Part 21 (2/2)

Lowney, the detective, bristled with interest. A clue, he had, he thought, but what a clue! Two letters posted in the city. What did they show of the whereabouts of the missing girl?

Lowney scrutinized the one to Mrs. Reeves. Ordinary paper, such as might be bought in any stationery or department store, no monogram or initial on it, nor was there any maker's name under the flap.

But a dozen people present testified to Vicky's handwriting, and the coroner eagerly took possession of the letter.

Sherlock Holmes, I thought to myself, would read that letter, look at it through his good old lens, smell it, and then walk out, and return in a half hour, with Vicky Van in tow!

But for my part, I could see nothing illuminating in that plain paper and envelope, and the letter in the well-known penmans.h.i.+p.

All I gathered was, that wherever Vicky was, she was not only safe but comfortable. The tenor of the note breathed leisure and composure.

Clearly, she was not breathlessly hurrying from one place to another, or vigilantly eluding pursuit. She was at ease, with opportunity to indulge in thoughtful kindness to a friend, and to write at length about herself.

At length, yes, but with no hint of her hiding-place nor any clue to it. Poor little Vicky! She seemed so alone--and yet--how did I know?

She may have gone to friends or--somehow I hated to think that she had any man who was her legal--or even willing protector.

Yet she said she was safe, and her letter showed no fear of the future. And then again I was stabbed by the thought that perhaps there was no earthly future for Vicky Van. I didn't want her to kill herself--I didn't want her to be found and arrested--what did I want?

I wasn't sure in my own mind, save that I wanted her safety above all else. I suppose I believed her guilty--I could believe nothing else, but even so, I didn't want her brought to bay.

I gave my own testimony, which was all true, and all frank, except that I said nothing of my nocturnal visit to Vicky's house or of our telephone conversation. If my conscience smote me I combated it with my chivalry, which would not allow me to betray a woman into the hands of the law.

The later witnesses, who were mostly the working people whom Vicky employed by the day, told nothing of her or of her home life. They all spoke of her as a kind lady to work for, though, as a rule, they had not seen her, but had been engaged, directed and paid by the maid, Julie.

It seemed to be tacitly a.s.sumed that wherever Vicky was Julie was with her. I had had this information from Vicky herself, but others took it for granted, in the absence of any reason to think the contrary.

The whole day's session, to my mind, achieved little of useful information. Mrs. Reeves' letter proved conclusively that Vicky was aware of the search being made for her, and showed her determination not to be found. It was Sat.u.r.day, and when the inquest was adjourned until Monday morning, I couldn't help feeling that it might as well have been permanently adjourned, for all the further conclusions it would lead to.

I went home at last, thrilling with the thought that that night I was to get Vicky's mail from her box and hide it where she had directed. I secretly hoped she might be in the house herself, waiting for it, but scarcely dared believe this would be the case.

CHAPTER XI

A NOTE FROM VICKY

Nor was it. I had secured a latch-key to the house, from the police, who were willing enough for me to search for possible clues, as I had told them I would do.

At their wits' end to locate Vicky Van, they welcomed my help and felt that as a friend of hers, I might learn more than a disinterested policeman could.

So, well after midnight, watching my chance when the patrolman had just pa.s.sed on his regular round, I went across the street.

Easily I opened the mailbox and extracted a quant.i.ty of letters.

Quietly, then, I opened the house door and went in.

I had provided myself with a pocket flashlight, as I didn't want to illuminate the house, and I went at once to the music room, to perform my errand.

How strange it seemed! The lovely room, with dainty white and gold furnis.h.i.+ngs, reminded me so forcibly of the bewitching girl who owned it all. A thousand questions rose in my mind. What would become of that bijou residence? The bric-a-brac and pictures, the rugs and furniture, while not magnificent, were of the best, and many of them costly. The great Chinese vase, into which I was to drop the letters was a gem of its kind, though not anything a connoisseur would covet.

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