white dress. There were books, and a work-basket and such things as
betokened the life of a sedate, busy woman.

We left no room, no cupboard unopened. No hall or loft unsearched. We
looked in, under and behind every piece of furniture, and came, at
last, to the unescapable conclusion that wherever Vicky Van might be,
she was not in her own house.

Downstairs we went, and found Coroner Fenn and Inspector Mason in the
hall. They had let Doctor Remson go home, also Garrison and Miss Gale.
The waiters, too, had been sent off.

"You people can go, if you like," Fenn said, to Mrs. Reeves and
myself. "I'll take your addresses, and you can expect to be called on
as witnesses. If we ever get anything to witness! I never saw such a
case! No criminal to arrest, and nobody knows the victim! He must be
from out of town. We'll nail Mr. Steele to-morrow, and begin to get
somewhere. Also we'll look up Miss Van Allen's credits and business
acquaintances. A woman can't have lived two years in a house like
this, and not have somebody know her antecedents and relatives. I
suppose Mr. Steele brought his friend here, and then, when this thing
happened he was scared and lit out."

"Maybe Steele did the killing," suggested Lowney.

"No," disagreed Fenn. "I believe that Dago waiter's yarn. I
cross-questioned him a lot before I let him go, and I'm sure he's
telling what he saw. I'll see Fraschini's head man to-morrow--or, I
suppose it's to-morrow now--hello, who's that?"