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 l
etter 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!