"Why doesn't Mrs. Schuyler want him?"
"Oh, I'm not sure that she really objects to the plan, but, I mean she didn't seem as anxious as the other two. You see, little girl, the widow of Randolph Schuyler isn't so bitter against you as the two sisters are."
"That's good of her," and Vicky's voice was wistful. "But, you know I must remain in hiding—"
"I thought you were going to leave New York?"
"I am. And at once. But if that Mr. Stone gets on my trail, he'll find me, as sure as fate. And so I risked this interview to try to persuade you to use your influence against his coming."
"And I'll do that," I returned, heartily. "But I feel that I ought to tell you that I doubt my power to dissuade the Schuyler sisters from their determination. And, too, how did you know they thought of getting him?"
"Oh, I see all the papers, you know, and in one of them a reporter gave a personal interview with the Schuyler people, and they hinted at getting that man."
Vicky sighed wearily, as if her last hope was gone. I was full of questions I wanted to ask her, but it seemed intrusive and unkind to quiz her. And yet, one thing I felt I must say. I must ask her what she knew of the actual crime.
"Tell me," I blurted out, "who did kill Randolph Schuyler?"
Again I felt her tremble, and her voice quivered as she whispered back, "It must have been some enemy of his, who got in at the window, or something like that."