THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN
After that night Fleming Stone became more desperately in earnest in
his search for Vicky. It seemed as if the sight of her, the
realization that she was a real woman and not a myth, had whetted his
eagerness to discover her hiding place and bring her to book.
He established himself in her house, and both he and Fibsy practically
lived there, going out for their meals or picnicking in the basement
room. This room became his headquarters, and a plain clothes man was
on duty whenever Stone and Fibsy were both absent.
"Though I don't think she'll ever come back again," Stone declared,
gloomily. "She was desperately anxious for that address book, and so
she got it, through my stupidity. I might have known she'd make a dash
for the street door. I should have had that exit guarded. But I've
seen her, and I'll get her yet! At any rate she hasn't left the
country, or hadn't last night, whatever she may do to-day."
It was the day after Vicky had given us the slip. It was
midafternoon, and I had gone to see Stone, on my return from my
office. I was sadly neglecting my own business nowadays, but Mr.
Bradbury looked after it, and he sanctioned my devotion to the
Schuyler cause.
"Randolph Schuyler was an important citizen," he said, "and his
murderer must be apprehended if possible. Do all you can, Calhoun, for
humanity's sake and the law's. Take all the time you want to, I'll see
to your important business."
So, though I went downtown every morning, I came back at noon or soon
after and plunged afresh into the work of finding Vicky Van.
There was little I could do, but Stone consulted and questioned me
continually as to Vicky's habits or pursuits, and I told him frankly
all I knew.
Also I managed to make business matters loom up so importantly as to
necessitate frequent calls on Ruth Schuyler, and I spent most of my
afternoon hours in the Fifth Avenue house.
And Ruth was most kind to me. I couldn't say she showed affection or
even especial interest, but she turned to me as a confidant and we had
many long, pleasant conversations when the subject of the mystery was
not touched upon.
Though she never said a word against Randolph Schuyler, I couldn't
help learning that, aside from the horror of it, his death was to her
a blessed relief. He had not been a good man, nor had he been a good
husband. On the contrary, he had blighted Ruth's whole life by
thwarting her every innocent desire for gayety or pleasure.
For instance, she spoke of her great enjoyment of light opera or farce
comedy, but as Mr. Schuyler didn't care for such entertainment he had
never allowed her to go. He had a box at the Grand Opera, and Ruth
loved to go, but she liked lighter music also.
This was not told complainingly, but transpired in the course of a
conversation at which Fibsy chanced to be present.
"Gee!" he said, looking at Ruth commiseratingly, "ain't you never
heard 'The Jitney Girl' or 'The Prince of Peoria'?"
Ruth shook her head, smiling at the boy's amazement. There was a
subtle sympathy between these two that surprised me, for Ruth Schuyler
was fastidious in her choice of friends. But he amused her, and he was
never really impertinent--merely naive and unconventional.
Well, on the day I speak of, Stone and I sat in the basement room
awaiting Fibsy's return. He was out after certain information and we
hoped much from it.
"I gotta bunch o' dope," he announced, as he suddenly appeared before
us. "Dunno 's it'll pan out much, but listen 'n' I'll spill a earful."
I had learned that Fibsy, or Terence, as we ought to call him, was
trying to discard his street slang, and was succeeding fairly well,
save in moments of great excitement or importance. And so, I hoped
from his slangy beginning, that he had found some fresh data.
"I chased up that chore boy first," he related, "an' he didn't know
anything at all. Said Miss Van Allen's a lovely lady, but he 'most
never saw her, the Julie dame did all the orderin' an' payin' s'far's
he was concerned. Good pay, but irregular work. She'd be here a day
or two, an' then like's not go 'way for a week. Well, we knew that
before. Then, next, I tracked to his lair the furnace man. Same
story. Here to-day an' gone to-morrer, as the song says. 'Course, he
ain't only a stoker, he's really an odd job man--ashes, sidewalks, an'
such. Well, he didn't help none--any, I mean. But," and the shock of
red hair seemed to bristle with triumph, "I loined one thing! That
Julie has been to the sewing woman and the laundress lady and shut 'em
up! Yes, sir! that's what she's done!"
"Tell it all," said Stone, briefly.
"Well, I struck the seamstress first. She wouldn't tell a thing, and I
said, calmly, 'I know Julie paid you to keep your mouth shut, but if
you don't tell, the law'll make you!' That scared her, and she owned
up that Julie was to see her 'bout a week ago and give her fifty
dollars not to tell anything at all whatsomever about Miss Van Allen!
Some girl, that Vicky Van!"
"Julie went there herself!" I cried.
"Yep. The real Julie, gold teeth and all. But I quizzed the needle
pusher good and plenty, and she don't know much of evidential value."
It was always funny when Fibsy interlarded his talk with legal
phrases, but he was unconscious of any incongruity and went on:
"You see, as I dope it out, she's accustomed to sit in Miss Van
Allen's boodore a-sewin' an' might have overheard some gossip or
sumpum like that, an' Miss Van Allen was afraid she'd scatter it, an'
so she sent Julie to shut her up. I don't believe the woman knows
where Miss Van is now."
"I must see her," said Stone.
"Yes, sir. She won't get away. She's a regular citizen, an'
respectable at that. Well, then, the laundress. To her also Julie had
likewise went. An' to her also Julie had passed the spondulicks. Now,
I don't understand that so well, for laundresses don't overhear the
ladies talkin', but, anyway, Julie told her if she wouldn't answer a
question to anybody, she'd give her half a century, too. And did."
"Doubtless the laundress knew something Miss Van Allen wants kept
secret."
"Doubtless, sir," said Fibsy, gravely.
"But I don't believe," mused Stone, "that it would help us any to
learn all those women know. If Miss Van Allen thought they could help
us find her, she would give them more than that for silence or get
them out of the city altogether."
"Where is Miss Van Allen, Mr. Stone?"
Fibsy asked the question casually, as one expectant of an answer.
"She's in the city, Fibs, living as somebody else."
"Yep, that's so. Over on the West side, say, among the artist lady's
studio gang?"
"Maybe so. But she has full freedom of action and goes about as she
likes. Julie also. They come here whenever they choose, though I don't
think they'll come while we're here. It's a queer state of things,
Calhoun. What do you make of it?"
"I don't believe Vicky is disguised. Her personality is too pronounced
and so is Julie's. I think some friend is caring for them. Not Ariadne
Gale, of that I'm sure. But it may be Mrs. Reeves. She is very fond of
Vicky and is clever enough to hide the girl all this time."
"The police have searched her house--"
"I know, but Mrs. Reeves and Vicky could connive a plan that would
hoodwink the police, I'm pretty certain."
"I'll look into that," and Stone made a note of it. "About that
carving knife, Fibsy. Did the caterers take it away by mistake?"
"No, sir; I 'vestergated that, an' they didn't."
"That knife is an important thing, to my mind," the detective went on.
"Yes, sir," eagerly agreed Fibsy. "It may yet cut the Gorgian knot!
Why, Mr. Stone, the sewing lady knew that knife. She was here to
lunching a few days before the moider, an' she says she always sat at
the table in the dining room to eat, after Miss Van Allen got through.
An' she says that knife was there, 'cos they had steak, an' she used
it herself. I described the fork puffeckly, an' she reckernized it at
onct."
"You're a bright boy!" I exclaimed in involuntary tribute to this
clever bit of work.
"I'm 'ssociated with Mr. Stone," said Fibsy, with a quiet twinkle.
"It was clever," agreed Stone. "I'm sure, myself, that the absence of
that small carving knife means something, but I can't fit it in yet."
We went up to the dining-room to look again at the carving fork, still
in its place on the sideboard. I was always thrilled at a return to
this room--always reminded of the awful tableau I had seen there.
The long, slender fork lay in its place. Though it had been repeatedly
examined and puzzled over, it had been carefully replaced.
"But I can't see," I offered, "why a carving-knife should figure in
the matter at all when the crime was committed with the little
boning-knife."
"That's why the missing carving-knife ought to be a clue," said Stone,
"because its connection with the case is inexplicable. Now, where is
that knife? Fibsy, where is it?"
Fleming Stone's frequent appeals to the boy were often in a
half-bantering tone, and yet, rather often, Terence returned an
opinion or a bit of conjecture that turned Stone's cogitations in a
fresh direction.
"You see, sir," he said, this time, "that knife is in this house. It's
gotter be. That lady left the house in a mighty hurry but all the same
she didn't go out a brandishin' of a carvin'-knife! Nor did she take
it along an drop it in the street or an ash can for it'd been found.
So, she siccreted it summer, an' it's still in the house--unless--yes,
unless she has taken it away since. You know, Mr. Stone, the Van Allen
has been in this house more times than you'd think for. Yes, sir, she
has."
"How do you know?"
"Lots o' ways. Frinst' on Sat'day, I noticed a clean squarish place in
the dust on a table in the lady's bedroom, an' it's where a book was.
That book disappeared durin' Friday night. I don't remember seein' the
book, I didn't notice it, to know what book it was, but the clean
place in the dust couldn't get there no other way. Well, all is, it
shows Miss Vick comes an' goes pretty much as she likes--or did till
you'n me camped out here."
"Then you think she left the knife here that night, and has since
returned and taken it away?"
"I donno," Fibsy scowled in his effort to deduce the truth. "Let's
look!"
He darted from the room and up the stairs. Stone rose to follow.
"That boy is uncanny at times," he said, seriously. "I'm only too
glad to follow his intuitions, and not seldom; he's all right."
We went upstairs, and then on up to the next floor. Fibsy was in Vicky
Van's dressing room, staring about him. He stood in the middle of the
floor, his hands in his pockets, wheeling round on one heel.
"They say she ran upstairs 'fore she flew the coop," he murmured, not
looking at us. "That Miss Weldon said that. Well, if she did, she
natchelly came up here for a cloak an' bonnet. I'll never believe that
level-headed young person went out into the cold woild in her glad
rags, an' no coverin'. Well, then, say, she lef' that knife here,
locked up good an' plenty. Where--_where_, I say, would she siccrete
it?"
He glared round the room, as if trying to wrest the secret from its
inanimate contents.
"Mr. Stone says that walls have tongues. I believe it, an' I know
these walls are jest yellin' the truth at me, an' yet, I'm so
soul-deef I can't make out their lingo! Well, let's make a stab at it.
Mr. Stone, I'll lay you that knife is in some drawer or cubbid in
this here very room."
"Maybe, Fibsy," said Stone, cheerfully. "Where shall we look first?"
"All over." And Fibsy darted to a wardrobe and began feeling among the
gowns and wraps hanging there. With a touch as light as a pickpocket's
he slid his lightning-like fingers through the folds of silk and
tulle, and turned back with a disappointed air.
"Frisked the whole pack; nothin' doin'," he grumbled. "But don't give
up the ship."
We didn't. Having something definite to do, we did it thoroughly, and
two men and a boy fingered every one of Vicky Van's available
belongings in an amazingly short space of time.
"Now for this chest," said Fibsy, indicating a large low box on
rollers that he pulled out from under the couch.
It was locked, but Stone picked it open, and threw back the cover. At
the bottom of it, beneath several other gowns, we found the costume
Vicky had worn the night of the murder!
"My good land!" ejaculated Fibsy, "the gold-fringed rig! Ain't it
classy!"
Stone lifted out the dress, heavy with its weight of gold beads, and
held it up to view. On the flounces were stains of blood! And from the
wrinkled folds fell, with a clatter to the floor, the missing
carving-knife!
I stooped to pick up the knife.
"'Scuse me, Mr. Calhoun," cried Fibsy, grasping my hand, "don't touch
it! Finger prints, you know!"
"Right, boy!" and Stone nodded, approvingly. "Pick it up, Fibsy."
"Yessir," and taking from his pocket a pair of peculiar shaped tongs,
Terence carefully lifted the knife and laid it on the glass-topped
dressing table.
"Probly all smudged anyway," he muttered, squinting closely at the
knife. "But there's sure some marks on it! Gee, Mr. Stone, there's
sumpum doin'!" His eyes shone and his skinny little fingers trembled
with excitement of the chase.
Stone studied the gold-fringed dress. The blood stains on the
flounces, though dried and brown, were unmistakable.
"Wonderful woman!" he exclaimed. "Now, we've got this dress, and what
of it? She put it here, not caring whether we got it or not. She's
gone for good. She'll never be taken. This proves it to my mind."
"And the knife?" I asked, thrilling with interest.
"There you are again. If Miss Van Allen put that there for us to
discover, the marks on it are of no use. Perhaps some she had put
there purposely. You see, I'm inclined to grant her any degree of
cleverness from what I know of her ability so far. She is a witch.
She can hoodwink anybody."
"Except F. Stone, Esquire," amended Fibsy. "You pussieve, Mr.
Calhoun, the far-famed detective, is already onto her coives!"
Stone looked up to smile at the boy's speech, but he returned his gaze
to the golden-trimmed gown.
"Of course," he said, "it is improbable that she took this off before
she left the house that night. I opine she threw a big cloak round her
and rushed out to the house of some friend. Likely she found a taxicab
or even commandeered some waiting private car for her flight. You
know, we are dealing with no ordinary criminal. Now, if I am right,
she brought this gown back here on some of her subsequent trips. As to
the knife, I don't know. I see no explanation as yet. Since she
stabbed her victim with another knife--why in the world hide this one
up here? What say, Fibsy?"
"'Way past me. Maybe she was usin' both knives, an' the other one
turned the trick, an' when she got up here she seen she had this one
still in her grip, an' she slung it in this here chest to hide it. I
ain't sure that's the c'reck answer, but it'll do temp'rar'ly. I say,
Mr. Stone, I got an awful funny thing to ask you."
"It won't be the first funny thing you've asked me, Terence. What is
it?"
"Well, it's pretty near eatin' time, an'--aw, pshaw, I jest can't dare
to say it."
"Go ahead, old chap, I can't do more than annihilate you."
"Well, I wanna go to the Schuylerses to dinner."
"To dinner!"
"Yes, sir. An' not to the kitchen eats, neither. I wanta set up to
their gran' table with their butlerses an' feetmen, an' be a nonnerd
guest. Kin I, Mr. Stone? Say, kinni?"
Fleming Stone looked at the eager, flushed face. He knew and I did,
too, that there was something back of this request. But it couldn't be
anything of vital importance to our mystery.
"Oh, I understand," said Stone, suddenly. "You've taken a desperate
fancy to Mrs. Schuyler and you want to further the acquaintance. But
it isn't often done that way, my boy."
"Aw, now, don't kid me, Mr. Stone. Either lemme go or shut down on it,
one o' the six! But it's most nessary, I do assure you."
"Maybe she won't have you. Why should those grand ladies allow a boy
of your age at their dinner-table?"
"Because you ask 'em, sir." Fibsy's tone was full of a quiet dignity.
"Very well, I'll ask them," and Stone went away to the telephone.
Fibsy stood, looking raptly at the gold gown, and now and then his
eyes turned toward the knife on the dressing-table. The table was
covered with silver toilet implements, and save for its unfitting
suggestion, the knife was unnoticeable among the other trinkets.
"It's all right," said Stone, returning. "Mrs. Schuyler sends a
cordial invitation for all three of us to dine with her."
"Much obliged, I'll be there," said Fibsy, unsmilingly.