"Come into the Van Allen house a few minutes, Calhoun," said Stone, gravely. "I've something to tell you."
We went in at Vicky Van's. Stone's manner was ominous. He and Fibsy both were silent and grave-looking.
We went in at the street door, into the hall and then to the living-room.
Stone and I sat down, and Fibsy darted out to the dining-room, back to the hall and up the stairs, flashing on lights as he went.
In silence Stone lighted a cigar and offered me one, which I took, feeling a strange notion that the end of the world was about to come.
In another moment Fibsy came slowly down stairs, walked into the living-room, where we were, gave one look at Stone, and then threw himself on a divan, buried his face in the cushions and burst into tears. His thin little frame shook with sobs, great, deep, heart-rending, nerve-racking sobs, that made my own heart stand still with fear.
What could it all mean? What ailed the boy?
"Tell me, Stone," I begged, "what is it? What has upset him so?"
"He has found Vicky Van," said Fleming Stone. "And it has broken his heart."
"What do you mean? Don't keep me in this suspense! Where is Vicky?
Upstairs?"