FLEMING STONE
Vicky had said "Hush!" but it was an unnecessary precaution, for I was
too stunned to articulate. I peered at her in the darkness and then,
unable to control my desire for certainty I flashed my little pocket
light on her for an instant.
"Don't!" she whispered, putting her hands up before her face.
But I had seen. It was really Vicky Van, her smooth black hair looped
over her ears, her scarlet mouth, and soft pink cheeks, flushed with
excitement of the moment, and her long dark lashes, which suddenly
fell beneath the blinding flare of the light, all were those of the
runaway girl.
"Don't talk," she said, hastily, "let me do the talking. I want you to
help me, will you?"
"Of course, I will," and all sense of law and justice fled before the
wave of pity and solicitude for the trembling suppliant who thus
appealed to me.
Her voice was indistinct and a little hoarse, as if she was laboring
under great mental and nerve strain, and she was so alone, so
unprotected, that I couldn't help promising any assistance in my
power.
"There wasn't any parcel in the big vase," I said, in a low voice, as
she seemed to hesitate about going on with her explanation.
"No, here it is," and she handed me a little box, "Just put it away
safely for the present. And now, this is what I want to ask of you.
Don't let them engage that Mr. Stone, to hunt me down, will you?"
"Why, how can I help it?"
"Oh, can't you?" and she sounded so disappointed; "I hoped you could
persuade Mrs. Schuyler not to have him."
"But Mrs. Schuyler doesn't want him, either!" I exclaimed. "It's those
two sisters who insist on getting him. And I never could turn their
wills, try as I might."
"Why doesn't Mrs. Schuyler want him?"
"Oh, I'm not sure that she really objects to the plan, but, I mean she
didn't seem as anxious as the other two. You see, little girl, the
widow of Randolph Schuyler isn't so bitter against you as the two
sisters are."
"That's good of her," and Vicky's voice was wistful. "But, you know I
must remain in hiding--"
"I thought you were going to leave New York?"
"I am. And at once. But if that Mr. Stone gets on my trail, he'll find
me, as sure as fate. And so I risked this interview to try to persuade
you to use your influence against his coming."
"And I'll do that," I returned, heartily. "But I feel that I ought to
tell you that I doubt my power to dissuade the Schuyler sisters from
their determination. And, too, how did you know they thought of
getting him?"
"Oh, I see all the papers, you know, and in one of them a reporter
gave a personal interview with the Schuyler people, and they hinted at
getting that man."
Vicky sighed wearily, as if her last hope was gone. I was full of
questions I wanted to ask her, but it seemed intrusive and unkind to
quiz her. And yet, one thing I felt I must say. I must ask her what
she knew of the actual crime.
"Tell me," I blurted out, "who did kill Randolph Schuyler?"
Again I felt her tremble, and her voice quivered as she whispered
back, "It must have been some enemy of his, who got in at the window,
or something like that."
My heart fell. This was the sort of thing she would say if she were
herself the guilty one. I had hoped for a more sincere, even if
despairing, answer.
"But I must send you away," she breathed in my ear. We were standing
just inside the room, and Vicky held her hand on a chair-back for
support. There was the faintest light from the street, enough for us
to distinguish one another's forms, but no more. Vicky wore a street
gown of some sort, and a long cloak. On her head was a small hat, and
a black net veil. This was tied so tightly that it interfered a little
with her speech, I thought, though when I had looked at her face by my
flashlight, the veil had not been of sufficient thickness to conceal
her features at all. I've often wondered why women wear those
uncomfortable things. She kept pulling it away from her lips as she
talked.
"I want my address book," she went on, hurriedly. "I've looked all
over for it, and it's gone. Did the detective take it?"
"I think he did," I replied, remembering Lowney's search.
"Can't you get it back for me?"
"Look here, child, what do you think I am? A magician?"
"No, but I thought you could manage somehow to get it," her voice
showed the adorable petulance that distinguished Vicky Van; "and then,
you could send it to me--"
"Where?" I cried, eagerly. "Where shall I address you?"
"I can't tell you that. But you can bring it here and leave it in the
Chinese jar, and I will get it."
"How do you come in and go out of this house without being seen?" I
demanded. "By the area door?"
"Perhaps so," and she spoke lightly. "And perhaps by a window, and
maybe by means of an aeroplane and down through the skylight."
"Not that," I said, "the skylight is fastened on the inside, and has
been ever since--ever since that night."
"Well, then I don't come that way. But if you'll get that book and put
it in the big vase, I'll come and get it. When will it be there?"
"You're crazy to think I can get it," I returned, slowly, "but if I
can I will. Give me a few days--"
"A week, if you like. Shall we say a week from to-night?"
"Next Monday? Yes. If I can get it at all, I can have it by then. How
shall I let you know?"
"You needn't let me know, for I know now you will get it. Steal it
from Mr. Lowney, if you can't get it otherwise."
"But if Fleming Stone is on your trail, will you come for the book?"
"I must," she spoke gravely. "I must have the book. It means
everything to me. I _must_ have it!"
"Then you shall, if I can manage it. It is your book, it has proved of
no value as evidence, you may as well have it."
"Yes, I may as well have it. And now, Mr. Calhoun, will you go,
please, or do you intend to turn me over to the police?"
"Vicky!" I cried, "how can you say such a thing? Of course I'll go, if
you bid me. But let me wait a minute. You know you wrote to Ruth
Schuyler--"
"Ruth? Is that one of the old sisters?"
"No. Ruth is the widow."
"Oh, yes, I wrote to her. I didn't know her first name. I wrote
because I thought it was she who is making the desperate search for
me, and I hoped I could influence her to stop it. That's all. I have
no interest in Randolph Schuyler's widow, except as she affects my
future, but can you do anything by working in the other direction? I
mean can you dissuade Fleming Stone from coming, by asking him not to?
You can bribe him perhaps--I have money--"
"Oh, I doubt if I could do anything like that. But I'll try, I'll try
every way I can, and, if I succeed--how shall I let you know?"
"Oh, I'll know. If he takes up the matter, it will probably get into
the papers, and if I see nothing of it, I'll conclude you succeeded."
"But I--I want to see you again, Vicky--"
"Oh, no, you don't. Why, you don't know this minute but what I stabbed
that man, and--"
"You didn't, Vicky--tell me you didn't!"
"I can't tell you that. I can't tell you anything. I am the most
miserable girl on God's earth!" and I heard tears in Vicky's voice,
and a sob choked her utterance.
"Now go," she said, after a moment, "I can't stand any more. Please
go, and do what you can for me, without getting yourself into trouble.
Go, and don't look back to see how I make my exit, will you?"
"Indeed, I won't do that. Your confidences are safe with me, Vicky,
and I will do all in my power to help you, in any way I can."
"Then go now," she said, and a gentle pressure of her hand on my arm
urged me toward the door.
I went without another word, and neither while in the street, nor
after gaining my own house, did I look back for another glimpse of
Vicky Van.
And yet, try as I would, maneuver as I might, I couldn't prevent the
arrival of Fleming Stone.
The Schuyler sisters were determined to have the great detective, and
though Mrs. Schuyler wasn't so anxious, yet she raised not the
slightest objection, and after some persuasion, Stone agreed to take
the case.
I was present at his first call to discuss details and was immensely
interested in my first sight of the man.
Tall, well-formed, and of a gravely courteous manner, he impressed me
as the most magnetically attractive man I had ever seen. His iron-gray
hair and deep-set, dark eyes gave him a dignity that I had never
before associated with my notions of a detective.
The Schuyler sisters were frankly delighted with him.
"I know you'll run down the murderer of my brother," Miss Rhoda
exulted, while Miss Sarah began to babble volubly of what she called
clues and evidence.
Fleming Stone listened politely, now and then asking a direct question
and sometimes turning to Ruth Schuyler for further information.
As I watched him closely, it occurred to me that he really paid little
attention to what the women said, he was more engaged in scanning
their faces and noting their attitudes. Perhaps I imagined it, but I
thought he was sizing up their characters and their sympathies, and
intended looking up his clues and evidence by himself.
"The first thing to do," he declared, at last, "is to find Miss Van
Allen."
This was what I had feared, and remembering my promise to Vicky I
said, "I think that will be impossible, Mr. Stone. She wrote she was
leaving New York forever."
"But a householder like that can't go away forever," Stone said, "she
must look after her goods and chattels, and she must pay her rent--"
"No, she owns the house."
"Must pay the taxes, then. Must sell it, or rent it or do something
with it."
"It would seem so," I agreed. "And yet, if one is wanted for murder
one would sacrifice household goods and the house itself in order to
escape being caught."
"True," and Stone nodded his head. "But, still, I fancy she would
return for something. Few women could leave their home like that, and
not have some valuables or some secret papers or something for which
they must return. I venture to say Miss Van Allen has already been
back to her house, more than once, on secret errands."
Was the man a clairvoyant? How could he know that Vicky had done this
very thing? But I realized at once, that he knew it, not from
cognizance of facts, but from his prescience of what would necessarily
follow in such a case.
"She has her keys, of course?" he asked.
"The police have charge of the keys," I said, a little lamely.
"I know," Stone said, impatiently, "but there are doubtless more keys
than the ones they have. I should say, that Miss Van Allen took at
least the key of one door with her, however hurried her flight."
"It may be so," I conceded. "But, granting she has been back and forth
on the errands you suggest, it is not likely she will keep it up."
"No, it is not. And especially if she learns I am on the case."
"How could she know that?" Ruth Schuyler asked.
"I'm sure Miss Van Allen is a most clever and ingenious young woman,"
Stone replied, "and I feel sure she knows all that is going on. She
gets information from the papers, and, too, she has that dependable
maid, Julie. That woman, probably disguised, can do much in the way of
getting information as to how matters are progressing. You see, I've
followed the case all the way along, and the peculiarities and unique
conditions of it are what induced me to take it up."
"Shall we offer a reward, Mr. Stone, for the discovery of the hiding
place of Miss Van Allen?" asked Rhoda, eagerly. "I want to use every
possible means of finding her."
"Not yet, Miss Schuyler. Let us try other plans first. But I must
enjoin utter secrecy about my connection with the matter. Not the fact
that I am at work on it, but the developments or details of my work.
It is a most unusual, a most peculiar case, and I must work unimpeded
by outside advice or interference. I may say, I've never known of a
case which presented such extraordinary features, and features which
will either greatly simplify or greatly impede my progress."
"Just what do you mean by that last remark, Mr. Stone?" asked Ruth
Schuyler, who had been listening intently.
"I mean that the absolutely mysterious disappearance of the young
woman will either be of easy and simple solution, or else it will
prove an insoluble mystery. There will be no half-way work about it.
If I can't learn the truth in a short time, I fear I never can."
"How strange," said I. "Do you often feel thus about the beginning of
a case?"
"Very rarely, almost never. And never have I felt it so strongly as in
this instance. To trace that girl is not a matter of long and patient
search, it's rather a question of a bit of luck or a slight slip on
her part, or--well--of some coincidence or chance discovery that will
clear things at one flash."
"Then you're depending on luck?" exclaimed Rhoda, in a disappointed
tone.
"Oh, not that," and Stone smiled. "At least, I'm not depending
entirely on that. If luck comes my way, so much the better. And now,
please let me see the notes Miss Van Allen has written."
None was available, however, except the one to Ruth Schuyler. For the
one to Randolph Schuyler was in Lowney's possession, and the one I had
had from Vicky, and which was even then in my pocket, I had no
intention of showing.
It was not necessary, however, for Fleming Stone said one was enough
to gather all that he could learn from her chirography.
He studied it attentively, but only for a moment. Then he said, "A
characteristic penmanship, but to me it only shows forcefulness,
ingenuity and good nature. However, I'm not an expert, I only get a
general impression, and the traits I've mentioned are undoubtedly to
be found in the lady's nature. Are they not?" and he turned to me, as
to one who knew.
"They are," I replied, "so far as I know Miss Van Allen. But my
acquaintance with her is limited, and I can only agree superficially."
Stone eyed me closely, and I began to feel a little uncomfortable
under his gaze. Clearly, I'd have to tell the truth, or incur his
suspicion. Nor did I wish to prevaricate. I felt friendly toward poor
little Vicky, and yet, I had no mind to run counter to the interest of
Ruth Schuyler. The two sisters I didn't worry about, and indeed, they
could look out for themselves. But Ruth Schuyler was in a position to
demand justice, and if that justice accused Vicky Van, I must be
honest and fair to both in my testimony.
Fleming Stone proceeded to question the women, more definitely and
concisely now, and by virtue of his marvellous efficiency, he so
shaped his inquiries, that he learned details with accuracy and
rapidity.
It would never have occurred to me to ask the questions that he put,
but as he went on, I saw their pertinence and value.
With Ruth's permission he called several of the servants and asked
them a few things. Nothing of moment transpired, to my mind, but Stone
was interested in a full account of where each servant was and what he
was doing on the night of the murder. Each gave a straightforward and
satisfactory account, and I realized that Stone was only getting a
sense of the household atmosphere, and its relations to Mr. Schuyler
himself.
Tibbetts, the middle-aged maid of Ruth Schuyler, told of the shock to
her mistress when the news was brought.
"Mrs. Schuyler had retired," said Tibbetts, "at about ten o'clock, Mr.
Schuyler was out, and was not expected home until late. I attended
her, and after she was in bed, I went to bed myself."
"I'm told you do not live here," commented Stone, though in a
disinterested way, and at the same time making notes of some other
matters in his notebook.
"I have a room around on Third Avenue," replied Tibbetts. "I like a
little home of my own, and when Mrs. Schuyler permits me, I go 'round
there to sleep, and sometimes I go in the daylight hours. But on that
night I happened to be staying here."
"Tibbetts is rather a privileged character," interposed Ruth. "She has
been with me for many years, and as she likes a little place of her
own, I adopted the plan of which she has told you."
"But that night you were here?" said Stone, to the maid.
"Yes, sir. I slept in Mrs. Schuyler's dressing room, as I always do
when I'm here. Then when Jepson told me the--the awful news, I awoke
Mrs. Schuyler and told her."
"Yes," said Stone. "I read all about that in the inquest report."