We crossed and looked over the stone wall of the park. Surely Vicky Van had not had time to scramble over that wall before we reached the corner. It had been not more than a few seconds after we saw her flying form turn down the Avenue, and she couldn't have crossed the street and scaled the wall in that time!
Where was she? What had become of her?
"Ring up the houses and inquire," I suggested. "You're justified in doing that."
"No use," he responded. "If she was expected they won't give her away, and if she isn't there, they'd be pretty angry at our intrusion. I'll admit, Calhoun, I've never been so mystified in my life!"
"Nor I!" I emphatically agreed.
CHAPTER XVII
THE GOLD-FRINGED GOWN
After that night Fleming Stone became more desperately in earnest in his search for Vicky. It seemed as if the sight of her, the realization that she was a real woman and not a myth, had whetted his eagerness to discover her hiding place and bring her to book.
He established himself in her house, and both he and Fibsy practically lived there, going out for their meals or picnicking in the basement room. This room became his headquarters, and a plain clothes man was on duty whenever Stone and Fibsy were both absent.
"Though I don't think she'll ever come back again," Stone declared, gloomily. "She was desperately anxious for that address book, and so she got it, through my stupidity. I might have known she'd make a dash for the street door. I should have had that exit guarded. But I've seen her, and I'll get her yet! At any rate she hasn't left the country, or hadn't last night, whatever she may do to-day."