"Perhaps he wasn't a stranger to her, after all."
"Why, I heard her say, before he came, that she didn't know him."
"You heard her say she didn't know Mr. Somers," I corrected. "I've been thinking this thing over. Suppose Vicky did know Mr. Schuyler, and when Steele proposed bringing a Mr. Somers—"
"No, you're all wrong!" she exclaimed. "I saw them when they met, and I'm sure they had never laid eyes on each other before. There was not the least sign of recognition. Besides, that isn't like Vicky—to have a millionaire and a married man for her friend. That girl is all right, Mr. Calhoun, and I don't want you to let Mrs. Schuyler think she isn't."
"Perhaps Mrs. Schuyler knows something about her."
"I doubt it. Anyway, you stand up for Vicky, as far as you can do so honestly. Won't you?"
"I can surely promise that," I replied, as I started on my errand.
Approaching the Fifth Avenue residence, I looked at the house, which I had been unable to see clearly the night before.
It was large and handsome, but not one of the most modern mansions. Four stories, it was, and as I glanced up I noticed that all the window shades were down. The floral emblem of death hung at one side of the wide entrance, and as I approached, the door silently swung open.
A footman was in charge, and I was ushered at once to the library where I had been some hours earlier. It was not a cheerful room; the appointments were heavy and somber, though evidently the woods and fabrics were of great value. A shaded electrolier gave a dim light, for the drawn blinds precluded daylight.