"Then, perhaps," I mused, aloud, "Vicky ran away and went to the
place, wherever it is, that she expected to visit to-day."

"Oh, I don't know. This is all merely conjecture. And, too, how could
she, in that dress? No, she has gone to some friend in town. She must
have done so. A hotel wouldn't take her in--why," Mrs. Reeves' voice
broke, "you know that waiter said there--there was blood on Vicky's
gown!"

"Do you believe that?"

"If we believe him at all, why shouldn't we believe the whole tale? I
don't know Vicky Van, you understand, except as a casual friend. I
mean, I know nothing of her family, her past, or her personality,
except as I've seen her in a friendly way. I like her, thoroughly, but
I can't honestly say that I know her."

"Who does?"

"Nobody. All her friends say the same thing. She is lovely and dear,
but never confidential, or communicative regarding herself."

"Wherever she went, Julie must be with her," I suggested.

"I don't know. I dare say that is so, but how on earth could _two_
women get out of this house without its being known?"

"And yet, they did. Whether alone or together, they both got away last
night. You don't think they're still concealed in the house?"