Vicky Van Part 18

I looked at the mail-box, an unusual appendage to a private residence, but Vicky was away from home so much, it was doubtless necessary. I tried to look in at a window, but all shades were down and there were no lights inside. I wanted to ring the doorbell again, but a sense of delicacy forbade me. I was not a detective, and if I persisted, I might attract the attention of a pa.s.ser-by or of the returning policeman, and so get Vicky into all sorts of trouble. I wasn't tracking the girl down. If she was a criminal, let the police find her, I had no desire to aid their efforts, but I did want to see Vicky Van. I wanted to offer her my help--not in escaping justice, exactly--but I wondered if I mightn't do some little errands or favors that would show my friendliness.

I went slowly toward home, when I had an inspiration. Hastening into my own house, I flew to the telephone and called Vicky's number, which I knew well.

I waited some time for a response, but at last I heard Vicky's voice say, "Who is it, please?"

An impulse of protection for her, not for myself, led me to withhold my name. Nor did I speak hers.

I said, "This is the man who just left your house. I called up to offer help, if I can render you any."

"That's good of you," she returned, in a heartfelt way. "I appreciate such kindness, but you can do nothing--nothing, thank you."

"At least, talk to me a few minutes. I'm so anxious about you. You are not implicated in the--in the matter, are you?"

"Don't ask me," she murmured, in such a serious voice, that my heart sank. "What I did--or didn't do--must always remain a mystery. I cannot tell you--anything. Don't ask. And, if you would help me, try your best to have inquiries stopped. Can you do this?"

"I fear not. But can't I see you--somewhere--and we can talk plainly?"

"Do you want to?"

"Indeed I do."

"Then you do believe in me? Do you hold me blameless?"

I hesitated at this. I couldn't lie to her, nor could I rid my mind of the conviction of her guilt I said, "I will, if you a.s.sure me that is the truth."

"I--I can't do that--good-bye."

"Wait a minute. Did you know the expected guest was coming under an a.s.sumed name?"

"I did not."

"Did you know any Somers?"

"No."

"Did you know--the real man?"

"I had met him once, at a dance."

"Did you like him?"

"I neither liked nor disliked. He was an object of utter indifference to me."

"Then why did you--"

"Hush! You can never know. I can't tell you--"

"Then don't. Please believe I want to befriend you." The agony and fear in Vicky's voice thrilled me, and I desired only to shield and protect her. She was so young and alone.

"It is good to have a friendly voice speak to me. But you can only forget me."

"No, let me do something definite. Some errand of trust, some matter of confidence--"

"Do you mean it? Will you?"

"Gladly! What is it?"

"Then if you will collect my mail from the box at the door, after a few days--say, three days--and put it aside for me. You saw me get it to-night, I suppose, and it is a dangerous thing for me to do."

"Where are you--I mean, where are you staying?"

"Don't ask. I am safe. I see the newspapers and I know I am to be hunted down. So I must hide. I cannot face the inquiries--I fear arrest and--and punishment--"

Her tones betrayed guilty fear, and I shuddered at the confirmation of my suspicions. But I would do what I could for her.

"How shall I get your letters?" I asked, and I honestly tried not to disclose my sudden knowledge of her guilt. But her quick ears caught my changed inflection.

"You believe me guilty!" she said, and she stifled a sob. "Yet, still, you will help me! G.o.d bless you! Listen, then, for I must stop this talking, it is too desperately dangerous. I will leave the key of the mail box--no, I will send it to you by mail, that will be the safest.

Then will you get the letters and put them--where shall I say?"

"I'll mail them to you."

"No, that would never do. You can get into this house, can't you? The police will let you in at any time?"

"Yes, I can probably manage that."

"Then bring them with you, all of the three days' mail at once, you understand, and put them in that great Chinese jar, in the music room.

The one with the gold dragon on the cover. No one will look there for them. I will manage to come and get them very soon. Please don't spy on me, will you, Chester?"

The use of my first name was, I knew, inadvertent and unconscious. It thrilled me. There was a marvellous fascination always about Vicky Van, and now, at the end of this my mysterious night telephone conversation, I felt its thrill and I agreed to her plea.

"No, dear," I said, and not till afterward did I realize the term I had used, "I will not spy. But promise me that you will call on me for any help you may need. And tell me--are you alone or is Julie with you?"

"Julie is with me," she returned. "She helps protect me, and with your friendship, too, I am blessed indeed. But this is good-bye. I shall leave New York in a few days never to return. I must have that mail, or I would go at once. If you will help me get that, you will do all there is left for any one to do for me in the world."

Her tone frightened me. "Vicky!" I cried, forgetting all caution.

"Don't--my dear, don't--" but I could not put in words the fear that had suddenly come to me, and even as I stammered for speech, the click came that told me she had hung up the receiver.

I cursed myself for my stupidity in speaking her name. Such a blunder!

Why, it might have been overheard by anybody on the line. No wonder she left me. Doubtless I had driven her from her house.

I flew to the window. Then I remembered I had promised not to spy, and I turned quickly away. If she were about to disappear silently and stealthily from that house, I must not know it.

I went to my room, but not to sleep. Clearly, I was not to know untroubled slumber again very soon. I sat up and thought it all over.

How strange that I should have "spied" on her just at the moment she was secretly getting her letters. But, I realized, I had looked at the house so often it would be stranger still if I had missed her!

And she was to send me her box key, and I was to secrete her letters for her. Important indeed, those letters must be, that she should go to such lengths to get them. Well, I had const.i.tuted myself her knight errant in that particular, and I would fulfil the trust.