Vicky Van Part 24

However, nothing transpired to bear out my opinion, and as the list of witnesses dwindled, no progress was made toward a solution of the mystery. And so, when at last, an open verdict was returned, with no mention of Vicky's name, I was decidedly relieved, but I didn't see how it could have been otherwise.

I dropped in at the Schuyler house on my way home. I was beginning to feel on a very friendly footing there, and, partly owing to Winnie's graphic powers of narration, I took an increasing interest in Ruth Schuyler.

As Win had said, she looked charming, although pathetic in her black robes. She permitted herself a touch of white at the turned-in throat, and a white flower was tucked in her bodice. A contrast, indeed, to the severe garb of the spinster sisters, who looked like allegorical figures of hopeless gloom.

But their manner was more of militant revenge, and, having heard the verdict of the coroner's jury, they were ready to take up the case themselves.

"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 has finished 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 not be 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've heard wonderful stories of that man's success, and we're going to engage him at once."

"He's very expensive," I began.

"No matter. We're going to find our brother's murderer if it takes every 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. I know nothing of Mr. Stone, but if he is really a great detective, he will not condemn that girl unheard. And if she is proved guilty, of course 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 you want to find Miss Van Allen, you can't do better than to get him on the trail. If he can't find her, n.o.body can."

"That's what I say," put in Sarah. "And if he doesn't find her, at least 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 be better to consult him about that?"

"I think it would," I judged.

Just then Winnie came into the room. She had been writing notes, and she held a lot of unopened letters in her hand.

"Oh, Ruth," she cried, "what do you think! Here's the mail, Jepson just gave it to me, and there's a letter 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 that letter 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 at it, too, and without doubt, it was Vicky Van's writing.

It had been mailed in New York that same morning, and delivered just now, 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 little Vicky. 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 New York forever. The mystery of Mr. Schuyler's death will never be solved, the truth never learned. I alone know the secret and it will die with me. You may employ detectives from now till doomsday but you will 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 a certain phrase in the letter. Vicky said, "the secret will die with me." Again, I felt that she was intending to bring about her own death, and that speedily. Would we know it if she did? I was thinking deeply, when Miss Rhoda, spoke:

"I believe that girl means to kill herself, and I should think she would!"

"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 at her dreadful deed."

"I think she must be guilty," said Winnie, her dear little countenance drawn with grief, as she studied the letter for herself.

None of us said much more. We all were stunned in a way, by this unexpected 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, I shall send it off to-night. Then when he comes to talk it over we can see what he says and abide by his judgment."

"That's a good idea, Rhoda," and Ruth Schuyler nodded a.s.sentingly; "I, too, want justice, and if Fleming Stone thinks he can find Miss Van Allen, let him do so."

It was six o'clock then, and Win and I went home, leaving the Schuyler ladies 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 think we had better do. I am so unaccustomed to judging for myself in any important matter."

"I think it is wise to get Mr. Stone," I returned. "In any case it can do no harm, you know."

"No, I suppose not," and she gave me one of her rare smiles of appreciation. "I am glad you are looking after us, instead of Mr.

Bradbury," she said further, and I sincerely responded that I was glad, too.

Another surprise awaited me at home. On the hall table lay my own mail, and as I picked it up, and ran the letters over, there was one from Vicky Van.

I hastily concealed it from Winnie's sharp eyes, for I had no notion what 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 kindness I 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 you will find in the Chinese jar in the music room. Keep this for me and if I do not ask you for it within a year, destroy it unopened. I wish I could be more frank with you, you have proved yourself such a staunch friend, but I cannot control circ.u.mstances and so I must bear my fate. I do not know what Mrs. Schuyler will think of it, but I have written her a letter. When you see her, try to make her realize it is useless to hunt for me. Since I can keep hidden for this length of time, my retreat is not likely to be discovered. And now, my kindest of friends, good-bye.

Vicky Van.

I stood, staring at the letter. I read it through a dozen times. Of course, I would do her bidding, but my heart rebelled at the finality of the lines. I knew I would never hear from Vicky Van again. As she said, since we hadn't traced her yet, we never could.

I wondered where she could possibly be. And Julie, too. Somebody was shielding them both. They couldn't be disguised or anything of that sort, for they had left the house at dead of night, without luggage or--and I hadn't thought of this before--without money! How could they have found shelter, save in some friend's house?

Of course, Vicky could have s.n.a.t.c.hed up a purse as she ran. Perhaps that was what she flew upstairs for. And then, maybe, she went down the back stairs--but no, the waiters must have seen her that way. And Luigi was in the front hall a moment after Vicky disappeared.