CHAPTER XVIII
FIBSY DINES OUT
That dinner at Ruth Schuyler's was memorable. And, yet, it was in noway markedly unusual. The service was perfect, as might be expected inthat well-ordered household, and the guests were well behaved. Fibsy,thanks to Fleming Stone's thoughtful kindness, was arrayed in theproper dinner garb of a schoolboy, and his immaculate linen andcorrect jacket seemed to invest him in a mantle of politeness that satwell on his youthful buoyancy and enthusiasm.
I glanced round the table. It was a strange combination of people.Fleming Stone was the sort of man who is at ease anywhere, and I, too,am adaptable by nature. But the Schuyler sisters were very evidentlyannoyed at the idea of receiving as an equal the youth whom theyregarded as a mere street arab.
Fibsy had become a firm friend of Ruth's, but he couldn't seem to likethe other ladies, and he with difficulty refrained from showing this.
The Misses Schuyler were impressive in their heavy and elaboratemourning, and to my mind Ruth looked far more appropriately dressed.
She wore a black and white striped chiffon, with touches of blacksilk, and the effect, with her pale face and fair hair was lovely. Abreastknot of valley lilies added to the loveliness, and I allowed myeyes to feast on her fairness. I had thought Ruth was not what couldbe called a pretty woman, certainly she was not beautiful; but thatnight her charm appealed to me more strongly than ever, and Iconcluded that her air of high-bred delicacy and infinite finenesswere more to be desired than mere beauty.
Fibsy, too, devoured her with his eyes, though discreetly, and when hethought he was not observed.
Fleming Stone devoted himself to the sisters; probably, I concluded,because he was in their employ, and so owed them his attention.
Ruth wore her beautiful pearls, and referred to the fact,half-apologetically, saying that Mr. Schuyler had liked always to seethem on her, and she felt privileged to continue to use them, even inher mourning period.
"You like only poils--pearls, don't you, Mrs. Schuyler?"
Fibsy's slip of pronunciation was due to his slight embarrassment athis novel surroundings, but he valiantly corrected himself and ignoredit.
"I like other gems," Ruth replied, "but Mr. Schuyler preferred pearls,and gave me such beauties that I have grown very fond of them."
"I remember, Ruth," said Sarah, reminiscently, "how you used to begRandolph for sapphires and diamonds instead. You even wantedsemi-precious stones--turquoises and topaz. Oh, I remember. ButRandolph taught you that pearls were the best taste for a young matronand you grudgingly acquiesced."
"Oh, not grudgingly, Sarah," and Ruth flushed at the reprimand in hersister's voice.
"Yes, grudgingly. Even unwillingly. In fact, all Randolph's decisionsyou fought until he made you surrender. You know how you wantedgay-colored gowns until he made you see that grays and mauves werebetter taste."
"Never mind my peccadilloes," said Ruth, lightly. "Let's talk ofsomething less personal."
"Let's talk about the weather," suggested Fibsy, who was notconducting himself on the seen and not heard plan. "The park is finenow. All full o' red an' gold autumn leaves. Have you noticed it, Mrs.Schuyler?"
"Not especially," and Ruth smiled at him, in appreciation of hisconversational help. "I must walk over there to-morrow."
"Yes,'m. An' why don't you go for a long motor; ride up Westchesterway? The scenery's great!"
"How do you know, have you been there?"
"Not just lately, but I was last fall. Do you remember the big treesjust at the turn of the road by--"
But Ruth was not listening to the child. Stone had said something thatclaimed her attention.
However, Fibsy was unabashed. With no trace of forwardness, but withdue belief in his security of position as a guest, he continued tochatter to Ruth, and rarely addressed any one else.
He has something up his sleeve, I thought, for I was beginning to havegreat faith in the lad's cleverness.
He sat at Ruth's left hand, Stone being in the seat of the honorguest, and as that left me between the two sisters, I was doomed toparticipate in their chatter. But I was opposite my hostess and couldenjoy looking at her in the intervals of conversation.
Suddenly, I chanced to look up and I saw Fibsy's comical little facedrawn with grimaces as he sang a snatch of a popular song.
My heart goes twirly-whirly When I see my pearlie girlie, With her--
"Now, what is that next line? With her--?"
"With her ring-around-a-rosy curls!" supplemented Ruth, her own facebreaking into laughter, as, caught by the infection of Fibsy's waggishgayety, she rounded out the phrase.
"Yes, that's it," said Fibsy, eagerly, "and
Her teeth like little shining pearls, Oh, she's my queen of all the girls, My little twirly-whirly, pearlie Girlie!"
Ruth and Fibsy finished the silly little song in concert, and Stoneclapped his hands in applause.
Rhoda sniffed and Sarah acidly remarked:
"How can you, Ruth? I wish you'd be a little more dignified."
Quickly the light went out of Ruth's eyes. She looked reproved, andthough she didn't resent it, a patient sadness came into her eyes, andI resolved that I would do all I could to get it arranged that sheshould live apart from the two carping, criticizing sisters.
After dinner we had coffee in the library. Again, Fleming Stone tookit upon himself to entertain the Misses Schuyler, and I drifted towardRuth. She sat down on a sofa and motioned Fibsy to sit beside her. Idrew a chair up to them and thanked a kind fate that let us all leavethe table at once, dispensing with a more formal tarrying of the men.
After the coffee there were liqueurs. I glanced at Fibsy to see if heaccepted a tiny glass from the butler's tray.
He did, and, moreover, he examined the contents with the air of aconnoisseur.
"Oo de vee de Dantzic," he remarked, holding up his glass and gazingat the gold flecks in it.
We all smiled at him.
"Your favorite cordial, Terence?" asked Stone, affably.
"Yessir. Don't you love it, Mrs. Schuyler?"
"Yes," she said, and then, "why, no, I don't love it, child. But onegets accustomed to something of the sort."
"But don't you like it better than Cream de mint or Benediction?" hepersisted.
Ruth laughed outright. "How do you know those names, you funny boy,"she said.
"Read 'em on the big signboards," he returned. "They have the biggestbillboards in New York for one of these lickures. I forget which one."
"These are what I like," said Ruth, smiling, as the footman passed asmall bowl of sugared rose-leaves and crisp green candied mint leaves."Take some, Terence. They're better for you than liqueurs. Helpyourself."
"They are good," and Fibsy obeyed her. "They taste like goin' into aflorist's shop."
"So they do," agreed Ruth, herself taking a goodly portion.
"Rubbish," said Rhoda. "I think these things are silly. Randolph wouldnever allow them."
"Now, Rhoda, there's no harm in a few candies," protested Ruth, andthen she changed the subject quickly, for she evaded a passage at armswith the sisters whenever possible.
The talk, however, soon drifted to the never forgotten subject of themurder. The sisters mulled over all they had heard or learned duringthe day and begged Stone to propound theories or make deductionstherefrom.
Stone obeyed, as that was what he was employed for.
"I think Miss Van Allen is masquerading as somebody else," heaffirmed. "I believe she is in some house not very far from thisneighborhood, under the care of some friend and accompanied and lookedafter by her maid Julie. I believe she is in touch with all that goeson, not only from the newspapers but by means of some spy system orsecret investigation. But the net is drawing round her. I cannot sayjust how, but I feel sure that we shall yet get her. It was a grievousmischance that I let her escape last night, but I shall have anotherchance at her, I'm sure."
"And then you'll arrest her," said Rhoda, with
a snap of her thinlips.
"I dare say. Lowney tells me the finger prints on the little knifewith which Mr. Schuyler was killed are clear and unmistakable, but wehave not yet found out whose they are."
"And can you?" said Ruth, anxiously.
"If we find Miss Van Allen," said Stone, "we can at least see if theyare her's."
"Pooh!" said Fibsy contemptuously, "why did'n' youse tell me beforethat you had the claw prints? I kin get Miss Van Allen's all right,all right!"
"How?" said I, for Fibsy had lapsed into the careless speech thatmeant business.
"Over to her house. Why, they're all over. I've only gotto photygraphsome brushes an' things on her dressin' table to get all the printsyou want."
"That's true," agreed Stone. "But it won't give us what we want.Nobody doubts that Miss Van Allen held the knife that stabbed Mr.Schuyler, and to prove it would be a certain satisfaction. But what wewant is the woman herself."
It was then that I noticed Ruth's maid, Tibbetts, hovering in the halloutside the library door.
"You may go home, Tibbetts," Ruth said to her, kindly. "Thesegentlemen will stay late and I'll look after them myself."
Tibbetts went away, and Ruth said, explanatorily, "My maid is atreasure. I'd like to have her live here, but she is devoted to herown little roof tree and I let her off whenever possible."
I knew Tibbets had a home over on Second or Third Avenue, and Ithought it kind of Ruth to indulge her in this. But after a change ofdomicile herself perhaps Ruth would arrange differently for her maid.And, too, as Winnie had often told me of Ruth's cleverness andefficiency in looking after herself and her belongings, I well knewshe could get along without a maid whenever necessary.
"Did you ever trace that picture in Mr. Schuyler's watch?" Ruth asked,a few moments later.
"Yes," I said. "It was just as we supposed. A little vaudevilleactress whom Mr. Schuyler had taken out to supper gave it to him, andhe stuck it in his watch case, temporarily. Her name is Dotty Fay andshe seemed to know little about Mr. Schuyler and cared less. Merelythe toy of an evening, she was to him, and merely a chance that thepicture was in his watch the night of his visit to Vicky Van's."
We had come to discuss the personal matters of Randolph Schuyler thusfreely, for we were all at one in our search for the truth, and therewere no secrets or evasions among us.
Ruth sighed, but I knew her dear face so well now that I realized itwas not from personal sorrow, but a general regret that a man ofSchuyler's ability and power should have been such a weakling,morally. I knew she had never loved her husband, but she had been afaithful and dutiful wife, and no word or hint of blame had everescaped her lips regarding him. She had been a martyr, but I hadn'tlearned this from her. The sisters, though unconsciously, told me muchof the deprivation and narrowness of Ruth's life. Schuyler had ruledher with a rod of iron, and she had never rebelled, though at timesher patience was nearly worn out.
Later in the evening Fibsy asked for some phonograph music, expressinghis great delight in hearing a really fine instrument and goodrecords.
"I doubt if you'll care for our selections," Ruth remarked, as shelooked over the cabinet of records. "They're almost all classical orold-fashioned songs."
"I like the classical kind," Fibsy said, endeavoring to be agreeable."Please play the gayest you have, though."
But there were few "gay" ones in the collection. Wagner's operas andBeethoven's solemn marches gave forth their noble numbers and Fibsysat, politely listening.
"No ragtime, I s'pose?" he said, after a particularly depressing fugueresounded its last echoes.
"No," and Ruth glanced at him. "Mr. Schuyler didn't care for ragtime--on the phonograph," she added, perhaps remembering Dotty Fay.
We stayed late. Several times Stone proposed our departure, but Ruthurged us to remain longer or began some subject of interest that heldus in spite of ourselves. I had never seen her so entertaining.Indeed, I had never before seen her in what might be called a societysetting. She was a charming hostess, and the occasion seemed to pleaseher, for there was a pink flush on her cheeks and an added brightnessto her gray eyes that convinced me anew of the joy she could take insimple pleasures.
She singled out Fibsy for her especial attentions, and the boyaccepted the honor with a gentle grace that astounded me. When talkingto her he lost entirely his slang and uncouth diction and behaved asto the manner born. He was chameleonic, I could see, and heunconsciously took color from his surroundings.
And sometimes I caught him gazing at Ruth with a strange expressionthat mingled amazement and sadness, and I couldn't understand it atall.
Again, I would find Ruth's eyes fixed on me with a beseeching glancethat might mean anything or nothing.
As a whole the atmosphere seemed surcharged with a namelessexcitement, almost a terror, as if something dire were impending. Onceor twice I saw Stone and Terence exchange startled glances, but theyrarely looked at each other.
There was something brewing, of that I was sure. But whatever it wasit did not affect the Schuyler sisters. They were eager to talk,anxious to hear, but they felt nothing of the undercurrent ofmysterious meaning that affected the rest of us.
I was glad when the time came to go. It was very late, nearlymidnight, and I marveled to see that Ruth showed no sign of weariness.The sisters had been frankly yawning for some time, but Ruth's eyeswere unnaturally bright, and her pale cheeks showed a tiny red spot oneither side.
She shook hands nervously and her voice trembled as she saidgood-night.
Fleming Stone and the boy were moved, I could see that, but they madetheir adieux without reference to future meeting or further work onthe mystery.
We went away, and as we turned the corner, I started to cross thestreet to go to my home.
"Come into the Van Allen house a few minutes, Calhoun," said Stone,gravely. "I've something to tell you."
We went in at Vicky Van's. Stone's manner was ominous. He and Fibsyboth were silent and grave-looking.
We went in at the street door, into the hall and then to theliving-room.
Stone and I sat down, and Fibsy darted out to the dining-room, back tothe hall and up the stairs, flashing on lights as he went.
In silence Stone lighted a cigar and offered me one, which I took,feeling a strange notion that the end of the world was about to come.
In another moment Fibsy came slowly down stairs, walked into theliving-room, where we were, gave one look at Stone, and then threwhimself on a divan, buried his face in the cushions and burst intotears. His thin little frame shook with sobs, great, deep,heart-rending, nerve-racking sobs, that made my own heart stand stillwith fear.
What could it all mean? What ailed the boy?
"Tell me, Stone," I begged, "what is it? What has upset him so?"
"He has found Vicky Van," said Fleming Stone. "And it has broken hisheart."
"What do you mean? Don't keep me in this suspense! Where is Vicky?Upstairs?"
"No," said Stone, "not now."
"Explain, please," I said, beginning to get angry.
"I will," said Stone.
"No!" cried Fibsy, "no, Mr. Stone, let me t-t-tell. W-wait a minute,I'll tell. Oh, _oh_, I knew it all day, b-b-but I couldn't believe it!I _wouldn't_ believe it! Why, Mr. Calhoun, Vicky Van is--is--why, Mrs.Schuyler is Vicky Van!"