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Vicky Van

<h2 id="id00657" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER VII</h2> <h5 id="id00658">RUTH SCHUYLER</h5> There were many calls on Vicky Van's telephone that morning. It seemed to me that the bell rang almost continually. The police people answered it, and one time, I was surprised to learn that the call was for me. I took up the receiver and heard Mr. Bradbury's voice. "I called up your home," he said, "and your sister told me to try this number. Now, look here, Calhoun, I wish you'd go to see Mrs. Schuyler. I've talked with her over the telephone, and she asked me to come up there, but I've got the Crittendon case on this morning, and I can't get away very well. So you go and see what you can do for her. She told me you were there last night, and she's willing to have you in my place." I agreed, feeling rather flattered that the rich man's widow should so readily accept me as Mr. Bradbury's substitute. "I'm sorry you're going there," said Mrs. Reeves, her eyes filling with tears, as I took leave of her. "Of course, the Schuylers will pump you about Vicky, and try to make you say that she killed that man!" "I must tell Mrs. Schuyler the truth," I said. "Yes, but can't you give Vicky the benefit of the doubt? For there is a doubt. Why should she kill a man she never had seen before?" "Perhaps he wasn't a stranger to her, after all." "Why, I heard her say, before he came, that she didn't know him." "You heard her say she didn't know Mr. Somers," I corrected. "I've been thinking this thing over. Suppose Vicky did know Mr. Schuyler, and when Steele proposed bringing a Mr. Somers—" "No, you're all wrong!" she exclaimed. "I saw them when they met, and I'm sure they had never laid eyes on each other before. There was not the least sign of recognition. Besides, that isn't like Vicky—to have a millionaire and a married man for her friend. That girl is all right, Mr. Calhoun, and I don't want you to let Mrs. Schuyler think she isn't." "Perhaps Mrs. Schuyler knows something about her." "I doubt it. Anyway, you stand up for Vicky, as far as you can do so honestly. Won't you?" "I can surely promise that," I replied, as I started on my errand. Approaching the Fifth Avenue residence, I looked at the house, which I had been unable to see clearly the night before. It was large and handsome, but not one of the most modern mansions. Four stories, it was, and as I glanced up I noticed that all the window shades were down. The floral emblem of death hung at one side of the wide entrance, and as I approached, the door silently swung open. A footman was in charge, and I was ushered at once to the library where I had been some hours earlier. It was not a cheerful room; the appointments were heavy and somber, though evidently the woods and fabrics were of great value. A shaded electrolier gave a dim light, for the drawn blinds precluded daylight. A soft step, and Mrs. Schuyler came into the room. Black garb was not becoming to her. The night before, in her blue house-dress, she had looked almost pretty, but now, in a black gown, without even a bit of relieving white at her throat, she was plain and very pathetic. Her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes showed dark shadows, as of utter weariness. She greeted me simply and glided to a nearby chair. "It is kind of you to come, Mr. Calhoun," and the fine quality of her voice and inflection betokened New England ancestry, or training. "As you were here last night—you seem more like a friend than a mere business acquaintance." "I am very glad, Mrs. Schuyler," and I spoke sincerely, "that you look on me like that. Please tell me anything you wish to, and command me in any way I can serve you." The speech sounded a little stilted, I knew, but there was something about Ruth Schuyler that called for dignified address. She had the air of bewildered helplessness that always appeals to a man, but she had, too, a look of determination as to one who would do the right thing at any cost of personal unpleasantness. "It is all so dreadful," she began, and an insuppressible sob threatened her speech. But she controlled it, and went on. "There is so much to be gone through with and I am so ignorant of—of law and—you know—of police doings." "I understand," I returned, "and anything that you can be spared, rest assured you shall be. But there is much ahead of you that will be hard for you—very hard, and perhaps I can help you get ready for it." "Will there be an inquest, and all that?" she whispered the word half fearfully. "Yes, there must be; though not for several days, probably. You know they can't find Miss Van Allen." "No. Where can she be? I don't suppose they will ever find her. Why should she kill my husband? Have you any theory, Mr. Calhoun? How well did you know this—this person?" "Only fairly well. By which I mean, I have met her some half a dozen times." "Always in her own house?" "Not always. I've attended studio parties where she was present—" "Oh, Bohemian affairs?" "Not exactly. Miss Van Allen is a delightful girl, bright and of merry spirits, but in no way fast or of questionable habits." "That's what they tell me; but pardon me, if I cannot believe a really nice, correct young woman would have a married man visiting her." "But remember, Mrs. Schuyler, Miss Van Allen did not invite Mr. Schuyler to her house. As near as we can make out, Mr. Steele brought him, without Miss Van Allen's permission. And under an assumed name." A blush of shame stained her face. "I realize," she said, "how that reflects against my husband. Must all this be made public, Mr. Calhoun?" "I fear it must. The law is inexorable in its demands for justice." "But if they can't find Miss Van Allen, how can they indict her? or whatever the term is. Why can't the whole affair be hushed up? Personally, I would far rather never find the girl—never have her punished, than to drag the Schuyler name through the horrors of a murder trial." "I quite understand your position, but it will not be possible to evade the legal proceedings. Of course, if Miss Van Allen is never found, the affair must remain a mystery. But she will be found. A lady like that can't drop out of existence." "No, of course not. Why, her bills must be paid, her household effects looked after; is she in a house or an apartment?" "A house. I understand she owns it." "Then she must communicate with her business people—lawyer, bank or creditors. Can't you trace her that way?" "We hope to. As you say, she must surely return to attend to such matters." "And her servants? What do they say?" I described the unusual menage that Vicky Van supported, and Mrs. Schuyler was interested. "How strange," she said. "She sounds to me like an adventuress!" "No, she isn't that. She has money enough." "Where does she get it?" "I don't know, I'm sure. But she is a quiet, self-reliant little person, and not at all of the adventuress type." "It doesn't matter," and Mrs. Schuyler sighed. "I don't care anything about her personality. She must be bad or she wouldn't have killed my husband. I'm not defending him, but men don't go to the houses of complete strangers and get murdered by them! And I hope she will never be found, for it might bring out a story of scandal or shame that will always cling to Mr. Schuyler's memory. But, of course, she will come back, and she will plead innocence and lay all blame on Mr. Schuyler. Can't we buy her off? I would pay a large sum to keep her story from the world." "I'm sorry, Mrs. Schuyler, but that can't be done." "I thought you would help me—I'm so disappointed." Tears gathered in her eyes, and her voice trembled. I wished Bradbury had had this job instead of myself, for I am soft-hearted where feminine appeal is concerned, and I didn't know quite what to say. But just then the two Schuyler sisters came into the library and I rose to greet them. "Oh," cried Miss Rhoda, "it's all too awful! We can't believe it! I wish I had that girl here! You must find her, Mr. Calhoun—you must!" "Yes," chimed in Miss Sarah; "she must be brought to judgment. An eye for an eye and a life for a life. That's the Scripture law." "Don't talk so, Sarah," pleaded Ruth Schuyler. "It won't bring Randolph back, to punish his murderer. And think of the awful publicity!" "I don't care for that. Murder has been done and murder must be avenged. I'm ashamed of you, Ruth, if you let any idea of personal distaste stand in the way of righteous law and order." "I, too," agreed Rhoda. "Spare no effort or expense, Mr. Calhoun, to find that wicked girl and have her arrested." "I daresay you are right," and Mrs. Schuyler's acquiescence showed her to be more or less under the iron hand of the family opinion. "Of course, if you feel that way, I shall raise no obstacle to the law's progress. Whatever you advise, Rhoda, I agree to." "Certainly you do. You are young, Ruth, and you are not a Schuyler. Why, the very name demands the strongest powers of the law. I only fear that the most desperate efforts may not succeed. What is your opinion, Mr. Calhoun? Can they find that woman?" The scorn of the last two words, as uttered by Rhoda Schuyler's sharp tongue, is not to be reproduced in print. "I think most probably, yes, Miss Schuyler. I think she must return sooner or later." "Don't wait for that!" exclaimed Sarah. "Send people to search for her. Scour the country. Don't let her get away beyond retrieval. Offer a reward, if necessary, but get her!" "A reward!" repeated Rhoda. "Yes, that's it. Put it in the paper at once; a large reward for any information of Miss Van Allen." "Stay," I urged; "don't decide on such measures too hastily. Might you not defeat your own purpose? Miss Van Allen doubtless will see the papers, wherever she may be. If she learns of the reward, she will hide herself more securely than ever." "I think so, too," said Ruth, in her gentle voice. "I am sure, Rhoda, we oughtn't to do anything like that just yet. Oh, how hard it is to know what to do." "Yes, we've always deferred everything to Randolph. How can we get along without him?" "We must," and Mrs. Schuyler set her pale lips together in an evident determination to be brave and strong. "Now, Mr. Calhoun, what is there to be discussed in a business way? I mean regarding Mr. Schuyler's business with you or Mr. Bradbury?" "Nothing at present," I returned, feeling sure the poor woman had quite enough on her mind. "The will can be examined at your convenience, and any questions of securities or money can rest over for a time. Do you wish any ready cash? Or shall we look after any money matters?" "Thank you, no. Such things are systematically arranged in the household. Jepson attends to bills and tradesmen. My greatest wish is for a secretary or some person to write notes and look after the flood of letters and telegrams that has already begun." I felt surprised, for I had assumed that the rich man's wife had a social secretary of her own. "I've no one," she said, in response to my glance, "Mr. Schuyler didn't wish me to have a secretary, and indeed I didn't need one. But now—" "Of course, it is necessary now." "Not at all," interrupted Miss Rhoda. "I am surprised at you, Ruth! You know how Randolph objected to such things, and now, as soon as he is gone, you begin to—" "Hush, Rhoda," said Ruth, with gentle dignity. "It was not necessary before, but it is now. You've no idea what a task it will be. All our friends and many of Randolph's acquaintances will call or send messages and they must be acknowledged—" "And, pray, what else have you to do, but acknowledge them? Sarah and I will attend to our own. A great many, doubtless, but not too much of a task for us, when it is in memory of our dear brother!" "Very well," and Ruth spoke calmly, "we will wait for a day or two, Mr. Calhoun, and then, if, as I believe, the matter requires further consideration, we will discuss it again." Clever woman, I thought to myself. She isn't altogether chummy with those old maid sisters, and yet she knows better than to have any open disagreement. I'll bet she gets her secretary when she gets ready for one! I'll be on the lookout for the right girl for her. "When will they bring my husband home?" she continued, without waiting for comment on her decision about the secretary. "Some time to-day," I returned, looking commiseratingly at the harassed white face. "Probably this afternoon. Can I take any message regarding the funeral arrangements?" "Not yet," and Ruth Schuyler shuddered. "Those details are so terrible—" "Terrible, yes," said Miss Sarah, "but they must be looked after. We will see the undertaker's men, Ruth. I think Rhoda and I will know better what is fit and proper for Randolph's burial ceremonies than you possibly can." I began to realize that the sisters had a family pride which did not include their brother's wife in their councils. Apparently she was, or they deemed her, of lesser birth or social standing. Personally, however, I greatly preferred the gentle kindliness of the widow to the aristocratic hauteur of the sisters. Ruth Schuyler made no objection to the proposition, and seemed relieved that her advice would not be required. "Who is in the house where Mr. Schuyler was—where he died?" she asked, hesitatingly. "Only the police," I answered, "unless Miss Van Allen has returned." "Were—were there many people there—last night?" Clearly, she wanted to know more details of the occasion, but didn't like to show curiosity. "Yes," I informed her, "quite a number. It was Miss Van Allen's birthday, and so, a sort of little celebration." "Her birthday? How old was she?" "I've no idea. I should guess about twenty-two or twenty-three." "Is she—is—what does she look like?" The eternal feminine wanted to ask "is she pretty?" but Ruth Schuyler's dignity scarcely permitted the question. I noticed, too, that the sisters listened attentively for my reply. "Yes," I said, truthfully, "she is pretty. She is small, with very black hair, and large, dark gray eyes. She is exceedingly chic and up-to-date as to costumes, and is of vivacious and charming manner." "Humph!" sniffed Miss Rhoda, "an actress?" "Not at all! Victoria Van Allen is a well-bred lady if there ever was one." "You are a staunch friend, Mr. Calhoun," and Mrs. Schuyler looked her surprise. "I speak only as I feel; I can't say surely that Miss Van Allen did not commit this crime, for I know there is evidence against her. But I can't reconcile the deed with her character, as I know it, and I, for one, shall wait further developments before I condemn her. But, of course, Mrs. Schuyler, my personal feelings in the matter have no weight in law, and I stand ready to obey whatever orders you may give in connection with a search for the missing girl." "I don't know exactly what I do want done, yet, Mr. Calhoun," and Ruth Schuyler glanced deferringly toward the sisters. "No, we don't." For once Sarah agreed with Ruth. "After the funeral, we can set our minds to the finding of the criminal. Of course, the police will do all they can, meantime, to trace her?" "Of course. And such a plan is best. She may return—" "To a house guarded by police?" asked Ruth. "Possibly. If she is innocent, why not?" "Innocent!" exclaimed Miss Rhoda with utmost scorn. "Some of her friends think her so," I observed. "Mrs. Reeves, a lady who was at the party, stayed in the house all night, and is, I think, there still." "Why did she do that?" asked Mrs. Schuyler, looking puzzled. "She hoped Miss Van Allen would return, and she waited there to look after her." "That was kind. Who is this lady?" "She lives down on Washington Square. I only know her slightly, but she is a warm-hearted and a most capable and sensible one. She refuses to believe that Vicky Van—" "What do you call her?" "Her friends call her Vicky Van. It—it sort of suits her." "From what you say, I judge she is not the terror I thought her at first; but, all the same, she murdered my husband, and I cannot look on her as you seem to." "Nor can I blame you. Your feelings toward her are entirely just, Mrs. Schuyler." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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