CHAPTER XIV
WALLS HAVE TONGUES
"Now," said Fleming Stone, after he had learned all he desired fromthe Schuyler household, "now, if you please, I would like to go overthe Van Allen house. You have the keys, Mr. Calhoun?"
"I have a latchkey to the street door." I replied, "the rooms are notlocked."
I don't know why exactly, but I hated to have him go through VickyVan's house. Of course, it must have been because she had begged menot to let Stone get into the case at all. But I hadn't been able toprevent that, the two Schuyler sisters being determined to have him.And I had no desire to impede justice or stand in the way of law andorder, but, somehow or other, I felt the invasion of Vicky's homewould bring about trouble for the girl, and my mind was filled withvague foreboding.
"We will go with you," announced Miss Rhoda. "I've wanted to see thathouse from the first. You'll go, Ruth?"
"Oh, no," and Ruth Schuyler shrank at the idea. "I've no wish to seethe place where my husband was killed! How could you think of it? If Icould do any good by going--"
"No, Mrs. Schuyler," said Fleming Stone, "you could do no good, and Iquite understand why you would rather not go. The Misses Schuyler andMr. Calhoun will accompany me, and we will start at once."
"Can't I go?" asked Winnie, who had come in recently, "I'm just crazyto see that house. You don't mind my going, do you, Ruth?"
"No, indeed, child. I'm perfectly willing."
Mr. Stone raised no objection, so Winnie went with us.
It was nearly five o'clock, full daylight, though the dusk was justbeginning to fall. We went round to Vicky Van's and I opened the doorfor the party to enter.
The house had begun to show disuse. There was dust on the shiningsurfaces of the furniture and on the polished floors. The clocks hadall stopped and the musty chill of a closed house was in theatmosphere.
"Ugh!" cried Winnie, "what a creepy feeling! And this house is toopretty to be so neglected! Why, it's a darling house. Look at thatheavenly color scheme!"
Winnie had darted into the living-room, with its rose and grayappointments, and we all followed her.
"Don't touch anything, Miss Calhoun," cautioned Stone, and Wincontented herself with gazing about, her hands clasped behind her.
The Schuyler sisters sniffed, and though they said little, theyconveyed the idea that to their minds the bijou residence savored ofreprehensible frivolity.
Fleming Stone lived up to his reputation as a detective, andscrutinized everything with quick, comprehensive glances. We wentthrough the long living-room, and into the dining-room, whose palegreen and silver again enchanted Winnie.
"The walls are exquisite," Stone agreed, looking closely at the panelsof silk brocade, framed with a silver tracery.
"If walls have ears, they must burn at your praise," I said, in aneffort to speak lightly, for Stone's face had an ominous look, as ifhe were learning grave truths.
"Walls not only have ears, they have tongues," he returned. "Thesewalls have already told me much of Miss Van Allen's character."
"Oh, how?" cried Winnie, "do tell us how you deduce and all that!"
I looked hastily at Stone, thinking he might be annoyed by Winnie'svolatile speech.
But he said kindly, "To the trained eye, Miss Calhoun, much isapparent that escapes the casual observer. But you can understand thatthe taste displayed in the wall decoration, shows a refined andcultured nature. A woman of the adventuress type would prefer moregarish display. Of course, I am generalizing, but there is much tobear me out. Then, I see, by certain tiny marks and cracks, thatthese walls have lately been done over, and that they were alsoredecorated another time not long before. This proves that Miss VanAllen has money enough to gratify her whims and she chooses to spendit in satisfying her aesthetic preferences. Further, the walls havebeen carefully cared for, showing an interested and capablehousekeeperly instinct and traits of extreme orderliness and tidiness.Cleverness, even, for here, you see, is a place, where a bit of theplaster has been defaced by a knock or scratch, and it has beendelicately painted over with a little pale green paint which matchesexactly. It is not the work of a professional decorator, so reasontells me that probably Miss Van Allen herself remedied the defect."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Winnie, "I can see all that myself, now youtell me, but I never should have thought of it! Tell me more."
"Then the pictures, which are so well chosen and placed, that theyseem part of the walls, are, as you notice, all figure pieces. Thereare no landscapes. This, of course, means that Miss Van Allen is notdistinctly a nature lover, but prefers humanity and society. Thisargues for the joy of living and the appreciation of mental pleasuresand occupations. No devotee of nature would have failed to havepictures of flowers or harmonizing landscapes on these walls. So, yousee, to be edified by the tongues of walls, you must not only listento them but understand their language."
And then Stone began taking in the rest of the dining-room's contents.The table, hastily cleared by the caterer's men, was empty of thechina and glass which they had supplied, but still retained thecandlesticks and epergnes that were Vicky Van's own. These were ofplated silver, not sterling, which fact Stone noted. The lace-trimmedlinen, however, was of the finest and most elaborate sort.
"An unholy waste of money!" declared Rhoda Schuyler, looking at themarvellous monogram of V. V. A. embroidered on the napkins.
But I gazed sadly at the table, only partially dismantled, which hadbeen so gaily decked for Vicky's birthday supper.
Scanning the sideboard, Stone remarked the absence of the smallcarving knife. I told him I, too, had observed that, and that I hadmade search for it.
"Did you ask the caterer's people if they took it by mistake?" saidthe detective.
"No," I admitted, ashamed that I hadn't thought of it, and I promisedto do so.
As Stone stood, silently contemplating the place where RandolphSchuyler had met his death, I stepped out into the hall. I had noconscious reason for doing so, but I did, and chancing to glancetoward the stairs, I with difficulty repressed an exclamation.
For half-way up the staircase, I saw Vicky Van!
I was sure it was no hallucination, I positively saw her! She wasleaning over the banister, listening to what Stone was saying.Suddenly, even as I looked, she ran upstairs and disappeared.
Was she safe? Could she escape? Perhaps by a back staircase, or couldshe manage to elude us and slip away somehow?
Then I was conscience-stricken. Was I conniving at the escape of aguilty person? Did I want to do this? I didn't know. Something told meI must tell Stone of her presence, and yet something else made itimpossible for me to do so.
I turned back to the dining-room, and Miss Sarah was saying, "That'sthe spot, then, that's where Randolph was killed by that awful woman!Mr. Stone you _must_ get her! An eye for an eye--a life for a life!She must pay the penalty of her guilt!"
Winnie was listening, and tears stood in her eyes. Like Ruth Schuyler,from whom she doubtless took a cue, Win wasn't so ready to condemnVicky Van unheard, as the two sisters were. She looked steadily atFleming Stone, as if expecting him to produce Vicky then and there,and I quivered with the thought of what would happen if he knew thateven at that moment Vicky was under the same roof with ourselves!
But Stone completed his survey of the dining-room, and as a matter ofcourse, started next up the stairs. I pushed ahead a little, in myeagerness to precede him, but a vague desire to protect Vicky urged meon. I stood in the upper hall as the rest came up, and I imagined thatStone gave me a curious glance as he noted my evident embarrassment.
But Winnie dashed into the music room, and the Schuyler sistersquickly followed. Trust a woman to feel and show curiosity about herneighbor's home!
Again Stone examined the walls, but the immaculate white and goldsides of the music room said nothing intelligible to me, and if theyspoke to him he did not divulge the message. The women exclaimed atthe beautiful room, and, as Stone's examination here was short,
we allfiled back to Vicky's bedroom.
I heard no sound of her, and I breathed more freely, as we did notfind her in bedroom or in the boudoir beyond. She had, then, succeededin getting away, and trusted to me not to betray her presence there.
The boudoir or dressing-room, all pink satin and white enameled wickercalled forth new exclamations from Winnie, and even Rhoda Schuylerexpressed a grudging admiration.
"It _is_ beautiful," she conceded. "I wish Ruth had come, after all.She loves this sort of furniture. Don't you remember, Sarah, shewanted Randolph to do up her dressing-room in wicker?"
"Yes, but he didn't like it, he said it was gim-crackery. And theCircassian walnut of Ruth's room is much handsomer."
"Of course it is. Ruth has a charming suite. Oh, do look at thedresses!"
Fleming Stone had flung open a wardrobe door, and the costumesdisclosed, though not numerous, were of beautiful coloring and design.Winnie, unable to resist the temptation, fingered them lovingly, andcalled my attention to certain wonderful confections.
"What did she wear the night of the crime?" Stone asked, and I toldhim. Having Win for a sister, I am fairly good at describing women'sclothes, and I drew a vivid word picture of Vicky's gold fringed gown.
"Heavenly!" exclaimed Winnie, although she had had me describe thegown to her on the average of twice a day for a week. "I wish I couldsee it! Some day, Chet, I'm going to have one like it."
"Fringe?" said Stone, curiously, "do women wear fringe nowadays?"
"Oh, yes," I responded. "But it was a long fringe of gilt beads thatreally formed an overdress to the tulle skirt. Stay, I've a piece ofit," and I took out my pocketbook. "See, here it is. I found it caughtin those gilded leaves at the lower corner of the mirror frame--thatlong dressing-mirror."
They all looked at the mirror, which hung flat against the wall; itsfoliated Florentine frame full of irregular protuberances.
"Of course," said Winnie, nodding her head, "I know just how she stoodin front of it, whirling around to see her gown from all sides, likethis." Win whirled herself around, before the glass, and succeeded incatching a bit of her own full skirt on the frame.
"You little goose!" I cried, as the fabric tore, "we don't need ademonstration at the expense of your frock!"
Fleming Stone was studying the strand of gold fringe. It was composedof tiny beads, of varying shapes, and had already begun to ravel intoshreds.
"I'll keep this," he said, and willy-nilly, I lost my little souvenirof Vicky Van. But, of course, if he considered it evidence, I had togive it up, and the fact of doing so, partly salved my conscience ofits guilty feeling at concealing the fact of Vicky's presence in herown house just then.
And, too, I said to myself, Mr. Stone is out to find her. Surely adetective of his calibre can accomplish that without help of an humblelayman! So I kept my own counsel, and further search, of the nextstory, and later, of the basement rooms, gave no hint of Vicky'spresence or departure.
Indeed, I began to wonder if I had really seen her. Could she havebeen so clearly in my mind, that I visualized her in a moment ofclairvoyance? My reason rebelled at this, for I knew I saw her, aswell as I knew I was alive. She had on the same little hat in which Ihad last seen her. She had on no cloak, and her tailor-made streetdress was of a dark cloth. I couldn't be sure how she got away, forthe basement door we found bolted on the inside, but she must havewarily evaded and eluded us and slipped here and there as we pursuedour course through the house, and then have gone out by the front doorwhen we were, say, on the upper floors.
Returning to Vicky's boudoir, where her little writing-desk was,Fleming Stone began to run over the letters and papers therein.
It was locked, but he picked the flimsy fastening and calmly took upthe task with his usual quick-moving, efficient manner.
I stayed with him, and the three women wandered back over the houseagain. He ran through letters with glancing quickness, flipped oversheafs of bills, and examined pens, ink and paper.
"There's so much that's characteristic about a desk," he said, as heobserved the penwiper, stamps, pin-tray, and especially the pencils."Indeed, I feel now that I know Miss Van Allen as well, if not betterthan you do yourself, Mr. Calhoun."
"In that case, then, you can't believe her guilty," I flashed back,for the very atmosphere of the dear little room made me more than everVicky's friend.
"But you see," and he spoke a bit sadly, "what I know of her is thereal woman. I can't be deceived by her wiles and coquetries. I seeonly the actual traces of her actual self."
I knew what he meant, and there was some truth in it. For Vicky was amystery, and I was not by any means sure, that she didn't hoodwink uswhen she chose to. Much as I liked and admired the girl, I was forcedto believe she was not altogether disingenuous. And she was cleverenough to hoodwink anybody. But if Stone's deductions were to bedepended on, they were doubtless true evidence.
"Is she guilty?" I sighed.
"I can't say that, yet, but I've found nothing that absolutelyprecludes her guilt. On the contrary, I've found things, which if sheis guilty, will go far toward proving it."
This sounded a bit enigmatical, but Stone was so serious, that Igrasped his general meaning and let it go at that.
"I mean," he said, divining my thoughts, "that things may or may notbe evidence according to the guilt or innocence of the suspect. If youfind a little boy in the pantry beside an empty jampot, you suspecthim of stealing jam. Now, if lots of other circumstances prove thatchild did take the jam, the empty pot is evidence. But, ifcircumstances develop that convince you the child did not have any jamwhatever, that day, then the jampot is no evidence at all."
"And you have found empty jampots?" I asked.
"I have. But, so far, I'm not sure that they are condemnatoryevidence. Though, in justice to my own work, I must add, that theyhave every appearance of being so."
"You already like Vicky Van, then," I said, quickly, moved to do so,by a certain note of regret in his voice.
"No man could help liking a woman who possesses her traits. She hasdelightful taste and tastes. She is most charitable, her accountsshow sums wisely expended on worthy charities. And letters fromfriends prove her a truly loyal and lovable character."
"Such a girl _couldn't_ kill a man!" I broke out.
"Don't say that. There is no one incapable of crime. But such a naturewould require very strong provocation and desperate conditions. Thesegranted, it is by no means impossible. Now, I am through for to-day,but, if you please I will keep the key of the house. As the case isnow in my hands, you will not object?"
"No," I said, a little reluctantly. For suppose Vicky should give meanother commission or ask me to perform another errand in the house.
"You have a transparent face, Mr. Calhoun," and Fleming Stone smiledquizzically. "Why do you want to keep the key?"
"My aunt is most desirous of seeing this house," I deliberatelyprevaricated, "and I thought--"
But I didn't deceive the astute detective. "No, that isn't it," hesaid, quietly. "I'm not sure, but I think you are in touch with MissVan Allen."
"And if I am?" I flared up.
"Very well," he returned, "it is, as you imply, none of my business.But I want to know your attitude, and if it is antagonistic to mywork, I am sorry, but I will conduct my course accordingly."
"Mr. Stone," I confessed, "I am not antagonistic, but I do know alittle about Miss Van Allen's movements that I haven't told. I cannotsee that it would assist you in any way to know it--"
"That's enough," and Fleming Stone spoke heartily. "Your assurance ofthat is sufficient. Now, are we working together?"
I hesitated. Then I suddenly thought of Ruth Schuyler. I owed her abusiness fealty, and somehow I liked to feel that I also owed her apersonal allegiance, and both these demanded my efforts to avenge thedeath of her husband, irrespective of where the blow might fall.
So I said, honestly, "We are, Mr. Stone. I will help you, if I can,and if at any time I think my withhe
ld information will help you, Iwill make it known. Is that satisfactory?"
"Entirely so," and the handshake that Stone gave me was like a signedand sealed bond, to which I tacitly but none the less truthfullysubscribed.