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.