cocoa in the pantry, but no fresh meat or green vegetables about. No
butter in the icebox, and no eggs or bacon."

"Well, what does that imply? I'm no housekeeper, I admit."

"It looks to me as if Vicky was leaving this morning--I mean as if she
had expected to go away to-day, and so had no stuff on hand to spoil."

"Perhaps this is her market day."

"No; it's queer, that's what it is. You know sometimes Vicky does go
away for days at a time."

"Hasn't she a right to?"

"Of course she has. I'm thinking it out. Where does she go? And
wherever it is, that's where she is now!"

Mrs. Reeves' triumphant air seemed to settle the question.

"But all that isn't queer, my dear lady," I said. "We all know Vicky
Van gads about a lot. I've telephoned her myself twice, and she wasn't
here. Once, Julie answered, and once there was no response of any
sort."

"Yes, I suppose that's the case. She was going away on a visit to-day,
maybe, and so had little food on hand to be disposed of. A good
housekeeper would look after that. Of course, it wouldn't be Vicky's
doing, but Julie's. That housekeeper is a treasure. She could run a
hotel if she wanted to."