andtestified that death was practically instantaneous as a result of asingle stab of the short, sharp knife. The knife was produced andidentified. It had been carefully taken care of and had beenphotographed to preserve the faint fingermarks, which were on itshandle, and which might or might not be the prints of the murderer'sfingers. 

The caterer Fraschini told of his orders for the party supper, and ofthe sending of his best and most faithful waiters to attend to thefeast. 

Luigi, the head waiter, again went over his story. I had heard thistwice before, but I listened with deep interest, and I realized, that, granting the truth of his recital, there was no room for doubt ofVicky Van's guilt. 

I hadn't of course, told of seeing her take her mail from the box thatnight, nor of her talking to me over the telephone. Should absolutelaw and justice call for that information, I might give it up, but atpresent, I was awaiting developments. 

Vicky had sent me her mailbox key, and I had received it duly, bymail. It was not sent by parcel post, nor was it registered--thesewould have called for the sender's address--but, sent by ordinaryfirst-class letter post, the flat little key came duly and promptly. 

I had not used it yet, the time was not ripe until that same night, and I intended to say nothing of it, until I had fulfilled my promise, if, indeed, I ever told of it. 

But Luigi's story as I heard it again made me shiver withapprehension. Surely, since he saw Vicky right there at the moment, bending over the victim, blood stains on her gown, there could be noloophole of innocence. Had the murderer been some one else, and hadVicky known it, she must have made an outcry--must have accused theguilty party. There was no one whom Vicky loved well enough to wishto shield. And, too, the guests were all in the big living-room; therewas no one unaccounted for. If Luigi himself, or any of the caterer'smen had by chance done the deed, Vicky wouldn't have run away! Therewas no sense in that. So I could see no possible theory but that ofVicky's actual guilt. Why she did it, was another story. She may haveknown Schuyler before, might have known him a long time, might havehad her own reasons for wishing him dead; but all that was outside theissue of her criminality. There was no eyewitness of the stabbingitself, but Luigi's presence on the scene an instant later, left noroom for question as to the hand that had held the knife. 

The jury seemed to think this. Gravely the men listened to what theItalian told, and their faces showed what they believed. 

Then came the guests of the party. One after another, they told thesame story. All knew Vicky fairly well, as a pleasant acquaintance;all liked her as a good friend; all enjoyed her as a delightfulhostess; and many told individual instances of Vicky's kind heart andhelping hand. Not infrequently had she lent assistance, both financialand in other ways, to these friends of hers. Never, they all said, hadthey known her to do a mean or deceitful act or to say an unkind ormalicious word. 

The men spoke of her as a gay, light-hearted butterfly girl, who was acoquette, but who stopped short of a real flirtation; the women gaveher such commendation as is rarely given them to their own sex, anddeclared that Miss Van Allen was a simple, kindly, generous naturewithout a trace of the disposition which causes a woman to be dubbed a_cat_. 

Norman Steele was present. He explained his sudden departure from theparty by the fact that he had to catch an owl train for Chicago. Hesaid, further, that Randolph Schuyler had asked him to take him aroundto Vicky Van's, as he wanted to meet her. But he had asked Steele, especially, to introduce him as Mr. Somers. He had given no reason forthis, and Steele had thought little of it. Randolph Schuyler was aman whom his friends obeyed, often without question. I understoodthis. Steele was no more of a toady to the millionaire than most menwould be; but a request of Randolph Schuyler's was not to bethoughtlessly refused, so Steele acquiesced. 

He was reticent in further dilating on Schuyler's character. Said heoften called on ladies who could not be called exclusive, but deniedknowledge of definite cases or names. 

On the whole, Steele's evidence didn't get us anywhere. We alreadyknew that Schuyler had gone to Vicky Van's under an assumed name. Thereason for this had little, if anything, to do with what had followed. A connection of some sort, between Vicky and Mr. Schuyler must betraced, in order to arrive at her possible motive. A woman does notstab to kill a chance guest whom she has never met before!

Bert Garrison came next. His talk ran mostly to eulogies of Vicky. Thepoor fellow was dead in love with her, and had been for many moons, but though Vicky favored him more than some others, yet she gave himno definite encouragement, as he himself ruefully admitted. But hemade a desperate effort to show that a girl of Victoria Van Allen'shigh character and fine qualities would be incapable of a base deed. 

The coroner smiled a little at Garrison's vehemence, and let him runon for a time, in praise of the absent Vicky. 

At last, he said, "And, why, then, Mr. Garrison, in your opinion hasMiss Van Allen disappeared?"

"The disappearance is not of her own volition, " declared Garrison;"she has been taken away by somebody and held against her will, inorder to make her appear guilty. "

This was a new theory. I might have given it serious consideration hadI not had speech with the girl herself. It couldn't be that Vicky washeld captive, since she was at her own house two nights after thecrime. But I could see that the jury, and even the coroner anddetectives were interested in this idea. 

"By whom could she possibly, or theoretically, he thus held?" thecoroner asked. 

"I don't know. But assuming some intruder effected an entrance andstabbed Mr. Schuyler, if surprised during or after the act by thesudden appearance of Miss Van Allen in the dining room, he might insome way have gotten her out of the house, and still be keeping her ina hiding-place. "

It was perhaps, a possibility, but I didn't see how any intruder coulddo all that, without being seen by the waiters. Unless, perchance, thewaiters had been bribed to silence. And that, in the face of Luigi'searnest, and convincing testimony, I could not believe. 

It was a fantastic theory, evolved in the brain of Garrison, for thepurpose of diverting suspicion from Vicky Van. However, it seemed toimpress the coroner, and he made notes as he dismissed the witness. 

Cassie Weldon added one bit of new information. She said, though withevident reluctance, that she had caught a mere glimpse of somebodyrunning upstairs, just before the waiter had come to call for help. 

Cassie had not wanted to testify at all. As she had intimated to me, it was detrimental to her work as a concert singer to be mixed up inthis affair. But since she had to give her testimony, she apparentlyfelt it her duty to tell the whole truth. 

"How could you see the stairs from the living-room?" asked theinterested coroner. 

"I was near the door, and though I was not looking out into the hall, I had a vague, fleeting impression of somebody running upstairs. Ipaid no attention to it, of course, but I am sure somebody did. "

"A man or a woman?"

"A woman. That is, I was conscious of a flutter of skirts, but I amnot sure it was Miss Van Allen. I didn't see her clearly enough evento notice the color of her gown. It was merely a glimpse of some oneflying round the newel post and up the stairs. It might have been astranger. "

"You mean, if there were some intruder, it may have been a woman, andnot a man?"

"I don't know, I tell you. I can only say I know somebody ranupstairs. Further than that, I've no idea concerning it. "

"It must have been Miss Van Allen, " said the coroner, decidedly; "hadit been any other woman, and had she stabbed Mr. Schuyler, Miss VanAllen would not have disappeared. Now, if this woman who ran upstairswas Miss Van Allen, she effected an escape from the upper stories. Isthere a skylight exit?"

No one seemed to know, as no one had thought of Vicky Van leaving herhouse by such means. 

But to me, the idea was ridiculous. A girl, in elaborate evening gown, clambering out of a skylight trap-door, to where? Not to a neighbor's, for Vicky Van knew none of the nearby residents. I had heard her sayso, myself. And had she descended into a strange household, and beggedfor shelter, it would have become known before this. 

Well, anyway, the detective Lowney immediately sent an order to havethe skylight matter looked into and the proceedings went on. 

Ariadne Gale was closely questioned as to how she knew of the picturein the back of Randolph Schuyler's watch. But she declared that he hadshown it to her during their conversation that evening. 

"I never saw the man before, " said Ariadne, who unlike Cassie Weldon, rather enjoyed the publicity of the occasion. "I chanced to be aboutthe first girl he was introduced to, when he came into the house. Andwe had a chat, and when I chaffed him a bit on his dignity andawe-inspiring presence, he refuted it by showing me the picture in hiswatch. He said it was a little chorus girl he had taken out to supperthe night before. I could see the picture had been merely tucked intemporarily, it wasn't neatly pasted in, as a watch-case pictureusually is, and then I chaffed him on his fickleness. Our conversationwas the merest foolery, and a moment after, he went over to bepresented to Miss Van Allen. "

"You think they had never met before?"

"I'm sure they had not. They looked at each other with theconventional politeness of strangers, I know Miss Van Allen well, andshe is not one to dissemble or pretend. I am sure she had never laideyes on that man before. She simply _couldn't_ have killed him!"

Ariadne's further evidence amounted to nothing, nor did that ofseveral other of the party guests who were called on. 

Except Mrs. Reeves. She knew more of Vicky's home life than any of therest of us, but even she knew nothing of the girl's origin. 

She had first met her at one of Miss Gale's studio parties, and hadtaken a fancy to her at once. 

"Where did _you_ first meet her, Miss Gale, " the coroner interruptedto ask. 

"She came to my studio to look at my pictures, " was the reply. "Sheadmired them, and bought one. She was so pleasant and so interestedin my work that she came two or three times, and then I invited her toone of my little studio affairs. She quickly made friends, and sheinvited us to her house. I went there first about two years ago. "

"So did I, " Mrs. Reeves resumed. "And since then, I have been therefrequently, and every time I saw the girl I liked her better. But shewas always a bit of a mystery. I confess I tried at times, to learnsomething of her previous life. But she adroitly evaded my questions, and cleverly changed the subject. I think, however, from chance hintsshe let drop, that her home was somewhere in the Middle West. "

"An indefinite term, " observed Coroner Fenn. 

"It's all I know. "

"Where did Miss Van Allen go on her frequent absences from her home?"

"That I don't know, either. Often she'd be away a week, and on herreturn would tell of a gay house party down on Long Island or aweek-end trip up Westchester way, but I don't remember any definiteplace she visited. "

"I do, " piped up Ariadne. "She often goes to Greenwich, Connecticut, and to Bronxville. I've heard her tell of these trips. She has a widecircle of acquaintances and, of course, she's a favorite with all whoknow her. "

"I have a piece of evidence, " resumed Mrs. Reeves, "which I daresay Iought to exhibit. It is a letter from Miss Van Allen, which I receivedonly this morning. "

This caused a sensation. A letter from Vicky Van! Just received! Ifound myself trembling in my shoes. And I asked myself why. Was Iafraid the girl would be caught? Did I want to shield a felon? And Ihad to admit to myself that I did. I wasn't in love with Vicky Van, but I had a tremendous interest in her, and I didn't want that littlelone, helpless person haled before a court of justice. Vicky did seemterribly alone. Hosts of friends she had, but no one who was in anyway responsible for her, or in a position to help her. Well, if sheever returned, voluntarily or perforce, she would find a friend andchampion in one Chester Calhoun, of that I was certain!

Mrs. Reeves handed her letter over to the coroner, and he read it out. It ran:

My dear Mrs. Reeves: You have always been such a good friend to me that I'm writing youjust a line. You are everything that is good and kind, and now I'mgoing to ask you as a final favor to forget Vicky Van at once andforever. I am going away and I shall never return. Don't think of meany more hardly than you must, but if you can keep any loving littlememory of the hours we spent together, I want you to do so. And as aremembrance, I want you to have my little electric coupe. It is inRennard's garage, and I have written him to turn it over to you. Ishall miss our happy times together, but--I can never come back. Donot worry about me, I am safe. And I am your affectionate Vicky Van. 

"You are sure this is from Miss Van Allen?" asked Fenn. 

"Oh, yes, " replied Mrs. Reeves. "There's no mistaking that writing. "

Nor was there. I knew Vicky's penmanship, and it was most peculiar. Never have I seen such a hand. Angular, slightly backhanded, and fullof character, it would be difficult to imitate it, and, too, no onewould have any reason to forge that letter to Mrs. Reeves. She hadverified Vicky's statement, and found that a letter to the garageowner had instructed him to give up the car to Mrs. Reeves, and he hadalready done so, that very morning. 

The letters had both been mailed in New York the night before, thepostmark showing that they were mailed in the district that includedVicky's residence. 

Was she, then, even now in hiding near her home? Or, had she sent theletters to be mailed by some one else? By Julie, perhaps, who, I feltsure, was with her mistress, wherever that might be. 

My leaping thoughts took in all this, and by degrees the slower goingcoroner, put it in words. 

Lowney, the detective, bristled with interest. A clue, he had, hethought, but what a clue! Two letters posted in the city. What didthey show of the whereabouts of the missing girl?

Lowney scrutinized the one to Mrs. Reeves. Ordinary paper, such asmight be bought in any stationery or department store, no monogram orinitial on it, nor was there any maker's name under the flap. 

But a dozen people present testified to Vicky's handwriting, and thecoroner eagerly took possession of the letter. 

Sherlock Holmes, I thought to myself, would read that letter, look atit through his good old lens, smell it, and then walk out, and returnin a half hour, with Vicky Van in tow!

But for my part, I could see nothing illuminating in that plain paperand envelope, and the letter in the well-known penmanship. 

All I gathered was, that wherever Vicky was, she was not only safe butcomfortable. The tenor of the note breathed leisure and composure. Clearly, she was not breathlessly hurrying from one place to another, or vigilantly eluding pursuit. She was at ease, with opportunity toindulge in thoughtful kindness to a friend, and to write at lengthabout herself. 

At length, yes, but with no hint of her hiding-place nor any clue toit. Poor little Vicky! She seemed so alone--and yet--how did I know?She may have gone to friends or--somehow I hated to think that she hadany man who was her legal--or even willing protector. 

Yet she said she was safe, and her letter showed no fear of thefuture. And then again I was stabbed by the thought that perhaps therewas no earthly future for Vicky Van. I didn't want her to killherself--I didn't want her to be found and arrested--what did I want?I wasn't sure in my own mind, save that I wanted her safety above allelse. I suppose I believed her guilty--I could believe nothing else, but even so, I didn't want her brought to bay. 

I gave my own testimony, which was all true, and all frank, exceptthat I said nothing of my nocturnal visit to Vicky's house or of ourtelephone conversation. If my conscience smote me I combated it withmy chivalry, which would not allow me to betray a woman into the handsof the law. 

The later witnesses, who were mostly the working people whom Vickyemployed by the day, told nothing of her or of her home life. They allspoke of her as a kind lady to work for, though, as a rule, they hadnot seen her, but had been engaged, directed and paid by the maid, Julie. 

It seemed to be tacitly assumed that wherever Vicky was Julie was withher. I had had this information from Vicky herself, but others took itfor granted, in the absence of any reason to think the contrary. 

The whole day's session, to my mind, achieved little of usefulinformation. Mrs. Reeves' letter proved conclusively that Vicky wasaware of the search being made for her, and showed her determinationnot to be found. It was Saturday, and when the inquest was adjourneduntil Monday morning, I couldn't help feeling that it might as wellhave been permanently adjourned, for all the further conclusions itwould lead to. 

I went home at last, thrilling with the thought that that night I wasto get Vicky's mail from her box and hide it where she had directed. Isecretly hoped she might be in the house herself, waiting for it, butscarcely dared believe this would be the case. 

CHAPTER XI

A NOTE FROM VICKY

Nor was it. I had secured a latch-key to the house, from the police, who were willing enough for me to search for possible clues, as I hadtold them I would do. 

At their wits' end to locate Vicky Van, they welcomed my help and feltthat as a friend of hers, I might learn more than a disinterestedpoliceman could. 

So, well after midnight, watching my chance when the patrolman hadjust passed on his regular round, I went across the street. 

Easily I opened the mailbox and extracted a quantity of letters. 

Quietly, then, I opened the house door and went in. 

I had provided myself with a pocket flashlight, as I didn't want toilluminate the house, and I went at once to the music room, to performmy errand. 

How strange it seemed! The lovely room, with dainty white and goldfurnishings, reminded me so forcibly of the bewitching girl who ownedit all. A thousand questions rose in my mind. What would become ofthat bijou residence? The bric-a-brac and pictures, the rugs andfurniture, while not magnificent, were of the best, and many of themcostly. The great Chinese vase, into which I was to drop the letterswas a gem of its kind, though not anything a connoisseur would covet. 

I raised the dragon-topped lid, and let the letters fall in. Replacingthe lid, I still lingered. My errand was done, but I felt an impulseto stay. Everything spoke to me of Vicky Van. Where was she now?Making sure that the opaque blinds were drawn, I dared to turn on onetiny electric lamp. The faint light made the shadowed room lovelierthan ever. Could a girl of such cultivated tastes and such refinementof character be a--a wrong-doer? I couldn't say murderer even tomyself. Then my common sense flared up, and told me that crime is norespecter of persons. That women who had slain human beings were notnecessarily of this or that walk of life. Granted a woman had a motiveto kill a man, that motive lay in the impulses of her feminine nature, and revenge, jealousy, fear, love or hate--whatever the motive, it wasof deep and over-powering and might find its root in equal likelinessin the breast of queen or beggarmaid. I could not say Vicky wasincapable of crime--indeed, her gay, volatile manner might hide adeeply perturbed spirit. She was an enigma, and I--I must solve theriddle. I felt I should never rest, until I knew the truth, and ifVicky were a martyr to circumstances, or a victim to Fate, I must knowall about it. 

Alone there, in the midnight hours, I resolved to devote my time, allI could spare, my energies, all I could command, and my life, so faras I might, to the discovery of the truth, and I might or might notreveal my findings as seemed to me best. 

Leaving the music room, I went back through the long hall, and passedthe door of Vicky's bedroom. Reverently I looked inside. The verywalls seemed crying for her to come back. Would she ever so do? Iwandered on through the bedroom, and even looked in the dressing room. I felt no compunction. It was not from idle curiosity, rather, Iwalked as one at a shrine. The exquisitely feminine boudoir was a mutewitness to a love of beauty and art. I used only my flashlight, but onan impulse, I turned on one light by the side of the long mirror. Ilooked in it, as Vicky must often have done when dressing for herparties, as, indeed, she must have done, when dressing that last fatalnight and seeing my own grim reflection, I gravely nodded my head atmyself, and whispered, "We'll find the truth, old man, you see if wedon't!"

In the ornate Florentine frame, with its branching arabesques, was astrand of the gold beads that had adorned Vicky's gown that night. Ivisualized her, whirling her skirts about before the mirror, with thatquick, lithe grace of hers, and catching the fluttering fringe in thegilt protuberance. Perhaps she exclaimed in petulance, but, morelikely, I thought, she laughed at the trivial accident. That was VickyVan, as I knew her, to laugh at a mischance, and smile good-naturedlyat an accident. 

I lifted the strand of little beads from the entangling frame, and putit away in my pocketbook, as a dear and intimate souvenir of the girlI had known. Then, with a final glance that was a sort of farewell, Iglimpsed the pretty, cosy nest, and went downstairs. 

Here I paused again. Cassie Weldon had said she could see thestaircase from the door of the living-room. I tried it. She was right. A person standing just inside the living-room door, could catch sightof a person on the stairs. And, as Cassie, said, she was not lookingthat way, but was partly conscious of some one running up the stairs. It might well be. She would naturally give the incident no thought atthe moment--it was strange she had even remembered it. And it may havebeen Vicky. Then she might have descended by the rear staircase, thereprobably was one, I didn't know. And anyway, what mattered it how shehad left the house? She had left it, and had not returned. 

I remembered the allusion to the skylight. In a jiffy, I had runupstairs clear to the highest story. There was a skylight, orscuttle, rather, and it was bolted on the inside. 

That settled that. Vicky Van had not climbed out that way, and I forone, never supposed she had. 

Strangely reluctant to leave the house, I went downstairs again, looked into the living-room, and passed on to the dining-room. Icontemplated the sideboard, in front of which Randolph Schuyler hadmet his death. Many pieces of silver and glass stood upon it, and allwas in order, as if it had been carefully looked after for the partyoccasion. 

Without consciously noting details, I chanced to observe that a smallsilver-handled carving fork, was lacking its knife. I had no knowledgeof Vicky Van's table appurtenances, but the way the fork lay looked tome as if the knife had lain across it, and had been removed. 

I had no concern over it, for I knew the knife that had stabbedSchuyler was now in possession of the police, and this one haddoubtless been used in preparation of the supper, if indeed, there wasa knife belonging to the fork. 

It was a matter of no moment, but somehow it stuck in my mind. IfVicky or rather, if Julie had straightened up things on the sideboardin the process of tidying up for the party, would she not have laidthe fork a different way, unless there had been a matching knife tolay across it? I suppose the whole question came into my mind, becauseat home, we had a beefsteak carving set that always lay crossed on thesideboard. A man gets accustomed to the sight of such householddetails, and they photographed on his memory. 

Well, anyway, I looked for that knife. I even went to the butler'spantry and looked, but I didn't see it. The pantry had been hastilyevacuated by the caterer's men, and though tidied, it was not in spickand span condition. You see, having lived so long with two such homeybodies as Aunt Lucy and Win, I was not utterly unversed in domesticmatters. The pantry was well equipped with modern utensils andimplements, and all its appointments spoke of the taste and efficiencyof its mistress. 

"Poor Vicky, " I sighed to myself, " poor, dear little Vicky Van!" andthen I went softly out of the front door and down the steps. 

I went slowly, and looked back several times, in a vague hope thatVicky might emerge from some nearby shadow and go into the house forher letters. But I saw no sign of such a happening, and went on home, my heart full of a gloomy foreboding that I would never see her again. 

"Going to work on Sunday, Winnie?" I asked, as next morning, my sisterappeared, garbed for the street. 

"Not regularly to work, but Mrs. Schuyler wants me to look after somematters of confidence. "

"Oho, how important we are!" I chaffed her. "When does the Crowelllady come into her own?"

"Not for another week. She isn't quite ready to come, and Mrs. Schuyler is willing to keep me on a while longer. "

"I don't blame her, " and I looked at my pretty, bright-faced sisterwith approval. "I say, old girl, s'pose I stroll over with you. "

"Come along. Though I'm not sure Mrs. Schuyler will see you. Sheusually sends me to receive callers. "

"Well, Little Miss Manage-It, I could even live through that. Andperhaps I'll get a look-in with the fair sisters-in-law. "

"That, surely, if you wish. They're ready and eager to see visitors. Ibelieve they love to go over the details of the whole affair withanyone who will listen. "

"Oh, come now, Win, not as bad as that. "

"They don't think it's bad. They're bound to track down the Van Allengirl, and they hold the opinion that everybody they get hold of may bean important witness. They go over the reports from the inquest allthe time, and can hardly wait till tomorrow to see what will come outnext. "

"Me for them, " I responded. "I'd like a good chat on the subject. "

We went over to the Fifth Avenue house, and were admitted by thesolemn and wise-eyed butler. I was shown to the library, while Winniewas directed to go to Mrs. Schuyler's room. 

But it was not long before we were all together in the library--widow, sisters, and all, for Lowney had made a discovery and he proposed totell the family of it. 

Win and I were allowed to be present, and the detective showed his newfind. 

It seems he had been searching the papers and letters of the late Mr. Schuyler. This had been not only permitted by the wife, but had beenurged by the sisters, who hoped it might result in some further lighton the mysterious Miss Van Allen. And it did. In the desk, in a secretcompartment--which was not so secret but that the detective could openit--were a number of letters from feminine pens, and a number ofreceipted bills for jeweled trinkets, presumably sent to these orother ladies, for they were not of a sort affected by Ruth Schuyler orthe two sisters. A blue enameled watch bracelet, and a rhinestonetiara were representative purchases entered on these bills. 

But the pile of letters sank into insignificance, when we learned thefact that there was a letter from Vicky Van among them!

Regardless of Mrs. Schuyler's feelings, Lowney read the letter aloud. This was it:

My Dear Mr. Schuyler: I enjoyed your supper party, and it was good of you to give meinside information about the stocks. But I must beg of you to ceaseyour further attentions to me, as I cannot number on my list ofcalling acquaintances the husband of another woman. I am, perhaps, rather prudish in my view of life, but this is one of my inviolablerules. Very truly yours, Victoria Van Allen. 

I knew that before. Vicky Van, living alone and unchaperoned, save forthe ubiquitous Julie, flouted convention in many ways, but it was asshe said, her inviolable rule to receive no married man without hiswife at her parties. Nor was there often occasion for her to use thisstipulation. The young people whom I had met at her house, had alwaysbeen maids and bachelors, and now and then, a young married couple whoplayfully enacted a chaperon part. Mrs. Reeves, a widow, was probablythe oldest of the crowd, but she was well under forty. 

It was quite true, no married man, and indeed, no man of the type orage of Randolph Schuyler, had ever, to my knowledge, enjoyed thefriendship of Vicky Van. But not for a minute, did I think that shewould go so far as to kill him for daring to enter her house! That wasunthinkable. 

And yet, it seemed so to Lowney, and, apparently, to the sisters ofthe dead man. 

She declared that the letter proved that Randolph had intruded on heracquaintance, and she had objected from coyness or coquetry; and thatwhen he persisted, she was so enraged that she flew into a passion andwilfully ended his life. 

"I can't think that, " said Ruth Schuyler, wearily. "It seems more tome as if that letter exculpates the girl. She was quite evidently notin love with my husband, and she honestly tried to make him understandher scruples. So I can't think she killed him. I did think so atfirst, of course, but on thinking things over, and in the light ofthis letter, I begin to believe her innocent. What date does theletter bear?"

"There's no date, " said Lowney, looking at the paper. "It was not inan envelope--"

"Then how did it reach my husband?"

"Oh, of course, it came in an envelope, I suppose, but I found nonewith it. So we can't tell where it was sent, here or to one of hisclubs or to his office address. "

"Not here, I'm sure, " said Mrs. Schuyler. "Probably to his club. Youare quite welcome to the letter, Mr. Lowney. Make what use you thinkbest of it. If it serves to establish Miss Van Allen's innocence, Ishall be rather glad. But if it seems to throw further suspicion onher, then justice must be done. "

"Of course, it throws suspicion on that woman!" declared Miss RhodaSchuyler, with a vindictive glance at the letter in Lowney's hand. "The hussy, to write to Randolph at all!"

"But, " I interposed, unable to stand this unjust speech, "Mr. Schuylermust have made advances to her first. "

"She lured him on. I've heard you say yourself, Mr. Calhoun, that thisVan Allen person is a siren, a--"

"Now, now, Miss Rhoda, " I began, but the other sister chimed in. 

"Of course she is! Of course, the wrong was mostly hers. And shekilled Randolph, I know it! Why, the waiter man saw her! Go ahead, Mr. Lowney, hunt her down, and bring her to account. I never shallsleep peacefully until my brother's death is avenged! I cannotunderstand, Ruth, how you can be so indifferent. "

A flush rose to Ruth Schuyler's cheek, and, enlightened anew to herhusband's character by that letter, I began to feel a different sortof sympathy for the widow. 

Randolph Schuyler had been unfaithful, he had been domineering andtyrannical, and I knew he had not allowed his wife to have thecomforts and luxuries she desired, although he was enormously wealthy. 

A social secretary, for instance. Most women of Ruth Schuyler's rankin society had that necessary assistant, yet, during Schuyler's lifehis wife was forbidden the favor. 

Winnie had told me this, and had told me much more, that proved howunjust and unkind Randolph Schuyler had been. The sisters, too, sharedhis views, and as a consequence, the household was run onold-fashioned lines that ill accord with the ways of to-day. 

Mrs. Schuyler had in no way complained, Win told me, but it was easilyseen how matters stood. It fell to Winnie's lot to order many thingsfrom the shops--stationery, mourning apparel, and house needs. These, my sister said, were ordered with the most perfect taste, but with alavishness, which was indubitably unusual to Ruth Schuyler. 

The sisters exclaimed at the extravagance, but Ruth, though listeningpolitely, serenely went her own way, and carried out her own plans. Inthe matter of fresh flowers, she was like a child, Win said, and sheenjoyed the blossoms she ordered as if she had hungered for them foryears. Winnie was growing deeply attached to her employer, if thatword is applicable, and Ruth Schuyler was fond of Win. 

But I am digressing. Mrs. Schuyler replied to her sister-in-law'sspeech by saying, gently, "I am not indifferent, Sarah, but it seemsto me we have no real evidence against the girl, and--"

"No real evidence! When she was caught red-handed! Or nearly caught!If that stupid waiter had had sense enough to jump and grab her, wewould have had no search to make at all!"

"It may be so, Sarah, you may be right. But until you do find herdon't condemn her utterly. From what Mr. Calhoun has told me of herand from the tone of that letter she wrote to Randolph, I can't makeit seem possible that she killed a man she knew so slightly. And yet, it may be she did. "

"Well, " remarked Lowney, "the note proves that she had seen Mr. Schuyler before, anyway. Then, when he came to her house as Mr. Somers, she was naturally annoyed, as she had asked him not to do so. And all that is against the girl, I say. But it remains to be seenwhat the coroner's jury will think of it. "

"They'll see it in its true light, " declared Rhoda Schuyler. "Ofcourse, she was angry when he came to her house after being forbidden, unless the sly thing wrote the note just to lure him on, but in anycase, she was alone with him, she used the knife on him and she ranaway. What more evidence do you need? Now, to find her. That's a taskI shall never give up or neglect until I've accomplished it. "

"And you are right, Rhoda, " said Ruth, "if the girl is guilty. I hopeshe will be found, for I'm sure the truth could then be learned, whether she is guilty or not. "

"Will you come, now, Mrs. Schuyler, " said Tibbetts, from the doorway. "The flowers have arrived. "

Ruth, beckoning to Winnie, rose, and the two left the room. 

"Perfectly idiotic, " said Sarah, "the way she orders flowers! Freshones every day!"

"But hasn't she a right to spend her own money as she likes?" Idefended. 

"A legal right, perhaps, " was the retort, "but not a moral right todisregard her husband's wishes so utterly"

CHAPTER XII

MORE NOTES

Next morning at breakfast, there was but one topic of conversation. Indeed, little else had been talked of for days but the Schuyler caseand all its side issues. 

Winnie held forth at length on the martyrdom Ruth Schuyler hadsuffered because of the cruelty of her late husband. 

"He wasn't really ugly, you know, " explained Win, "and I don't sayshe's glad he's dead. But he thwarted her in every little way that shewanted to enjoy herself. They had a box at the opera, and a bigcountry house and all that, but he wouldn't let her go to matinees orhave a motor of her own or buy anything until he had passed judgmenton it. She even had to submit her costume designs to him, and if heapproved the dressmaker made them up. And he wouldn't let her havefashionable clothes. They had to be plain and of rich heavymaterials, such as the sisters wear. Mr. Schuyler was under the thumbof those two old maids, and Rhoda, especially, put him up to all sortsof schemes to bother Ruth. "

"Do you call her Ruth?" I asked, in surprise. 

"Yes, she told me I might. She's lovely to me, and I'm so glad to doall I can for her. Honest, Chet, she lived an awful life with thatman. "

"I'd like to see her, " said Aunt Lucy. " All you've said about her, Winnie, makes me a bit curious. "

"So you shall, Auntie, some time. She's a real friend of mine now, andeven after Edith Crowell goes there as secretary, she says I mustoften go to see her as her friend. "

"She's charming, " I declared. "Every time I see her I'm more impressedwith her gentle dignity. And I don't know how she can be so decent tothose two old women. "

"Nor I, " agreed Win, as Aunt Lucy asked, "Is she pretty?"

"Is she, Winnie?" I said. 

"Well, she is and she isn't. She's so colorless, you know. Her hair isthat flat ashy blonde, and she's so pale always. Then her eyes andlashes are so light, and--well, ineffective. But her expression is sosweet, and when once in a while she laughs outright, she's veryattractive. And she's such a thoroughbred. She never errs in taste orjudgment. She knows just what to reply to all the queer letters ofcondolence that come to her, and just how to talk to the people whocall. And that's another thing. She hasn't any friends of her own age. She knows only the people who belong to the most exclusive set, andthey're nearly all the age of the old sisters. But Mrs. Schuyler islovely to them. And in her soft pretty black gowns she looks a wholelot better than she ever did in the ones she wore while he was alive. I've seen them in her wardrobe, and I've seen her try on some that shewas going to give away, and they're sights! Elegant, you know, but notthe thing for her. Now, that she can select her own, she hasbeauties. "

"She certainly must be glad, then, to be freed from such a tyrant, "said Aunt Lucy. 

"Now don't you think that!" insisted Winnie, earnestly. "She may feel, so, 'way down in her deepest heart, but she won't admit it, even toherself. And, of course, no matter how much she didn't love him, shewouldn't want him taken off _that_ way! No, she's perfectly all right, and she mourns that man just as sincerely as any woman could mourn aman who didn't understand her. "

I looked at Win in amazement. Little sister was growing up, it seemed. Well, the experience would do her no harm. Ruth Schuyler's influencecould work only for good, and a taste of real life would give a wideroutlook than Win could get at home. 

I went down to the coroner's courtroom. The inquest was proceeding inits usual discursive way, and I sat down to listen for a while. Thecoroner was hearing reports from detectives who had interviewed themarket men and shopkeepers where Vicky Van had bought wares. 

It was just what might be expected from any householder's record. Vicky had always paid her bills promptly, usually by check on awell-known bank. Sometimes, if the bills were small they were paid incash. In such case Miss Van Allen herself or the maid brought themoney; if checks, they were sent by mail. The garage man reported asimilar state of affairs. His monthly bills were promptly paid, andMiss Van Allen had found no fault with his service. She was away fromhome frequently, but when at home, she used her motor car often andwas kind to the chauffeur who drove her. This chauffeur told of takingher to the shops, to the theatre, to friends' houses and to picturegalleries--but had never been directed to any place where a lady mightnot go. 

The bank people said that Miss Van Allen had had an account with themfor years, but as their depositors were entitled to confidentialdealings they would say little more. They stated, however, that MissVan Allen was a most desirable patron and never overdrew her accountor made trouble of any sort. 

There was nothing to be gleaned from this kind of testimony. We allknew that Vicky was a good citizen and all this was merelycorroboration. What was wanted was some hint of her presentwhereabouts. 

Lowney had tried to get at this by the use of an address book he hadfound in Vicky Van's desk. He had telephoned or called on many of thepeople whose addresses were in the book, but all said over and overwhat we already knew. 

Personally, I felt sure that Vicky was staying with some friend notfar from her own house. It could well be, that somebody cared enoughfor the girl to hide her from the authorities. This, however, arguedher guilty, for otherwise, a true friend would persuade her that thewiser course would be to disclose herself to the public. 

However, nothing transpired to bear out my opinion, and as the list ofwitnesses dwindled, no progress was made toward a solution of themystery. And so, when at last, an open verdict was returned, with nomention of Vicky's name, I was decidedly relieved, but I didn't seehow it could have been otherwise. 

I dropped in at the Schuyler house on my way home. I was beginning tofeel on a very friendly footing there, and, partly owing to Winnie'sgraphic powers of narration, I took an increasing interest in RuthSchuyler. 

As Win had said, she looked charming, although pathetic in her blackrobes. She permitted herself a touch of white at the turned-in throat, and a white flower was tucked in her bodice. A contrast, indeed, tothe severe garb of the spinster sisters, who looked like allegoricalfigures of hopeless gloom. 

But their manner was more of militant revenge, and, having heard theverdict of the coroner's jury, they were ready to take up the casethemselves. 

"Come in, Mr. Calhoun, " they called out, as I entered the library, "you're just the man we want to see. Now, that the coroner hasfinished his task, we will take the matter up. Mr. Lowney, I suppose, will continue the search for Miss Van Allen, but we fear he will notbe successful. So, we have determined to send for the great detective, Fleming Stone. "

"Stone!" I cried, "why, he won't work with the police. "

"Then he can work without them, " declared Rhoda, with asperity. "I'veheard wonderful stories of that man's success, and we're going toengage him at once. "

"He's very expensive, " I began. 

"No matter. We're going to find our brother's murderer if it takesevery penny of our fortune. "

"What do you think of this plan, Mrs. Schuyler?" I asked. 

"I've not been consulted" she said, with a slight smile. "Since Mr. Randolph's sisters choose to adopt it, I have no reason to object. Iknow nothing of Mr. Stone, but if he is really a great detective, hewill not condemn that girl unheard. And if she is proved guilty, ofcourse the claims of justice must be met. Do you know him, Mr. Calhoun?"

"Not personally. I've often heard of him, and he's a wonder. If youwant to find Miss Van Allen, you can't do better than to get him onthe trail. If he can't find her, nobody can. "

"That's what I say, " put in Sarah. "And if he doesn't find her, atleast we've the satisfaction of knowing we've done all we could. "

"We thought of offering a reward for information of Miss Van Allen, "added Rhoda, "but if we're going to get Mr. Stone, wouldn't it bebetter to consult him about that?"

"I think it would, " I judged. 

Just then Winnie came into the room. She had been writing notes, andshe held a lot of unopened letters in her hand. 

"Oh, Ruth, " she cried, "what do you think! Here's the mail, Jepsonjust gave it to me, and there's a letter for you from Miss Van Allen!"

"What!" cried everybody at once. 

"Yes, " declared Winnie, "I know the hand, it's the same as was on thatletter to Mr. Schuyler. It's such a queer hand, you can't forget it. "

She handed all the letters to Ruth, the one she referred to on top. 

Mrs. Schuyler turned pale as she looked at the envelope. I glanced atit, too, and without doubt, it was Vicky Van's writing. 

It had been mailed in New York that same morning, and delivered justnow, about five o'clock. 

"You open it, Mr. Calhoun, " said Ruth, as if she shrank from the task. 

I took it gravely, for it seemed to me to portend trouble for littleVicky. Was she giving herself up, or what?

Win handed me a letter-opener, and I slit the envelope. 

As they breathlessly awaited my words, I read:

To Mrs. Randolph Schuyler: Dear Madam: It is useless to look for me. To-day I am leaving NewYork forever. The mystery of Mr. Schuyler's death will never besolved, the truth never learned. I alone know the secret and it willdie with me. You may employ detectives from now till doomsday but youwill discover nothing. So give up the search, for you will never find Victoria Van Allen. 

There was a pause as I finished reading. Myself, I was thrilled by acertain phrase in the letter. Vicky said, "the secret will die withme. " Again, I felt that she was intending to bring about her owndeath, and that speedily. Would we know it if she did? I was thinkingdeeply, when Miss Rhoda, spoke:

"I believe that girl means to kill herself, and I should think shewould!"

"Why do you think that?" and Ruth looked up with a startled face. 

"It sounds so, and it would be the natural outcome of her remorse ather dreadful deed. "

"I think she must be guilty, " said Winnie, her dear little countenancedrawn with grief, as she studied the letter for herself. 

None of us said much more. We all were stunned in a way, by thisunexpected development, and had to readjust our theories. 

"Well, " Miss Rhoda said, decidedly, "I shall consult Mr. Stone, anyway. I've written him, and though I've not mailed the letter yet, Ishall send it off to-night. Then when he comes to talk it over we cansee what he says and abide by his judgment. "

"That's a good idea, Rhoda, " and Ruth Schuyler nodded assentingly; "I, too, want justice, and if Fleming Stone thinks he can find Miss VanAllen, let him do so. "

It was six o'clock then, and Win and I went home, leaving the Schuylerladies to their own discussions. 

Ruth Schuyler's hand lingered a moment in mine, as I bade her adieu, and she said, wistfully, "I wish you would tell me just what you thinkwe had better do. I am so unaccustomed to judging for myself in anyimportant matter. "

"I think it is wise to get Mr. Stone, " I returned. "In any case itcan do no harm, you know. "

"No, I suppose not, " and she gave me one of her rare smiles ofappreciation. "I am glad you are looking after us, instead of Mr. Bradbury, " she said further, and I sincerely responded that I wasglad, too. 

Another surprise awaited me at home. On the hall table lay my ownmail, and as I picked it up, and ran the letters over, there was onefrom Vicky Van. 

I hastily concealed it from Winnie's sharp eyes, for I had no notionwhat it might divulge, and hurried with it up to my own room. 

Impatiently I tore it open and raced through its contents. 

Dear Mr. Calhoun: Thank you deeply for attending to my errand. Owing to your kindnessI received the letters I wanted. Now, will you do me one last favor?Come again to the house tonight, and take a small parcel which youwill find in the Chinese jar in the music room. Keep this for me andif I do not ask you for it within a year, destroy it unopened. I wishI could be more frank with you, you have proved yourself such astaunch friend, but I cannot control circumstances and so I must bearmy fate. I do not know what Mrs. Schuyler will think of it, but I havewritten her a letter. When you see her, try to make her realize it isuseless to hunt for me. Since I can keep hidden for this length oftime, my retreat is not likely to be discovered. And now, my kindestof friends, good-bye. Vicky Van. 

I stood, staring at the letter. I read it through a dozen times. Ofcourse, I would do her bidding, but my heart rebelled at the finalityof the lines. I knew I would never hear from Vicky Van again. As shesaid, since we hadn't traced her yet, we never could. 

I wondered where she could possibly be. And Julie, too. Somebody wasshielding them both. They couldn't be disguised or anything of thatsort, for they had left the house at dead of night, without luggageor--and I hadn't thought of this before--without money! How could theyhave found shelter, save in some friend's house?

Of course, Vicky could have snatched up a purse as she ran. Perhapsthat was what she flew upstairs for. And then, maybe, she went downthe back stairs--but no, the waiters must have seen her that way. AndLuigi was in the front hall a moment after Vicky disappeared. 

Aside from my personal interest, I hated to think I should never knowjust how she did get away. For now, I had no hope that Fleming Stoneor anyone else could ever find the girl. She was too canny to betaken, after her successful concealment so far. 

I went downstairs after a time, but I said nothing of my letter toAunt Lucy or Win. 

They were eagerly discussing the latest news, and Aunt Lucy wassaying, "Yes, I've heard of Mr. Stone, and they do say he's a marvel. I hope he'll find the girl, if only to learn the mystery of herdisappearance. "

"Oh, he'll find her, " assured Winnie, "I've heard a lot about him overthere and he's a wizard! But I think he'll have a long chase. "

"Meantime, what becomes of the house?" queried Aunt Lucy. "What does, Chet? Can anyone go in it who likes?"

"No, " I returned, a little shortly, for I foresaw Aunt Lucy had thatabsurd feminine desire to pry into another person's home. "It's incharge of the police, and they won't let anyone in, without some verygood reason. "

"Couldn't you get in?"

"I suppose I might" I admitted unwillingly, "if I had any businessthere. "

"Oh, do get up some business, Chet, " begged Winnie, "and get the keysand let Auntie and me go with you! Oh, do! I'd love to see that girl'sthings!"

"Winnie, you're positively lowbred to show such curiosity!" Iexclaimed, angrily--the more so, that I had the house key in my pocketat that moment. But I was glad I had not told them of Vicky Van'sletter to me!

I waited until well past midnight, and then, after seeing the postpatrol pass Vicky's door, I softly went out of my own house, andacross the street. 

I walked calmly up the steps of Vicky's home, and sadly put thelatchkey in the door--for the last time. I felt as if I wereperforming funeral rites, and I entered and closed the door behind me, softly, as one does in the house of death. 

I went up the stairs, in the gloom. It was not black darkness, for apartly raised blind gave me a glimmer of light from the street. Intothe music room I went, and by my pocket flashlight, I took the lidfrom the Chinese jar. But there was no parcel inside!

Amazed, I threw the light down into the big vase, but it was utterlyempty. 

There was no use looking elsewhere for the parcel--I knew Vicky wellenough to know that she would do exactly as she had said. Or, sinceshe hadn't, I was sure that she would not have left that parcel in anyother hiding-place. 

I put the flashlight back in my pocket, and started downstairs. 

Slowly I descended, for I still felt a little uncertain what to do. Should I wait for a short time, or go back home and return againlater?

I reached the foot of the stairs, and concluded to go home, and thenthink out my next step. 

As I passed the living-room door, I heard a low voice whisper my name. 

I turned sharply. In the doorway, I could dimly discern a cloakedfigure. "Hush!" she said, softly, and beckoned to me. 

It was Vicky Van!

CHAPTER XIII

FLEMING STONE

Vicky had said "Hush!" but it was an unnecessary precaution, for I wastoo stunned to articulate. I peered at her in the darkness and then, unable to control my desire for certainty I flashed my little pocketlight on her for an instant. 

"Don't!" she whispered, putting her hands up before her face. 

But I had seen. It was really Vicky Van, her smooth black hair loopedover her ears, her scarlet mouth, and soft pink cheeks, flushed withexcitement of the moment, and her long dark lashes, which suddenlyfell beneath the blinding flare of the light, all were those of therunaway girl. 

"Don't talk, " she said, hastily, "let me do the talking. I want you tohelp me, will you?"

"Of course, I will, " and all sense of law and justice fled before thewave of pity and solicitude for the trembling suppliant who thusappealed to me. 

Her voice was indistinct and a little hoarse, as if she was laboringunder great mental and nerve strain, and she was so alone, sounprotected, that I couldn't help promising any assistance in mypower. 

"There wasn't any parcel in the big vase, " I said, in a low voice, asshe seemed to hesitate about going on with her explanation. 

"No, here it is, " and she handed me a little box, "Just put it awaysafely for the present. And now, this is what I want to ask of you. Don't let them engage that Mr. Stone, to hunt me down, will you?"

"Why, how can I help it?"

"Oh, can't you?" and she sounded so disappointed; "I hoped you couldpersuade Mrs. Schuyler not to have him. "

"But Mrs. Schuyler doesn't want him, either!" I exclaimed. "It's thosetwo sisters who insist on getting him. And I never could turn theirwills, try as I might. "

"Why doesn't Mrs. Schuyler want him?"

"Oh, I'm not sure that she really objects to the plan, but, I mean shedidn't seem as anxious as the other two. You see, little girl, thewidow of Randolph Schuyler isn't so bitter against you as the twosisters are. "

"That's good of her, " and Vicky's voice was wistful. "But, you know Imust remain in hiding--"

"I thought you were going to leave New York?"

"I am. And at once. But if that Mr. Stone gets on my trail, he'll findme, as sure as fate. And so I risked this interview to try to persuadeyou to use your influence against his coming. "

"And I'll do that, " I returned, heartily. "But I feel that I ought totell you that I doubt my power to dissuade the Schuyler sisters fromtheir determination. And, too, how did you know they thought ofgetting him?"

"Oh, I see all the papers, you know, and in one of them a reportergave a personal interview with the Schuyler people, and they hinted atgetting that man. "

Vicky sighed wearily, as if her last hope was gone. I was full ofquestions I wanted to ask her, but it seemed intrusive and unkind toquiz her. And yet, one thing I felt I must say. I must ask her whatshe knew of the actual crime. 

"Tell me, " I blurted out, "who did kill Randolph Schuyler?"

Again I felt her tremble, and her voice quivered as she whisperedback, "It must have been some enemy of his, who got in at the window, or something like that. "

My heart fell. This was the sort of thing she would say if she wereherself the guilty one. I had hoped for a more sincere, even ifdespairing, answer. 

"But I must send you away, " she breathed in my ear. We were standingjust inside the room, and Vicky held her hand on a chair-back forsupport. There was the faintest light from the street, enough for usto distinguish one another's forms, but no more. Vicky wore a streetgown of some sort, and a long cloak. On her head was a small hat, anda black net veil. This was tied so tightly that it interfered a littlewith her speech, I thought, though when I had looked at her face by myflashlight, the veil had not been of sufficient thickness to concealher features at all. I've often wondered why women wear thoseuncomfortable things. She kept pulling it away from her lips as shetalked. 

"I want my address book, " she went on, hurriedly. "I've looked allover for it, and it's gone. Did the detective take it?"

"I think he did, " I replied, remembering Lowney's search. 

"Can't you get it back for me?"

"Look here, child, what do you think I am? A magician?"

"No, but I thought you could manage somehow to get it, " her voiceshowed the adorable petulance that distinguished Vicky Van; "and then, you could send it to me--"

"Where?" I cried, eagerly. "Where shall I address you?"

"I can't tell you that. But you can bring it here and leave it in theChinese jar, and I will get it. "

"How do you come in and go out of this house without being seen?" Idemanded. "By the area door?"

"Perhaps so, " and she spoke lightly. "And perhaps by a window, andmaybe by means of an aeroplane and down through the skylight. "

"Not that, " I said, "the skylight is fastened on the inside, and hasbeen ever since--ever since that night. "

"Well, then I don't come that way. But if you'll get that book and putit in the big vase, I'll come and get it. When will it be there?"

"You're crazy to think I can get it, " I returned, slowly, "but if Ican I will. Give me a few days--"

"A week, if you like. Shall we say a week from to-night?"

"Next Monday? Yes. If I can get it at all, I can have it by then. Howshall I let you know?"

"You needn't let me know, for I know now you will get it. Steal itfrom Mr. Lowney, if you can't get it otherwise. "

"But if Fleming Stone is on your trail, will you come for the book?"

"I must, " she spoke gravely. "I must have the book. It meanseverything to me. I _must_ have it!"

"Then you shall, if I can manage it. It is your book, it has proved ofno value as evidence, you may as well have it. "

"Yes, I may as well have it. And now, Mr. Calhoun, will you go, please, or do you intend to turn me over to the police?"

"Vicky!" I cried, "how can you say such a thing? Of course I'll go, ifyou bid me. But let me wait a minute. You know you wrote to RuthSchuyler--"

"Ruth? Is that one of the old sisters?"

"No. Ruth is the widow. "

"Oh, yes, I wrote to her. I didn't know her first name. I wrotebecause I thought it was she who is making the desperate search forme, and I hoped I could influence her to stop it. That's all. I haveno interest in Randolph Schuyler's widow, except as she affects myfuture, but can you do anything by working in the other direction? Imean can you dissuade Fleming Stone from coming, by asking him not to?You can bribe him perhaps--I have money--"

"Oh, I doubt if I could do anything like that. But I'll try, I'll tryevery way I can, and, if I succeed--how shall I let you know?"

"Oh, I'll know. If he takes up the matter, it will probably get intothe papers, and if I see nothing of it, I'll conclude you succeeded. "

"But I--I want to see you again, Vicky--"

"Oh, no, you don't. Why, you don't know this minute but what I stabbedthat man, and--"

"You didn't, Vicky--tell me you didn't!"

"I can't tell you that. I can't tell you anything. I am the mostmiserable girl on God's earth!" and I heard tears in Vicky's voice, and a sob choked her utterance. 

"Now go, " she said, after a moment, "I can't stand any more. Pleasego, and do what you can for me, without getting yourself into trouble. Go, and don't look back to see how I make my exit, will you?"

"Indeed, I won't do that. Your confidences are safe with me, Vicky, and I will do all in my power to help you, in any way I can. "

"Then go now, " she said, and a gentle pressure of her hand on my armurged me toward the door. 

I went without another word, and neither while in the street, norafter gaining my own house, did I look back for another glimpse ofVicky Van. 

And yet, try as I would, maneuver as I might, I couldn't prevent thearrival of Fleming Stone. 

The Schuyler sisters were determined to have the great detective, andthough Mrs. Schuyler wasn't so anxious, yet she raised not theslightest objection, and after some persuasion, Stone agreed to takethe case. 

I was present at his first call to discuss details and was immenselyinterested in my first sight of the man. 

Tall, well-formed, and of a gravely courteous manner, he impressed meas the most magnetically attractive man I had ever seen. His iron-grayhair and deep-set, dark eyes gave him a dignity that I had neverbefore associated with my notions of a detective. 

The Schuyler sisters were frankly delighted with him. 

"I know you'll run down the murderer of my brother, " Miss Rhodaexulted, while Miss Sarah began to babble volubly of what she calledclues and evidence. 

Fleming Stone listened politely, now and then asking a direct questionand sometimes turning to Ruth Schuyler for further information. 

As I watched him closely, it occurred to me that he really paid littleattention to what the women said, he was more engaged in scanningtheir faces and noting their attitudes. Perhaps I imagined it, but Ithought he was sizing up their characters and their sympathies, andintended looking up his clues and evidence by himself. 

"The first thing to do, " he declared, at last, "is to find Miss VanAllen. "

This was what I had feared, and remembering my promise to Vicky Isaid, "I think that will be impossible, Mr. Stone. She wrote she wasleaving New York forever. "

"But a householder like that can't go away forever, " Stone said, "shemust look after her goods and chattels, and she must pay her rent--"

"No, she owns the house. "

"Must pay the taxes, then. Must sell it, or rent it or do somethingwith it. "

"It would seem so, " I agreed. "And yet, if one is wanted for murderone would sacrifice household goods and the house itself in order toescape being caught. "

"True, " and Stone nodded his head. "But, still, I fancy she wouldreturn for something. Few women could leave their home like that, andnot have some valuables or some secret papers or something for whichthey must return. I venture to say Miss Van Allen has already beenback to her house, more than once, on secret errands. "

Was the man a clairvoyant? How could he know that Vicky had done thisvery thing? But I realized at once, that he knew it, not fromcognizance of facts, but from his prescience of what would necessarilyfollow in such a case. 

"She has her keys, of course?" he asked. 

"The police have charge of the keys, " I said, a little lamely. 

"I know, " Stone said, impatiently, "but there are doubtless more keysthan the ones they have. I should say, that Miss Van Allen took atleast the key of one door with her, however hurried her flight. "

"It may be so, " I conceded. "But, granting she has been back and forthon the errands you suggest, it is not likely she will keep it up. "

"No, it is not. And especially if she learns I am on the case. "

"How could she know that?" Ruth Schuyler asked. 

"I'm sure Miss Van Allen is a most clever and ingenious young woman, "Stone replied, "and I feel sure she knows all that is going on. Shegets information from the papers, and, too, she has that dependablemaid, Julie. That woman, probably disguised, can do much in the way ofgetting information as to how matters are progressing. You see, I'vefollowed the case all the way along, and the peculiarities and uniqueconditions of it are what induced me to take it up. "

"Shall we offer a reward, Mr. Stone, for the discovery of the hidingplace of Miss Van Allen?" asked Rhoda, eagerly. "I want to use everypossible means of finding her. "

"Not yet, Miss Schuyler. Let us try other plans first. But I mustenjoin utter secrecy about my connection with the matter. Not the factthat I am at work on it, but the developments or details of my work. It is a most unusual, a most peculiar case, and I must work unimpededby outside advice or interference. I may say, I've never known of acase which presented such extraordinary features, and features whichwill either greatly simplify or greatly impede my progress. "

"Just what do you mean by that last remark, Mr. Stone?" asked RuthSchuyler, who had been listening intently. 

"I mean that the absolutely mysterious disappearance of the youngwoman will either be of easy and simple solution, or else it willprove an insoluble mystery. There will be no half-way work about it. If I can't learn the truth in a short time, I fear I never can. "

"How strange, " said I. "Do you often feel thus about the beginning ofa case?"

"Very rarely, almost never. And never have I felt it so strongly as inthis instance. To trace that girl is not a matter of long and patientsearch, it's rather a question of a bit of luck or a slight slip onher part, or--well--of some coincidence or chance discovery that willclear things at one flash. "

"Then you're depending on luck?" exclaimed Rhoda, in a disappointedtone. 

"Oh, not that, " and Stone smiled. "At least, I'm not dependingentirely on that. If luck comes my way, so much the better. And now, please let me see the notes Miss Van Allen has written. "

None was available, however, except the one to Ruth Schuyler. For theone to Randolph Schuyler was in Lowney's possession, and the one I hadhad from Vicky, and which was even then in my pocket, I had nointention of showing. 

It was not necessary, however, for Fleming Stone said one was enoughto gather all that he could learn from her chirography. 

He studied it attentively, but only for a moment. Then he said, "Acharacteristic penmanship, but to me it only shows forcefulness, ingenuity and good nature. However, I'm not an expert, I only get ageneral impression, and the traits I've mentioned are undoubtedly tobe found in the lady's nature. Are they not?" and he turned to me, asto one who knew. 

"They are, " I replied, "so far as I know Miss Van Allen. But myacquaintance with her is limited, and I can only agree superficially. "

Stone eyed me closely, and I began to feel a little uncomfortableunder his gaze. Clearly, I'd have to tell the truth, or incur hissuspicion. Nor did I wish to prevaricate. I felt friendly toward poorlittle Vicky, and yet, I had no mind to run counter to the interest ofRuth Schuyler. The two sisters I didn't worry about, and indeed, theycould look out for themselves. But Ruth Schuyler was in a position todemand justice, and if that justice accused Vicky Van, I must behonest and fair to both in my testimony. 

Fleming Stone proceeded to question the women, more definitely andconcisely now, and by virtue of his marvellous efficiency, he soshaped his inquiries, that he learned details with accuracy andrapidity. 

It would never have occurred to me to ask the questions that he put, but as he went on, I saw their pertinence and value. 

With Ruth's permission he called several of the servants and askedthem a few things. Nothing of moment transpired, to my mind, but Stonewas interested in a full account of where each servant was and what hewas doing on the night of the murder. Each gave a straightforward andsatisfactory account, and I realized that Stone was only getting asense of the household atmosphere, and its relations to Mr. Schuylerhimself. 

Tibbetts, the middle-aged maid of Ruth Schuyler, told of the shock toher mistress when the news was brought. 

"Mrs. Schuyler had retired, " said Tibbetts, "at about ten o'clock, Mr. Schuyler was out, and was not expected home until late. I attendedher, and after she was in bed, I went to bed myself. "

"I'm told you do not live here, " commented Stone, though in adisinterested way, and at the same time making notes of some othermatters in his notebook. 

"I have a room around on Third Avenue, " replied Tibbetts. "I like alittle home of my own, and when Mrs. Schuyler permits me, I go 'roundthere to sleep, and sometimes I go in the daylight hours. But on thatnight I happened to be staying here. "

"Tibbetts is rather a privileged character, " interposed Ruth. "She hasbeen with me for many years, and as she likes a little place of herown, I adopted the plan of which she has told you. "

"But that night you were here?" said Stone, to the maid. 

"Yes, sir. I slept in Mrs. Schuyler's dressing room, as I always dowhen I'm here. Then when Jepson told me the--the awful news, I awokeMrs. Schuyler and told her. "

"Yes, " said Stone. "I read all about that in the inquest report. "

CHAPTER XIV

WALLS HAVE TONGUES

"Now, " said Fleming Stone, after he had learned all he desired fromthe Schuyler household, "now, if you please, I would like to go overthe Van Allen house. You have the keys, Mr. Calhoun?"

"I have a latchkey to the street door. " I replied, "the rooms are notlocked. "

I don't know why exactly, but I hated to have him go through VickyVan's house. Of course, it must have been because she had begged menot to let Stone get into the case at all. But I hadn't been able toprevent that, the two Schuyler sisters being determined to have him. And I had no desire to impede justice or stand in the way of law andorder, but, somehow or other, I felt the invasion of Vicky's homewould bring about trouble for the girl, and my mind was filled withvague foreboding. 

"We will go with you, " announced Miss Rhoda. "I've wanted to see thathouse from the first. You'll go, Ruth?"

"Oh, no, " and Ruth Schuyler shrank at the idea. "I've no wish to seethe place where my husband was killed! How could you think of it? If Icould do any good by going--"

"No, Mrs. Schuyler, " said Fleming Stone, "you could do no good, and Iquite understand why you would rather not go. The Misses Schuyler andMr. Calhoun will accompany me, and we will start at once. "

"Can't I go?" asked Winnie, who had come in recently, "I'm just crazyto see that house. You don't mind my going, do you, Ruth?"

"No, indeed, child. I'm perfectly willing. "

Mr. Stone raised no objection, so Winnie went with us. 

It was nearly five o'clock, full daylight, though the dusk was justbeginning to fall. We went round to Vicky Van's and I opened the doorfor the party to enter. 

The house had begun to show disuse. There was dust on the shiningsurfaces of the furniture and on the polished floors. The clocks hadall stopped and the musty chill of a closed house was in theatmosphere. 

"Ugh!" cried Winnie, "what a creepy feeling! And this house is toopretty to be so neglected! Why, it's a darling house. Look at thatheavenly color scheme!"

Winnie had darted into the living-room, with its rose and grayappointments, and we all followed her. 

"Don't touch anything, Miss Calhoun, " cautioned Stone, and Wincontented herself with gazing about, her hands clasped behind her. 

The Schuyler sisters sniffed, and though they said little, theyconveyed the idea that to their minds the bijou residence savored ofreprehensible frivolity. 

Fleming Stone lived up to his reputation as a detective, andscrutinized everything with quick, comprehensive glances. We wentthrough the long living-room, and into the dining-room, whose palegreen and silver again enchanted Winnie. 

"The walls are exquisite, " Stone agreed, looking closely at the panelsof silk brocade, framed with a silver tracery. 

"If walls have ears, they must burn at your praise, " I said, in aneffort to speak lightly, for Stone's face had an ominous look, as ifhe were learning grave truths. 

"Walls not only have ears, they have tongues, " he returned. "Thesewalls have already told me much of Miss Van Allen's character. "

"Oh, how?" cried Winnie, "do tell us how you deduce and all that!"

I looked hastily at Stone, thinking he might be annoyed by Winnie'svolatile speech. 

But he said kindly, "To the trained eye, Miss Calhoun, much isapparent that escapes the casual observer. But you can understand thatthe taste displayed in the wall decoration, shows a refined andcultured nature. A woman of the adventuress type would prefer moregarish display. Of course, I am generalizing, but there is much tobear me out. Then, I see, by certain tiny marks and cracks, thatthese walls have lately been done over, and that they were alsoredecorated another time not long before. This proves that Miss VanAllen has money enough to gratify her whims and she chooses to spendit in satisfying her aesthetic preferences. Further, the walls havebeen carefully cared for, showing an interested and capablehousekeeperly instinct and traits of extreme orderliness and tidiness. Cleverness, even, for here, you see, is a place, where a bit of theplaster has been defaced by a knock or scratch, and it has beendelicately painted over with a little pale green paint which matchesexactly. It is not the work of a professional decorator, so reasontells me that probably Miss Van Allen herself remedied the defect. "

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Winnie, "I can see all that myself, now youtell me, but I never should have thought of it! Tell me more. "

"Then the pictures, which are so well chosen and placed, that theyseem part of the walls, are, as you notice, all figure pieces. Thereare no landscapes. This, of course, means that Miss Van Allen is notdistinctly a nature lover, but prefers humanity and society. Thisargues for the joy of living and the appreciation of mental pleasuresand occupations. No devotee of nature would have failed to havepictures of flowers or harmonizing landscapes on these walls. So, yousee, to be edified by the tongues of walls, you must not only listento them but understand their language. "

And then Stone began taking in the rest of the dining-room's contents. The table, hastily cleared by the caterer's men, was empty of thechina and glass which they had supplied, but still retained thecandlesticks and epergnes that were Vicky Van's own. These were ofplated silver, not sterling, which fact Stone noted. The lace-trimmedlinen, however, was of the finest and most elaborate sort. 

"An unholy waste of money!" declared Rhoda Schuyler, looking at themarvellous monogram of V. V. A. Embroidered on the napkins. 

But I gazed sadly at the table, only partially dismantled, which hadbeen so gaily decked for Vicky's birthday supper. 

Scanning the sideboard, Stone remarked the absence of the smallcarving knife. I told him I, too, had observed that, and that I hadmade search for it. 

"Did you ask the caterer's people if they took it by mistake?" saidthe detective. 

"No, " I admitted, ashamed that I hadn't thought of it, and I promisedto do so. 

As Stone stood, silently contemplating the place where RandolphSchuyler had met his death, I stepped out into the hall. I had noconscious reason for doing so, but I did, and chancing to glancetoward the stairs, I with difficulty repressed an exclamation. 

For half-way up the staircase, I saw Vicky Van!

I was sure it was no hallucination, I positively saw her! She wasleaning over the banister, listening to what Stone was saying. Suddenly, even as I looked, she ran upstairs and disappeared. 

Was she safe? Could she escape? Perhaps by a back staircase, or couldshe manage to elude us and slip away somehow?

Then I was conscience-stricken. Was I conniving at the escape of aguilty person? Did I want to do this? I didn't know. Something told meI must tell Stone of her presence, and yet something else made itimpossible for me to do so. 

I turned back to the dining-room, and Miss Sarah was saying, "That'sthe spot, then, that's where Randolph was killed by that awful woman!Mr. Stone you _must_ get her! An eye for an eye--a life for a life!She must pay the penalty of her guilt!"

Winnie was listening, and tears stood in her eyes. Like Ruth Schuyler, from whom she doubtless took a cue, Win wasn't so ready to condemnVicky Van unheard, as the two sisters were. She looked steadily atFleming Stone, as if expecting him to produce Vicky then and there, and I quivered with the thought of what would happen if he knew thateven at that moment Vicky was under the same roof with ourselves!

But Stone completed his survey of the dining-room, and as a matter ofcourse, started next up the stairs. I pushed ahead a little, in myeagerness to precede him, but a vague desire to protect Vicky urged meon. I stood in the upper hall as the rest came up, and I imagined thatStone gave me a curious glance as he noted my evident embarrassment. 

But Winnie dashed into the music room, and the Schuyler sistersquickly followed. Trust a woman to feel and show curiosity about herneighbor's home!

Again Stone examined the walls, but the immaculate white and goldsides of the music room said nothing intelligible to me, and if theyspoke to him he did not divulge the message. The women exclaimed atthe beautiful room, and, as Stone's examination here was short, we allfiled back to Vicky's bedroom. 

I heard no sound of her, and I breathed more freely, as we did notfind her in bedroom or in the boudoir beyond. She had, then, succeededin getting away, and trusted to me not to betray her presence there. 

The boudoir or dressing-room, all pink satin and white enameled wickercalled forth new exclamations from Winnie, and even Rhoda Schuylerexpressed a grudging admiration. 

"It _is_ beautiful, " she conceded. "I wish Ruth had come, after all. She loves this sort of furniture. Don't you remember, Sarah, shewanted Randolph to do up her dressing-room in wicker?"

"Yes, but he didn't like it, he said it was gim-crackery. And theCircassian walnut of Ruth's room is much handsomer. "

"Of course it is. Ruth has a charming suite. Oh, do look at thedresses!"

Fleming Stone had flung open a wardrobe door, and the costumesdisclosed, though not numerous, were of beautiful coloring and design. Winnie, unable to resist the temptation, fingered them lovingly, andcalled my attention to certain wonderful confections. 

"What did she wear the night of the crime?" Stone asked, and I toldhim. Having Win for a sister, I am fairly good at describing women'sclothes, and I drew a vivid word picture of Vicky's gold fringed gown. 

"Heavenly!" exclaimed Winnie, although she had had me describe thegown to her on the average of twice a day for a week. "I wish I couldsee it! Some day, Chet, I'm going to have one like it. "

"Fringe?" said Stone, curiously, "do women wear fringe nowadays?"

"Oh, yes, " I responded. "But it was a long fringe of gilt beads thatreally formed an overdress to the tulle skirt. Stay, I've a piece ofit, " and I took out my pocketbook. "See, here it is. I found it caughtin those gilded leaves at the lower corner of the mirror frame--thatlong dressing-mirror. "

They all looked at the mirror, which hung flat against the wall; itsfoliated Florentine frame full of irregular protuberances. 

"Of course, " said Winnie, nodding her head, "I know just how she stoodin front of it, whirling around to see her gown from all sides, likethis. " Win whirled herself around, before the glass, and succeeded incatching a bit of her own full skirt on the frame. 

"You little goose!" I cried, as the fabric tore, "we don't need ademonstration at the expense of your frock!"

Fleming Stone was studying the strand of gold fringe. It was composedof tiny beads, of varying shapes, and had already begun to ravel intoshreds. 

"I'll keep this, " he said, and willy-nilly, I lost my little souvenirof Vicky Van. But, of course, if he considered it evidence, I had togive it up, and the fact of doing so, partly salved my conscience ofits guilty feeling at concealing the fact of Vicky's presence in herown house just then. 

And, too, I said to myself, Mr. Stone is out to find her. Surely adetective of his calibre can accomplish that without help of an humblelayman! So I kept my own counsel, and further search, of the nextstory, and later, of the basement rooms, gave no hint of Vicky'spresence or departure. 

Indeed, I began to wonder if I had really seen her. Could she havebeen so clearly in my mind, that I visualized her in a moment ofclairvoyance? My reason rebelled at this, for I knew I saw her, aswell as I knew I was alive. She had on the same little hat in which Ihad last seen her. She had on no cloak, and her tailor-made streetdress was of a dark cloth. I couldn't be sure how she got away, forthe basement door we found bolted on the inside, but she must havewarily evaded and eluded us and slipped here and there as we pursuedour course through the house, and then have gone out by the front doorwhen we were, say, on the upper floors. 

Returning to Vicky's boudoir, where her little writing-desk was, Fleming Stone began to run over the letters and papers therein. 

It was locked, but he picked the flimsy fastening and calmly took upthe task with his usual quick-moving, efficient manner. 

I stayed with him, and the three women wandered back over the houseagain. He ran through letters with glancing quickness, flipped oversheafs of bills, and examined pens, ink and paper. 

"There's so much that's characteristic about a desk, " he said, as heobserved the penwiper, stamps, pin-tray, and especially the pencils. "Indeed, I feel now that I know Miss Van Allen as well, if not betterthan you do yourself, Mr. Calhoun. "

"In that case, then, you can't believe her guilty, " I flashed back, for the very atmosphere of the dear little room made me more than everVicky's friend. 

"But you see, " and he spoke a bit sadly, "what I know of her is thereal woman. I can't be deceived by her wiles and coquetries. I seeonly the actual traces of her actual self. "

I knew what he meant, and there was some truth in it. For Vicky was amystery, and I was not by any means sure, that she didn't hoodwink uswhen she chose to. Much as I liked and admired the girl, I was forcedto believe she was not altogether disingenuous. And she was cleverenough to hoodwink anybody. But if Stone's deductions were to bedepended on, they were doubtless true evidence. 

"Is she guilty?" I sighed. 

"I can't say that, yet, but I've found nothing that absolutelyprecludes her guilt. On the contrary, I've found things, which if sheis guilty, will go far toward proving it. "

This sounded a bit enigmatical, but Stone was so serious, that Igrasped his general meaning and let it go at that. 

"I mean, " he said, divining my thoughts, "that things may or may notbe evidence according to the guilt or innocence of the suspect. If youfind a little boy in the pantry beside an empty jampot, you suspecthim of stealing jam. Now, if lots of other circumstances prove thatchild did take the jam, the empty pot is evidence. But, ifcircumstances develop that convince you the child did not have any jamwhatever, that day, then the jampot is no evidence at all. "

"And you have found empty jampots?" I asked. 

"I have. But, so far, I'm not sure that they are condemnatoryevidence. Though, in justice to my own work, I must add, that theyhave every appearance of being so. "

"You already like Vicky Van, then, " I said, quickly, moved to do so, by a certain note of regret in his voice. 

"No man could help liking a woman who possesses her traits. She hasdelightful taste and tastes. She is most charitable, her accountsshow sums wisely expended on worthy charities. And letters fromfriends prove her a truly loyal and lovable character. "

"Such a girl _couldn't_ kill a man!" I broke out. 

"Don't say that. There is no one incapable of crime. But such a naturewould require very strong provocation and desperate conditions. Thesegranted, it is by no means impossible. Now, I am through for to-day, but, if you please I will keep the key of the house. As the case isnow in my hands, you will not object?"

"No, " I said, a little reluctantly. For suppose Vicky should give meanother commission or ask me to perform another errand in the house. 

"You have a transparent face, Mr. Calhoun, " and Fleming Stone smiledquizzically. "Why do you want to keep the key?"

"My aunt is most desirous of seeing this house, " I deliberatelyprevaricated, "and I thought--"

But I didn't deceive the astute detective. "No, that isn't it, " hesaid, quietly. "I'm not sure, but I think you are in touch with MissVan Allen. "

"And if I am?" I flared up. 

"Very well, " he returned, "it is, as you imply, none of my business. But I want to know your attitude, and if it is antagonistic to mywork, I am sorry, but I will conduct my course accordingly. "

"Mr. Stone, " I confessed, "I am not antagonistic, but I do know alittle about Miss Van Allen's movements that I haven't told. I cannotsee that it would assist you in any way to know it--"

"That's enough, " and Fleming Stone spoke heartily. "Your assurance ofthat is sufficient. Now, are we working together?"

I hesitated. Then I suddenly thought of Ruth Schuyler. I owed her abusiness fealty, and somehow I liked to feel that I also owed her apersonal allegiance, and both these demanded my efforts to avenge thedeath of her husband, irrespective of where the blow might fall. 

So I said, honestly, "We are, Mr. Stone. I will help you, if I can, and if at any time I think my withheld information will help you, Iwill make it known. Is that satisfactory?"

"Entirely so, " and the handshake that Stone gave me was like a signedand sealed bond, to which I tacitly but none the less truthfullysubscribed. 

CHAPTER XV

FIBSY

Next morning as I started for my office, I found myself combating astrong impulse to call in at Ruth Schuyler's. I had no errand there, and I knew that if she required my services she would summon me. Itwas no longer incumbent on me to try to unravel the murder mystery. Fleming Stone had that matter in charge, and his master-mind needed noassistance from me. 

And yet, I wanted to stop at the Fifth Avenue house, if only for amoment, to reassure myself of Ruth's well-being. Though above me insocial rank, the little widow seemed to me a lonely and patheticwoman, and I knew she had begun to depend on me for advice andsympathy. Of course, she could turn to Fleming Stone, but, in a way, he was adviser of the Schuyler sisters, and I knew Ruth hesitated tointrude on his time. 

I was still uncertain whether to call or not, and as I walked alongthe few feet between my own house and the Avenue, I crossed the streetas I reached Vicky Van's house, and naturally looked at it as Ipassed. 

And after I had passed the flight of brownstone steps, and was goingalong by the iron fence, I turned to look at the area door. This wasmy performance every morning, and always without thought of seeinganything of importance. 

But this time the area door stood half-way open, and looking out was aboy, a red-headed chap, with a freckled face and bright, wise eyes. 

I turned quickly and went in at the area gate. 

"Who are you?" I demanded, "and what are you doing here?"

"I'm Fibsy, " he said, as if that settled it. 

"Fibsy who?" I asked, but I dropped my indignant tone, for the ladseemed to be composedly sure of his rights there. 

"Aw, jest Fibsy. That's me name, because, if you want to know, becauseI'm a natural born liar and I fib for a living. "

He was impudent without being offensive; his wide smile wasgood-natured and the twinkle in his eye a friendly one. 

"I got yer number, " he said, after a comprehensive survey of myperson, "you're C. Calhoun. Ain't you?"

"I sure am, " I agreed, meeting his taste for the vernacular, "and nowfor your real name. "

"Terence McGuire, " he smiled, and with a quick gesture he snatched offhis cap. "C'mon in, if you like. I'm F. Stone's right-hand man. "

"What!" I cried, in amazement. 

"Yep, that's what. I'm--well, I like to call myself his caddy. Ifollow him round, and hold his clues for him, till he wants one, thenI hand it out. See?"

"Not entirely. But I gather you're in Mr. Stone's employ. "

"You bet I am! And I'm on me job twenty-four hours a day. "

"And what is your job just now?"

"Well, since eight A. M. I've been holdin' up this door, waitin' foryer honor to pass by. An' I got you, didn't I?"

"Yes, I'm here. " I stepped inside and the boy closed the door. We wentinto the front basement room, where there was a lighted gas stove. 

"I camp here, 'count o' the heats. There's no use gettin' up the steamfer the few casual callers that drops in at present. Now, Mr. Calhoun, I don't want to be stuffy nor nuthin', but Mr. Stone said I might askyou some few things, if I liked an' you can answer or not, as youlike. This ain't no orficial investigation, but I s'pose you're asintrusted as anybody in findin' this here Victoria Van Allen?"

"I'm interested in finding the murderer of Mr. Schuyler, " I replied. 

"An' maybe they ain't one an' the same. That's so. " He spokethoughtfully and scanned my face with a quizzical glance. "But, ofcourse, Mr. Stone'll find out. Now, Mr. Calhoun, if you don't mind, will you give me a line on that maid person, that Julia?"

"Julie, she is called. "

"All right, Julie goes. Is she a young thing?"

"No; just this side of middle-aged. Probably thirty-five or so. "

"Good looker?"

"Why, about average. Brown hair, brownish eyes--really, I nevernoticed her closely enough to think about her appearance. She is, I'msure, a good servant and devoted to Miss Van Allen. "

"But don't you know anything special? Anything that would pick her outfrom a lot of other good servants?"

"In appearance, you mean?"

"Yes. "

"I can't think of anything. Let me see. She wears glasses--"

"What sort?"

"I don't know. Just ordinary glasses, I guess. "

"Spectacles or nose-riders?"

"I'm not sure. Spectacles, I think. And she has a great manygold-filled teeth. "

"Front ones?"

"Yes, that is, they're very noticeable when she speaks to you. "

"Well, that's sumpum. Is she quick and spry-like, or poky?"

I smiled at the boy's eagerness. "She's rather alert, " I said, "but, of course, quiet and respectful. I never looked at her with anypersonal interest, so I can only give you my general impressions. "

"You see, it's this way, " and the boy looked very serious, "whereverMiss Van Allen is, that Julie's there, too. And when Miss Van Allenwants errands done, of course, she sends Julie. And, of course, saidJulie is disguised. I dope out all this has to be so. For Miss VanAllen has mailed letters and--oh, well, of course she could mailletters in lots of ways, but sumpum tells me, that she depends on MissJulie as an errand girl. So, I want to find out the look of the Julieperson, and see if I can't track her down, and so get at Miss VanAllen. Vicky Van, I believe her friends call her. "

"They do, " said I, looking sternly at the boy, "and I'll say righthere, that I'm one of her friends, and I won't stand for anyimpertinence or any remarks of any sort about that lady. If she issuspected of this crime, let the law take its course, but until thereis some direct evidence, don't you dare to connect her name with it. "

"I'm only obeying Mr. Stone's orders. And, take it from me, Mr. Calhoun, I ain't so fresh as to make remarks about a lady. I'm aprevaricator of the truth, but only when it's abserlutely necessary. And on the other hand, I'm a born protector of women. Why, I'd be onlytoo tickled to find a gentleman suspect. Or, at least, to clear MissVan Allen from all s'picion. "

"Why do you feel such a kindly interest in the lady?"

"This house, for one reason. You see, I've been all over it, at Mr. Stone's orders, and I ree'lize what a nice lady she is. I don't haveto see her, to understand her tastes and her 'complishments. Why, jestthe books on her centre tables and the records for her phonographspell her out for me, in words of one syllable. And, though I'mhunting for her, it isn't with a solid hunch that's she's theknife-sticker. Not by no means. But find her I've gotto! Because F. Stone says for me to. "

I looked at the boy more curiously. He was a strange admixture ofstreet boy and sleuth. His quick, darting eyes were never still, butwarily alert to catch the meaning of any sound or motion on my part. Ifelt as if he read me through, and would not have been surprised tohave him tell me he knew of my recent communications with Vicky. But Ionly said, "You are, then, Mr. Stone's right-hand man?"

"I put it that way, yes. But really, I'm his apprentice, and I'mlearning his trade. I study his methods, and I add some gumption of myown, and if I can help him, I'm glad and happy. And anyway, I'mlearning. "

"And this talk about your lying? Is that straight goods?"

"If it is, how can you believe what I tell you?" he asked, whimsically. "But, I used to be a fierce liar. Then, gettin' in withF. Stone, made me see it's wrong to lie--usuerly, that is. So I don't, now--leastways, not much. Only when it's jest the only thing to do tosave game. "

"How does Mr. Stone know when you're telling the truth, then?"

"Good land, I don't lie to him! I wouldn't, and if I did, it wouldn'tbe any use. He'd see through me, quicker'n scat! But, honest, Iwouldn't. You see, he's my idol, yes sir, my idol, that's what thatman is! Well, Mr. Calhoun, as you've told me all you can pry loosefrom your stock of infermation, you an' me may as well make ouradooses. "

"How do you know I haven't revealed all I know of the case?"

"Oh, I read from your mobile counternance that you're keepin' sumpumback, but it don't matter. F. Stone'll nail it, when he gets good an'ready. What I wanted from you was mostly the speakin' likeness of theJulie dame. An' I guess I got it. Oh, say, one other thing. Who amongMiss Van Allen's friends is an artist?"

"Miss Gale is one. Miss Ariadne Gale. "

"Thank you, sir. And will you gimme her address?"

I did so, and then I went away, thinking Fleming Stone a queer sort ofdetective to have for assistant such an illiterate, uncultured boy asFibsy. The name was enough to condemn him! But as I thought thelittle chap over, I realized that his talk had been clear-headed andto the point, besides showing sagacity and perspicacity. 

It was growing late, but after this interview I felt I must see Ruthfor a few minutes, so called at the Schuyler house. 

She greeted me cordially and seemed glad to see me. Winnie was stillacting as secretary for her, but the rush of notes of condolence wasover, and as Ruth was not, of course, giving or accepting socialinvitations, there was not so much work for Win as at first. But thetwo had become fast friends, and Winnie told me how they sat togetherchatting often for pleasant half hours at a time. 

I told Ruth about the strange boy at Vicky Van's house. 

"Yes, " she said, "I've heard about him. Mr. Stone picked him upsomewhere and he uses him as a sort of outside scout. He has allconfidence in him, though I believe the little chap rejoices in thename of Fibber. "

"Fibsy, " I corrected. "He is certainly a bright youth. And he plans tohunt down Miss Van Allen by means of her maid, Julie. "

"Are they together?"

"We only suppose so. It seems probable, that Miss Van Allen would wantthe help, if not the protection of her servant. Julie is a mostcapable woman, and devoted to her mistress. "

"I've heard so. I have a kind, thoughtful woman, too, and I shouldmiss her terribly were I without her. "

"Oh, but your Tibbetts is a servant, and nothing more. This Julie wasa real friend to Miss Van Allen, and looked after her in every way. Housekeeper, maid, nurse, and general bodyguard. "

"Yes, Miss Van Allen must have needed such a person, since, as I amtold, she lived alone. My sisters-in-law are quite in love with theVan Allen house. Both they and Winnie have been singing its praisesthis morning. It seems your Vicky Van is a lady of most refinedtastes. "

"She certainly is. I can't help thinking if you and she had known eachother, in favorable circumstances, you would have been friends. "

"It may be. I have never felt sure that she is the guilty one, but Ihave changed my mind about not wanting her to be found. I do want thatshe should be. Mr. Schuyler's sisters have shown me that to hesitateat or neglect any means of hunting her out would be wrong. And so, Iam glad we have Mr. Stone and I hope he will succeed in his search. "

"What changed your mind, especially?"

"I realized that it would be disloyalty to my husband's memory to lethis possible slayer go free. The girl must be found, and then if shecan be freed of suspicion, very well, but the case must beinvestigated fully. "

"I dare say you are right. Mr. Schuyler was a man of importance andinfluence, and aside from that, every deed of blood calls for revenge. I honor you for deciding as you have. "

"It is justice that moves me, more than my personal inclination, " Ruthwent on. "I will not deny, Mr. Calhoun, that in some ways, myhusband's death has freed me from certain restrictions that hamperedand galled me. I shouldn't mention this to you, but I know the sistershave told you that I have, in many ways, gone counter to Mr. Schuyler's wishes, since I have been my own mistress. It is true. Heand I disagreed greatly on matters of the household and matters of mypersonal comfort and convenience. Now that I can do so, I am arrangingmy life differently. It is natural that I should do this, but theSchuyler ladies think that I have begun indecently soon. I say this, not by way of apology, but because I want you to understand. "

Ruth looked very sweet and wistful, as she seemed to make a bid for mysympathy. I was impressed anew by the soft pallor of her face and thesweet purity of her gray eyes. I contrasted her with Vicky Van. One, the embodiment of life and gayety, the other a gentle, dovelikepersonality, which, however, hinted sometimes at hidden fires. Ibelieved that Ruth Schuyler had been so repressed, so dominated by herbrute of a husband, that her nature had never expanded to its ownpossibilities. 

And, like a blinding flash of lightning, the knowledge came to me thatI loved her! It was no uncertain conviction. The fact sprangfull-armed, to my brain, and my heart swelled with the bliss of it. 

I scarcely dared look at her. I couldn't tell her--yet. I had noreason to think she cared for me, other than as the merestacquaintance, yet, then and there, I vowed to myself that she shouldcare. 

I thought of Vicky Van--poor little Vicky. She had interested me--didinterest me, but in only a friendly way. Indeed, my interest in herwas prompted by sympathy for her luckless position and the trust shehad reposed in me, I would hold her trust sacred. I would never playfalse to Vicky Van. But henceforth and forever my heart and soulbelonged to my liege lady, my angel-faced Ruth. 

"What is the matter, Mr. Calhoun?" I heard her saying, and I looked upto see her smiling almost gayly at me. "Your thoughts seem to be athousand miles away!"

"Oh, not so far as that, " I protested. Somehow, I felt buoyantlyhappy. I had no wish to tell her of my love, at present I was quitecontent to worship her in secret, and I exulted in a sort ofclairvoyant knowledge that I should yet win her. I smiled into herdear eyes, as I continued: "They were really round the corner in VickyVan's house. "

To my delight she pouted a little. "Let's talk of something else, " shesaid. "I've no doubt Miss Van Allen is charming, and her home aperfect gem, but I own up I'm not anxious to discuss her all the timeand with every one. "

"You shall be exempt from it with me, " I promised. "Henceforth hername is taboo between us, and you shall choose our subjects yourself. "

"Then let's talk about me. Now, you know, Mr. Calhoun, I never see Mr. Bradbury, so you must be my legal adviser in all my quandaries. First, and this is a serious matter, I don't want to continue to livewith the Schuyler ladies. We are diametrically opposed on all mattersof opinion, and disagree on many matters of fact. " Ruth smiled, and Imarveled afresh at the way her face lighted up when she indulged inthat little smile of hers. "Nor, " she went on, "do they want to livewith me. So, it ought to be an easy matter to please us all. As to thehouse and furnishings, they are all mine, but if the sisters prefer tolive here, and let me go elsewhere, I am willing to give them thehouse and its contents. "

"I know you don't care for this type of residence, " I said, "indeed, Miss Schuyler said yesterday, as we looked over Vicky Van's house, that it was just the sort of thing you liked. "

"Oh, I can't think I would like her house! I supposed it was a plainlittle affair. Harmonious and pretty, Winnie says, but she didn't giveme the impression it was elaborate. "

"No, it isn't. And it wouldn't be as grand as your home ought to be. But mention of the girl is not allowed, I believe--"

She smiled again, and resumed: "Well, I want you to sound the Schuylersisters, and find out their wishes. When I speak to them, they onlysay for me to wait until after the mystery is solved and all thishorrid publicity and notoriety at an end. But I want to go away fromthem now. I want Mr. Stone to do his work, and I hope he will findthat girl and all that, but I can't stand it to live in thisatmosphere of detectives and reporters and policemen any longer than Imust. Would it do for me to go to some quiet hotel for a while? Icould take Tibbetts, and just be quietly by myself, while theSchuylers continue to live in this house. "

I thought it over. I understood perfectly how she hated to bequestioned continually as to her life with her late husband, for I wasbeginning to realize that that life had been a continuous tragedy. Nothing much definite, but many sidelights and stray hints had shownme how he had treated her, and how patiently she had borne it. And, now he was gone, and I, for one, didn't blame her that she wanted toget away from the scenes of her slavery to him. For it had been that. He had enforced his ideas and opinions upon her, until she had beenallowed to do nothing and to have nothing as she wished. 

And now, she desired only peace and quietness somewhere, anywhere, away from the two who represented Randolph Schuyler's tyranny andcarping criticism without his right to obtrude them on her. 

"I will speak to them, " I said, "and I'm sure we can arrange some modeof life for you which will give you rest and freedom of judgment. "

"Oh, if you only can!" she murmured, as she held out a friendly hand. 

CHAPTER XVI

A FUTILE CHASE

It was Sunday afternoon, and we were in conclave in the Schuylerlibrary. Fleming Stone was summing up his results of the past few daysand, though it was evident he had done all that mortal man could do, yet he had no hint or clue as to where Vicky Van might be. 

And, he held, that nothing else was of consequence compared to thisknowledge. She must be found, and whether that could be done quickly, by search or by chance, or whether it would take a long time ofwaiting, he could not say. He felt sure, that she must discloseherself, sooner or later, but if not, and if their search continuedunavailing, then he held out no hope for success. 

"It's a unique case, " he said, "in my experience. All depends onfinding that woman. If she is innocent, herself, she knows who did it. And, if she is the guilty one, she is clever enough to remain hidden. It may be she is miles away, out of the country, perhaps. She has hadample time to make arrangements to go abroad, or to any distant place. Her guilt seems to me probable, because she has literally abandonedher house and her belongings. An innocent woman would scarcely leaveall those modern and valuable furnishings unless for some very strongreason. But as to finding her--a needle in a haystack presents an easyproblem by contrast!"

"Doubtless she is hiding in the house of some friend, " suggested Ruth, thoughtfully. "It seems to me she must have been taken in and caredfor by some one who loved her, that night she disappeared. "

"I think so, too, " agreed Stone. "But I've been to see all her friendsthat I can find out about. I've called on a score of them, findingtheir addresses in her address book that Mr. Lowney gave me. Ofcourse, they may have been deceiving me, but I feel safe in assertingthat she is not under the protection of any one I interviewed. Shereturned to her house last Monday night, the police believe, for thepurpose of getting her mail. This shows a daring almost unbelievable!That mail must have been of desperate importance to her. She has notbeen to the house since, they feel sure, and since I have been on thecase she could not have entered, for I have kept it under strictsurveillance. I think she will never return to it. Presumably she gotthe letters she was so anxious for. Her mail, that has arrived thelast few days, I have not opened, but the envelopes show mostlytradesmen's cards, or are indubitably social correspondence. Thereseem to be no letters from lawyers or financial firms. However, ifnothing develops, I shall open the letters. This case, beingunprecedented, necessitates unusual proceedings. "

"I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Stone, " said Rhoda Schuyler, testily; "Ididn't suppose you were superhuman, but I did think, with yourreputation and all, you would be able to find that woman. I've heardsay that nobody could absolutely vanish in New York City, and not betraced. "

"You don't regret my so-far failure a bit more than I do, MissSchuyler, but I feel no shame or embarrassment over it. Nor am I readyto admit myself beaten. I have a theory, or, rather a conviction thatthere is one and only one explanation of this strange affair. I am notquite ready to expound this, but in a day or two I shall find if it isthe true solution, and if so I shall soon find Miss Van Allen. "

"I knew you would, " and Sarah Schuyler nodded her head, insatisfaction. "I told Rhoda to give you more time and you would notdisappoint us. All right, Mr. Stone, use all the time you need. Butno Schuyler must remain unavenged. I want to see that womankilled--yes, killed, for her murder of my brother. "

Sarah Schuyler looked like a figure of Justice herself, as, withflashing eyes she declared her wrath. And it was her right. Herbrother's blood called out for vengeance. But the more gentle-souledRuth shuddered and shrank from this stern arraignment. 

"Oh, Sarah, " she murmured, "not killed! Don't condemn a woman tothat!"

"Why not, Ruth? If a woman can kill, a woman should be killed. But shewon't be, " she added, bitterly. "No jury ever convicts a woman, nomatter how clearly her guilt is proven. "

Just then Fibsy appeared. He was a strange little figure, and showed ashy awkwardness at the grandeur of his surroundings. He bobbed a funnylittle curtsy to Ruth, whom he already adored, and with an embarrassednod, included the rest of us in a general greeting. 

Then to Fleming Stone he said, in an eager, triumphant tone, "I got'em!"

"Got what?" asked Ruth, smiling at him. 

"Got pictures of Miss Van Allen, and Julie, too. "

"What!" cried Ruth, interested at once; "let me see them. "

Fibsy glanced at her and then at Stone, and handed a parcel to thelatter. 

"He's my boss, " the boy said, as if by way of apology for slightingher request. 

Fleming Stone opened the parcel and showed two sketches. 

"Miss Gale made them, " he explained. "I sent Fibsy over there toinduce her to give us at least a hint of Miss Van Allen's personalappearance. The boy could wheedle it from her, when I couldn't. See?"

He handed the pictures to Miss Rhoda, for he, too, respectedauthority, but we all gathered round to look. 

They were the merest sketches. A wash of water-color, but they showedmerit. As the only one present who knew Vicky Van, I was asked of thetruth of their portraiture. 

"Fairly good, " I said, "yes, more than that. This of Vicky shows thecoloring of her face and hair and the general effect of her costume, more than her actual physiognomy. But it is certainly a close enoughlikeness to make her recognizable if you find her. "

And this was true. Ariadne had caught the sidelong glance of VickyVan's dark-lashed eyes, and the curve of her scarlet lips. Thecoloring was perfect, just Vicky's vivid tints, and the dark hair, looped over her ears, was as she always wore it. Ariadne had drawnher in the gown she had worn that fatal evening, and the women eagerlyscrutinized the gorgeous costume. 

"No wonder those long strands of fringe caught in that scraggly mirrorframe!" exclaimed Winnie, who never missed a point. 

"Right, " said Stone. "If she whirled around as you did, Miss Calhoun, it's a wonder she didn't spoil her whole gown. "

The pose and the figure were not exactly Vicky's. Ariadne wasn't muchon catching a likeness or a physical effect. But the color andatmosphere were fine, and I told this to Stone, who agreed that it wasa decided help in the search. 

Julie's portrait was the same. Not a real likeness of the woman, butan impressionist transcript of her salient points. The gray gown andwhite apron, the thick-rimmed glasses, the parted lips, showingslightly protruding teeth, the plainly parted brown hair, all were thereal Julie; and yet, except for these accessories I'm not sure I couldhave recognized the subject of the sketch. However, as I told Stone, it certainly was a helpful indication of the sort of woman he was tolook for, and even in disguise, the physical characteristics mustshow. 

The detective was positive that wherever Vicky Van and Julie were, orwhatever they were doing, they were in all probability disguised, andthoroughly so, or they must have been discovered ere this. 

To my amusement, Fibsy and Ruth were holding a tete-a-teteconversation. The kind-hearted woman had, doubtless, felt sorry forthe boy's shyness, and had drawn him into chat to put him at his ease. 

She had succeeded, too, for he was animated, and had lost hisself-consciousness under the charm of her smile. 

"And I'll bet your birthday comes in the spring, " he was saying, as Icaught the tenor of their talk. 

"It does, " said Ruth, looking surprised. "How did you guess?"

"'Cause you're just like a little spring flower--a white crocus or abit of arbutus. "

And then, noting my attention, the boy was covered with confusion andblushed to the tips of his ears. He rose from where he sat, andshuffled awkwardly around the great room, devoting exaggeratedattention to some books in the glassed cases, and twirling his fingersin acute embarrassment. 

"You scared him away, " chided Ruth, under her breath, as our glancesmet. "He and I were getting positively chummy. "

"Why was he talking of your birthday? I asked. 

"I don't know, I'm sure. He said I was born in the spring, because I'mlike a flower! Really, that child will grow up a poet, if he doesn'tlook out!"

"You are like a flower, " I murmured back. "And I'm glad your birthdayis in spring. I mean to celebrate it!"

And then I thought of poor Vicky Van's birthday, so tragically ended, and I quickly changed the subject. 

Armed with the pictures, Fleming Stone and his young assistant spentthe next day on a still hunt. 

And in the evening Stone came over to see me. 

"A little quiet confab, " he said, as we secluded ourselves in mysitting-room and closed the door, "I've been to a score of places, andinvariably they recognize Miss Van Allen and her maid, but all saythey've not seen her since the tragedy. I went to shops, offices, thebank and places where she would be likely to need to go. Also, herfriends' houses. But nothing doing. The shops have heard from her, inthe way of paid bills, checks and such matters, but I learnedabsolutely nothing that throws any light on her whereabouts. Now, Mr. Calhoun, the very thoroughness of her disappearance, the veryinviolable secrecy of her hiding-place proves to me that she isn'thiding. "

"Now, Mr. Stone, " I said, smiling, "you talk like a real story-bookdetective. Cryptic utterances of that sort are impressive to thelayman, you know. "

"Pshaw!" and he looked annoyed, "if you knew anything about detectivework, you'd know that the most seemingly impossible conditions areoften the easiest to explain. "

"Well, then, explain. I'll be glad to hear. "

"I will. And, in return, Mr. Calhoun, I'm going to ask you if youdon't think, that all things considered, you ought to tell me what youare keeping back? You won't mind, will you, if I say that I havededuced, from evidence, " he smiled, "that your interests are largelycoincident with those of Mrs. Schuyler?"

"You're on, " I said, shortly, but not annoyed at his perspicacity. 

"Well, then, I assure you that Mrs. Schuyler is most desirous oflocating Miss Van Allen. She is not so revengeful or vituperative asthe sisters of her husband, but she feels it is due to her husband'smemory to find his slayer, if possible. Now suppose you tell me whatyou know, and I promise to keep it an inviolate confidence except sofar as it actually helps the progress of the wheels of justice. "

"I do want to do what is best for Mrs. Schuyler's interests, " I said, after I had thought a moment. "But, I must confess, I have a certainsympathy and pity for Victoria Van Allen. I cannot believe herguilty--"

"Then tell me frankly the truth. If you are right, and she is not themurderer, the truth can't harm her. And if she is the guilty person, you are compounding a felony, in the eyes of the law, to withhold yourinformation. "

Stone spoke a little sternly, and I realized he was right. If Vickywere untraceably hidden, all I could tell wouldn't hurt her. And, too, I couldn't see that it would, anyway. Moreover, as Stone said, I wasmaking myself amenable to the law, by a refusal to tell all I knew, and since I was so aware of my own devotion to Ruth Schuyler, I felt Ihad no right to do anything that she would disapprove. And, I knewthat a touch of feminine pique in her disposition would resent anyconsideration of Vicky over her own claims!

Therefore, I told Fleming Stone all I knew of Victoria Van Allen, bothbefore, during and after the occasion of her birthday party. 

He listened, with his deep eyes fixed on my face. 

"Most extraordinary!" he said, at last, after I had finished. "I neverheard of such daring! To enter her own house when it was watched bythe police--"

"Only the post patrol, then, " I reminded him. "She could easilymanage between his rounds. "

"Yes, yes, I know. But you've put the whole thing in different focus. Tell me more. "

There was no more to tell, but I went over my story again, amplifyingand remembering further details, until we had spent the whole evening. He egged me on by questions and his burning, eager eyes seemed todrink in my words as if they were so much priceless wisdom. 

And I told him, too, that I had promised to put Vicky's address bookin the Chinese jar for her that very evening. 

"We'll do it!" he exclaimed, promptly. "She meant to meet you there, I'm sure, but I'm also sure she changed her mind about that, when shelearned of my advent. However, we'll keep your promise. "

Acting at his instructions, I went with him over to Vicky Van's. Itwas about midnight, and as he had the address book with him, he keptpossession of it. 

We went in the house, and in the dark, felt our way up to the musicroom. Stone put the book in the jar, and motioned for me to hidebehind a sofa. He himself took up his vigil behind a window-curtain, of heavy brocade. 

He had planned all this, before we left my house, and no word wasspoken as we took our places. His hope was that Vicky would come intothe house late and go straight for her book and quickly out again. Hehad directed me to wait until she had really abstracted the book fromthe jar and then, as she was leaving the room, spring after her andstop her. 

I obeyed orders implicitly, and, as Stone had warned me, we had a bitof a wait. I grew cramped and tired, and at last I gave up all hope ofVicky's appearance. 

And then, she came!

Silently, absolutely without sound, she glided in from the hall. Myeyes, now accustomed to the semi-gloom of the room, could discern herfigure as it approached the great vase. Softly, she raised the cover, she abstracted the book, and with noiseless touch was replacing thecover, when she threw back her head, as if she sensed our presence. Ihad made no move, nor had I heard a breath of sound from Stone, butVicky knew some one was present. I knew that by her startled movement. She gave a stifled scream, and pushing the great jar off on the floor, where it crashed to pieces, she rushed out of the room and downstairs. 

"After her, Calhoun! Fly!" shouted Stone, and as he flung back theheavy curtains the street lights illuminated the scene. But as weavoided the broken fragments we bumped together and lost a few secondsin our recovery from the impact. 

This gave Vicky a start, and we heard the street door slam as we raceddown the stairs. Here, too, we lost a second or two, for I steppedback to give Stone space just as he did the same for me, and when wehad reached the foot of the stairs, leaped through the hall, wrenchedopen the door and dashed down the steps to the pavement, we saw theflying figure of Vicky Van round the Fifth Avenue corner, and turnSouth. 

After her we ran, as fast as mortal man can run, I verily believe, andwhen we reached the Avenue there was no one in sight!

Stone stood stock-still, looking down the street. 

The Avenue was lighted, as usual, and we could see a block and more inboth directions, but no sign of Vicky. Nor was there a pedestrianabroad, or a motor. The Avenue was absolutely uninhabited, as far asour eyes could reach. 

"Where'd she go?" I panted. 

"Into some house, or, maybe, hiding in an area. We must search themall, but very warily. She's a witch, a wonder-woman, but all the same, the earth didn't open and swallow her!"

We searched every area way on the block. One of us would go in andexplore while the other stood guard. The third house was the Schuylerresidence, but Stone also searched thoroughly in its basemententrance. 

"All dark and locked up, " he reported, as he came out from there. "And, of course, she wouldn't seek sanctuary there! But I've wonderedif she isn't concealed in one of these nearby houses, as she has suchready access to her own home. "

But it was impossible. Every basement entrance was locked and boltedfor the night and all the windows were dark. 

"She's given us the slip, " said Stone, in deep chagrin. "But perhapsshe crossed the street. Maybe she didn't run down this side very far. Let's go over. "

We crossed and looked over the stone wall of the park. Surely VickyVan had not had time to scramble over that wall before we reached thecorner. It had been not more than a few seconds after we saw herflying form turn down the Avenue, and she couldn't have crossed thestreet and scaled the wall in that time!

Where was she? What had become of her?

"Ring up the houses and inquire, " I suggested. "You're justified indoing that. "

"No use, " he responded. "If she was expected they won't give her away, and if she isn't there, they'd be pretty angry at our intrusion. I'lladmit, Calhoun, I've never been so mystified in my life!"

"Nor I!" I emphatically agreed. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN

After that night Fleming Stone became more desperately in earnest inhis search for Vicky. It seemed as if the sight of her, therealization that she was a real woman and not a myth, had whetted hiseagerness to discover her hiding place and bring her to book. 

He established himself in her house, and both he and Fibsy practicallylived there, going out for their meals or picnicking in the basementroom. This room became his headquarters, and a plain clothes man wason duty whenever Stone and Fibsy were both absent. 

"Though I don't think she'll ever come back again, " Stone declared, gloomily. "She was desperately anxious for that address book, and soshe got it, through my stupidity. I might have known she'd make a dashfor the street door. I should have had that exit guarded. But I'veseen her, and I'll get her yet! At any rate she hasn't left thecountry, or hadn't last night, whatever she may do to-day. "

It was the day after Vicky had given us the slip. It wasmidafternoon, and I had gone to see Stone, on my return from myoffice. I was sadly neglecting my own business nowadays, but Mr. Bradbury looked after it, and he sanctioned my devotion to theSchuyler cause. 

"Randolph Schuyler was an important citizen, " he said, "and hismurderer must be apprehended if possible. Do all you can, Calhoun, forhumanity's sake and the law's. Take all the time you want to, I'll seeto your important business. "

So, though I went downtown every morning, I came back at noon or soonafter and plunged afresh into the work of finding Vicky Van. 

There was little I could do, but Stone consulted and questioned mecontinually as to Vicky's habits or pursuits, and I told him franklyall I knew. 

Also I managed to make business matters loom up so importantly as tonecessitate frequent calls on Ruth Schuyler, and I spent most of myafternoon hours in the Fifth Avenue house. 

And Ruth was most kind to me. I couldn't say she showed affection oreven especial interest, but she turned to me as a confidant and we hadmany long, pleasant conversations when the subject of the mystery wasnot touched upon. 

Though she never said a word against Randolph Schuyler, I couldn'thelp learning that, aside from the horror of it, his death was to hera blessed relief. He had not been a good man, nor had he been a goodhusband. On the contrary, he had blighted Ruth's whole life bythwarting her every innocent desire for gayety or pleasure. 

For instance, she spoke of her great enjoyment of light opera or farcecomedy, but as Mr. Schuyler didn't care for such entertainment he hadnever allowed her to go. He had a box at the Grand Opera, and Ruthloved to go, but she liked lighter music also. 

This was not told complainingly, but transpired in the course of aconversation at which Fibsy chanced to be present. 

"Gee!" he said, looking at Ruth commiseratingly, "ain't you neverheard 'The Jitney Girl' or 'The Prince of Peoria'?"

Ruth shook her head, smiling at the boy's amazement. There was asubtle sympathy between these two that surprised me, for Ruth Schuylerwas fastidious in her choice of friends. But he amused her, and he wasnever really impertinent--merely naive and unconventional. 

Well, on the day I speak of, Stone and I sat in the basement roomawaiting Fibsy's return. He was out after certain information and wehoped much from it. 

"I gotta bunch o' dope, " he announced, as he suddenly appeared beforeus. "Dunno 's it'll pan out much, but listen 'n' I'll spill a earful. "

I had learned that Fibsy, or Terence, as we ought to call him, wastrying to discard his street slang, and was succeeding fairly well, save in moments of great excitement or importance. And so, I hopedfrom his slangy beginning, that he had found some fresh data. 

"I chased up that chore boy first, " he related, "an' he didn't knowanything at all. Said Miss Van Allen's a lovely lady, but he 'mostnever saw her, the Julie dame did all the orderin' an' payin' s'far'she was concerned. Good pay, but irregular work. She'd be here a dayor two, an' then like's not go 'way for a week. Well, we knew thatbefore. Then, next, I tracked to his lair the furnace man. Samestory. Here to-day an' gone to-morrer, as the song says. 'Course, heain't only a stoker, he's really an odd job man--ashes, sidewalks, an'such. Well, he didn't help none--any, I mean. But, " and the shock ofred hair seemed to bristle with triumph, "I loined one thing! ThatJulie has been to the sewing woman and the laundress lady and shut 'emup! Yes, sir! that's what she's done!"

"Tell it all, " said Stone, briefly. 

"Well, I struck the seamstress first. She wouldn't tell a thing, and Isaid, calmly, 'I know Julie paid you to keep your mouth shut, but ifyou don't tell, the law'll make you!' That scared her. And she ownedup that Julie was to see her 'bout a week ago and give her fiftydollars not to tell anything at all whatsomever about Miss Van Allen!Some girl, that Vicky Van!"

"Julie went there herself!" I cried. 

"Yep. The real Julie, gold teeth and all. But I quizzed the needlepusher good and plenty, and she don't know much of evidential value. "

It was always funny when Fibsy interlarded his talk with legalphrases, but he was unconscious of any incongruity and went on:

"You see, as I dope it out, she's accustomed to sit in Miss VanAllen's boodore a-sewin' an' might have overheard some gossip orsumpum like that, an' Miss Van Allen was afraid she'd scatter it, an'so she sent Julie to shut her up. I don't believe the woman knowswhere Miss Van is now. "

"I must see her, " said Stone. 

"Yes, sir. She won't get away. She's a regular citizen, an'respectable at that. Well, then, the laundress. To her also Julie hadlikewise went. An' to her also Julie had passed the spondulicks. Now, I don't understand that so well, for laundresses don't overhear theladies talkin', but, anyway, Julie told her if she wouldn't answer aquestion to anybody, she'd give her half a century, too. And did. "

"Doubtless the laundress knew something Miss Van Allen wants keptsecret. "

"Doubtless, sir, " said Fibsy, gravely. 

"But I don't believe, " mused Stone, "that it would help us any tolearn all those women know. If Miss Van Allen thought they could helpus find her, she would give them more than that for silence or getthem out of the city altogether. "

"Where is Miss Van Allen, Mr. Stone?"

Fibsy asked the question casually, as one expectant of an answer. 

"She's in the city, Fibs, living as somebody else. "

"Yep, that's so. Over on the West side, say, among the artist lady'sstudio gang?"

"Maybe so. But she has full freedom of action and goes about as shelikes. Julie also. They come here whenever they choose, though I don'tthink they'll come while we're here. It's a queer state of things, Calhoun. What do you make of it?"

"I don't believe Vicky is disguised. Her personality is too pronouncedand so is Julie's. I think some friend is caring for them. Not AriadneGale, of that I'm sure. But it may be Mrs. Reeves. She is very fond ofVicky and is clever enough to hide the girl all this time. "

"The police have searched her house--"

"I know, but Mrs. Reeves and Vicky could connive a plan that wouldhoodwink the police, I'm pretty certain. "

"I'll look into that, " and Stone made a note of it. "About thatcarving knife, Fibsy. Did the caterers take it away by mistake?"

"No, sir; I 'vestergated that, an' they didn't. "

"That knife is an important thing, to my mind, " the detective went on. 

"Yes, sir, " eagerly agreed Fibsy. "It may yet cut the Gorgian knot!Why, Mr. Stone, the sewing lady knew that knife. She was here tolunching a few days before the moider, an' she says she always sat atthe table in the dining room to eat, after Miss Van Allen got through. An' she says that knife was there, 'cos they had steak, an' she usedit herself. I described the fork puffeckly, an' she reckernized it atonct. "

"You're a bright boy!" I exclaimed in involuntary tribute to thisclever bit of work. 

"I'm 'ssociated with Mr. Stone, " said Fibsy, with a quiet twinkle. 

"It was clever, " agreed Stone. "I'm sure, myself, that the absence ofthat small carving knife means something, but I can't fit it in yet. "

We went up to the dining-room to look again at the carving fork, stillin its place on the sideboard. I was always thrilled at a return tothis room--always reminded of the awful tableau I had seen there. 

The long, slender fork lay in its place. Though it had been repeatedlyexamined and puzzled over, it had been carefully replaced. 

"But I can't see, " I offered, "why a carving-knife should figure inthe matter at all when the crime was committed with the littleboning-knife. "

"That's why the missing carving-knife ought to be a clue, " said Stone, "because its connection with the case is inexplicable. Now, where isthat knife? Fibsy, where is it?"

Fleming Stone's frequent appeals to the boy were often in ahalf-bantering tone, and yet, rather often, Terence returned anopinion or a bit of conjecture that turned Stone's cogitations in afresh direction. 

"You see, sir, " he said, this time, "that knife is in this house. It'sgotter be. That lady left the house in a mighty hurry but all the sameshe didn't go out a brandishin' of a carvin'-knife! Nor did she takeit along an drop it in the street or an ash can for it'd been found. So, she siccreted it summer, an' it's still in the house--unless--yes, unless she has taken it away since. You know, Mr. Stone, the Van Allenhas been in this house more times than you'd think for. Yes, sir, shehas. "

"How do you know?"

"Lots o' ways. Frinst' on Sat'day, I noticed a clean squarish place inthe dust on a table in the lady's bedroom, an' it's where a book was. That book disappeared durin' Friday night. I don't remember seein' thebook, I didn't notice it, to know what book it was, but the cleanplace in the dust couldn't get there no other way. Well, all is, itshows Miss Vick comes an' goes pretty much as she likes--or did tillyou'n me camped out here. "

"Then you think she left the knife here that night, and has sincereturned and taken it away?"

"I donno, " Fibsy scowled in his effort to deduce the truth. "Let'slook!"

He darted from the room and up the stairs. Stone rose to follow. 

"That boy is uncanny at times, " he said, seriously. "I'm only tooglad to follow his intuitions, and not seldom; he's all right. "

We went upstairs, and then on up to the next floor. Fibsy was in VickyVan's dressing room, staring about him. He stood in the middle of thefloor, his hands in his pockets, wheeling round on one heel. 

"They say she ran upstairs 'fore she flew the coop, " he murmured, notlooking at us. "That Miss Weldon said that. Well, if she did, shenatchelly came up here for a cloak an' bonnet. I'll never believe thatlevel-headed young person went out into the cold woild in her gladrags, an' no coverin'. Well, then, say, she lef' that knife here, locked up good an' plenty. Where--_where_, I say, would she siccreteit?"

He glared round the room, as if trying to wrest the secret from itsinanimate contents. 

"Mr. Stone says that walls have tongues. I believe it, an' I knowthese walls are jest yellin' the truth at me, an' yet, I'm sosoul-deef I can't make out their lingo! Well, let's make a stab at it. Mr. Stone, I'll lay you that knife is in some drawer or cubbid inthis here very room. "

"Maybe, Fibsy, " said Stone, cheerfully. "Where shall we look first?"

"All over. " And Fibsy darted to a wardrobe and began feeling among thegowns and wraps hanging there. With a touch as light as a pickpocket'she slid his lightning-like fingers through the folds of silk andtulle, and turned back with a disappointed air. 

"Frisked the whole pack; nothin' doin', " he grumbled. "But don't giveup the ship. "

We didn't. Having something definite to do, we did it thoroughly, andtwo men and a boy fingered every one of Vicky Van's availablebelongings in an amazingly short space of time. 

"Now for this chest, " said Fibsy, indicating a large low box onrollers that he pulled out from under the couch. 

It was locked, but Stone picked it open, and threw back the cover. Atthe bottom of it, beneath several other gowns, we found the costumeVicky had worn the night of the murder!

"My good land!" ejaculated Fibsy, "the gold-fringed rig! Ain't itclassy!"

Stone lifted out the dress, heavy with its weight of gold beads, andheld it up to view. On the flounces were stains of blood! And from thewrinkled folds fell, with a clatter to the floor, the missingcarving-knife!

I stooped to pick up the knife. 

"'Scuse me, Mr. Calhoun, " cried Fibsy, grasping my hand, "don't touchit! Finger prints, you know!"

"Right, boy!" and Stone nodded, approvingly. "Pick it up, Fibsy. "

"Yessir, " and taking from his pocket a pair of peculiar shaped tongs, Terence carefully lifted the knife and laid it on the glass-toppeddressing table. 

"Probly all smudged anyway, " he muttered, squinting closely at theknife. "But there's sure some marks on it! Gee, Mr. Stone, there'ssumpum doin'!" His eyes shone and his skinny little fingers trembledwith excitement of the chase. 

Stone studied the gold-fringed dress. The blood stains on theflounces, though dried and brown, were unmistakable. 

"Wonderful woman!" he exclaimed. "Now, we've got this dress, and whatof it? She put it here, not caring whether we got it or not. She'sgone for good. She'll never be taken. This proves it to my mind"

"And the knife?" I asked, thrilling with interest. 

"There you are again. If Miss Van Allen put that there for us todiscover, the marks on it are of no use. Perhaps some she had putthere purposely. You see, I'm inclined to grant her any degree ofcleverness from what I know of her ability so far. She is a witch. She can hoodwink anybody. "

"Except F. Stone, Esquire, " amended Fibsy. "You pussieve, Mr. Calhoun, the far-famed detective, is already onto her coives!"

Stone looked up to smile at the boy's speech, but he returned his gazeto the golden-trimmed gown. 

"Of course, " he said, "it is improbable that she took this off beforeshe left the house that night. I opine she threw a big cloak round herand rushed out to the house of some friend. Likely she found a taxicabor even commandeered some waiting private car for her flight. Youknow, we are dealing with no ordinary criminal. Now, if I am right, she brought this gown back here on some of her subsequent trips. As tothe knife, I don't know. I see no explanation as yet. Since shestabbed her victim with another knife--why in the world hide this oneup here? What say, Fibsy?"

"'Way past me. Maybe she was usin' both knives, an' the other oneturned the trick, an' when she got up here she seen she had this onestill in her grip, an' she slung it in this here chest to hide it. Iain't sure that's the c'reck answer, but it'll do temp'rar'ly. I say, Mr. Stone, I got an awful funny thing to ask you. "

"It won't be the first funny thing you've asked me, Terence. What isit?"

"Well, it's pretty near eatin' time, an'--aw, pshaw, I jest can't dareto say it. "

"Go ahead, old chap, I can't do more than annihilate you. "

"Well, I wanna go to the Schuylerses to dinner. "

"To dinner!"

"Yes, sir. An' not to the kitchen eats, neither. I wanta set up totheir gran' table with their butlerses an' feetmen, an' be a nonnerdguest. Kin I, Mr. Stone? Say, kinni?"

Fleming Stone looked at the eager, flushed face. He knew and I did, too, that there was something back of this request. But it couldn't beanything of vital importance to our mystery. 

"Oh, I understand, " said Stone, suddenly. "You've taken a desperatefancy to Mrs. Schuyler and you want to further the acquaintance. Butit isn't often done that way, my boy. "

"Aw, now, don't kid me, Mr. Stone. Either lemme go or shut down on it, one o' the six! But it's most nessary, I do assure you. "

"Maybe she won't have you. Why should those grand ladies allow a boyof your age at their dinner-table?"

"Because you ask 'em, sir. " Fibsy's tone was full of a quiet dignity. 

"Very well, I'll ask them, " and Stone went away to the telephone. 

Fibsy stood, looking raptly at the gold gown, and now and then hiseyes turned toward the knife on the dressing-table. The table wascovered with silver toilet implements, and save for its unfittingsuggestion, the knife was unnoticeable among the other trinkets. 

"It's all right, " said Stone, returning. "Mrs. Schuyler sends acordial invitation for all three of us to dine with her. "

"Much obliged, I'll be there, " said Fibsy, unsmilingly. 

CHAPTER XVIII

FIBSY DINES OUT

That dinner at Ruth Schuyler's was memorable. And, yet, it was in noway markedly unusual. The service was perfect, as might be expected inthat well-ordered household, and the guests were well behaved. Fibsy, thanks to Fleming Stone's thoughtful kindness, was arrayed in theproper dinner garb of a schoolboy, and his immaculate linen andcorrect jacket seemed to invest him in a mantle of politeness that satwell on his youthful buoyancy and enthusiasm. 

I glanced round the table. It was a strange combination of people. Fleming Stone was the sort of man who is at ease anywhere, and I, too, am adaptable by nature. But the Schuyler sisters were very evidentlyannoyed at the idea of receiving as an equal the youth whom theyregarded as a mere street arab. 

Fibsy had become a firm friend of Ruth's, but he couldn't seem to likethe other ladies, and he with difficulty refrained from showing this. 

The Misses Schuyler were impressive in their heavy and elaboratemourning, and to my mind Ruth looked far more appropriately dressed. 

She wore a black and white striped chiffon, with touches of blacksilk, and the effect, with her pale face and fair hair was lovely. Abreastknot of valley lilies added to the loveliness, and I allowed myeyes to feast on her fairness. I had thought Ruth was not what couldbe called a pretty woman, certainly she was not beautiful; but thatnight her charm appealed to me more strongly than ever, and Iconcluded that her air of high-bred delicacy and infinite finenesswere more to be desired than mere beauty. 

Fibsy, too, devoured her with his eyes, though discreetly, and when hethought he was not observed. 

Fleming Stone devoted himself to the sisters; probably, I concluded, because he was in their employ, and so owed them his attention. 

Ruth wore her beautiful pearls, and referred to the fact, half-apologetically, saying that Mr. Schuyler had liked always to seethem on her, and she felt privileged to continue to use them, even inher mourning period. 

"You like only poils--pearls, don't you, Mrs. Schuyler?"

Fibsy's slip of pronunciation was due to his slight embarrassment athis novel surroundings, but he valiantly corrected himself and ignoredit. 

"I like other gems, " Ruth replied, "but Mr. Schuyler preferred pearls, and gave me such beauties that I have grown very fond of them. "

"I remember, Ruth, " said Sarah, reminiscently, "how you used to begRandolph for sapphires and diamonds instead. You even wantedsemi-precious stones--turquoises and topaz. Oh, I remember. ButRandolph taught you that pearls were the best taste for a young matronand you grudgingly acquiesced. "

"Oh, not grudgingly, Sarah, " and Ruth flushed at the reprimand in hersister's voice. 

"Yes, grudgingly. Even unwillingly. In fact, all Randolph's decisionsyou fought until he made you surrender. You know how you wantedgay-colored gowns until he made you see that grays and mauves werebetter taste. "

"Never mind my peccadilloes, " said Ruth, lightly. "Let's talk ofsomething less personal. "

"Let's talk about the weather, " suggested Fibsy, who was notconducting himself on the seen and not heard plan. "The park is finenow. All full o' red an' gold autumn leaves. Have you noticed it, Mrs. Schuyler?"

"Not especially, " and Ruth smiled at him, in appreciation of hisconversational help. "I must walk over there to-morrow. "

"Yes, 'm. An' why don't you go for a long motor; ride up Westchesterway? The scenery's great!"

"How do you know, have you been there?"

"Not just lately, but I was last fall. Do you remember the big treesjust at the turn of the road by--"

But Ruth was not listening to the child. Stone had said something thatclaimed her attention. 

However, Fibsy was unabashed. With no trace of forwardness, but withdue belief in his security of position as a guest, he continued tochatter to Ruth, and rarely addressed any one else. 

He has something up his sleeve, I thought, for I was beginning to havegreat faith in the lad's cleverness. 

He sat at Ruth's left hand, Stone being in the seat of the honorguest, and as that left me between the two sisters, I was doomed toparticipate in their chatter. But I was opposite my hostess and couldenjoy looking at her in the intervals of conversation. 

Suddenly, I chanced to look up and I saw Fibsy's comical little facedrawn with grimaces as he sang a snatch of a popular song. 

 My heart goes twirly-whirly When I see my pearlie girlie, With her--

"Now, what is that next line? With her--?"

"With her ring-around-a-rosy curls!" supplemented Ruth, her own facebreaking into laughter, as, caught by the infection of Fibsy's waggishgayety, she rounded out the phrase. 

"Yes, that's it" said Fibsy, eagerly, "and

 Her teeth like little shining pearls, Oh, she's my queen of all the girls, My little twirly-whirly, pearlie Girlie!"

Ruth and Fibsy finished the silly little song in concert, and Stoneclapped his hands in applause. 

Rhoda sniffed and Sarah acidly remarked:

"How can you, Ruth? I wish you'd be a little more dignified. "

Quickly the light went out of Ruth's eyes. She looked reproved, andthough she didn't resent it, a patient sadness came into her eyes, andI resolved that I would do all I could to get it arranged that sheshould live apart from the two carping, criticizing sisters. 

After dinner we had coffee in the library. Again, Fleming Stone tookit upon himself to entertain the Misses Schuyler, and I drifted towardRuth. She sat down on a sofa and motioned Fibsy to sit beside her. Idrew a chair up to them and thanked a kind fate that let us all leavethe table at once, dispensing with a more formal tarrying of the men. 

After the coffee there were liqueurs. I glanced at Fibsy to see if heaccepted a tiny glass from the butler's tray. 

He did, and, moreover, he examined the contents with the air of aconnoisseur. 

"Oo de vee de Dantzic, " he remarked, holding up his glass and gazingat the gold flecks in it. 

We all smiled at him. 

"Your favorite cordial, Terence?" asked Stone, affably. 

"Yessir. Don't you love it, Mrs. Schuyler?"

"Yes, " she said, and then, "why, no, I don't love it, child. But onegets accustomed to something of the sort. "

"But don't you like it better than Cream de mint or Benediction?" hepersisted. 

Ruth laughed outright. "How do you know those names, you funny boy, "she said. 

"Read 'em on the big signboards, " he returned. "They have the biggestbillboards in New York for one of these lickures. I forget which one. "

"These are what I like, " said Ruth, smiling, as the footman passed asmall bowl of sugared rose-leaves and crisp green candied mint leaves. "Take some, Terence. They're better for you than liqueurs. Helpyourself. "

"They are good, " and Fibsy obeyed her. "They taste like goin' into aflorist's shop. "

"So they do, " agreed Ruth, herself taking a goodly portion. 

"Rubbish, " said Rhoda. "I think these things are silly. Randolph wouldnever allow them. "

"Now, Rhoda, there's no harm in a few candies, " protested Ruth, andthen she changed the subject quickly, for she evaded a passage at armswith the sisters whenever possible. 

The talk, however, soon drifted to the never forgotten subject of themurder. The sisters mulled over all they had heard or learned duringthe day and begged Stone to propound theories or make deductionstherefrom. 

Stone obeyed, as that was what he was employed for. 

"I think Miss Van Allen is masquerading as somebody else, " heaffirmed. "I believe she is in some house not very far from thisneighborhood, under the care of some friend and accompanied and lookedafter by her maid Julie. I believe she is in touch with all that goeson, not only from the newspapers but by means of some spy system orsecret investigation. But the net is drawing round her. I cannot sayjust how, but I feel sure that we shall yet get her. It was a grievousmischance that I let her escape last night, but I shall have anotherchance at her, I'm sure. "

"And then you'll arrest her, " said Rhoda, with a snap of her thinlips. 

"I dare say. Lowney tells me the finger prints on the little knifewith which Mr. Schuyler was killed are clear and unmistakable, but wehave not yet found out whose they are. "

"And can you?" said Ruth, anxiously. 

"If we find Miss Van Allen, " said Stone, "we can at least see if theyare her's. "

"Pooh!" said Fibsy contemptuously, "why did'n' youse tell me beforethat you had the claw prints? I kin get Miss Van Allen's all right, all right!"

"How?" said I, for Fibsy had lapsed into the careless speech thatmeant business. 

"Over to her house. Why, they're all over. I've only gotto photygraphsome brushes an' things on her dressin' table to get all the printsyou want. "

"That's true, " agreed Stone. "But it won't give us what we want. Nobody doubts that Miss Van Allen held the knife that stabbed Mr. Schuyler, and to prove it would be a certain satisfaction. But what wewant is the woman herself. "

It was then that I noticed Ruth's maid, Tibbetts, hovering in the halloutside the library door. 

"You may go home, Tibbetts, " Ruth said to her, kindly. "Thesegentlemen will stay late and I'll look after them myself. "

Tibbetts went away, and Ruth said, explanatorily, "My maid is atreasure. I'd like to have her live here, but she is devoted to herown little roof tree and I let her off whenever possible. "

I knew Tibbets had a home over on Second or Third Avenue, and Ithought it kind of Ruth to indulge her in this. But after a change ofdomicile herself perhaps Ruth would arrange differently for her maid. And, too, as Winnie had often told me of Ruth's cleverness andefficiency in looking after herself and her belongings, I well knewshe could get along without a maid whenever necessary. 

"Did you ever trace that picture in Mr. Schuyler's watch?" Ruth asked, a few moments later. 

"Yes, " I said. "It was just as we supposed. A little vaudevilleactress whom Mr. Schuyler had taken out to supper gave it to him, andhe stuck it in his watch case, temporarily. Her name is Dotty Fay andshe seemed to know little about Mr. Schuyler and cared less. Merelythe toy of an evening, she was to him, and merely a chance that thepicture was in his watch the night of his visit to Vicky Van's. "

We had come to discuss the personal matters of Randolph Schuyler thusfreely, for we were all at one in our search for the truth, and therewere no secrets or evasions among us. 

Ruth sighed, but I knew her dear face so well now that I realized itwas not from personal sorrow, but a general regret that a man ofSchuyler's ability and power should have been such a weakling, morally. I knew she had never loved her husband, but she had been afaithful and dutiful wife, and no word or hint of blame had everescaped her lips regarding him. She had been a martyr, but I hadn'tlearned this from her. The sisters, though unconsciously, told me muchof the deprivation and narrowness of Ruth's life. Schuyler had ruledher with a rod of iron, and she had never rebelled, though at timesher patience was nearly worn out. 

Later in the evening Fibsy asked for some phonograph music, expressinghis great delight in hearing a really fine instrument and goodrecords. 

"I doubt if you'll care for our selections, " Ruth remarked, as shelooked over the cabinet of records. "They're almost all classical orold-fashioned songs. "

"I like the classical kind, " Fibsy said, endeavoring to be agreeable. "Please play the gayest you have, though. "

But there were few "gay" ones in the collection. Wagner's operas andBeethoven's solemn marches gave forth their noble numbers and Fibsysat, politely listening. 

"No ragtime, I s'pose?" he said, after a particularly depressing fugueresounded its last echoes. 

"No, " and Ruth glanced at him. " Mr. Schuyler didn't care for ragtime--on the phonograph, " she added, perhaps remembering Dotty Fay. 

We stayed late. Several times Stone proposed our departure, but Ruthurged us to remain longer or began some subject of interest that heldus in spite of ourselves. I had never seen her so entertaining. Indeed, I had never before seen her in what might be called a societysetting. She was a charming hostess, and the occasion seemed to pleaseher, for there was a pink flush on her cheeks and an added brightnessto her gray eyes that convinced me anew of the joy she could take insimple pleasures. 

She singled out Fibsy for her especial attentions, and the boyaccepted the honor with a gentle grace that astounded me. When talkingto her he lost entirely his slang and uncouth diction and behaved asto the manner born. He was chameleonic, I could see, and heunconsciously took color from his surroundings. 

And sometimes I caught him gazing at Ruth with a strange expressionthat mingled amazement and sadness, and I couldn't understand it atall. 

Again, I would find Ruth's eyes fixed on me with a beseeching glancethat might mean anything or nothing. 

As a whole the atmosphere seemed surcharged with a namelessexcitement, almost a terror, as if something dire were impending. Onceor twice I saw Stone and Terence exchange startled glances, but theyrarely looked at each other. 

There was something brewing, of that I was sure. But whatever it wasit did not affect the Schuyler sisters. They were eager to talk, anxious to hear, but they felt nothing of the undercurrent ofmysterious meaning that affected the rest of us. 

I was glad when the time came to go. It was very late, nearlymidnight, and I marveled to see that Ruth showed no sign of weariness. The sisters had been frankly yawning for some time, but Ruth's eyeswere unnaturally bright, and her pale cheeks showed a tiny red spot oneither side. 

She shook hands nervously and her voice trembled as she saidgood-night. 

Fleming Stone and the boy were moved, I could see that, but they madetheir adieux without reference to future meeting or further work onthe mystery. 

We went away, and as we turned the corner, I started to cross thestreet to go to my home. 

"Come into the Van Allen house a few minutes, Calhoun, " said Stone, gravely. "I've something to tell you. "

We went in at Vicky Van's. Stone's manner was ominous. He and Fibsyboth were silent and grave-looking. 

We went in at the street door, into the hall and then to theliving-room. 

Stone and I sat down, and Fibsy darted out to the dining-room, back tothe hall and up the stairs, flashing on lights as he went. 

In silence Stone lighted a cigar and offered me one, which I took, feeling a strange notion that the end of the world was about to come. 

In another moment Fibsy came slowly down stairs, walked into theliving-room, where we were, gave one look at Stone, and then threwhimself on a divan, buried his face in the cushions and burst intotears. His thin little frame shook with sobs, great, deep, heart-rending, nerve-racking sobs, that made my own heart stand stillwith fear. 

What could it all mean? What ailed the boy?

"Tell me, Stone, " I begged, "what is it? What has upset him so?"

"He has found Vicky Van, " said Fleming Stone. "And it has broken hisheart. "

"What do you mean? Don't keep me in this suspense! Where is Vicky?Upstairs?"

"No, " said Stone, "not now. "

"Explain, please, " I said, beginning to get angry. 

"I will, " said Stone. 

"No!" cried Fibsy, "no, Mr. Stone, let me t-t-tell. W-wait a minute, I'll tell. Oh, _oh_, I knew it all day, b-b-but I couldn't believe it!I _wouldn't_ believe it! Why, Mr. Calhoun, Vicky Van is--is--why, Mrs. Schuyler is Vicky Van!"

CHAPTER XIX

PROOFS AND MORE PROOFS

"You are absolutely crazy!" I said, laughing, though the laugh chokedin my throat, as I looked at Stone. "You see, Fibsy, you're gone dottyover this thing, and you're running round in circles. I know both Mrs. Schuyler and Miss Van Allen, and they've nothing in common. Therecouldn't be two people more dissimilar. "

"That's just it--that's how I know, " wailed the boy. "That's how Ifirst caught on. You see--oh, tell him, Mr. Stone. "

"The boy is right, " said Stone, slowly. "And the--"

"He can't be right! It's impossible!" I fairly shouted, as thoughtscame flashing into my mind--dreadful thoughts, appalling thoughts!

Ruth Schuyler and Vicky Van one person! Why, then, Ruth killed--No! athousand times NO! It couldn't be true! The boy was insane, and Stonewas, too. I'd show them their own foolishness. 

"Stop a minute, Stone, " I said, trying to speak calmly. "You and theboy never knew Vicky Van. You never saw her, except as she ran alongthe street for a few steps at midnight. And Terence didn't see herthen. It's too absurd, this theory of yours! But it startled me, whenyou sprung it. Now, Fibsy, stop your sobbing and tell me what makesyou think this foolish thing, and I'll relieve your mind of any suchideas. "

"I don't blame you, Mr. Calhoun, " and Fibsy mopped his eyes with hiswet handkerchief. He was a strange little figure, in his new clothes, but with his red hair tumbled and his eyes big and swollen withweeping. "I know you can't believe it, but you listen a bit, while Itell Mr. Stone some things. Then you'll see. "

"Yes, Terence, " said Stone; "go ahead. What about the prints?"

"They prove up, " and Fibsy's woe increased afresh. "They ain't noshadder of doubt. The very reason I know they're the same is 'causethey're so unlike. Yes, I'll explain--wait a minute--"

Again a crying spell overwhelmed him, and we waited. 

"Now, " he said, regaining self-control, "now I've spilled all my tearsI'll out with it. The first thing that struck me was the abserluteunlikeness of those two ladies. I mean in their tastes an' ways. Why, fer instance, an' I guess it was jest about the very first thing Inoticed, was the magazines. In here, on Miss Van Allen's table, as youcan see yourself, is--jest look at 'em! Vogue, Vanity Fair, Life, Cosmopolitan, an' lots of light-weight story magazines. In atSchuylers' house is Atlantic Monthly, Harper's, Century, The Forum, The North American Review, and a lot of other highbrow reading. An'it ain't _only_ that the magazines in here are gayer an' lighter, an'in there heavier an' wiser; but there isn't a single duplicate! Now, Miss Vicky Van likes good readin', you can see from her books an' all, so why don't she take Harper's an' Century? 'Cause she has 'em in herother home--"

"But, wait, child, " I cried, getting bewildered; "you don't mean VickyVan lives sometimes in this house and sometimes in the Schuyler houseas its mistress!"

"That's jest what I do mean. I know it sounds like I was batty, butlet me tell more. Well, it seemed queer that there shouldn't be anyone magazine took in both houses, but, of course, that wasn't no realproof. I only noticed it, an' it set me a thinkin'. Then I sized uptheir situations. Mrs. Schuyler's dignified an' quiet in her ways, simple in her dress, wears only poils, no other sparklers whatever. Vicky Van's gay of action, likes giddy rags, and adores gorgeousjewelry, even if it ain't the most realest kind. Now, wait--don'tinterrup' me, Lemme talk it out. 'Cause it's killin' me, an' I gotterget it over with. Well, all Mrs. Schuyler's things--furnicher, Imean--is big an' heavy an' massive, an' terrible expensive. Yes, Iknow her husband made her have it that way. But never mind that. VickyVan's furnicher is all gay an' light an' pretty an' dainty colorin'and so forth. And the day the old sister-in-laws was in here theysaid, 'How Ruth would admire to have things like these! 'Member howshe begged Randolph to do up her boodore in wicker an' pink silk?'That's what they said! Oh, well, I got a bug then that the two ladiesI'm talkin' about was just the very oppositest I ever did see! Then, another thing was the records. The phonygraft in here is full of lightopery and poplar music like that. Not a smell o' fugues and classicstuff. An' in at Schuyler's, as we seen to-night, there's no gaysongs, no comic operas, no ragtime. "

"But, Terence, " I broke in, "that all proves nothing! The Schuylersdon't care for ragtime and Vicky Van does. You mustn't distort thoseplain facts to fit your absurd theory!"

"Yes, " he said, his eyes burning as they glared into mine. "An' Mr. Schuyler he wouldn't never let his wife go to the light operas orvodyville, an' she hadn't any records, so how--_how_, I ask you, comesit that she's so familiar with the song about 'My Pearlie Girlie' thatshe joined in the singin' of it with me at the dinner table to-night?That's what clinched it. Mrs. Schuyler, she knew that song's well as Idid, and she picked it up where I left off and hummed it straight tothe end--words _and_ music! How'd she know it, I say?"

"Why, she might have picked that up anywhere. She goes to seefriends, I've no doubt, who are not so straight-laced as theSchuylers, and they play light tunes for her. "

"Not likely. I've run down her friends, and they're all old fogieslike the sister dames or like old man Schuyler himself. The old ladiesare nearly sixty and Mr. Schuyler was fifty odd, and all their friendsare along about those ages, and Mrs. Schuyler, she ain't got anyfriends of her own age at all. But, as Vicky Van, she has friends ofher own age, yes, an' her own tastes, an' her own ways of life an'livin. ' An' she's got the record of 'My Pearlie Girlie. '"

"It's true, Calhoun, " said Fleming Stone. "I know it's all incredible, but it's true. I couldn't believe it, myself, when Fibsy hinted it tome--for it's his find--to him belongs all the credit--"

"Credit!" I groaned. "Credit for fastening this lie, this baselie--oh, you are well named Fibsy!--on the best and loveliest womanthat ever lived! For it is a lie! Not a word of truth in it. Adistorted notion of a crazy brain! A--"

"Hold on, Calhoun, " remonstrated Stone, and I dare say I was actinglike a madman. "Listen to the rest of this more quietly or take yourhat and go home. "

Stone spoke firmly, but not angrily, and I sat still. 

"Then, here's some more things, " Fibsy continued. "I've gone over thishouse with a eye that sees more'n Mr. Stone's lens, an' it don'tmagnerfy, neither. I spotted a lot of stuff in the pantry andstoreroom. It's all stuff that keeps, you know; little jugs an' potsof fine eatin'--imported table delicacies--that's what they call 'em. Well, an' among 'em was lickures an' things like that. And boxes ofcandied rose leaves an' salted nuts--oh, all them things. An' that'swhy I wanted to go to dinner at Mrs. Schuyler's an' see if she likedto eat those things. An' she did! She had the rose leaves an' she hadthe kind o' lickure that's down in the pantry cupboard in this house. An' she said it was her fav'rite, an' the old girls said she neverused to have those things when her husband was runnin' the house--an'oh, dear, can't you see it all?"

"Yes, I see it, " said Stone, but I still shook my head doggedly andangrily. 

"I don't see it!" I declared. "There's nothing to all this but a pipedream! Why shouldn't two women like _Eau de vie de Dantzic_ as aliqueur? It's very fashionable--a sort of fad, just now. "

"It ain't only this thing or that thing, Mr. Calhoun, " said Fibsy, earnestly. "It's the pilin' up of all 'em. An' I ain't through yet. Here's another point. Miss Van Allen, she ain't got any pitchers ofnature views--no landscapes nor woodsy dells in this whole house. Shejest likes pitchers of people--pretty girls, an' old cavaliergentlemen, an nymps, an' kiddy babies--but all human, you know. Now, Mrs. Schuyler, _she_ don't care anythin' special for nature, neither. I piped up about the beauty scenery out Westchester way an' over inthe park, an' it left her cold an' onintrusted. But she has portfoliosof world masterpieces, or whatever you call 'em, over to that house, an' they're all figger pieces. "

"And her writing desk, " prompted Stone. 

"Yessir, that checked up, too. You know, Mr. Calhoun, they ain'tnothin' more intim'tly pers'nal than a writin' desk. Well, Miss VanAllen's has a certain make of pen, an' a certain number and kind ofpencils. An' Mrs. Schuyler, she uses the same identical styles an'numbers. "

"And notepaper, I suppose, " I flung back, sarcastically. 

"No, sir, but that helps prove. The note paper in the two houses isteetumteetotally different! That was planned to be different! Mrs. Schuyler's is a pale gray, plain paper. Miss Van Allen's is lightpink, to match her boodore, I s'pose. An' it has that sort of indentedframe round it, that's extry fashionable, an' a wiggly gold monogram, oh--quite a big one!"

I well remembered Vicky's stationery, and the boy described itexactly, "Proves nothing!" I said, contemptuously, but I listened further. 

"All right, " Fibsy said, wearily pushing back his shock of red hair. "Well, then, how's this? On Mrs. Schuyler's desk the pen wiper is afancy little contraption, but it's clean-I mean it's never had a penwiped on it. Miss Van Allen's desk hasn't got any pen wiper. On eachdesk is a pencil sharpener, of the same sort. On each desk is a littlepincushion, with the same size of tiny pins, like she was in the habitof pinnin' bills together or sumpum like that. On each desk theblotter is in the same place and is used the same way. There's a lotof pussonality 'bout the way folks use a blotter. Some uses bothsides, some only one side. Some has their blotters all torn an' sortanibbled round the edges, an' some has 'em neat and trim. Well, theblotters on these two desks is jest alike--"

"But, Fibsy, " I cried in triumph, "I've seen the handwriting of thesetwo ladies, over and over again, and they're not a bit alike!"

"I know it, " and Fibsy nodded. "But, Mr. Calhoun, did you know thatMiss Van Allen always writes with her left hand?"

"No, and I don't believe she does!"

"Yessir. I went to the bank an' they said so. An' I asked the sewin'woman, an' she said so. An' I asked the caterer people an' they saidso. And the inkstand is on the left-hand side of Miss Van Allen'sdesk. "

"All right, then she is left-handed, but that proves nothing!"

"No, sir, Miss Van Allen ain't left-handed. You know she ain'tyourself. You'd 'a' noticed it if she had been. But she writesleft-handed, 'cause if she didn't she'd write like Mrs. Schuyler!"

"Oh, rubbish!" I began, but Fleming Stone interrupted. 

"Wait, Calhoun, don't fly to pieces. All Terence is saying is quitetrue. I vouch for it. Listen further. "

"They ain't no use goin' further, " said Fibsy, despondently. "Mr. Calhoun knows I'm right, only he can't bring himself to believe it, an' I don't blame him. Why, even now, he's sizin' up the case an'everything he thinks of proves it an' nothin' disproves it. Butanyway, the prints prove it all. "

"Prints?" I said, half dazedly. 

"Yessir. I photographed a lot o' finger prints in both houses, an' theHeadquarters people fixed 'em up for me, magnerfied 'em, you know, an'printed 'em on little cards, an' as you can see, they're all thesame. "

I glanced at the sheaf of cards the boy had and Fleming Stone tookthem to scrutinize. 

"I got those prints from all sorts of places, " Fibsy went on. "Off ofthe glass bottles and things in the bathrooms and off of the hairbrushes and such things, an' off of the envelopes of letters, an' offthe chairbacks an' any polished wood surfaces, an' I got lots of 'emin both houses, an' the police people picked out the best an' cleanestan' fixed 'em up, an' there you are!"

They seemed to think this settled the matter. But I would not beconvinced. Of course, I'd been told dozens of times that no two peoplein the world have finger prints alike, but that didn't mean a thing tome. It might be, I told them, that Vicky Van and Ruth Schuyler werefriends, that Ruth had withheld this fact, and that--

"No, " said Stone, "not friends, but identical--the same woman. And, listen to this. Mrs. Schuyler heard us say this evening that Fibsycould photograph the brushes and such things over here to get Miss VanAllen's finger prints, and what does she do? She sends Tibbetts overto scrub and wipe off those same brushes, also the mirrors, chairbacksand all such possible evidence. A hopeless task--for the womancouldn't eradicate all the prints in the house. And, also, it was toolate, for Fibsy had already done his camera work. "

"How do you know she did all that?" and I glowered at the detective. 

"Because Fibsy just told me he found evidences of this cleaning up, and, too, because Mrs. Schuyler purposely kept us over there longerthan we intended to stay. You know how, when we proposed to saygood-night, she urged us to stay longer. That was to give her maidmore time for the work. Now, Mr. Calhoun, go on with your objectionsto our conclusions. It helps our theory to answer your refutations. "

"Her letters, " I mumbled, scarce able to formulate my teemingthoughts. "Vicky Van sent a letter to Ruth Schuyler--"

"Of course, she did. Wrote it herself, with her left hand, and mailedit to her other personality, in order to make the police give up thesearch. And, too, the letter from Miss Van Allen, found in RandolphSchuyler's desk after his death, was written and placed there by Mrs. Schuyler for us to find. "

"Impossible!" I cried. "I won't allow these libels. You'll be sayingnext that Ruth Schuyler killed her husband!"

"She did, " asserted Fleming Stone, gravely. "She did kill him, in hercharacter as Vicky Van. Don't you see it all? Schuyler came here asSomers, never dreaming that Vicky Van was his own wife in disguise. Or, he may have suspected it, and may have come to verify hissuspicion. Any way, when she saw and recognized him, whether he knewher or not, she lured him out to the dining room and stabbed him withthe caterer's knife. "

"Never!" I said. I was not ranting now, I was stunned by therevelations that were coming so thick and fast. I couldn't believe andyet I couldn't doubt. Of one thing I was certain, I would defend RuthSchuyler to the end of time. I would defend her against VickyVan--why, if Ruth was Vicky Van--where was this moil to end! Icouldn't think coherently. But I suddenly realized that what they toldme was true. I realized that all along there were things about Ruththat had reminded me of Vicky. I had never put this into words, neverhad really sensed it, but I saw now, looking back, that they had muchin common. 

Appearance! Ah, I hadn't yet thought of that. 

"Why, " I exclaimed, "the two are not in the least alike, physically!"

"Miss Van Allen wore a black wig, " said Stone. "A most cleverlyconstructed one, and she rouged her cheeks, penciled her eyelashes andreddened her lips to produce the high coloring that marked her fromMrs. Schuyler. "

I thought this over, dully. Yes, they were the same height and weight, they had the same slight figure, but it had never occurred to me tocompare their physical effects. I was a bit near-sighted and I hadnever taken enough real personal interest in Vicky to learn to loveher features as I had Ruth's. 

"You see, " Fleming Stone was saying, though I scarce listened, "youare the only person that I have been able to find who knows both MissVan Allen and Mrs. Schuyler. No one else has testified who knows themboth. So much depends on you. "

"You'll get nothing from me!" I fairly shouted. "They're not the samewoman at all. You're all wrong, you and your lying boy there!"

"Your vehemence stultifies your own words, " said Stone, quietly; "itproves your own realization of the truth and your anger and fury atthat realization. I don't blame you. I know your regard for Mrs. Schuyler, I know you have always been a friend of Miss Van Allen. Itis not strange that one woman attracts you, since the other did. Butyou've got to face this thing, so be a man and look at it squarely. I'll help you all I can, but I assure you there's nothing to be gainedby denial of the self-evident truth. "

"But, man, " I said, trying to be calm, "the whole thing is impossible!How could Mrs. Randolph Schuyler, a well-known society lady, live adouble life and enact Miss Van Allen, a gay butterfly girl? How couldshe get from one house to the other unobserved? Why wouldn't herservants know of it, even if her family didn't? How could she hoodwinkher husband, her sisters-in-law, and her friends? Why didn't peoplesee her leaving one house and entering the other? Why wasn't shemissed from one house when she was in the other?"

"All answerable questions, " said Stone. "You know Miss Van Allen wentaway frequently on long trips, and was in and out of her home all thetime. Here to-day and gone to-morrow, as every one testifies who knewher. "

This was true enough. Vicky was never at home more than a few days ata time and then absent for a week or so. Where? In the Fifth Avenuehouse as Ruth Schuyler? Incredible! Preposterous! But as I began tobelieve at last, true. 

"How?" I repeated; "how could she manage?"

"Walls have tongues, " said Stone. "These walls and this house tell meall the story. That is, they tell me this wonderful woman didaccomplish this seemingly impossible thing. They tell me how sheaccomplished it. But they do not tell me why. "

"There's no question about the why, " I returned. "If Ruth Schuylerdid live two lives it's easily understood why. Because that brute of aman allowed her no gayety, no pleasure, no fun of any sort compatiblewith her youth and tastes. He let her do nothing, have nothing, savein the old, humdrum ways that appealed to his notion of propriety. But he himself was no Puritan! He ran his own gait, and, unknown tohis wife and sisters, he was a roue and a rounder! Whatever RuthSchuyler may have done, she was amply justified---"

"Even in killing him?"

"She didn't kill him! Look here, Mr. Stone, even if all you've said istrue, you haven't convicted her of murder yet. And you shan't! I'llprotect that woman from the breath of scandal or slander--and that'swhat it is when you accuse her of killing that man! She never did it!"

"That remains to be seen, " and Fleming Stone's deep gray eyes showed asad apprehension. "But nothing can be done to-night. Can there, Terence?"

"No, Mr. Stone, not to-night. No, by no means, not to-night! Itwouldn't do!" The boy's earnestness seemed to me out of all proportionto his simple statement, but I could stand no more and I went home, tospend the night in a dazed wonder, a furious disbelief, and finally anenforced conviction that Vicky Van and Ruth Schuyler were one and thesame. 

CHAPTER XX

THE TRUTH FROM RUTH

Next morning I was conscious of but one desire, to get to Ruth andtell her of my love and faith in her, and assure her of my protectionand assistance whatever happened. 

Whatever happened! The thought struck me like a knell. What couldhappen but her arrest and trial?

But as I went out of my own door--I left the house early, for Icouldn't face Aunt Lucy and Winnie--I suddenly decided it would bebetter to see Stone first and learn if anything had transpired since Ileft him. 

I rang the bell at Vicky Van's house with a terrible feeling ofimpending disaster, that might be worse than any yet known. 

Fibsy let me in. I wanted to hate that boy and yet his very evidentadoration of Ruth Schuyler made me love him. I knew all that he haddiscovered had been as iron entering his soul, but his duty led him onand he dared not pause or falter. 

"We may as well tell him, " he said to Stone, and the detective nodded. 

"But come downstairs with us and have a cup of coffee first, " Stonesaid; "you'll need it, as you say you've had no breakfast. Fibsy makesfirst-rate coffee, and I can tell you, Calhoun, you've a hard daybefore you. "

"Have you learned anything further?" I managed to stammer out as wewent down to the basement room that they used as a dining-room now. 

"Yes; as I told you, walls have tongues, and the walls have given upthe secret of how Mrs. Schuyler managed her two-sided existence. "

But he would not tell me the secret until I had been fortified withtwo cups of steaming Mocha, which fully justified his praise ofFibsy's culinary prowess. 

Fibsy himself said nothing beyond a brief "good morning, " and thelad's eyes were red and his voice shook as he spoke. 

"I knew, " Stone said, as we finished breakfast, "that there must besome means, some secret means of communication between the two houses, the Schuyler house and this. You see, the Schuyler house, fronting onFifth Avenue, three doors from the corner, runs back a hundred feet, and abuts on the rear rooms of this house, which runs back from theside street. In a word, the two houses form a right angle, and theback wall of the Schuyler house is directly against the side wall ofthe rear rooms of this house. Therefore, I felt sure there must be anentrance from one house to the other, not perceivable to an observer. And, of course, it must be in Mrs. Schuyler's own rooms; it couldn'tbe in their dining-room or halls. A few questions made me realize thatMiss Van Allen's boudoir was separated from Mrs. Schuyler's bath roomby only the partition wall of the houses. And I said that wall mustspeak to me. And it did. "

We were now on our way upstairs, Stone ready at last to let me intothe secret he had discovered. 

We went to Vicky's boudoir, and he continued: "You know you found thestrand of gilt beads caught in this mirror frame. We all assumed MissVan Allen had flirted it there as she dressed for her party, but Ireasoned that it might have caught there as she escaped to theSchuyler house the night of the murder. Yes, she did escape thisway--look. "

Stone touched a hidden spring and the mirror in the Florentine frameslid silently aside into the wall, leaving an aperture that withoutdoubt led into the next house. The frame remained stationary, but themirror slid away as a sliding door works, and so smoothly that therewas absolutely no sound or jar. 

I saw what was like a small closet, about two feet deep and perhapsthree feet wide. At the back of it, that is, against the walls of theadjoining room in the other house, we could see the shape of a similardoor, and the secret was out. There was no need to open that otherdoor to know that it led to Ruth Schuyler's rooms. There was yet moretelltale evidence. In the little cupboard between the houses was asmall safe. This Stone had opened and in it was the black wig of VickyVan and also a brown wig which I recognized at once as Julie'swell-remembered plainly parted front hair. 

"You see, Tibbetts is Julie, " said Fibsy, in such a heart-broken anddespairing voice that I felt the tears rush to my own eyes. 

Vicky's wig! The loops of sleek black hair, the soft loose knotbehind, the delicate part, all just as it crowned her littlehead--Ruth's head! Oh, I couldn't stand it! It was too fearful!

"This other door, " Stone said, "opens into Mrs. Schuyler's bathroom. That I know. You see, she had to have this entrance from some roomabsolutely her own. Her bathroom was safe from interruption, and whenshe chose she slipped through from one house to the other and back atwill. "

"No, I can't understand it, " I insisted, shaking my head. "If she camein here as Ruth Schuyler why wasn't she seen?"

"Because, before she was seen, she had made herself over into VictoriaVan Allen. She had donned wig and make-up, safe from interruption, here in her boudoir. This make-up she removed before returning to theSchuyler house in her role of Mrs. Schuyler. "

"It is too unbelievable!"

"No; it is diabolically clever, but quite understandable. Julie andTibbetts are the same. This confidential woman looked after hermistress' safety on both sides. She remained when Vicky Vandisappeared. She looked after everything, took care of details, attended to tradesmen and all such matters, and when ready followedMrs. Schuyler into the other house, or went from here to her rooms afew blocks away and later came from them. When there were to beparties, Julie left the Schuyler house early, came here and madepreparations, and then as late as ten or eleven o'clock maybe, Mrs. Schuyler came in from her home, when her own household thought herabed and asleep. She could go back in the early morning hours, with noone the wiser. Or, if she chose and she did when her husband was outof town, she could pretend she had gone away for a visit and stay herefor days at a time. "

I began to see. Truly the wall's tongue had spoken. If this awfultheory of Stone's were true, it could only be managed in this way. Iremembered how long and how often Vicky Van was absent from her home. I remembered that sometimes she was late in arriving at her ownparties, although she always came down from upstairs in her partyregalia. 

"How did you come to suspect Tibbetts?" I asked, suddenly. 

"Her teeth, " said Fibsy. "I saw that Tibbetts had false teeth, anyway, an' I says, why can't Julie's gold teeth be false, too? And they are. They're in the safe!"

What marvelous precautions they had taken! To think of having a setof teeth for the maid Julie that should appear so different from thoseof Tibbetts! Surely this thing was the result of long and carefulplanning. 

"Her glasses, too, " went on Fibsy. "You see, they made her differentfrom Tibbetts in appearance. That was all the disguise Tibbs had, thegold teeth, the big rimmed specs and the brown scratch--wig, you know. But it was enough. Nobody notices a servant closely, and these thingsaltered her looks sufficient. Miss Van Allen, now, she had a wig an' alot of colorin' matter an' her giddy clothes. Nothin' left toreckernize but her eyes, an' they were so darkened by the long darklashes and brows that she fixed up that it made her eyes seem darker. I got all this from the pitchers the artist lady made. You see, shecaught the color likeness but not the actual features. So I sized upthe resemblance of the real women. Oh, Mr. Stone, what are we going todo?"

"Our duty, Terence. "

Then I put forth my plea, that I might be allowed to go and see Ruthfirst; that I might prepare her for the disclosures they would make, the discoveries they would announce. 

But Stone denied me. He said they would do or say nothing that wouldunnecessarily hurt her feelings, but they must accompany me. Indeed, he implied, that it might be as well for me not to go. 

But I insisted on going, and we three went on our terrible errand. 

Ruth received us in the library. She saw at once that her secret wasknown, and she took it calmly. 

"You know, " she said, quietly, to Stone. "I am sorry. I hoped to hidemy secret and let Victoria Van Allen forever remain a mystery. But itcannot be. I admit all--"

"Wait, Ruth, " I cried out. "Admit nothing until you are accused. "

"I am accused, " she responded, with a sad smile. "I heard you talkingin the passage between the rooms. In my bathroom I could hear youdistinctly. There is there a mirror door also. It looks like anordinary mirror and has a wide, flat nickel frame, matching the otherfittings. Yes, I had the sliding doors built for the purposes whichyou have surmised. Shall I tell you my story?"

"Yes, and let us hear it, too, " came from the doorway, and the twosisters appeared, agog with excitement and curiosity. 

"Come in, " said Ruth, quietly. "Sit down, please, I want you to hearit. Most of it you know, Sarah and Rhoda, but I will tell it brieflyto Mr. Stone, for I want not leniency, but justice. "

I seated myself at Ruth's side, and though I said no word I knew thatshe understood that my heart and life were at her disposal and thatwhatever she might be about to tell would not shake my love anddevotion. It is not necessary to use words when a life crisis occurs. 

"I was an orphan, " Ruth said, "brought up by a stern and Puritanicalold aunt in New England. I had no joy or pleasures in my childhood orgirlhood days. I ran away from home to become an actress. Tibbetts, myold nurse, who lived in the same village, followed me to keep an eyeon me and protect me in need. I was a chorus girl for just one weekwhen Randolph Schuyler discovered me and offered to marry me if Iwould renounce the stage and also gay life of any sort and become adignified old-fashioned matron. I willingly accepted. I was onlyseventeen and knew nothing of the world or its ways. As soon as wewere married he forbade me any sort of amusement or pleasure otherthan those practised by his elderly sisters. I submitted and lived alife of slavery to his whims and his cruelty for five years. He hadagreed to let me have Tibbetts for my maid, as he deemed her a staidold woman who would not encourage me in wayward desires. Nor did she. But she realized my thraldom, my lonely, unhappy life, and knew that Iwas pining away for want of the simple innocent pleasures that myyouth and light-hearted nature craved. I used to beg and plead forpermission to have a few young friends or to be allowed to go to a fewparties or plays. But Mr. Schuyler kept me as secluded as any womanin a harem. He gave me no liberty, no freedom in the slightest degree. 

"I had been married about four years when I rebelled and began tothink up a scheme of a dual existence. I had ample time in the longlonely hours to perfect my plans, and I had them arranged to theminutest detail long before I put them in operation. Why, I practisedwriting with my left hand and acquired a different speaking voice fora year before I needed such subterfuges. Had I been able to persuademy husband to give me even a little pleasure or happiness I wouldwillingly have given up my wild scheme. But he wouldn't; so once whenhe was away on a long trip, I had the passage between the two housesmade. 

"I had previously bought the other house, under the name of Van Allen, for I had money of my own, left me by an uncle that Mr. Schuyler knewnothing about. Of course, this money came to me after I was married orI never should have wed Randolph Schuyler. 

"Tibbetts' cousin, an expert carpenter, did the work, and, as heafterward went to England to live, I had no fear of discovery thatway. Indeed, there was little fear of discovery in any way. I wasexpected to spend much of my time in my own rooms--and my bedroom, dressing room and bath form a little suite by themselves and can belocked off from the rest of the house. So, when I retired to my roomsfor the night I could go through into the other house and become VickyVan at my pleasure. "

"I can't believe such baseness!" declared Rhoda Schuyler, "suchingratitude to a husband who was so good to you--"

"He wasn't good to me, " said Ruth, quietly, "nor was I ungrateful. Randolph Schuyler spoiled my life; he denied me everything I askedfor, every innocent pleasure and amusement. So, I found them formyself. I did nothing wrong. As Victoria Van Allen I had friends andpleasures that suited my age and my love of life, but there never wasanything wrong or guilty in my house---"

"Until you killed your husband!" interrupted Sarah. 

"Until the night of Randolph Schuyler's appearance at Vicky Van'shouse, " Ruth went on. "I had been told of a Mr. Somers who wanted toknow me, but I had no idea it was my husband masquerading under afalse name. He came there with Mr. Steele. Of course, I recognizedhim, but he did not know me at once. I sat, playing bridge, andwondering how I could best make my escape. I saw that he didn't knowme and then, suddenly as I sat, holding my cards, and he stood besideme, he noticed a tiny scar on my shoulder. He made that scar himself, one night, when he hit me with a hot curling iron. "

"What!" I cried, unable to repress an exclamation of horror. 

"Yes, I was curling my hair with the tongs and he became angry at mefor some trivial reason, as he often did, and he snatched up the ironand hit my shoulder. It made a deep burn and he was very sorry. 

"Whenever he saw it afterward he said, 'Never again!' meaning he wouldnever strike me again. Then, when he noticed the scar that night, although I had put on a light scarf to cover it, he said 'Neveragain!' in that peculiar intonation, and I knew then that he knewVictoria Van Allen was his own wife. 

"I ran out to the dining-room and he followed me. "

"And you stabbed him!" cried Rhoda; "stabbed your husband! Murderess!"

"I don't deny it, " said Ruth, slowly. "The jury must decide that. Imust be tried, I suppose--"

"Don't, Ruth!" I cried, in agony. "Don't talk like that! You shall notbe tried! You didn't kill Schuyler! If you did it was in self-defence. Wasn't it? Didn't he try to kill you?"

"Yes, he did. He snatched the little carver from the sideboard andattacked me, --and I--and I--"

"Don't say it, Ruth--keep still!" I ordered, beside myself with mywhirling thoughts. The little carving-knife!

"And you defended yourself with the caterer's knife--" began Stone, but Fibsy wailed, "No! No! It wasn't Mrs. Schuyler! I've got theprints from the caterer's knife and they ain't Mrs. Schuyler's at all!She didn't kill him!"

"No, she didn't!" and Tibbetts appeared in the library doorway. "I didit myself. "

"That's right!" and Fibsy's eyes gleamed satisfaction; "she did! It'sher fingermarks on the knife that stabbed old Schuyler. They're plainas print! Nobody thought of matching up those marks with Tibbetts'smitt! But I'll bet she did it to save Mrs. Schuyler's life!"

"I did, " and Tibbetts came into the room and stood facing us. 

"Tell your story, " said Stone, abruptly, as he looked at thewhite-faced woman. 

"Here it is, " and Tibbetts looked fondly at Ruth as the latter'spiteous glance met hers. "I've loved and watched over Mrs. Schuylerall her life. I've protected her from her husband's brutality andhelped her to bear his cruelty and unkindness. When she conceived theplan of the double life I helped her all I could, and I got my cousinto do the work on the houses that made it all possible. Then, I wasJulie, and I devoted my life and energies to keeping the secret andallowing my mistress to have some pleasure out of her life. And shedid. " Tibbets looked affectionately, even proudly, at Ruth. "The hoursshe spent in that house as Victoria Van Allen were full of simple joysand happy occupation. She had the books and pictures and furniturethat she craved. She had things to eat and things to wear that shewanted. She went to parties and she had parties; she went to thetheatre and to the shops, and wherever she chose, without let orhindrance. It did my heart good to see her enjoy herself in thoseinnocent ways. 

"Then Mr. Schuyler came. I knew the man. I knew that he came becausehe had heard of the charm and beauty of Vicky Van. He had no idea hewould find her his own wife! When he did discover it I knew he wouldkill her. Oh, I knew Randolph Schuyler! I knew nothing short of murderwould satisfy the rage that possessed him at the discovery. Iprepared for it. I got the little boning-knife from the pantry, and asMr. Schuyler lifted the carver and aimed it at Ruth's breast I drovethe little knife into his vile, wicked, murderer's heart. And I'mglad I did it! I glory in it! I saved Ruth's life and I rid the worldof a scoundrel and a villain who had no right to live and breathe onGod's earth! Now, you may take me and do with me as you will. I givemyself up. "

It was the truth. On the carving-knife appeared, plain as print, thefinger marks of Randolph Schuyler, proved a hundred times by printsphotographed from his own letters, toilet articles, and personalbelongings in his own rooms. In his mad fury at the discovery of Ruthmasquerading as Vicky Van, and in his sudden realization of all thatit meant, he clutched the first weapon he saw, the little carver, toend her life and gratify his madness for revenge. Just in time, thewatching Tibbets had intervened, stabbed Schuyler, and then ranupstairs, to escape through the hidden doors to the other house. 

Ruth, stunned at the sight of the blow driven by Tibbetts, and dazedby her own narrow escape from a fearful death, picked up the carverthat dropped from Schuyler's lifeless hand and ran upstairs, too. 

She had, she explained afterward, a hazy idea that she was picking upthe knife that Tibbetts had used, so bewildered was she at the swiftturn of events. And as she stooped over Schuyler in her frenzy thewaiter had seen her and assumed she was the murderer. This, too, explained the blood on the flounces of her gown--it had brushed thefallen figure of her husband and became stained at the touch. 

The two women had, of course, slipped through the connecting mirrordoors into the Schuyler house, and long before the alarm was broughtthere they were rehabilitated and ready to receive the news. 

Then Ruth's quandary was a serious one. Innocent herself, she couldnot tell of her double life without making the whole affair public andincriminating Tibbetts, whom she loved almost as a mother and who hadsaved Ruth's life by a fraction of a second. An instant's delay andSchuyler's knife would have been driven into Ruth's heart. 

So, for Tibbetts' sake, Ruth, perforce, kept the secret of Vicky Van. 

"I was not ashamed of it, " she told us, frankly. "There was nothingreally wrong in my living two lives. My husband denied me the pleasureand joy that life owed me, so I found it for myself. I never had afriend or committed a deed or said a word as Victoria Van Allen thatall the world mightn't hear or know of. And I should have owned up tothe whole scheme at once except that it would bring out the knowledgeof Tibbetts' act. 

"I wished not to go back to the other house at all and should not havedone so for myself. But I had reasons--connected with other people. Afriend, whom I love, had asked the privilege of having certain letterssent her in my care, that is, in care of Miss Van Allen, and I had togo in once or twice to rescue those and so prevent a scandal thatwould ensue upon their discovery. For her sake I risked going backthere at night. Also, I wanted my address book, for it has in it manyaddresses of people who are my charity beneficiaries. Mr. Schuylernever allowed me to contribute to any charitable cause, and I haveenjoyed giving help to some who need and deserve it. These addresses Ihad to have, and I have them. 

"Mr. Stone was right. The walls had tongues. He first noticed alittle defect in the green paint in the living room, which I hadretouched. Winnie told me of this, and I realized how clever Mr. Stoneis. So, I threw away the paint I had used, which was in here, and Icarefully thought out what else was incriminating and removed all Icould from the other house. Fibsy noticed when I took a book from atable, but that book I wanted, because--" she blushed--"because Mr. Calhoun had given it to me and I wasn't sure I could get it any otherway. 

"But the walls told all, and at the last I knew it was only a questionof time when Mr. Stone or Terence would discover the doors. I supposethe strand of beads that caught as I escaped that night gave a hint, but they would have found them anyway. They are wonderful doors--intheir working, I mean. No complicated mechanism, but merely so wellmade and adjusted that a touch opens or closes them, and absolutelysilently. No one in this house ever dreamed the bathroom mirror wasanything but a mirror. And in the other house the elaborate Florentineframe precluded all idea of a secret contrivance. The two feet ofthickness of the house walls made a tiny cupboard, where I had thatsmall safe installed, that we might put our wigs and such definitelyincriminating bits of evidence in hiding, also Vicky's jewelry. But Ialways changed my costumes from one character to the other in VickyVan's dressing-room, and so ran little or no chance of discovery. 

"In a futile endeavor to distract attention from Victoria Van Allen Iwrote a note to Ruth Schuyler and also wrote the one found in Mr. Schuyler's desk. I did these things in hopes that the detectiveswould cease to watch for the return of Miss Van Allen, but it turnedout differently. I assumed, of course, if search could be divertedfrom that house into other channels there would be a possibility ofTibbetts never being suspected. I am sorry she has confessed. I do notwant her to be tried. She saved my life, and I would do anything tokeep her from harm. "

But Tibbetts was tried and was acquitted. A just jury, knowing all ofthe facts, declared it was a case of justifiable homicide, and theverdict was "Not guilty!"

The Schuyler sisters were finally convinced that Ruth's life had beenendangered by their brother's rage, and, though they condemnedTibbetts in their hearts, they said little in the face of publicopinion. 

As for me, I couldn't wait until a conventional time had elapsedbefore telling my darling of my love for her own sweet self and, as Inow realized, for Vicky Van also. I spent hours listening to thedetails of her double life; of the narrow escapes from discovery, andthe frequent occasions of danger to her scheme. But Tibbetts' watchfuleyes and Ruth's own cleverness had made the plan feasible for twoyears, and it was only because Ruth had found her dear heart wasinclining too greatly toward me that she had begun to think it herduty to give up her double life. She had recently decided to do so, for she was not willing to let our mutual interest ripen into lovewhile she was the wife of another man. 

And so, if it hadn't all happened just as it did, I should never havewon my darling, for she was about to give up the Van Allen house and Inever should have had occasion to meet Mrs. Randolph Schuyler. 

It is all past history now, and Ruth and I are striving to forget eventhe memories of it. We live in another city, and Tibbetts is ourfaithful and beloved housekeeper. 

And often Ruth says to me: "I know you love me, Chet, but sometimes Ican't help feeling a little jealous of the girl you cared for--that, what's her name? Oh, yes, Vicky Van!"

"Vicky Van was all right, " I stoutly maintain. "I never knew a morecharming, sweeter, prettier, dearer little girl than Vicky!"

"But she was awfully made up!"

"Yes, that's where you score an advantage. The only thing about VickyI disapproved of was her paint and powder. Thank heaven, my wife has acomplexion that's all her own. " And I kissed the soft, pale cheek ofmy own Ruth.