But I gazed sadly at the table, only partially dismantled, which had been so gaily decked for Vicky's birthday supper.
Scanning the sideboard, Stone remarked the absence of the small carving knife. I told him I, too, had observed that, and that I had made search for it.
"Did you ask the caterer's people if they took it by mistake?" said the detective.
"No," I admitted, ashamed that I hadn't thought of it, and I promised to do so.
As Stone stood, silently contemplating the place where Randolph Schuyler had met his death, I stepped out into the hall. I had no conscious reason for doing so, but I did, and chancing to glance toward 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 was leaning 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 could she manage to elude us and slip away somehow?
Then I was conscience-stricken. Was I conniving at the escape of a guilty person? Did I want to do this? I didn't know. Something told me I must tell Stone of her presence, and yet something else made it impossible for me to do so.
I turned back to the dining-room, and Miss Sarah was saying, "That's
the 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!"