Vicky Van. Wells Carolyn

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "Oh, yes, it is, my man. The law asks you, and it is for you to tell all you know."

      "Well, then," and the butler weighed his words, "my master was always most strict of habit in his home. The ladies are very reserved, and abide by rules and standards, that are, if I may say so, out of date to-day. But, though Mr. Schuyler was by no means a gay man or a member of any fast set, yet I have reason to think, sir, that at times he might go to places where he would not take Mrs. Schuyler, and where he would not wish Mrs. Schuyler to know he had been himself."

      "That's enough," said Lowney. "I've got his number. Now, Jepson, had your master any enemies, that you know of?"

      "Not that I know of. But I know nothing of Mr. Schuyler's affairs. I see him go out of an evening, and I may notice that he comes in very late, but as to his friends or enemies, I know nothing at all. I am not one to pry, sir, and my master has always trusted me. I have endeavored not to betray that trust."

      This might have sounded pharisaical in a man of less sincerity of speech. But Jepson's clear, straightforward eyes forbade any doubt of his honesty and truth.

      Again I was glad that Mrs. Schuyler had this staunch helper at her side, for I foresaw troublous times in store for her.

      "And you never heard of this Miss Van Allen? Never was in her house before?"

      "Never, sir. I know nothing of the houses on the side blocks." I winced at this. "Of course, I know the people who come to this house, but there is among them no Miss Van Allen."

      "Rather not!" I thought to myself. And then I sighed at the memory of

      Vicky Van. Had she killed this millionaire? And if so, why?

      I was sure Vicky had never met Randolph Schuyler before that evening. I had seen their meeting, and it was too surely the glance of stranger to stranger that had passed between them, to make a previous acquaintance possible. Vicky had been charming to him, as she always was to every one, but she showed no special interest, and if she did really kill him, it was some unguessable motive that prompted the deed.

      I thought it over. Schuyler, at the club, dined and wined, had perhaps heard Norman Steele extol the charms of Vicky Van. Interested, he had asked to be taken to Vicky's house, but, as it was so near his own, a sense of precaution led him to adopt another name.

      Then the inexplicable sequel!

      And the mysterious disappearance of Vicky herself.

      Though, of course, the girl would return. As Mrs. Reeves had said, doubtless she had witnessed the crime, and, scared out of her wits, had run away. Her return would clear up the matter.

      Then the waiter's story?

      Well, there was much to be done. And, as I suddenly bethought me, it was time I, myself went home!

      As I passed Vicky Van's house, on my way home, I saw lights pretty much all over it, and was strongly tempted to go in. But common sense told me I needed rest, and not only did I have many matters to attend to on the morrow, but I had to tell the story to Aunt Lucy and Winnie!

      That, of itself, would require some thought and tactful management, for I was not willing to have them condemn Vicky Van entirely, and yet, I could think of no argument to put forth for the girl's innocence.

      Time alone must tell.

      CHAPTER VI

      VICKY'S WAYS

      "Ches-ter Cal-houn! Get up this minute! There's a reporter downstairs! A reporter!"

      My sleepy eyes opened to find Winnie pounding my shoulder as it humped beneath the blanket.

      "Hey? What?" I grunted, trying to collect my perceptions.

      "A reporter!" If Winnie had said a Bengal tiger, she couldn't have looked 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 she might have shown if the garbage man had asked her to a dance.

      But Winnie was eagerly drinking in the story poured forth by the said reporter, who was quite evidently enjoying his audience.

      "Oh, Chet, this is Mr. Bemis of The Meteor. He's telling us all about the—you know—what happened."

      Winnie was too timid to say the word murder, and I was sorry she had to hear the awful tale from any one but myself. However, there was no help for it now, and I joined the group and did all I could to bring Aunt 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 to be told.

      "It is appalling," conceded Aunt Lucy, at length, "but the most regrettable circumstance, to my mind, is your connection with it all, Chester."

      "Now, Auntie, have a little heart for poor Mrs. Schuyler, and those old lady sisters. Also for the man himself—"

      "Oh, I have, Chet. I'm not inhuman. But those things are in the papers every day, and while one feels a general sympathy, it can't be personal if one doesn't know the people. But, for you to be mixed up in 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. Bradbury will have a lot to do with it, I'm sure. I'm no better than he to mix in."

      "In a business way, yes. But you were there socially—where a murder was committed—"

      Aunt Lucy could have shown no more horror of it all, if I had been the convicted criminal.

      "And, I'm glad I was!" I cried, losing patience a little. "If I can be of any help to the Schuyler people or to Miss Van Allen, I shall be willing to do all I can.

      "But Miss Van Allen is the—the murderer!" and Aunt Lucy whispered the word.

      "Don't say that!" I cried sharply. "You don't know it at all, and there's no reason to condemn the girl—"

      I paused. Bemis was taking in my every word with a canny understanding of 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 Van Allen and I cannot reconcile the idea of crime with her happy, gentle nature. Nor can I see any reason to suspect the waiter who first told of 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 almost no chance of it. I've seen the caterer's people, and they were in charge of the basement rooms and the dining-room all the evening. Unless it were one of the guests at the party, I think no intruder could have gotten in."

      "Well," I returned, uneasily, for I wished he would go, "it isn't up to us to invent theories or to defend them. I will answer your necessary questions, but pardon me, if I remind you that I am a busy man and I haven't yet had my breakfast."

      Bemis took the hint, and after a string of definite СКАЧАТЬ