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?"
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"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.
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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.