CHAPTER VI
VICKY'S WAYS
"Ches-ter Cal-houn! Get up this minute! There's a reporterdownstairs! A reporter!"
My sleepy eyes opened to find Winnie pounding my shoulder as it humpedbeneath the blanket.
"Hey? What?" I grunted, trying to collect my perceptions.
"A _reporter!_" If Winnie had said a Bengal tiger, she couldn't havelooked more terrified.
"Great Scott! Win--I remember! Clear out, I'll be down in a minute."
I dressed in record time and went downstairs in three leaps.
In the library, I found Aunt Lucy, wearing an expression that shemight have shown if the garbage man had asked her to a dance.
But Winnie was eagerly drinking in the story poured forth by the saidreporter, who was quite evidently enjoying his audience.
"Oh, Chet, this is Mr. Bemis of _The Meteor_. He's telling us allabout the--you know--what happened."
Winnie was too timid to say the word _murder,_ and I was sorry she hadto hear the awful tale from any one but myself. However, there was nohelp for it now, and I joined the group and did all I could to bringAunt Lucy's eyebrows and nose down to their accustomed levels.
But it _was_ an awful story, make the best of it, and the truth had tobe told.
"It is appalling," conceded Aunt Lucy, at length, "but the mostregrettable circumstance, to my mind, is your connection with it all,Chester."
"Now, Auntie, have a little heart for poor Mrs. Schuyler, and thoseold lady sisters. Also for the man himself--"
"Oh, I have, Chet. I'm not inhuman. But those things are in the papersevery day, and while one feels a general sympathy, it can't bepersonal if one doesn't know the people. But, for you to be mixed upin such matters--"
"I wasn't mixed up in it, Aunt Lucy, except as I chose to mix myself.And I've no doubt I should have gotten into it anyway. Mr. Bradburywill have a lot to do with it, I'm sure. I'm no better than he to mixin."
"In a business way, yes. But you were there socially--where a murderwas committed--"
Aunt Lucy could have shown no more horror of it all, if I had been theconvicted criminal.
"And, I'm glad I was!" I cried, losing patience a little. "If I can beof any help to the Schuyler people or to Miss Van Allen, I shall bewilling to do all I can.
"But Miss Van Allen is the--the murderer!" and Aunt Lucy whispered theword.
"Don't say that!" I cried sharply. "You don't know it at all, andthere's no reason to condemn the girl--"
I paused. Bemis was taking in my every word with a canny understandingof what I said, and also of what I didn't say.
"Where do your suspicions tend, Mr. Calhoun?" he said smoothly.
"Frankly, Mr. Bemis, I don't know. I am an acquaintance of Miss VanAllen and I cannot reconcile the idea of crime with her happy, gentlenature. Nor can I see any reason to suspect the waiter who first toldof the matter. But might not some person, some enemy of Mr. Schuyler,have been secreted in the house--"
"A plausible theory," agreed Bemis, "even an obvious one, but almostno chance of it. I've seen the caterer's people, and they were incharge of the basement rooms and the dining-room all the evening.Unless it were one of the guests at the party, I think no intrudercould have gotten in."
"Well," I returned, uneasily, for I wished he would go, "it isn't upto us to invent theories or to defend them. I will answer yournecessary questions, but pardon me, if I remind you that I am a busyman and I haven't yet had my breakfast."
Bemis took the hint, and after a string of definite and pertinentquestions, he left.
Winnie tried to detain him, but my curt courtesy made it difficult forhim to linger.
"Oh, Chessy," cried my sister, as soon as Bemis had gone, "it's awful,I know, but _isn't_ it exciting?"
"Hush, Winnie," reproved Aunt Lucy. "A girl of your age should knownothing of these things, and I want you to put it out of your mind.You can be of no help, and I do not want your nerves disturbed by theharrowing details."
"That's all right, Aunt Lucy," I put in, "but this is going to be acelebrated case, and Winnie can't be kept in ignorance of itsdevelopments. Now be a good sort, Auntie--accept the inevitable. Tryto realize that I must do what seems to me my duty, and if that bringsus more or less into the limelight of publicity, it is a pity, but itcan't be helped."
"I agree to all that, Chester, dear. But you are so mixed in itsocially. Why did you ever get into that set?"
"It isn't a bad set, Aunt Lu. It isn't a fast set, by any means."
"You wouldn't see Winnie or me there."
"No, but a decent man goes to places where he wouldn't take his womenpeople. Now, let up, Auntie. Trust your good-for-nothing nevvy, andjust do all you can to help--by doing nothing."
"I'll help you, Chessy-Cat. I'll do exactly as you tell me, if you'llonly let me know about it, and not treat me like a baby," said Winnie,who was wheedlesomely assisting my breakfast arrangements. Shesugared and creamed my cereal, and, as I dispatched it, she butteredtoast and poured coffee and deftly sliced off the top of a soft-boiledegg.
I managed to eat some of these viands between answers to theirrapid-fire volley of questions and at last I made ready to go downtown.
"And remember," I said, as I departed, "if a lot of gossippy old henscome around here to-day--or your chicken friends--Winnie, don't tellthem a thing. Let 'em get it from the papers, or apply to information,or any old way, but don't you two give out a line of talk! See?"
I kissed them both, and started off.
Of course, I went over to Vicky Van's first. I had been on theproverbial pins and needles to get there ever since I woke toconsciousness by reason of the sisterly pounding that brought me fromthe land of dreams.
The house had an inhabited look, and when I went in, I was greeted bythe odor of boiling coffee.
"Come right down here," called Mrs. Reeves from the basement.
I went down, passing the closed dining-room door with a shudder. Twoor three policemen were about, in charge of things generally, but nonewhom I knew. They had been relieved for the present.
"You're still here?" I said, a little inanely.
"Yes," returned Mrs. Reeves, who looked tired and wan. "I stayed, youknow, but I couldn't sleep any. I lay down on the music-room couch,but I only dozed a few minutes at a time. I kept hearing strangesounds or imagining I did, and the police were back and forth tillnearly daylight. Downstairs, they were. I didn't bother them, but theyknew I was in the house, if--if Vicky should come home."
Her face was wistful and her eyes very sad. I looked my sympathy.
"You liked her, I know," she went on. "But everybody 'most, has turnedagainst her. Since they found the man was Randolph Schuyler, allsympathy is for him and his widow. They all condemn Vicky."
"You can scarcely blame them," I began, but she interrupted,
"I do blame them! They've no right to accuse that girl unheard."
"The waiter--"
"Oh, yes, I know, the waiter! Well, don't let's quarrel about it. Ican't stay here much longer, though. I made coffee and got myself somebreakfast--but, honest, Mr. Calhoun, it pretty nearly choked me to eatsandwiches that had been made for last night's surprise supper!"
"I should think it would! Didn't any rolls come, or milk, you know?"
"I didn't see any. Well, I'll go home this morning, but I shalltelephone up here every little while. The police will stay here, Isuppose."
"Yes, for a day or two. Do you think Vicky will come back?"
"I don't know. She'll have to, sooner or later. I tried to makemyself sleep in her room last night, but I just couldn't. So I stayedin the music room, I thought--I suppose it was foolish--but I thoughtmaybe she might telephone."
"She'd hardly do that."
"I don't know. It's impossible to say _what_ she might do. Oh, thewhole thing is impossible! Think of it, Mr. Calhoun. Where could thatgirl have gone? Alone, at midnight, in that gorgeous gown, no hat orwrap--"
"How do you know that?"
"I don't--not positively. But if she had put on wraps and gone out byeither door she would surely have been seen by some one in the house.I'm just sure she didn't go out by the front street door, for we inthe living-room must have noticed her. And she couldn't have gone outby the area door, for there were waiters all about, down here."
We were sitting in the front basement room, a pleasant enough place,evidently a servants' sitting room. Before Mrs. Reeves, on the table,were the remnants of her scarce tasted breakfast. As she had said, thetiny sandwiches and rich salad, which she had procured from the unusedstores of the caterer's provision, did seem too closely connected withthe tragedy to be appetizing.
"The kitchen is back of this?" I asked.
"Yes, and dumb waiters to the dining-room. I confess I've lookedabout a bit. I'm not a prying woman--but I felt I was justified."
"You certainly are, Mrs. Reeves," I said, warmly, for she wasthoroughly good-hearted, and a staunch friend of Vicky Van. "Have youlearned anything illuminating?"
"No; but things are queer."
"Queer, how?"
"Well, you wouldn't understand. A man couldn't. But it's this way.Lots of potted meats and jars of jam and cans of tea and coffee andcocoa in the pantry, but no fresh meat or green vegetables about. Nobutter in the icebox, and no eggs or bacon."
"Well, what does that imply? I'm no housekeeper, I admit."
"It looks to me as if Vicky was leaving this morning--I mean as if shehad expected to go away to-day, and so had no stuff on hand to spoil."
"Perhaps this is her market day."
"No; it's queer, that's what it is. You know sometimes Vicky does goaway for days at a time."
"Hasn't she a right to?"
"Of course she has. I'm thinking it out. Where does she go? Andwherever it is, that's where she is now!"
Mrs. Reeves' triumphant air seemed to settle the question.
"But all that isn't queer, my dear lady," I said. "We all know VickyVan gads about a lot. I've telephoned her myself twice, and she wasn'there. Once, Julie answered, and once there was no response of anysort."
"Yes, I suppose that's the case. She was going away on a visit to-day,maybe, and so had little food on hand to be disposed of. A goodhousekeeper would look after that. Of course, it wouldn't be Vicky'sdoing, but Julie's. That housekeeper is a treasure. She could run ahotel if she wanted to."
"Then, perhaps," I mused, aloud, "Vicky ran away and went to theplace, wherever it is, that she expected to visit to-day."
"Oh, I don't know. This is all merely conjecture. And, too, how couldshe, in that dress? No, she has gone to some friend in town. She musthave done so. A hotel wouldn't take her in--why," Mrs. Reeves' voicebroke, "you know that waiter said there--there was blood on Vicky'sgown!"
"Do you believe that?"
"If we believe him at all, why shouldn't we believe the whole tale? Idon't know Vicky Van, you understand, except as a casual friend. Imean, I know nothing of her family, her past, or her personality,except as I've seen her in a friendly way. I like her, thoroughly, butI can't honestly say that I know her."
"Who does?"
"Nobody. All her friends say the same thing. She is lovely and dear,but never confidential, or communicative regarding herself."
"Wherever she went, Julie must be with her," I suggested.
"I don't know. I dare say that is so, but how on earth could _two_women get out of this house without its being known?"
"And yet, they did. Whether alone or together, they both got away lastnight. You don't think they're still concealed in the house?"
"Oh, no, of course not; after the search we made."
"I can't help thinking they'll turn up to-day. Julie, anyway. Why,Miss Van Allen must come back or send back for her valuables. I sawjewelry and money in the dressing-room."
"Yes; but, of course, they're safe enough. They're all in care of thepolice."
We were interrupted by the entrance of a policeman and a woman who hadcome to work.
"She says," the policeman addressed Mrs. Reeves, "that she wasexpected here to-day to clean. Now, we can't let her disturb thingsmuch, but she'd better wash up a little, and throw away some of thesupper stuff that won't keep."
Everybody seemed to look to Mrs. Reeves as a sort of proxyhousekeeper, and I wondered what they would have done without her.Though I suppose they would have managed.
"Yes, indeed," was her glad response. "Let her tidy up these breakfastthings I've used, and there's some cups and plates in the kitchen, forI gave those poor policemen some food 'long 'bout three o'clock thismorning. And she can throw out the melted ice cream, it's no good toanybody, and it surely isn't evidence!"
I determined to ask the working-woman some questions, but the policeforestalled me.
Ferrall came down and joined us, and spoke to her at once.
"Good morning, Mrs. Flaherty. Don't you do anything now, but just whatyou're told to do. And first, tell us a thing or two. How often do youcome here? I've seen you in and out, now and again."
"Yes, I do be comin' whin I'm sint for; not of a reg'lar day. Maybewanst a week, maybe of'ner. Thin agin, not for a fortnight."
"Just as I said," declared Mrs. Reeves. "Vicky often goes away fordays at a time."
"Shure she does that. Miss Van Allen is here to-day an' goneto-morrow, but Miss Julie she looks after me wurruk, so she does."
"She engages you when you are needed?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. They's a tillyphone in me husband's shop, an' if anny wancalls me, he lets me know."
"When did they tell you to come here to-day?"
"'Twas yisterday, sir. Miss Julie, she sinds wurrud for me to comethis marnin' to clane, as they do be havin' a party last night. Ach,that this thrubble should come!"
"There, now, Mrs. Flaherty, never mind your personal feelings. We'rein a hurry." Ferrall was busy making notes of the information he wasgetting, and I could well understand, that any side-light on Vicky'shome life was of importance. So I tarried to listen.
"How long have you worked for Miss Van Allen?"
"A matther av a year or more."
"You clean the rooms upstairs, sometimes?"
"All over the house. Manny's the time I've shwept an' vacuumed MissVan Allen's own bedroom an' boodore. An' likewise the music room an'parlure an' all. Yis, sor, I'm here frekint."
"What other servants does Miss Van Allen employ?"
"Nobody that lives in, 'ceptin' Miss Julie. But there's the laundrywoman, as comes--though more often the wash goes out. Thin, there's achore boy, as runs arrants; an' sometimes a sewin' woman; an' oftenthe caterer man's dagoes. Yis, an' a boy, a Buttons you know, to openthe dure for, say, an afternoon party. You see, Miss Van Allen is offvisitin' so much, she don't want steady help."
"Where does she visit?"
"That I dunno. But go, she does, an' I'm thinkin' it's good times shehas. For she comes back, chipper an' merry an' glad to see herfriends--an' thin, all of a suddint, up an' off agin."
I knew that was Vicky Van's habit. All that the woman saidcorroborated my idea of the little butterfly's frivolous life. So, whyshould she keep permanent servants if she was at home only half thetime? I knew the troubles Aunt Lucy had with her menials, and Iapproved of Vicky's wisdom.
"And that explains the empty icebox," Mrs. Reeves was saying, noddingher head in satisfaction. "Vicky meant to go off to-day, after thehouse was put in order, and she didn't want a lot of food left tospoil."
"Yis, mum," agreed Mrs. Flaherty. "Shall I wash thim dishes now, mum?"
And she was allowed to set to work.