Of course, I went over to Vicky Van's first. I had been on the
proverbial pins and needles to get there ever since I woke to
consciousness by reason of the sisterly pounding that brought me from
the land of dreams.

The house had an inhabited look, and when I went in, I was greeted by
the odor of boiling coffee.

"Come right down here," called Mrs. Reeves from the basement.

I went down, passing the closed dining-room door with a shudder. Two
or three policemen were about, in charge of things generally, but none
whom I knew. They had been relieved for the present.

"You're still here?" I said, a little inanely.

"Yes," returned Mrs. Reeves, who looked tired and wan. "I stayed, you
know, but I couldn't sleep any. I lay down on the music-room couch,
but I only dozed a few minutes at a time. I kept hearing strange
sounds or imagining I did, and the police were back and forth till
nearly daylight. Downstairs, they were. I didn't bother them, but they
knew I was in the house, if--if Vicky should come home."

Her face was wistful and her eyes very sad. I looked my sympathy.

"You liked her, I know," she went on. "But everybody 'most, has turned
against her. Since they found the man was Randolph Schuyler, all
sympathy is for him and his widow. They all condemn Vicky."

"You can scarcely blame them," I began, but she interrupted,