right, Mr. Calhoun, and I don't want you to let Mrs. Schuyler think
she isn't."

"Perhaps Mrs. Schuyler knows something about her."

"I doubt it. Anyway, you stand up for Vicky, as far as you can do so
honestly. Won't you?"

"I can surely promise that," I replied, as I started on my errand.

Approaching the Fifth Avenue residence, I looked at the house, which I
had been unable to see clearly the night before.

It was large and handsome, but not one of the most modern mansions.
Four stories, it was, and as I glanced up I noticed that all the
window shades were down. The floral emblem of death hung at one side
of the wide entrance, and as I approached, the door silently swung
open.

A footman was in charge, and I was ushered at once to the library
where I had been some hours earlier. It was not a cheerful room; the
appointments were heavy and somber, though evidently the woods and
fabrics were of great value. A shaded electrolier gave a dim light,
for the drawn blinds precluded daylight.

A soft step, and Mrs. Schuyler came into the room.

Black garb was not becoming to her. The night before, in her blue
house-dress, she had looked almost pretty, but now, in a black gown,
without even a bit of relieving white at her throat, she was plain and