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 n
ow, 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 da
y!"
"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."