"I will," and Mrs. Reeves seemed to welcome an opportunity to help.
She was a good-hearted woman, and a staunch friend of Vicky Van. I was
glad she was on hand to stand up for the girl, for I confess things
looked, to me, pretty dubious.

"Come along, too, Mr. Calhoun," said Mrs. Reeves. "There's no telling
what we may find. Perhaps there's further--tragedy."

I knew what was in her mind. That if Vicky had done the thing, she
might have, in an agony of remorse, taken her own life.

Thrilled with this new fear, I followed Lowney and Mrs. Reeves. We
went downstairs first. We examined all the basement rooms and the
small, city back yard. There was no sign of Vicky Van or of Julie, and
next we came back to the first floor, hunted that, and then on
upstairs. The music room was soon searched, and I fell back as the
others went into Vicky's bedroom.

"Come on, Mr. Calhoun," said Lowney, "we must make a thorough job of
it this time."

The bedroom was, it seemed to me, like a fairy dream. Furniture of
white enameled wicker, with pink satin cushions. Everywhere the most
exquisite appointments of silver, crystal and embroidered fabrics, and
a bed fit for a princess. It seemed profanation for the little
detective to poke and pry around in wardrobes and cupboards, though I
knew it must be done. He was not only looking for Vicky, but noting
anything that might bear on her disappearance.