 Chapter 1 of Vicky Vann by Carolyn Wells This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Céline Majore. 1. Vicky Vann Victoria Vann Allen was the name she signed to her letters and to her checks. But Vicky Vann, as her friends called her, was signed all over her captivating process. Vicky Vann was signed all over her captivating personality from the top of her dainty tossing head to the tips of her dainty dancing feet. I liked her from the first, and if her small and earlys were said to be so called because they were timed by the small and early numerals on the clock dial, and if her little bridge games kept an active circulation a goodly share of our country's legal tender, those things are not crimes. I lived in one of the polite sections of New York City, up among these sixties, and at the insistence of my sister and aunt who lived with me, our home was near enough the great boulevard to be designated by that enviable praise, just off Fifth Avenue. We were on the north side of the street and a nearer to the avenue on the south side was the home of Vicky Vann. Before I knew the girl I saw her a few times at long intervals on the steps of her house, or entering her little car and half consciously I noted her charm and her evident zest of life. Later, when a club friend offered to take me there to call, I accepted gladly and as I have said I liked her from the first. And yet I never said much about her to my sister. I am, in a way, responsible for Winnie and too she's too young to go where they play bridge for money. Little, fadly prize bags or gift shop novelties are hers takes. Also, Aunt Lucy, who helps me to look after Win, wouldn't quite understand the atmosphere at Vicky's. Not exactly Bohemian, and yet I suppose it did represent one compartment of that handy box of a term. But I'm going to tell you right now about a party I went to there, and you can see for yourself what Vicky Vann was like. How late you're going out, said Winnie, as I slithered into my topcoat. It's after eleven. Little girls mustn't make comments on big brothers, I smiled back at her. Win was nineteen and I had attained the mature age of twenty-seven. We were orphans and Spinster Aunt Lucy did her best to be a parent to us, and we got on smoothly enough for none of us had the temperament that rouses friction in the home. Across the street, Aunt Lucy guessed raising her aristocratic eyebrows a hair's breadth. Yes, I returned, the least bit irritated at the implication of that hair-breath raise. Steel will be over there and I want to see him. This time the said eyebrows went up frankly in amusement and the kind blue eyes beamed as she said. All right, Chet, run along. Though I was Chester Calhoun, the junior partner of the law firm of Bradbury and Calhoun, and held myself in due and consequent respect, I didn't mind Aunt Lucy's calling me Chet, or even as she sometimes did Chetty. A man puts up with those things from the women of his household. As to Winnie, she called me anything that came handy from Lord Chesterton to Chessie Cat. I patted Aunt Lucy on her soft old shoulder and Winnie on her hard young head and was off. True, I did expect to see Steel at Vicky Vance. He was the club chap who had introduced me there, but as Aunt Lucy had so cleverly suspected he was not my sole reason for going. A bigger reason was that I always had a good time there, the sort of a good time I liked. I crossed the street diagonally in defiance of much good advice I have heard and read against such a proceeding. But at eleven o'clock at night the traffic in those upper side streets is not sufficient to endanger life or limb and I reached Vicky Vance's house in safety. It was a very small house and it was the one nearest to the Fifth Avenue corner, though the long side of the first house on that block of the Avenue lay between. The windows on each floor were brilliantly lighted and I mounted the long flight of stone steps sure of a merry welcome and a jolly time. I was admitted by a maid whom I already knew well enough to say, evening, Julie, as I passed her and in another moment I was in the long, narrow living-room and was part of the gay group there. Angel Child exclaimed Vicky Vance herself dancing toward me. Did he come to see his little old friend? And, laying her two hands in mine for an instant, she considered me sufficiently welcomed and danced off again. She was a will of a wisp, always tantalizing a man with a hope of special attention and then flying away to another guest only to treat him in the same way. I looked after her, a slim graceful thing, vibrant with the joy of living, smiling in sheer gaiety of heart and pretty as a picture. Her black hair was arranged in the newest style that covered her ears with soft loops and exposed the shape of her trim little head. It was banded with a jeweled fillet or whatever they call those oriental things they wear and her big eyes with their long, dark lashes, her pink cheeks and curved scarlet lips seemed to say, the world owes me a living and I'm going to collect. Not as a matter of financial obligation be it understood. Vicky Vance had money enough and though nothing about her home was ostentatious or over-or-nate, it was quietly and in the best of taste luxurious. But I was describing Vicky herself. Her gown, the skirt part of it, was a sort of mazy, maze-colored thin stuff, rather short and rather full, that swirled as she moved and fluttered when she danced. The bodice part was of heavily gold-spangled material and a kind of over-skirt arrangement was a lot of long gold fringe made of beads. Instead of a yoke there were shoulder straps of these same beads and the sleeves weren't there. And yet that costume was all right. Why, it was a rig I'd be glad to see Winnie in when she gets older and if I've made it sound rather... er... gay and festive, it's my bungling way of describing it and also because Vicky's personality would add gait and festivity to any raiment. Her little feet wore gold-y slippers and a lot of ribbons criss-crossed over her ankles and on the top of each slipper was a gilt butterfly that fluttered. Yet with all this bewildering effect of frivolity the first term I'd make use of in describing Vick's character would be touch me not. I believe there's a flower called that. Not only me, Tangere, or some such name. Well, that's Vicky Van. She'd laugh and jest with you and then if you said anything by way of a personal compliment or flirtatious foolery she was often away from your sight like a thistle down in a summer breeze. She was a witch, a madcap, but she had her own way in everything and her friends did her will without question. Her setting too just suited her. Her living room was one of those very narrow, very deep rooms so often seen in the New York side streets. It was done up in French gray and rose as was the dictum of the moment. On the rose-brocaded walls were few pictures but just the right ones. Gray enameled furniture in deep window seats with rose-colored cushions provided resting places and soft rose-shaded lights gave a mild glow of illumination. Flowers were everywhere. Great bowls of roses, jars of pink carnations and occasionally a vase of pink orchids were on mantel, low bookcases or piano. And sometimes the odor of a cigarette or a burning pastille of oriental fragrance added to the Bohemian effect which is, oftener than not, discernible by the sense of smell. Vicky herself detested perfumes or odors of any kind, say fresh flowers all about. Indeed she detested Bohemianism when it meant unconventional dress or manners or loud-voiced jests or songs. Her house was dainty, correct and artistic and yet I knew its atmosphere would not please my Aunt Lucy or be just the right place for Winnie. Many of the guests I knew. Cassie Weldon was a concert singer and Ariadne Gale and artists of some prominence both socially and in her art circle. Jim Ferris and Bailey Mason were actors of a good sort and Bert Garrison, a member of one of my best clubs, was a fast-rising architect. Steel hadn't come yet. Two tables of bridge were playing in the back part of the room and in the rest of the rather limited space several couples were dancing. May Aunt Wee opened the doors to the dining-room, Vicky, called out one of the card-players. The calorics of this room must be about ninety in the shade. Opened them a little way, returned Miss Van Allen, but not wide, for there's a surprise supper and I don't want you to see it yet. They set the double doors a few inches ajar and went on with their game. The dining-room, as I knew, was a wide room that ran all across the house behind both living-room and hall. It was beautifully decorated in pale green and silver and often Vicky Van would have a surprise supper at which the favors or entertainers would be well worth waiting for. Having greeted many whom I knew I looked about for further speech with my hostess. She's upstairs in the music room, said Cassie Weldon, seeing and interpreting my questioning glance. Thank you, lady, for those kind words. I called back over my shoulder and went upstairs. The front-room on the second floor was dubbed the Music Room, Vicky said, because there was a banjo in it. Sometimes the guests brought more banjos and a concert of glee and cottage songs wouldn't sue. But more often as tonight it was a little haven of rest and peace from the laughter and jest below stairs. It was an exquisite white and gold room and here too as I entered pale pink shades dimmed the lights to a soft radiance that seemed like a breaking dawn. Vicky sat and throned on a white divan, her feet crossed on a gold embroidered white satin foot cushion. In front of her sat three or four of her guests all laughing and chatting. But he vowed he was going to get here somehow, Mrs. Reeves was saying. What's his name? asked Vicky, though in a voice of little interest. Summers! returned Mrs. Reeves. Never heard of him. Did you, Mr. Calhoun? And Vicky Van looked up at me as I entered. No, Miss Van Allen, who is he? I don't know and I don't care. Only as Mrs. Reeves says he is coming here tonight I'd like to know something about him. Coming here? A man you don't know. I do up a chair to join the group. How can he? Mr. Steele is going to bring him, said Mrs. Reeves. He says, Norman Steele says, that Mr. Summers is a first-class all-around chap and no end of fun. Says he's a millionaire. What's a millionaire more or less to me? laughed Vicky. I choose my friends for their lovely character not for their wealth. Yes, you've selected all of us for that, dear, agreed Mrs. Reeves. But this summer's gentlemen may be amiable too. Mrs. Reeves was a solid, sensible sort of person who acted as a ballast for the volatile Vicky and sometimes reprimanded her in a mild way. I love the child. She had said to me once, and she is a little brick. But once in a while I have to tell her a few things for the good of the community. She takes it all like an angel. Well, I don't care, Vicky went on. Norman Steele has no right to bring anybody here whom he hasn't asked me about. If I don't like him I shall ask some of you nice, amiable men to get me a long plank and we'll put it out of a window and make him walk it, shall we? We all agreed to do this, or to tar and feather and ride on a rail any gentleman who might in any way be so unfortunate as to fall one iota short of Vicky Van's requirements. And now, said Vicky, if you'll all please go downstairs, except Mrs. Reeves and Mr. Garrison and my own sweet self, I'll be awfully obliged to you. The sweeping gesture with which she sought to dismiss us was a wave of her white arms and a smile of her red lips, and I for one found it impossible to obey. I started with the rest and then after the gay crowd were part way downstairs I turned back. Please, may I join your little class if I'll be very good? I begged. I don't want Bert Garrison to be left alone at the mercy of two such sirens. Miss Van Allen hesitated. Her pink-tipped forefinger rested a moment on her curved lip. Yes, she said, nodding her head. Yes, stay, Mr. Calhoun, you may be a help. Are you any good at getting theatre boxes after they're all sold? That's my profession. I returned. I learned it from a correspondent's school. Where's the theatre? Lead me to it. It's the Metropolis Theatre, she replied, and I want to have a party there to moor night and I want two boxes, and this awful dreadful bad Mr. Garrison says they're all sold and I can't get any. What can you do about it? Oh, I'll fix it. I'll go to the people who bought the boxes you want, and I don't know what I'll say to them exactly, but I'll fix up such a yarn that they'll beg me to take the boxes off their hands. Oh, will you really? And the dazzling smile she gave me would have repaid a much greater Herculean task than I had undertaken. And, of course, I hadn't meant it, but when she thought I did I couldn't go back on my word. I'll do my best, Miss Van Allen. I said seriously, and if I can't possibly turn the trick I'll—well, I'll buy the Metropolitan Opera House and put on a show of my own. No, she laughed. You needn't do that. But if you try and fail, why, we'll just have a little party here—a sort of consolation party and—oh, let's have some private theatricals. Wouldn't that be fun? More fun than the original program? I asked quickly, hoping to be let off my promise. No, sir, she cried, decidedly not. I want especially to have that theatre-party and supper afterward at the Brits. Now you do all you can, won't you? I promised to do all I could, and I had a partial hope I could get what she wanted by hook or crook, and then, as she heard a specially favourite foxtrot being dashed off on the piano downstairs, she sprang from her seat and, kicking the satin cushion aside, asked me to dance. In a moment we were whirling around the music room to the zipping music, and Mrs. Reeve and Garrison followed in our steps. Vicky danced with a natural-born talent that is quite unlike anything acquired by lessons. I had no need to guide her, she divined my lead, and swayed in any direction even as I was about to indicate it. I had never danced with anyone who danced so well, and I was profuse in my thanks and praise. I love it, she said simply, as she padded the gold fringes of her gown into place. I adore dancing, and you are one of the best partners I have ever had. Come, let us go down and cut into a bridge-game. We'll just about half-time before supper. Pure a wedding before me she led the way and we went down the long steep stairs. A shout greeted her appearance in the doorway. Oh, Vicky, we have missed you. Come over here and listen to Ted's latest old joke. No, come over here and hear this awful gossip Ariadne is telling for solemn truth. It's the very worst Tara Diddle she ever got off. Here's a place, Vicky Van, a nice cozy corner between Jim and me. Come on, lady girl. No, thanks, everybody. I'm going to cut in at this table. May I? Am I a nuisance? A Vicky nuisance? They ain't no such animal. And Bailey Mason rose to give her his chair. No, said she. I want you to stay, Mr. Mason. Because why I want to play with you? Cassie, give me your place, won't you, ducky-dattles? And you go and flirt with Mr. Calhoun. He knows the very newest flirts. Go, give him a try-out. Vicky Van settled herself into her seat with the happy little sigh of the bridge-lover, who sits down with three good players, and in another moment she was breathlessly looking over her hand. Without, she said triumphantly, and knowing she'd say no word more to me for the present, I walked away with Cassie Weldon. And Cassie was good fun. She took me to the piano, and with the soft pedal down, she showed me a new little-tone picture she had made up, which was both picturesque and funny. You'd better go into vaudeville, I exclaimed as she finished. Your talent is wasted on the concert platform. That's what Vicky tells me, she returned. Sometimes I believe I will try it just for fun. You'll find it such fun you'll stay in for earnest, I assured her, for she had shown a bit of inventive genius that I felt sure would make good in a little musical turn. End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 of Vicky Van by Carolyn Wells This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 2. Mr. Summers It was nearly midnight when Mr. Steele came, and with him was a man I had never seen before, and whom I assumed to be the Mr. Summers I had heard about. And it was. As Steele entered, he cast his eye around for Vicky, and saw her at the bridge-table down at the end of the room. Her back was toward us, and she was so absorbed in the game she did not look round if indeed she heard the noise of their arrival. The two men stopped near the group I was with, and Steele introduced Mr. Summers. A little curiously I looked at him, and saw a large, self-satisfied looking man wearing an expansive smile and expensive apparel. Clothes, the very best procurable, jewelry just inside the limits of good taste. He bore himself like a gentleman, yet there was an unmistakable air of ostentatious wealth that repelled me. A second look made me think Mr. Summers had dined either late or twice, but his greetings were courteous and genial, and his manner sociable, if a little patronizing. He seemed a stranger to all present, and his eye roved about for the charming hostess Steele had told him of. We'll reach Miss Van Allen presently, Steele laughed in answer to the glance, if indeed we dare interrupt her game. Let's make progress slowly. No, hurry! returned Summers affably, beaming on Cassie Weldon and meeting Ariadne Gale's receptive smile. I'm anchored here for the moment, Miss Weldon. Ah, yes, I've heard you sing. Voice like a lark. Like a lark. Clearly Summers was not much of a purveyor of small talk. I sized him up for a lumbering oldster who wanted to be playful but didn't quite know how. He had rather an austere face, yet there was a gleam in his eye that belied the austerity. His cheeks were fat and red, his nose prominent, and he was clean shaven, save for a thick white moustache that drooped sightly on either side of a full-lipped mouth. His hair was white, his eyes dark and deep-set, and he could easily be called a handsome man. He was surely fifty and perhaps more. Had it not been for a certain effusiveness in his speech I could have liked him, but he seemed to me to lack sincerity. However I am not one to judge harshly or hastily, and I met him half-way and even helped him in his efforts at gay affability. You've never been here before, I asked. Good old steel to bring you to-night. No, never before, and he glanced around appreciatively, but I shall, I hope, come often. Charming little nest, charming ladies, a bow included those nearest. Yes, indeed, babbled Ariadne, fair women and brave men. Brave, yes, agreed summers, to dare the glances of such bright eyes. I must protect my heart. He clasped his fat hands pretty near where his heart was situated and grinned with delight as Ariadne also protected her heart. Ah, he cried. Two hearts in danger. I feel sure we shall be friends if only because misery loves company. Is it really misery with you? And Ariadne's sympathy was so evidently profound that Cassie Weldon and I walked away. I'll give Ariad her innings, said the vivacious Miss Weldon, and I'll make up to the summer's kid later. Where did Vicky pick him up? She doesn't know him at all. Norman Steele brought him unbeknownst. No. Why, Vick doesn't allow that sort of thing. So I'm told. Anyway, Steele did it. Well, Vicky's such a good-natured darling, maybe she won't mind for once. She won't if she likes the little stranger. He's well-meaning at any rate. So is Ariadne. From her smile I think she well means to sell him her latest autumn in the Adirondacks, or Lady with a Handbag. Now don't be mean, but Cassie laughed, and I don't blame her if she does. Poor ad-paints above the heads of the public, so if this is a high-up publican she'd better make sales while the sun shines. What's her work like? You can see more of it in this house than anywhere else. Vicky is so fond of Ariadne and so sorry her pictures don't sell better that she buys a lot herself. Does Miss Gale know Miss Van Allen does it out of? Don't say charity. No, they're really good stuff, and Vicky buys them for Christmas gifts and bridge prizes. Does she ever play for prizes? I thought she liked a bit of a steak now. Yes, at evening parties, but often we have a duff game of an afternoon with prizes and pink tea. Vicky Van isn't a gay doll, you know. She's—sometimes she's positively domestic. I wish she had a nice husband and some little kitties. Why hasn't she? Give it up. She's never seen any man she loved, I suppose. Perhaps she'll love this summer's person. Heaven forbid, nothing less than a crown prince would suit Vicky Van. Look, she's turning to meet him. Won't he be bowled over? I turned, and though there were several people between us, I caught a glimpse of summer's face as he was presented to Miss Van Allen. He was bowled over. His eyes beamed with admiration and he bowed low as he raised to his lips the dainty, bejeweled hand. Vicky apparently did not welcome this old time greeting, and she drew away her hand, saying, Not allowed, naughty man. Express proper compunction, or you can't sit next to me at supper. Forgive me, begged summer's. I'm sorry, I'll never do it again, until after I sit next to you at supper. More brains than I thought, I said to Cassie who nodded and then Vicky Van rose from her chair. Take my place for a moment, Mr. Summers, she said standing before him. Aye, she dropped her eyes adorably. I must see about the arrangement of seats at this supper table. With a merry laugh she ran from the room and through the long hall to the dining room. Summers dropped into her vacant chair and continued the bridge game with the air of one who knows how to play. In less than five minutes Vicky was back. No, keep the hand, she said as he rose. She played long enough and supper will be ready shortly. Finish the rubber, I insist. Summers returned and as he determinately stood behind the chair Vicky per force sat down. He continued to stand behind her chair watching her play. Vicky was too sure of her game to be rattled at his close scrutiny but it seemed to me her shoulders shrugged a little impatiently as he criticized or commended her plays. She had thrown a light scarf of gauze or tulle around the room and being the same color as her gown it made her seem more than ever like an hoary. She smiled up into Summers' face and then coyly her long lashes fell on her pink cheeks. Evidently she had concluded to bewitch the newcomer and she was making good. I drew nearer, principally because I liked to look at her. She was a live wire to-night. She looked roguish and she made most brilliant plays tossing down her cards with gay little gestures and doing trick shovels with her twinkling fingers. You could have had that last trick if you'd played for it," Summers said as the rubber finished. I know it, Vicky conceded. I saw just too late that I was getting the lead into the wrong hand. Well, don't ever do that again," he said lightly. Never again. As he said the last word he laid his fingertips on her shoulder. It was the various touch. The shoulder was swathed in the transparent tulle, but still it roused Vicky. She glanced up at him and I looked at him too. But Summers was not in flirtatious mood. He said, I beg your pardon in most correct fashion. Had he then touched her inadvertently? It didn't seem so, but his speech assured it. Vicky jumped up from the table and ignoring Summers ran out to the hall saying something about looking after the surprise for the supper. To my surprise Summers followed her, not hastily but rather deliberately and quelling an absurd impulse to go to I turned to Norman Steele who stood near. Who's this Summers? I asked him rather abruptly. Is he all right? You bet," said Steele, smiling. He's a top notcher. In what respects? Every and all. You've known him long? Yes, I tell you, Cal, he's all right. Forget it. What's the surprise for supper, do you know? Of course not. It wouldn't be a surprise if we all knew of it. Well, Vicky's surprises are always great fun. Why, the grouch old man, can't you cheer up? Oh, I'm all right, and I felt annoyed that he read in my face that I was put out. But I didn't like the look of Summers and I couldn't say so to the man who had brought him there. Oh, please, oh, please! shouted a hoarse strange voice and one scarcely to be heard above the hum of gay voices and peals of gay laughter. Oh, somebody, please! I looked across the room and in the wide hall doorway stood a man who was quite evidently a waiter. He was white-faced and staring eyed and he fairly hung on to a portiere for support as he repeated his agonized plea. What is it? said Mrs. Reeves as everybody else stared at the man. What do you want? She stepped toward him and we all turned to look. Not you, no, madame. Some man, please, some doctor. Is there one here? Some of the servants ill asked Mrs. Reeves kindly. Dr. Remson, will you come? The pleasant-faced, capable-looking woman paused only until Dr. Remson joined her and the two went into the hall the waiter following slowly. In a moment I heard a shriek, a wild scream. Partly curiosity and partly a foreboding of harm to Vicky Van made me rush forward. Mrs. Reeves had screamed and I ran the length of the hall to the dining-room. There I saw summers on the floor and Remson bending over him. He's killed! He's stabbed! cried Mrs. Reeves, clutching at my arm as I reached her. Oh, what shall we do? She stood just in the dining-room doorway which was at the end of the long hall as in most city-houses. The room was but dimly lighted, the table candles not yet burning. Keep the people back! I shouted as those in the living-room pressed out into the hall. Steel, keep those girls back! There was an awful commotion. The men urged the women back, but curiosity and horror made them surge forward in irresistible force. Shut the door! whispered Remson. This man is dead. It's an awful situation. Shut that door! Somehow I managed to get the door closed between the dining-room and the hall, on the inside where Remson, Mrs. Reeves, who wouldn't budge, and myself. Outside in the hall was a crowd of hysterical women and frightened men. Are you sure? I asked in a low voice going nearer to the doctor and looking at summer's fast-glazing eyes. Sure. He was stabbed straight to the heart with, see, a small sharp knife. Her hands over her eyes, but peering through her fingers, Mrs. Reeves drew near. Not really, she moaned. Oh, not really dead. Can't we do anything for him? No, said Remson, rising to his feet from his kneeling position. He's dead, I tell you. Who did it? That waiter. I began and then stopped. Coming in from a door opposite the hall door, probably one that led to a butler's pantry or kitchen were half a dozen white-faced waiters. Come in here, said Remson. Not all of you, which is chief. I am a sir. And a head waiter came into the room. What has happened? A man has been killed, said the doctor shortly. Who are you? Who are you all? House servants? No, sir, said the chief. We're caterers men, from fresh genies. I'm a Luigi. We are here to serve supper. What do you know of this? Nothing, sir, and the Italian looked truthful, though scared. Haven't you been in and out of the dining room all evening? Yes, sir, setting the table and such. But now it's all ready, and I was waiting Miss Van Allen's word to serve it. Where is Miss Van Allen? I broke in. I-I don't know, sir. Luigi hesitated, and Dr. Remson interrupted. We mustn't ask these questions, Mr. Calhoun. We must call the police. The police, cried Mrs. Reeves. Oh, no, no, don't do that. It is my duty, said the doctor, firmly. And no one must enter or leave this room until an officer arrives. Your waiters stay there in that pantry. Close those doors to the other room, Mr. Calhoun, please. Mrs. Reeves, I'm sorry, but I must ask you to stay here. I won't do it, declared the lady. You're not an officer of the law. I'll stay in the house, but not in this room." She stalked out into the hall, and Dr. Remson went at once to the telephone and called up headquarters. The guests in the living room, hearing this, flew into a panic. Of course, it was no longer possible, nor as I could see desirable to keep them in ignorance of what had happened. After calling the police, Dr. Remson returned to his post just inside the dining-room door. He answered questions patiently at first, but after being nearly driven crazy by the frantic women he said sharply, You may all do just as you like. I have no authority here except that, the ethics of my profession dictate. That does not extend to jurisdiction over the guests present. But I advise you as a matter of common decency to stay here until this affair is investigated. But they didn't. Many of them hastily gathered up their wraps and went out of the house as quickly as possible. Cassie Weldon came to me in her distress. I must go, Mr. Calhoun," she said. Don't you think I may? Why, it wouldn't appear greatly with my work to have it known that I was mixed up in a— You're not mixed up in it, Miss Weldon. I began to speak a little sternly, but the look in her eyes aroused my sympathy. Well, go on," I said. I suppose you will testify if called on. Everybody knows where to find you. Yes," she said slowly, but I hope I won't be called on. Why, it might spoil my whole career. She slipped out of the door in the wake of some other departing guests. After all, I thought it couldn't matter much. Few, if any of them, were implicated, and they could all be found at their homes. And yet I had a vague idea that we ought all to stay. I shall remain and face the music," I heard Mrs. Reeve saying. Where is Vicky? Do you suppose she knows about this? I'm going up in the music room to see if she's there. You know, with all the excitement down here, those upstairs may know nothing of it. I shall remain too," said Ariadne Gale. Why, should anyone kill Mr. Summers? Did the caterers' people do it? What an awful thing! Will it be in the papers? Will it?" said Garrison, who was standing near. Reporters may be here any minute. Must be here as soon as the police come. Where is Miss Van Allen? I don't know, and Ariadne began to cry. Stop that, said Mrs. Reeves gruffly, but not unkindly. Stay if you want to, Ariadne, but behave like a sensible woman, not a silly schoolgirl. This is an awful tragedy of some sort. What do you mean of some sort? asked Miss Gale. I mean, we don't know what revelations are yet to come. Where's Norman Steele? Where's the man who brought the Summers here? Sure enough, where was Steele? I had forgotten all about him. And it was he who had introduced Summers to the Van Allen house, and no one else present so far as I knew, was previously acquainted with the man now lying dead the other side of that closed door. I looked over the people who had stayed. Only a handful, perhaps half a dozen. And then I wondered if I'd better go home myself. Not for my own sake, in any way. Indeed, I preferred to remain, but I thought of Aunt Lucy and Nguyen. Hot eye to bring on them any shadow of trouble or a probrium that might result from my presence in that house at that time. Would it not be better to go while I could do so? For once the police took charge, I knew I should be called on to testify in public. And even as I debated with myself, the police arrived. The Waiter's Story Dr. Remsen's police call had been imperative and Inspector Mason came in with two men. What's this? What's wrong here? The big, burly inspector said as he faced the few of us who had remained. Come in here, Inspector, said the doctor from the dining-room door. And from that moment the whole aspect of the house seemed to change. No longer a gay little bijoux residence it became a court of justice. One of the men was stationed at the street door and one at the area door below. Headquarters was notified of details. The coroner was summoned and we were all for the moment under detention. Where is Miss Van Allen? Where is the lady of the house? asked Mason. Where are the servants? Who is in charge here? Was ever a string of questions so impossible of answers. Dr. Remsen told the main facts, but he was reticent. I, too, hesitated to say much for the case was strange indeed. Mrs. Reeves looked gravely concerned but said nothing. Harry Addney Gale began to babble. That girl didn't know how to be quiet. I guess Miss Van Allen is upstairs, she volunteered. She was in the dining-room but she isn't here now so she must be upstairs. Shall I go and see? Oh, thundered the inspector. Stay where you are. Search the house, Breen. I'll cover the street door. The man he called Breen went upstairs on the jump and Mason continued. Tell the story, one of you. Who is this man? Who killed him? As he talked the inspector was examining Summers body making rapid notes in a little book, keeping his eye on the door and darting quick glances at each of us as he tried to grasp the situation. I looked at Burt Garrison who was perhaps the most favourite of Miss Van Allen's friends, but he shook his head so I threw myself into the breach. Inspector, I said, that man's name is Summers. Further than that I know nothing. He is a stranger to all of us and he came to this house tonight for the first time in his life. How'd he happen to come? Friend of Miss Van Allen? He met her tonight for the first time. He came here with... I paused. It was so hard to know what to do. Steel had gone home, ought I to implicate him? Go on. Came here with whom? The truth now. I usually speak the truth, I return shortly. He came with Mr. Norman Steel. Where is Mr. Steel? He has gone. There were a great many people here and naturally some of them went away when this tragedy was discovered. Humph! Then of course the guilty party escaped, but we are getting nowhere. Does nobody know anything of this man but his name? Nobody did, but Ariadne piped up. He was a delightful man. He told me he was a great patron of art and often bought pictures. Paying little heed to her the Inspector was endeavouring to learn from the dead man's property something more about him. No letters or papers, he said disappointedly as he turned out the pockets. Not unusual in evening talks, but not even a card or anything personal. Looks queer. Look in his watch, said Ariadne, bridling with importance. Giving her a keen glance the Inspector followed her suggestion. In the back of the case was a picture of a coquettish face, undoubtedly that of an actress. It was not carefully fastened in but roughly cut out and pressed in with ragged edges. Temporary, grunted the Inspector, and recently stuck in. Some chicken he took out to supper. He's a club man, you say. Yes, Mr. Steele said so and also vouched for his worth and character. I resented the Inspector's attitude. Though I knew nothing of Summers and didn't altogether like him yet I saw no reason to think ill of the dead until circumstances warranted it. Further search brought a thick roll of money some loose silver, a key ring with seven or eight keys, eyeglasses in a silver case, handkerchiefs, a gold pencil, a knife, and such trifles as any man might have in his pockets, but no directly identifying piece of property. R. S. was embroidered in tiny white letters on the handkerchiefs and a monogram R. S. was on his seal ring. His jewellery, which was costly, the Inspector did not touch. There were magnificent pearl studs, a watch fob, set with a black opal and pearl cufflinks. Examination of his hat showed the pierced letters R. S., but nothing gave clue to his Christian name. Summers, said the Inspector musingly, what club does he belong to? I don't know, I replied. Mr. Steele belongs to several, but Mr. Summers does not belong to any that I do. At least I've never seen him at any. Call in the servants. Let's find out something about this household. As no one else moved to do it, I stepped to the door of the butler's pantry and summoned the head-waiter of the caterer. Where are the house servants? I asked him. There aren't any, sir, he replied, looking shuttlingly at the grisly form on the floor. No, servants, in a house of this type, what do you mean? That's true, said Mrs. Reeves, breaking her silence at last. Miss Van Allen has a very capable woman who is housekeeper and ladies-made in one. But when guests are here, the suppers are served from the caterers. Then call the housekeeper. And where is Miss Van Allen herself? She's not in the house, said the policeman Breen, returning from his search. Not in the house, cried Mrs. Reeves. Where is she? I've been all over every room, every floor. She isn't in the house. There's nobody upstairs at all. No housekeeper or maid, demanded Mason. Then they've got away. Here, waiter, tell me all you know of this thing. The Italian Luigi came forward shaking with terror and ringing his fingers nervously. I don't know anything about it, he began. But Mason interrupted. You do, you know all about it. Did you kill this man? No, Dio mio, no, a thousand no's. Then, unless you wish to be suspected of it, tell all you know. A commotion at the door heralded the coroner's arrival, also a detective and a couple of plain clothesmen. Clearly, here was a mysterious case. The coroner at once took matters in his own hands. Inspector Mason told him all that had been learned so far and though coroner Fan seemed to think matters had been pretty well bungled, he made no comment and proceeded with the inquiries. Sure, there's nobody upstairs, he asked Breen. Positive, I looked in every nook and cranny. I've raked the whole house but the basement and kitchen part. Go down there then and then go back and search upstairs again. Somebody may be hiding. Who here knows Miss Van Allen the most intimately? Perhaps I do, said Mrs. Reeves, or Miss Gale. We are both her warm friends. I'm also her friend, volunteered Bert Garrison, and I can guarantee that if Miss Van Allen has fled from this house it was out of sheer fright. She never saw this man until tonight. He was a stranger to us all. Where's the housekeeper? went on Fen. I think she must be somewhere about, said Mrs. Reeves, perhaps in the kitchen. Julie is an all-round capable woman. When there are no guests she prepares Miss Van Allen's meals herself. When company is present the caterer always is employed. And there are no other servants? Not permanent ones, replied Mrs. Reeves. I believe the laundress and chore boy come by the day, also cleaning women and such. But I know that Miss Van Allen has no resident servant besides the maid Julie. This woman must be found, snapped the corner. But we must first of all identify the body. Mason, call up the principal clubs on the telephone and locate our summers. Also find Mr. Norman Steele. Now, Luigi, let's have your story. The trembling waiter stammered incoherently and said little of moment. Look here, said Fen bluntly. Is that your knife sticking in him? I mean, is it one belonging to Fast Genie's service? Don't touch it, but look at it, you can tell. Luigi leaned over the dead man. Yes, it is a one of our boning knives, he said. We always bring our own hardware. Well then, if you want to clear yourself and your men of doubt tell all you know. I know this. And Luigi braced himself to the ordeal. I was awaiting in the pantry for Miss Van Allen to send me word to serve supper and I peeped in the dining room now and then to see if it was time. I heard a presently Miss Van Allen's voice, also a man's voice. I didn't want to intrude so waited for a summons. After a moment or two I heard a little scream and heard somebody or something fall. I had no thought of anything wrong, but thought the guests were unusually, er, riotous. Are Miss Van Allen's guests inclined to be riotous? No, sir, oh no. I severated the man while Mrs. Reeves and Ariadne looked indignant. And for that reason I felt a little curious, so I pushed the door jar and peeped in. What did you see? I saw... Luigi paused so long that I feared he was going to collapse, but the coroner eyed him sternly and he went on. I saw Miss Van Allen standing, looking down at this, this gentleman on the floor, and making as if her to pull out the knife. I could scarcely believe my eyes and I watched at her. She didn't pull the knife, but as she straightened up, looked around, glanced down at her gown, which, which was stained with blood, and then she ran out into the hall. Where did she go? I don't know. I couldn't see as the door was but on a crack. Then I thought I ought to go into the dining room and I did. I looked at the gentleman, but I didn't know what to do. So I went into the hall, to the parlor door, and called her for help, for a doctor or some a buddy, and then they all came out here. That's all I know. Luigi's nerve gave way and he sank into a chair with a sob. Fen looked at him and considerably left him alone for the time. Can this be true? he said turning to us. Can you suspect Miss Van Allen of this crime? No, cried Burt Garrison and the women at once. And no, said I. I am positive Miss Van Allen did not know Mr. Summers and could not have killed another stranger on no provocation whatever. You do not know what provocation she may have had, suggested Fen. Now look here, Mr. Coroner, said Mrs. Reeves very decidedly. I won't have Miss Van Allen spoken of in any such way. I assume you mean that this man, though a stranger might have said or done something to annoy or offend Miss Van Allen. Well, if he had done so, Victoria Van Allen never would have killed him. She is the gentlest, most gay and light-hearted girl, and though she never tolerates any rudeness or familiarity, the idea of her killing a man is too absurd. You might as well suspect a dove or a butterfly of a crime. That's right, Mr. Coroner, said Garrison. That waiter's story is an hallucination of some sort, if it isn't a deliberate falsification. Miss Van Allen is a dainty, happy creature, and to connect her with anything like this is absurd. That's to be found out, Mr. Garrison. Why did Miss Van Allen run away? I don't admit that she did run away, in the sense of flight. If she were frightened at this thing, if she saw it, she may have run out of the door in hysterics or in a panic of terror. But she, the perpetrator, never, never echoed Mrs. Reeves. The poor child. If she did come out here and saw this awful sight, why I think it would unhinge her mind. Who is Miss Van Allen? asked Finn. What is her occupation? She hasn't an occupation, said Mrs. Reeves. She is a young lady of independent fortune. As to her people or immediate relatives, I know nothing at all. I've known her a year or so, and as she never referred to such matters I never inquired. But she's a thorough little gentle woman, and I'll defend her against any slander to my utmost powers. And so will I, said Miss Gale, I am sure of her finest of character and lovely nature. But these opinions, ladies, don't help our inquiries, interrupted Finn. What can you men tell us? What I want first is to identify this body or rather to learn more of our summers and to find Miss Van Allen. I can't hold an inquest until these points are cleared up. Mason, have you found anything? No, said the inspector returning from his long telephone quest. I called up four clubs. Norman Steele belongs to three of them, but this man doesn't seem to belong to any. That is, there are summerses and even are summerses, but they all have middle names and, too, their description doesn't fit this summer's. Then Mr. Steele misrepresented him. Did you get Steele, Mason? No, he wasn't at any of the clubs. I found his residence a bachelor apartment house, but he isn't there either. Find Steele. Find Miss Van Allen. Find the maid. What's her name? Julia? Julie, she was always called, said Mrs. Reeves. If Miss Van Allen went away, I have no doubt Julie went with her. She is a most devoted caretaker of her mistress. An oldish woman? No, perhaps between thirty-five and forty. What she look like? Describe her, Ariadne, you're an artist. Julie, said Miss Gale, is a good sort. She's medium-sized, she has brown hair and rather hazel eyes. She wears glasses and she stups a little in her walk. She has perfect training and correct manners and she is a model servant, but she gives the impression of watching over Miss Van Allen, whatever else she may be engaged in at the same time. Where's Black? No, usually grey gowns or sometimes white. In conspicuous aprons and no cap. She's not quite a menial but yet not entirely a housekeeper. English? English speaking if that's what you mean? But I think she's an American, don't you, Mrs. Reeves? American? Yes, of course. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of Vicky Van by Carolyn Wells This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 4. Summer's real name. Detective Lowney who had come with the coroner had said little but had listened to all. Occasionally he would dart from the room and return a few moments later scribbling in his notebook. He was an alert little man with beady black eyes and a stubby black moustache. I want a few words with that caterer's man, he said suddenly, and then they'd better clear away their supper business and go home. We all turned to look at the table. It stood in the end of the dining room that was back of the living room. The sideboard was at the opposite end, back of the hall, and it was directly in front of the sideboard that Summer's body lay. Lowney turned on more light and a thrill went through us at the incongruity of that gay table and the tragedy so near it. As always at Vicky Van's parties the appointments were dainty and elaborate. Flowers decorated the table, lace, silver and glass were of finest quality and in the centre was the contrivance known as a Jack Horner pie. That was to be the surprise, said Mrs. Reeves. I knew about it. The pie is full of lovely trinkets and little jokes on the guests. I thought those things were for children's parties, observed Fenn looking with interest at the gorgeous confection. They're really for birthdays, said Mrs. Reeves, and today is Vicky's birthday. That was part of her surprise. She didn't want it known lest the guests should bring gifts. She's like a child, Vicky, as just as happy over a birthday party as a little girl would be. What does Miss Van Allen look like, asked the detective. She's pretty, replied Mrs. Reeves, awfully pretty but not a raving beauty, black hair and bright fresh colouring. How was she dressed, giddy clothes? In an evening gown returned to Mrs. Reeves who resented the detective's offhand manner. A beautiful French gown of tulle and gold trimmings. Lonectin and all that, jewels? Yes, I said, as Mrs. Reeves disdained to answer. Full evening costume and a necklace and earrings of amber set in gold. Well, what I'm getting at is, said Lowney, a woman dressed like that couldn't go very far in the streets without being noticed. Will Shirley be able to trace Miss Van Allen? Where would she be likely to go? I don't know, said Mrs. Reeves. She wouldn't go to my home. I live way down in Washington Square. Nor to mine, chirped Ariadne. It's over on the west side. I don't believe she left the house, declared the coroner. Tell us again, Luigi, asked Lowney. Just where did the lady seem to go when you saw her leave this room? I can't say, sir. I was looking through a small opening as I pushed the door ajar and I was so amazed at what I saw that I was sort of paralyzed and didn't dare open the door further. Go back to the pantry, commanded Van, and look in just as you did. The waiter retreated to the post he had held and setting the door a few inches ajar proved that he could see the body by the sideboard but could not command a view of the hall. Now I'll represent Miss Van Allen and Lowney stood over the body of Summers. Is this the place? A little farther to the right, sir, and Luigi's earnestness and good faith were unmistakable. Yes, sir, just there. Now I walk out into the hall. Is this the way she went? Yes, sir, the same. Lowney went from the dining room to the hall and it was clear that his further progress could not be seen by the peeping waiter. You see, Fen, the detective went on. From here in the back of this long hall Miss Van Allen could have left the house by two ways. She could have gone out at the front door passing the parlor or she could have gone down these basement stairs which are just under the stairs to the second story. Then she could have gone out by the front-area door which would give her access to the street. She could have caught up a cloak as she went. Or, said Fen musingly, she could have run upstairs. The staircase is so far back in the hall that the guests in the parlor would not have seen her. This is a very deep house, you see. It was true. The stairs began so far back in the long hall that Vicky could easily have slipped upstairs after leaving the dining room without being seen by any of us in the living room unless we were in its doorway looking out. Was anybody? So many guests had left that this point could not be revealed. I didn't see her, declared Mrs. Reeves, and I don't believe she was in the dining room at all. I don't care what that waiter says. Oh, yes, a madame. Reiterated Luigi. It was a Miss Van Allen. I know her well. Often she comes to fast genies and always I take her orders. She came even this afternoon to make sure the great cake, the Jack Horner, was all right. And she approved it. Ah, she clapped her hands at sight of it. We all do our best for Miss Van Allen. She is a lovely lady. Miss Van Allen is one of your regular customers. One of our best. Very often we serve her and always she orders our finest wares. You provide everything? Everything. Candles, flowers, decorations, all. And as she pays her bills? Most promptly. By check? Yes, sir. And there are no servants here but the maid Julie. I have often seen others. But I fancy they do not live in the house. Madame Julie super intends and directs us always. Miss Van Allen leaves a much to her. She is most capable. When did you see this woman, this Julie last? The shorter time before. Before that happened. Luigi looked toward the body. She was in and out of the pantries all the evening. She admitted the guests. She acted as the ladies made and as she arranged the favors in the pie. It was, I should say, ten minutes or so since she was last in the pantry when I peeped in at the door. Where was Julie then? I don't know. I did not see her. Perhaps upstairs or maybe in the front of the hall waiting to bring me word to serve a supper. Tell me something distinctive about this maid's appearance. Was she good-looking? Yes, a good-looking woman but nothing as special about her. She had many gold fillings in her teeth. That's something and Lowney noted it with satisfaction. Go on. But Luigi seemed to know nothing else that differentiated Julie from her sisters in service and Lowney changed his questions. How could Miss Van Allen get that knife of yours? He asked. I don't know, sir. It was, I suppose, in the pantry with our other knives. What is its use? It is a boning knife but doubtless one of our men used it in cutting celery for salad or some such a purpose. Ask them. Inquiry showed that a man named Palma had used the knife for making a salad and had left it in the butler's pantry an hour or so before the crime was committed. Anyone could have taken the knife without its being missed as the salad had been completed and put aside. In that case Miss Van Allen must have secured the knife some little time before it was used as Luigi was in the pantry just previously. Observed then. That shows premeditation. It wasn't done with a weapon picked up at the moment. Then it couldn't have been done by Miss Van Allen, exclaimed Mrs. Reeves triumphantly, for Vicky had no reason to premeditate killing a man she had never seen before. Vicky didn't do it, wailed Ariadne. I know she didn't. She must be found, said Lowney, but she will be found. If she's innocent she will return herself. If guilty we must find her and we will. A householder cannot drop out of existence unnoticed by anyone. Does she own this house? I think so, said Mrs. Reeves. I'm not positive, but it's my impression that she does. Vicky Van never boasts her talks of her money or of herself. But I know she gives a good deal in charity and is always ready to subscribe to philanthropic causes. I tell you she is not the criminal and I don't believe she ever left this house in the middle of the night in evening dress. That child is scared to death and is hiding in the attic or somewhere. Suppose, Mrs. Reeves, said the coroner, you go with Mr. Lowney and look over the house again. Search the bedrooms and storerooms. I will, and Mrs. Reeves seemed to welcome an opportunity to help. She was a good-hearted woman and a staunch friend of Vicky Van. I was glad she was on hand to stand up for the girl for I confess things look to me pretty dubious. Come along too, Mr. Calhoun, said Mrs. Reeves. There's no telling what we may find. Perhaps there's further tragedy. I knew what was in her mind that if Vicky had done the thing she might have in an agony of remorse taken her own life. Thrilled with this new fear I followed Lowney and Mrs. Reeves. We went downstairs first. We examined all the basement rooms and the small city backyard. There was no sign of Vicky Van or of Julie and next we came back to the first floor, hunted that and then on upstairs. The music room was soon searched and I fell back as the others went into Vicky's room. Come on, Mr. Calhoun, said Lowney, we must make a thorough job of it this time. The bedroom was, it seemed to me, a dream. Furniture of white enameled wicker with pink satin cushions. Everywhere the most exquisite appointments of silver, crystal and embroidered fabrics and a bed fit for a princess. It seemed profanation for the little detective to poke and pry around in wardrobes and cupboards though I knew it must be done. He was not only looking for Vicky but noting anything that might bear on her disappearance. Everything was in order and all just as a well-bred, refined woman would have her belongings. The bedroom was over the dining room and back of this over the pantry extension was Vicky Van's dressing room. This was a Bijoux Boudoir and dressing table, chiffonet, robe chests and jewel caskets were all in keeping with the personality of their owner. The walls were paneled in pale rose color and a few fine pictures were in absolute harmony. Here was in a Florentine guilt frame and a chaise long by a reading table bespoke hours of ease. Ruthlessly, lowny pride into everything ran his arm among the gowns hanging in the wardrobe and looked into the carved chests. Again, no clue. The perfect order everywhere showed perhaps preparation for guests but nothing indicated flight or hiding. The dressing table boxes held some bits of jewelry but nothing of really great detail. An escritoir was full of letters and papers and this lowny locked and put the key in his pocket. If it's all right, he said, there is no harm done and if the lady doesn't show up we must examine the stuff. On we went to the third floor of the house. The rooms here were unused, save one that was evidently Julie's. The furnishings though simple were attractive and showed a thoughtful mistress and an appreciative maid. Several uniforms of black and of grey were in the cupboard and several white aprons and one white dress. There were books and a work basket and such things has betoken the life of a sedate busy woman. We left no room, no cupboard unopened, no hall or loft unsearched. We looked in, under and behind every piece of furniture and came at last to the unescapable conclusion that wherever Vicki Van might be she was not in her own house. Downstairs we went and found Coroner Fenn and Inspector Mason in the hall. They had let Dr. Ramson go home also Garrison and Miss Gale. The waiters too had been sent off. You people can go if you like, Fenn said to Mrs. Reeves and myself, I'll take your addresses and you can expect to be called on as witnesses. If we ever get anything to witness, we never saw such a case. No criminal to arrest and nobody knows the victim. He must be from out of town. We'll nail Mr. Steele tomorrow and begin to get somewhere. Also, we'll look up Miss Van Allen's credits and business acquaintances. A woman can't have lived two years in a house like this and not have somebody know her antecedents and relatives. I suppose Mr. Steele brought his friend here and then, what happened, he was scared and lit out. Maybe Steele did the killing, suggested Lowney. No, disagreed Fenn. I believe that Dago waiters yarn. I crossed question him a lot before I let him go and I'm sure he's telling what he saw. I'll see Fast Genie's headman tomorrow or I suppose it's tomorrow now. Hello, who's that? Another policeman came in at the street door. What's up? He said looking about in amazement. You hear, Mr. Fenn, Lowney, what's doing? It was patrolman Farrell, the officer on the beat. Where you been? asked the coroner. Don't you know what has happened? No, ever since midnight I've been handling a crowd at a fire a couple blocks away. This is Miss Van Allen's house. Sure it is and a friend has been bumped off. What, killed? That's it. What do you know of Miss Van Allen? Nothing, except that she lives here. Quiet, young lady. Nothing to be said about her. Who's the man? Don't know, except named Summers. Never heard of him. Where's Miss Van Allen? Skipped. What, that little Thorbret in a shooting? He isn't shot. Stabbed with a kitchen knife. Let's see him. The coroner and Farrell went toward the dining room and on an irresistible impulse of curiosity I followed. Him exclaimed Farrell as he caught sight of the dead man's features. Then ain't no Summers. That's Randolph Skyler. What? Sure it is. Skyler, the millionaire, is far down from here. Who killed him? But look here. Are you sure this is Randolph Skyler? Sure, of course I'm sure. His house is on my beat. I see him often going in or coming out. Well, then, we have got a big case on our hands, Mason. The inspector could scarcely believe Farrell's statement, but realize that the policeman must know. Whoa! He's dead. Trying to think of a dozen things at once. Then Steele knew him and introduced him as Summers on purpose. No wonder the clubs didn't know of our Summers. RS on his handkerchiefs and all that. He used a false name because he didn't want it known that Randolph Skyler came to see Miss Van Allen. Oh, here's a mess. Where's that girl? Why did she kill him? She didn't. She just began to cry. She didn't know it was Mr. Skyler. She doesn't know Mr. Skyler. I'm sure she doesn't because we were making lists for bizarre patrons and she said she would ask only people she knew and we tried to find somebody who knew Randolph Skyler to ask him, but we didn't know anybody who was acquainted with him at all. Oh, it can't be the rich Skyler. Why would he come here? We must get hold of Mr. Steele as soon as possible, said Van excitedly. Breen, call up his home address again and if he isn't there go there and stick till he comes. Now for someone to identify this body. Call up the Skyler house. No, better go around there. Where is it, Farrell? Go straight out to the avenue and turn down. You go to the bank, only part of a block down. Who's going? You go, Lowney, said Van. Mason, will you go? Yes, of course. Come on, Lowney. The coroner gave Mrs. Reeves and myself permission to go home and I was glad to go, but Mrs. Reeves declared her intention of staying the night what was left of it in Miss Van Allen's house. It's too late for me to go down alone, all the way, and too I'd rather be here in case. In case Miss Van Allen comes home. I'm her friend and I know she'd like me to stay. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of Vicky Van by Carolyn Wells This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. 5 The Skyler Household As for me, I began to collect my senses after the shock of learning the true identity of the dead man. Though I had never met him, Randolph Skyler was a client and friend of my partner Charles Bradbury and I suddenly felt a sort of personal responsibility of action. For one thing, I disliked the idea of Mr. Skyler's wife and family receiving the first tidings of the tragedy from the police. It seemed to me a friend ought to break the news, if possible. I said as much to Coroner Fenn that, so, he said, it'll be an awful errand in the middle of the night, too. If you're acquainted, suppose you go there with the boys, Mr. Calhoun. I'm not personally acquainted, but Mr. Skyler is my partner's client, though there's been little business of his with our firm up late. But as a matter of humanity I'll go if you say so and be of any help I can. Go, by all means. They'll probably be glad to hear advice and assistance in many ways. I dreaded the errant yet I thought if the police had had to go and tell Winnie and Aunt Lucy any such awful news, how glad they'd be to have somebody present of their own world, even of their own neighbourhood. So I went. As we had been told the Skyler House was only a few doors below the Avenue Corner. Even as Mason rang the bell I was thinking how strange that a man should go to a house where he desired his own name when it was so near his own dwelling. And yet I knew, too, that the houses on Fifth Avenue are as far removed from houses just off the Avenue as if they were in a different town. Mason's ring was answered by a keen-eyed man of imperturbable countenance. What's wanted, he said, gazing calmly at the policeman. Where is Mr. Skyler? asked the Inspector in a matter-of-fact way. He's out, said the man, not fully enough but of no mind to be loquacious. Where? I don't know. He went to his club after dinner and has not yet returned. Are you his valet? Yes, I wait up for him. He comes in with his ski. I have no idea when he will return. Is his wife at home? Yes, Mrs. Skyler is at home. Clearly this man was answering questions only because he recognised the authority that asked them. But he volunteered no information. Who else is in the family, children? No, Mr. Skyler has no children. His two sisters are here and Mrs. Skyler, that is all. They are all in bed. Yes, sir, has anything happened to Mr. Skyler? Yes, there has. Mr. Skyler is dead. Dead? The imperturbable calm gave way and the valet became nervously excited. What do you mean? Where is he? Shall I go to him? We will come in, said Launey, for until now we had stood outside. Then we will tell you. Are any of the other servants about? No, sir, they are all in bed. Then what is your name? Cooper, sir. Then Cooper, call the butler or whoever is in general charge and summon Mrs. Skyler. I'll call Jepson, he's the butler, sir. And I'll call Mrs. Skyler's maid, Tibbetts, if she's in. And the maid Hester, who waits on the Mrs. Skyler, shall I? Yes, get things started. Get Jepson as soon as you can. This is an awful affair, said Mason as Cooper went off. We were in the hall, a great apartment more like a room saved that a broad staircase curved up at one side. The furnishings were magnificent but in a taste heavily ornate and a little old-fashioned. There were carved and upholstered benches but none of us cared to sit. The tension was too great. Keep your eyes open, Lowney, he went on. There's lots to be picked up from servants before they're really on their guard. Get all you can about Mr. Skyler's evening habits from the man Cooper but go easy with the ladies, it's hard enough for them at best. The valet reappeared with Jepson. This butler was of the accepted type, portly and important but the staggering news Cooper had evidently told him had made him a man among men. What's this? He said gravely. The master dead, a perplexi. No, Jepson, Mr. Skyler was killed by someone. We don't know who did it. Killed. Murdered. My God. The butler spoke in a strong low voice with no hint of dramatic effect. How will Mrs. Skyler bear it? How shall we tell her, Jepson? Mason showed a consultant ear for the butler was so evidently a man of judgment and sense. We must awaken her maid and let her rouse Mrs. Skyler. Then the other ladies, Mr. Skyler's sisters, we must call them. Yes, Jepson, do all those things as quickly as you can. But the wait seemed interminable. At last the butler came back and asked us up to the library, the front room on the floor above. Here a footman was lighting a fire on the hearth for the house had the chill of the small hours. First came the two sisters. These ladies, though not elderly, were middle-aged and perhaps a few years older than their brother. They were austere and prim of aristocratic features and patrician air. But they were almost hysterical in their excitement. A distressed maid hovered behind them with salvolataly. The ladies were fully attired but caps on their heads and mulli-wraps flung round them bore witness to hasty dressing. What is it? cried Miss Rhoda, the younger of the two. What has happened to Randolph? I introduced myself to them. I told them as gently as I could the bare facts, deeming it wise to make no prevarication. So rapidly did they listen and so earnestly did I try to omit horrible details and yet tell the truth that I did not hear Mrs. Skyler enter the room. But she did come in and heard also the story as I told it. Can it not be, I heard a soft voice behind me say, can it not yet be there is some mistake? Who says that man is my husband? I turned to see the white face and clenched hands of Randolph Skyler's widow. She was holding herself together and trying to get a gleam of hope from uncertainty. If I had felt pity and sorrow for her before I saw her, it was doubly poignant now. Ruth Skyler was one of those gentle, appealing women, helplessly feminine in emergency. Her frightened, grief-stricken eyes looked out of a small, pale face and her bloodless lips quivered as she caught them between her teeth in an effort to preserve her self-control. I am Chester Calhoun, I said, and she bowed in acknowledgement. I am Junior Partner in the firm of Bradbury and Calhoun. Mr. Bradbury is one of your husband's lawyers and also a friend, so as circumstances brought it about I came here with Inspector Mason to tell you, to tell you. Mrs. Skyler sank into a seat. Still, with that air of determination to be calm, she gripped the chair-arms and said, I heard you tell Miss Skyler that Randolph has been killed. I ask you, may it not be someone else? Why should he be at a house where people called him by a name not his own? She had heard, then, all I had told the older ladies. For Mrs. Skyler was not old. She must be, I thought, at once years younger than her husband, perhaps a second wife. I was glad she had heard, for it saved repeating the awful narrative. He has not been identified, Mrs. Skyler, I said, except by the policeman of this precinct who declares he knows him well. I was glad to give her this tiny loophole of possibility of mistaken identity and she eagerly grasped at it. You must make sure, she said, looking at Inspector Mason. I'm afraid there's no room for doubt, ma'am, but I'm about to send the man the valet over to see him. Do you wish anyone else to go, from the house? Mrs. Skyler shuddered. Don't ask me to go, she said piteously. For I can't think it is really Mr. Skyler, and if it should be. Oh, no, ma'am, you needn't go. None of the family, I should say. Mason looked at the elder ladies. No, no, cried Miss Sarah. We couldn't think of it. But let Japson go. He is a most reliable man. Yes, said Mrs. Skyler, sent Cooper and Japson both. Oh, go quickly. I cannot bear the suspense. She turned to me as the two men who had been hovering in the doorway came in to take Mason's orders. I thank you, Mr. Calhoun. It was truly kind of you to come. Tibbets, get me a wrap, please. This was Mrs. Skyler's own maid who went on the errand at once. More servants had gathered, one or two footmen, a silly French parter maid or waitress, and from downstairs I heard the hushed voices of others. Tibbets returned and laid a fleecy white shawl about her mistress' shoulders. Mrs. Skyler wore a house dress of dull blue. Her hair of an ash-blonde hue was coiled on top of her head, and to my surprise, when I noticed it, she wore a string of large pearls round her throat, and on her hands were two rings, each set with an enormous pearl. I must have been awkward enough to glance at the pearls for Mrs. Skyler remarked. I dressed so hastily I kept on my pearls. I wear them at night sometimes to preserve their luster. Then she apparently forgot them for without self-consciousness she turned to the detective and began asking questions. Nervously she inquired concerning minutous details, and I surmised that side by side with her grief at the tragedy was a very human and feminine dismay at the thought of her husband, stabbed to death in another woman's house. Who is Miss Van Allen? She asked over and over again, unsatisfied with the scant information Lowney could give. And she lives near here, just down the side street. Who is she? I don't think she is anyone you ever heard of, I said to her. She is a pleasant young woman, and so far as I know all that is correct and proper. Then why would she have Randolph Skyler visiting her? flashed the retort. Is that correct and proper? It may be so, I said, for I felt a sort of loyalty to Vicki Van. You see, she was not acquainted with Mr. Skyler until this evening. Why did he go there then? Steele brought him, Norman Steele. I don't know any Mr. Steele. I began to think that Randolph Skyler had possessed many acquaintances of whom his wife knew nothing, including to see Bradbury before I revealed any more of Skyler's affairs. And then Lowney began adroitly to put questions instead of answering them. He inquired concerning Mr. Skyler's habits and pursuits, his recreations, and his social life. All three of the women gave responses to these queries and I learned many things. First, that Randolph Skyler was one manor of a man at home and another abroad. The household it was plain to be seen was one of most conservative customs and rigidly straight-backed in his conventions. Mrs. Skyler was not a second wife. She had been married about seven years and had lived the last five of them in the house we were now in. She was much younger than her husband and he had, I could see, kept her from all knowledge of or participation in his Bohemian tastes. They were the sort of people who have a box of the opera and are patrons of the best and most exclusive functions of the highest society. Mrs. Skyler, after the first shock, recovered her poise and, though now and then a tremor shook her slight frame, she bore herself with dignity and calm. The two maiden-ladies also grew quieter but we all nervously awaited the return of the butler. At last he came. It's the master, madame. He said simply to his mistress as he entered the room. He is dead. The deferential gravity of his tone impressed me anew with the man's worth and I felt that the stricken wife had a tower of strength in the faithful servitor. I left Cooper there, madame. He went on. They—they will not bring Mr. Skyler home to-night. In the morning, perhaps. And now, madame, will you not go to rest? I will be at the service of these gentlemen. It seemed cruel to torture them further that night and the three ladies were dismissed by Lowney and attended by their maids. They left us. Now, Jepsen, Lowney began, tell us all you know about Mr. Skyler's doings. I dare say you know as much as the valet does. Was Mr. Skyler as a man of the world different from his life in this house? Jepsen looked perturbed. That's not for me to say, sir. 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 today. But though Mr. Skyler 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. Skyler and where he would not wish Mrs. Skyler to know he had been himself, That's enough, said Lowney. I've got his number. Now, Jepsen, had your master any enemies that you know of? Not that I know of. But I know nothing of Mr. Skyler'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 parisacal in a man of less sincerity of speech, but Jepsen's clear, straightforward eyes forbade any doubt of his honesty and truth. Again, I was glad that Mrs. Skyler had this staunch helper at her side, for I foresaw troubleous 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 Skyler 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 everyone, 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. Skyler at the club, dined and whined, 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 need a 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. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 A Vicky Van by Carolyn Wells This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. 6 Vicky's Ways Chester Calhoun! Get up this minute. There's a reporter downstairs. A reporter! My sleepy eyes open to find Winnie pounding my shoulder humped beneath the blanket. Hey! What! I grunted, trying to collect my perceptions. A reporter! If Winnie had said of 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 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 anyone 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 the tall Chester. Now, Auntie, have a little heart for poor Mrs. Skyler 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 a little patience. If I can be of any help to the Skyler 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 stand, 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 crying 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. Skyler 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 and pertinent questions he left. When he tried to detain him but my curt courtesy made it difficult for him to linger. Oh, Chassis, 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 know nothing 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 the harrowing details. That's all right, Aunt Lucy, I put in, but this is going to be a celebrated case and Winnie can't be kept in ignorance of its developments. Now be a good sword, Auntie, except the inevitable. Try to realize that I must do what seems to me my duty and if that brings us more or less into the limelight of publicity it is a pity, but it can't be helped. I agree to all that, Chester dear, but you are so mixed in it socially. Why did you ever get into that set? It isn't a bad set, Aunt Lou. 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 women-people. Now let up, Auntie. Trust you're good for nothing, Neve, and just do all you can to help by doing nothing. I'll help you, Chessie Cat. I'll do exactly as you tell me if you'll only let me know about it and not treat me like a baby," said Winnie, who was wittlesomely assisting my breakfast arrangements. She sugared and creamed my cereal and as I dispatched it she buttered toast and poured coffee and a deftly sliced off the top of a soft-boiled egg. I managed to eat some of these viands between answers to their rapid-fire volley of questions and at last I made ready to go downtown. And remember, I said as I departed, if a lot of gossipy old hens come around here today or your chicken friends, Winnie, don't tell them a thing. Let them 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 Vands first. I had been on the proverbial pins and needles to get there ever since I woke to consciousness by reason of the sisterly pounding that brought me from the land of dreams. The house had an inhabited look and when I went in I was greeted by the 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 shutter. Two or three policemen were about in charge of things generally but none whom 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, you know, 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 strange sounds or imagining I did and the police were back and forth till nearly daylight. Downstairs they were. I didn't bother them but they knew 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, moats, has turned against her. Since they found the man was Randolph Schuyler all sympathy 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. I can't stay here much longer though. I made coffee and got myself some breakfast. But honest Mr. Calhoun it pretty nearly choked me to eat sandwiches 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 shall telephone up here every little while. The police will stay here I suppose. 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 make myself sleep in her room last night but I just couldn't. So I stayed in the music room, I thought. I suppose it was foolish but I thought maybe she might telephone. She'd hardly do that. I don't know. It's impossible to say what she might do. Oh the whole thing is impossible. Think of it Mr. Calhoun. Where could that girl have gone? Alone, at midnight, in that gorgeous gown, no hat or wrap. How do you know that? I don't, not positively. But if she had put on wraps and gone out by either door she would surely have been seen by someone in the house. I'm just sure she didn't go out by the front street door for we in the living room must have noticed her. And she couldn't have gone out by the area door for there were waiters all about down here. We were sitting in the front basement room, a pleasant and up place, evidently a servant's sitting room. Before Mrs. Reeves on the table were the remnants of her scarce-tasted breakfast. As she had said, the tiny sandwiches and rich salad which she had procured from the unused stores of the caterer's provision did seem too closely connected with the tragedy to be appetizing. The kitchen is back of this, I asked. Yes, and dumb waiters in the dining room. I confess I've looked about a bit. I'm not a prying woman, but I felt I was justified. You certainly are, Mrs. Reeves. I said warmly for she was thoroughly good-hearted and a staunch friend of Vicky Van. Have you learned 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 jams and cans of tea and coffee and cocoa in the pantry, but no fresh meat or green vegetables about. No butter in the ice-box 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 she had expected to go away today 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 go away for days at a time. Hasn't she a right to? Of course she has. I'm thinking it out. Where does she go? And wherever it is, that's where she is now. Mrs. Reeves' triumphant error seemed to settle the question. But all that isn't queer, my dear lady, I said. We all know Vicky Van Gads about a lot. I've telephoned her myself twice and she wasn't here. Once Julie answered and once there was no response of any sort. Yes, I suppose that's the case. She was going away on a visit today maybe and so had little food on hand to be disposed of. A good housekeeper would look after that. Of course it wouldn't be Vicky's doing but Julie's. The housekeeper is a treasure. She could run a hotel if she wanted to. Then perhaps, I'm used to loud. Vicky ran away and went to the place wherever it is that she expected to visit today. Oh, I don't know. This is all merely conjecture. And too, how could she in that dress? No, she has gone to some friend in town. She must have done so. A hotel wouldn't take her in. Why, Mrs. Reeves' voice broke. You know that waiter said there—there was blood on Vicky's gown. Do you believe that? If we believe him at all, why shouldn't we believe the whole tale? I don't know Vicky Van. You understand except as a casual friend. I mean, 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 but I 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 last night. 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 today, Julie anyway. Why, Miss Van Allen must come back or send back for her valuables. I saw jewelry and money in the dressing room. Yes, but of course they're safe enough. They're all in care of the police. We were interrupted by the entrance of a policeman and a woman who had come to work. She says, the policeman addressed Mrs. Reeves, that she was expected here today to clean. Now we can't let her disturb things much but she'd better wash up a little and throw away some of the supper stuff that won't keep. Everybody seemed to look to Mrs. Reeves as a sort of proxy housekeeper 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 breakfast things I've used and there are some cups and plates in the kitchen, for I gave those poor policemen some food long about three o'clock this morning. And she can throw out the melted ice cream, it's no good to anybody and it surely isn't evidence. I determined to ask the working woman some questions but the police firstalled me. Farrell came down and joined us and spoke to her at once. Good morning, Mrs. Flaherty. Don't you do anything now but just what you're told to do? And first tell us a thing or two. How often do you come here? I've seen you in and out now and again. Yes, I do be coming when I'm sent for, not of a regular day. Maybe once a week, maybe oftener. Then again not for a fortnight. Just as I said, declared Mrs. Reeves, Vicki often goes away for days at a time. Sure, she does that. Miss Van Allen is here today and gone tomorrow but Miss Julie, she looks after me work so she does. She engages you when you are needed, I asked. Yes, sir. There's a telephone in my husband's shop and if anyone calls me he lets me know. When did they tell you to come here today? It was yesterday, sir. Miss Julie, she sends word for me to come this mountain and decline as they do be having a party last night. Ah, that this trouble should come! There now, Mrs. Flaherty, never mind your personal feelings. We're in a hurry. Farrell was busy making notes of the information he was getting and I could well understand that any sidelight on Vicki's home life was of importance. So I tarried to listen. How long have you worked for Miss Van Allen? A matter of a year or more. You clean the rooms upstairs sometimes? All over the house. Many is the time I have swept and vacuumed Miss Van Allen's own bedroom and boudoir. And likewise the music room and parlor and all. Yes, sir, I'm here frequent. What other servants does Miss Van Allen employ? Nobody that lives in, except in Miss Julie, but there's the laundry woman as comes, though more often the wash goes out, then there's a chore-boy, as runs errands, and sometimes a sewing-woman, and often the caterer-man's the goes. Yes, and a boy, a buttons, you know, to open the door for, say, an afternoon party. You see, Miss Van Allen is all visiting so much she don't want steady help. Where does she visit? That I don't know, but go she does, and I'm thinking it's good time she has, for she comes back chipper and merry and glad to see her friends, and then all of a sudden, up and off again. I knew that was Vicky Van's habit. All that the woman said corroborated my idea of the little butterfly's frivolous life. So why should she keep permanent servants if she was at home only half the time? I knew the troubles Aunt Lucy had with her menials and I approved of Vicky's wisdom. And that explains the empty ice-box, Mrs. Reeves was saying nodding her head in satisfaction. Vicky meant to go off today after the house was put in order and she didn't want a lot of food left to spoil. Yes, mum, agreed Mrs. Flaherty. Shall I wash them dishes now, mum? And she was allowed to set to work.