I had no concern over it, for I knew the knife that had stabbed Schuyler was now in possession of the police, and this one had doubtless been used in preparation of the supper, if indeed, there was a knife belonging to the fork.
It was a matter of no moment, but somehow it stuck in my mind. If Vicky or rather, if Julie had straightened up things on the sideboard in the process of tidying up for the party, would she not have laid the fork a different way, unless there had been a matching knife to lay across it? I suppose the whole question came into my mind, because at home, we had a beefsteak carving set that always lay crossed on the sideboard. A man gets accustomed to the sight of such household details, and they photographed on his memory.
Well, anyway, I looked for that knife. I even went to the butler's pantry and looked, but I didn't see it. The pantry had been hastily evacuated by the caterer's men, and though tidied, it was not in spick and span condition. You see, having lived so long with two such homey bodies as Aunt Lucy and Win, I was not utterly unversed in domestic matters. The pantry was well equipped with modern utensils and implements, and all its appointments spoke of the taste and efficiency of its mistress.
"Poor Vicky," I sighed to myself, "poor, dear little Vicky Van!" and then I went softly out of the front door and down the steps.
I went slowly, and looked back several times, in a vague hope that Vicky might emerge from some nearby shadow and go into the house for her letters. But I saw no sign of such a happening, and went on home, my heart full of a gloomy foreboding that I would never see her again.
"Going to work on Sunday, Winnie?" I asked, as next morning, my sister appeared, garbed for the street.
"Not regularly to work, but Mrs. Schuyler wants me to look after some matters of confidence."
"Oho, how important we are!" I chaffed her. "When does the Crowell lady come into her own?"
"Not for another week. She isn't quite ready to come, and Mrs.
Schuyler is willing to keep me on a while longer."
"I don't blame her," and I looked at my pretty, bright-faced sister with approval. "I say, old girl, s'pose I stroll over with you."