"Just what do you mean by that last remark, Mr. Stone?" asked Ruth
Schuyler, who had been listening intently.
"I mean that the absolutely mysterious disappearance of the young woman will either be of easy and simple solution, or else it will prove an insoluble mystery. There will be no half-way work about it. If I can't learn the truth in a short time, I fear I never can."
"How strange," said I. "Do you often feel thus about the beginning of a case?"
"Very rarely, almost never. And never have I felt it so strongly as in this instance. To trace that girl is not a matter of long and patient search, it's rather a question of a bit of luck or a slight slip on her part, or—well—of some coincidence or chance discovery that will clear things at one flash."
"Then you're depending on luck?" exclaimed Rhoda, in a disappointed tone.
"Oh, not that," and Stone smiled. "At least, I'm not depending entirely on that. If luck comes my way, so much the better. And now, please let me see the notes Miss Van Allen has written."
None was available, however, except the one to Ruth Schuyler. For the one to Randolph Schuyler was in Lowney's possession, and the one I had had from Vicky, and which was even then in my pocket, I had no intention of showing.
It was not necessary, however, for Fleming Stone said one was enough to gather all that he could learn from her chirography.
He studied it attentively, but only for a moment. Then he said, "A characteristic penmanship, but to me it only shows forcefulness, ingenuity and good nature. However, I'm not an expert, I only get a general impression, and the traits I've mentioned are undoubtedly to be found in the lady's nature. Are they not?" and he turned to me, as to one who knew.
"They are," I replied, "so far as I know Miss Van Allen. But my acquaintance with her is limited, and I can only agree superficially."