Part 18 (1/2)

I looked at the mail-box, an unusual appendage to a private residence, but Vicky was away from home so much, it was doubtless necessary. I tried to look in at a window, but all shades were down and there were no lights inside. I wanted to ring the doorbell again, but a sense of delicacy forbade me. I was not a detective, and if I persisted, I might attract the attention of a pa.s.ser-by or of the returning policeman, and so get Vicky into all sorts of trouble. I wasn't tracking the girl down. If she was a criminal, let the police find her, I had no desire to aid their efforts, but I did want to see Vicky Van. I wanted to offer her my help--not in escaping justice, exactly--but I wondered if I mightn't do some little errands or favors that would show my friendliness.

I went slowly toward home, when I had an inspiration. Hastening into my own house, I flew to the telephone and called Vicky's number, which I knew well.

I waited some time for a response, but at last I heard Vicky's voice say, ”Who is it, please?”

An impulse of protection for her, not for myself, led me to withhold my name. Nor did I speak hers.

I said, ”This is the man who just left your house. I called up to offer help, if I can render you any.”

”That's good of you,” she returned, in a heartfelt way. ”I appreciate such kindness, but you can do nothing--nothing, thank you.”

”At least, talk to me a few minutes. I'm so anxious about you. You are not implicated in the--in the matter, are you?”

”Don't ask me,” she murmured, in such a serious voice, that my heart sank. ”What I did--or didn't do--must always remain a mystery. I cannot tell you--anything. Don't ask. And, if you would help me, try your best to have inquiries stopped. Can you do this?”

”I fear not. But can't I see you--somewhere--and we can talk plainly?”

”Do you want to?”

”Indeed I do.”

”Then you do believe in me? Do you hold me blameless?”

I hesitated at this. I couldn't lie to her, nor could I rid my mind of the conviction of her guilt I said, ”I will, if you a.s.sure me that is the truth.”

”I--I can't do that--good-bye.”

”Wait a minute. Did you know the expected guest was coming under an a.s.sumed name?”

”I did not.”

”Did you know any Somers?”

”No.”

”Did you know--the real man?”

”I had met him once, at a dance.”

”Did you like him?”

”I neither liked nor disliked. He was an object of utter indifference to me.”

”Then why did you--”

”Hus.h.!.+ You can never know. I can't tell you--”

”Then don't. Please believe I want to befriend you.” The agony and fear in Vicky's voice thrilled me, and I desired only to s.h.i.+eld and protect her. She was so young and alone.

”It is good to have a friendly voice speak to me. But you can only forget me.”

”No, let me do something definite. Some errand of trust, some matter of confidence--”