Vicky Van

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

The speech sounded a little stilted, I knew, but there was something about Ruth Schuyler that called for dignified address. She had the air of 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 at any cost of personal unpleasantness.

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

"I understand," I returned, "and anything that you can be spared, rest assured you shall be. But there is much ahead of you that will be hard for 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 half fearfully.

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

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

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

"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 merry spirits, but in no way fast or of questionable habits."

"That's what they tell me; but pardon me, if I cannot believe a really nice, 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 brought him, 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 all this 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? or whatever the term is. Why can't the whole affair be hushed up? Personally, I would far rather never find the girl—never have her punished, than to drag the Schuyler name through the horrors of a murder trial."

"I quite understand your position, but it will not be possible to evade the legal proceedings. Of course, if Miss Van Allen is never found, the affair must remain a mystery. But she will be found. A lady like that can't drop out of existence."

"No, of course not. Why, her bills must be paid, her household effects looked 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 or creditors. Can't you trace her that way?"

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

"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 little person, and not at all of the adventuress type."

"It doesn't matter," and Mrs. Schuyler sighed. "I don't care anything about her personality. She must be bad or she wouldn't have killed my husband. I'm not defending him, but men don't go to the houses of complete strangers and get murdered by them! And I hope she will never be found, for it might bring out a story of scandal or shame that will always cling to Mr. Schuyler's memory. But, of course, she will come back, 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 from the 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 Bradbury had had this job instead of myself, for I am soft-hearted where feminine appeal is concerned, and I didn't know quite what to say.

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

"Oh," cried Miss Rhoda, "it's all too awful! We can't believe it! I wish 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 eye for an eye and a life for a life. That's the Scripture law."

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

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

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

"I daresay you are right," and Mrs. Schuyler's acquiescence showed her to be more or less under the iron hand of the family opinion. "Of course, if you feel that way, I shall raise no obstacle to the law's progress. 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 only fear that the most desperate efforts may not succeed. What is your opinion, Mr. Calhoun? Can they find that woman?"

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

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

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

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

"Stay," I urged; "don't decide on such measures too hastily. Might you not defeat your own purpose? Miss Van Allen doubtless will see the papers, wherever she may be. If she learns of the reward, she will hide 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 to know what to do."

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

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

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

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

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

"I've no one," she said, in response to my glance, "Mr. Schuyler didn't wish me to have a secretary, and indeed I didn't need one. But now—"

"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 he is gone, you begin to—"

"Hush, Rhoda," said Ruth, with gentle dignity. "It was not necessary before, but it is now. You've no idea what a task it will be. All our friends and many of Randolph's acquaintances will call or send messages and they must be acknowledged—"

"And, pray, what else have you to do, but acknowledge them? Sarah and I will attend to our own. A great many, doubtless, but not too much of a 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 further consideration, we will discuss it again."

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

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

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

"Not yet," and Ruth Schuyler shuddered. "Those details are so terrible—"

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

I began to realize that the sisters had a family pride which did not include their brother's wife in their councils. Apparently she was, or they deemed her, of lesser birth or social standing. Personally, however, I greatly preferred the gentle kindliness of the widow to the aristocratic hauteur of the sisters.

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

"Who is in the house where Mr. Schuyler was—where he died?" she asked, 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't like to show curiosity.

"Yes," I informed her, "quite a number. It was Miss Van Allen's birthday, 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 Ruth Schuyler'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 very black hair, and large, dark gray eyes. She is exceedingly chic and up-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 was one."

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

"I speak only as I feel; I can't say surely that Miss Van Allen did not commit this crime, for I know there is evidence against her. But I can't reconcile the deed with her character, as I know it, and I, for one, shall wait further developments before I condemn her. But, of course, Mrs. Schuyler, my personal feelings in the matter have no weight in law, and I stand ready to obey whatever orders you may give in connection with a search for the missing girl."

"I don't know exactly what I do want done, yet, Mr. Calhoun," and Ruth

Schuyler 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, the police 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 lady who 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 look after her."

"That was kind. Who is this lady?"

"She lives down on Washington Square. I only know her slightly, but she is a warm-hearted and a most capable and sensible one. She refuses to 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 at first; but, all the same, she murdered my husband, and I cannot look on 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 the office that afternoon. "Of course, I know Randolph Schuyler was no saint, but I never supposed he was deep enough in any affair to have a woman kill him. And so near his own home, too! He might have had the decency to choose his lady acquaintances in more remote sections of the city."

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

"Now, now, Calhoun, she must have known him. She didn't know any Somers, we'll say, but she must have known Schuyler. A murder has to have 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 fairly well, and she wouldn't—"

"You can't say what a woman would or wouldn't do. But it's not our business to look after the criminal part of it, we've got all we can handle, attending to the estate. And here's another thing. I wish you'd do all that's necessary up at the house. I always got along all right 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 my nerves. So you look after them. You're more of a ladies' man than I am, 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 sisters myself, but Mrs. Schuyler is a young thing, ignorant of her own rights, and those old maids boss her like fury. I'm going to see that she has her own way in some few things, at least. She inherits half the fortune, you know."

"Yes, and the sisters a quarter each. That is, after some minor bequests and charitable donations are settled. Schuyler was a good sort—as men go."

"Then men go pretty badly! He was a brute to his wife; I've been told he 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 in that family. I know those two old ladies, and they'd resent anything in 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 him now, at any rate."

"You're a cold-blooded thing, Bradbury," I informed him, "and I am going to do all I can for that young widow. She'll have a lot of unpleasant 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 the detective work. I know your weakness for that sort of thing, and I know if you begin, you'll never let up."

Bradbury was right. I have a fondness for detective work—not the police part of it, but the inquiry into mystery, the deduction from clues 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 a genuine liking for that little lady, and, as Mrs. Reeves had put it, I was only too willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Though I couldn't feel any real doubt that she had killed Schuyler. As Bradbury said, she didn't know a Mr. Somers, but she may have known the millionaire Schuyler. I had never seen anything of a seamy side to Vicky's character; but then, I didn't know her so very well, and the man was dead, and who else could have killed him?

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

"That man," Fraschini told me, "is as honest as the day. I've had him longer than any of my other waiters, and he has never said or done anything to make me doubt his accuracy. I believe, Mr. Calhoun, that Luigi 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 welcomed the opportunity.

"I know it was Miss Van Allen," was the quiet response of the Italian to my inquiry. "I cannot be mistaken. I had seen her many times during the evening. I, therefore, recognized the gown she wore, of light yellow gauzy stuff and an over-dress of long gold bead fringes. I saw her stand above the fallen body, looking down at it with a horrified face. 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 had brushed 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 to the hall."

"And you saw no other person near?"

"None."

"And heard nobody?"

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

No amount of questioning could change or add to Luigi's story. It was quite evident that he was telling just what he saw, and had no interest in coloring it to make it appear different in any way. He admired Miss Van Allen, he said she was a pleasant lady and not hard to please if her orders were faithfully carried out. He expressed no personal interest in the question of her guilt or innocence, he simply told what he had seen. I didn't altogether like his stolid indifference, it seemed impossible there should be so little humanity in 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 a perfect storm of questions.

"After dinner," I begged. "Let me get a little rest and food, and then

I'll tell you all I know."

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

"Well, I will," I said. "But, look here, you two. To begin with, I want you to understand that I'm involved in this matter in a business way, and I'm also interested in a personal way. And I don't want any silly talk about it's being unfortunate or regrettable that I should be. 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'm acquainted with Miss Van Allen; and I propose to make more or less effort to find some trace of that girl, and to see if there is any possible chance that she may not be the guilty one after all."

"Good for you, Lord Chesterton!" cried Winnie. "I always knew you were the soul of chivalry, and now you're proving it! What are you going to do—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 these things as a matter of business, I can't object. But I won't have Winnie 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 the

window occasionally and see if you see anything going on at the Van

Allen house, that's all."

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

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

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

"I don't mean to-night, or any night. But in the daytime. She's likely to 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 the doorknob, and goes on. If Vicky is as clever as I think she is, she'll time that policeman, and sneak into the house between his rounds. 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 seeing that I was deeply into the turmoil of it all, and had grave responsibilities, Aunt Lucy withdrew all objections and sympathized with me. Also, she was impressed with my important business connections with the Schuyler family, and was frankly curious about that aristocratic household. I was asked over and over again as to their mode of living, the furniture and appointments of the house, and the attitudes of the widow and the sisters toward each other.

It was late in the evening before I remembered some important papers Mr. Bradbury had given me to hand to Mrs. Schuyler, and as soon as I thought 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. I want 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 were discussed, and Mrs. Schuyler was more composed and calm.

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

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

"Tell me first," I said, "and I may be able to advise you. In any case, 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, if it 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 have become convinced that my husband must have known the young woman, and the acquaintance was not to his credit. For some reason, I think, she must have forbidden him the house, and that is why he went there under an assumed name. Mr. Lowney succeeded in getting Mr. Steele on the long distance telephone—"

"Why, where is Steele?"

"In Chicago. Mr. Lowney says that he had to go there on the midnight train, and that is why he left the lady's house—Miss Van Allen's house, 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. Schuyler begged him to take him along, and introduce him as Mr. Somers. It seems he had asked Mr. Steele before to do this, but this time he was more insistent. So Mr. Steele did it. Of course, Mr. Calhoun, I asked Mr. Lowney minutely about all this, because I want to know just what circumstances led up to my husband's going to that house."

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

"Mr. Steele thought Mr. Schuyler had never been to the house before at all. But may he not have been mistaken? May not Mr. Schuyler have known the lady previously—oh, it is such a moil! But, in any case, Mr. Calhoun, it seems to me that further probing and searching will only pile up opprobrium on the name of Schuyler, and—I can't stand it. I am so unused to notoriety or publicity I can't face all the unpleasantness 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 personal inclinations."

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