Part 31 (2/2)
He had enforced his ideas and opinions upon her, until she had been allowed to do nothing and to have nothing as she wished.
And now, she desired only peace and quietness somewhere, anywhere, away from the two who represented Randolph Schuyler's tyranny and carping criticism without his right to obtrude them on her.
”I will speak to them,” I said, ”and I'm sure we can arrange some mode of life for you which will give you rest and freedom of judgment.”
”Oh, if you only can!” she murmured, as she held out a friendly hand.
CHAPTER XVI
A FUTILE CHASE
It was Sunday afternoon, and we were in conclave in the Schuyler library. Fleming Stone was summing up his results of the past few days and, though it was evident he had done all that mortal man could do, yet he had no hint or clue as to where Vicky Van might be.
And, he held, that nothing else was of consequence compared to this knowledge. She must be found, and whether that could be done quickly, by search or by chance, or whether it would take a long time of waiting, he could not say. He felt sure, that she must disclose herself, sooner or later, but if not, and if their search continued unavailing, then he held out no hope for success.
”It's a unique case,” he said, ”in my experience. All depends on finding that woman. If she is innocent, herself, she knows who did it.
And, if she is the guilty one, she is clever enough to remain hidden.
It may be she is miles away, out of the country, perhaps. She has had ample time to make arrangements to go abroad, or to any distant place.
Her guilt seems to me probable, because she has literally abandoned her house and her belongings. An innocent woman would scarcely leave all those modern and valuable furnis.h.i.+ngs unless for some very strong reason. But as to finding her--a needle in a haystack presents an easy problem by contrast!”
”Doubtless she is hiding in the house of some friend,” suggested Ruth, thoughtfully. ”It seems to me she must have been taken in and cared for by some one who loved her, that night she disappeared.”
”I think so, too,” agreed Stone. ”But I've been to see all her friends that I can find out about. I've called on a score of them, finding their addresses in her address book that Mr. Lowney gave me. Of course, they may have been deceiving me, but I feel safe in a.s.serting that she is not under the protection of any one I interviewed. She returned to her house last Monday night, the police believe, for the purpose of getting her mail. This shows a daring almost unbelievable!
That mail must have been of desperate importance to her. She has not been to the house since, they feel sure, and since I have been on the case she could not have entered, for I have kept it under strict surveillance. I think she will never return to it. Presumably she got the letters she was so anxious for. Her mail, that has arrived the last few days, I have not opened, but the envelopes show mostly tradesmen's cards, or are indubitably social correspondence. There seem to be no letters from lawyers or financial firms. However, if nothing develops, I shall open the letters. This case, being unprecedented, necessitates unusual proceedings.”
”I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Stone,” said Rhoda Schuyler, testily; ”I didn't suppose you were superhuman, but I did think, with your reputation and all, you would be able to find that woman. I've heard say that n.o.body could absolutely vanish in New York City, and not be traced.”
”You don't regret my so-far failure a bit more than I do, Miss Schuyler, but I feel no shame or embarra.s.sment over it. Nor am I ready to admit myself beaten. I have a theory, or, rather a conviction that there is one and only one explanation of this strange affair. I am not quite ready to expound this, but in a day or two I shall find if it is the true solution, and if so I shall soon find Miss Van Allen.”
”I knew you would,” and Sarah Schuyler nodded her head, in satisfaction. ”I told Rhoda to give you more time and you would not disappoint us. All right, Mr. Stone, use all the time you need. But no Schuyler must remain unavenged. I want to see that woman killed--yes, killed, for her murder of my brother.”
Sarah Schuyler looked like a figure of Justice herself, as, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes she declared her wrath. And it was her right. Her brother's blood called out for vengeance. But the more gentle-souled Ruth shuddered and shrank from this stern arraignment.
”Oh, Sarah,” she murmured, ”not killed! Don't condemn a woman to that!”
”Why not, Ruth? If a woman can kill, a woman should be killed. But she won't be,” she added, bitterly. ”No jury ever convicts a woman, no matter how clearly her guilt is proven.”
Just then Fibsy appeared. He was a strange little figure, and showed a shy awkwardness at the grandeur of his surroundings. He bobbed a funny little curtsy to Ruth, whom he already adored, and with an embarra.s.sed nod, included the rest of us in a general greeting.
Then to Fleming Stone he said, in an eager, triumphant tone, ”I got 'em!”
”Got what?” asked Ruth, smiling at him.
”Got pictures of Miss Van Allen, and Julie, too.”
”What!” cried Ruth, interested at once; ”let me see them.”
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