Part 19 (2/2)
”I thought I'd arouse some slight interest,” she said, and she calmly went on with her dinner.
I looked at Aunt Lucy, who sat with a resigned expression, toying with her unused oyster-fork.
”What does she mean?” I asked.
”She has done just what she says,” replied Aunt Lucy. ”But only for a few days. Miss Crowell--”
”Let me tell!” interrupted Winnie. ”It's my party! You see, Chet, Edith Crowell is wild to have the place, and is going to take it, but she can't go until the first of next week. And she doesn't want to lose the chance, so I went over and told Mrs. Schuyler about it. And then as she was simply swamped with letters and telegrams and telephones and callers, and goodness knows what all, I offered to help her out till Edith can get there. And she was so grateful--oh, I think she is a darling. I never saw anyone I liked and admired so much at first sight.”
”She is charming,” I conceded, ”but what a crazy scheme, Win! How did you persuade Aunt Lucy to agree?”
”I managed her,” and Winnie bobbed her wise young head, cannily.
It came to me in a moment. Though not exactly a tuft hunter, Aunt Lucy was deeply impressed by real grandeur and elegance. And it came to me at once, that Winnie's tales of the great house and the aristocratic people, had a strong influence on our aunt's views and had brought about her permission for Win to go there for a few days. And it was no harm. It wasn't as if Winnie were a regular secretary, but just to hold the place for Miss Crowell, was simply a kindly deed.
And so, after dinner, I settled myself in our cosy library for a comfortable smoke, and bade Winnie tell me every single thing that had happened through the day.
”Oh, it was thrilling!” Winnie exclaimed. ”Part of the time I was at the desk in the library, and part of the time upstairs in Mrs.
Schuyler's very own room. She was so kind to me, but she is nearly distracted and I don't wonder! The undertakers' men were in and out, and those two old maids--his sisters, you know--were everlastingly appearing and disappearing. And they don't like Mrs. Schuyler an awful lot, nor she them. Oh, they're polite and all that, but you can see they're of totally different types. I like Mrs. Schuyler heaps better, but still, there's something about the old girls that's the real thing. They're Schuylers and also they're Salton-stalls, and farther back, I believe they're Cabots or something.”
”And Mrs. Schuyler, what is she?” I asked, as Win paused for breath.
”I don't know. Nothing particular, I guess. Oh, yes, I learned her name was Ellison before she was married, but the sisters don't consult her about family matters at all. They do about clothes, though. And she knows a lot. Why, Chess, she's having the loveliest things made, if they _are_ mourning, and the sisters, they ask her about everything they order--to wear, I mean. And, just think! Mrs. Schuyler never wears any jewels but pearls! It's a whim, you know, or it was her husband's whim, or something, but anyway, she has oceans of pearls, and no other gems at all.”
”Did she tell you so?”
”Yes; but it came in the conversation, you know. She is no boaster.
No sir-ee! She's the modestest, gentlest, sweetest little lady I ever saw. I just love her! Well, I answered a lot of letters for her, and she liked the way I did it, and she liked me, I guess, for she said she only hoped Miss Crowell would suit her as well.”
”She knows you're my sister?”
”Of course. But that isn't why she likes me, old bunch of conceit!
Though, I must admit, she likes you, Chet. She said you were not only kind, but you have a fair amount of intelligence--no, she didn't use those words, exactly, but I gathered that was what she meant. The funeral is to be tomorrow evening, you know. I had to write and telephone quite a good deal about that, though the sisters tended to it mostly.”
”Was there much said about--about the actual case--Winnie?”
”You mean about the murder?” Win's clear eyes didn't blink at the word; ”no, not much in my hearing. But Mrs. Schuyler wasn't in the room all the time. And I know Mr. Lowney--isn't he the detective?--was there once, and I think, twice.”
”Did you see anyone else?”
”Only some of the servants. Mrs. Schuyler's own maid, her name is Tibbetts, is the sort you read about in English novels. A nice, motherly woman, with gray hair and a black silk ap.r.o.n. I liked her, but the maid who looks after the old sisters, I didn't like so well.”
”Never mind the maids, tell me more about Mrs. Schuyler. Does she think Vicky Van killed Mr. Schuyler? Since you're in this thing so deep Win, there's no use mincing matters.”
”I should say not! Yes, of course, she thinks the Vicky person did the killing. How could she think anything else? And the two sisters are madly revengeful. As soon as the funeral is over, they're going to work to find that girl and bring her to justice! They say the inquest will help a lot. When will that be, Chess? Can I go to it?”
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