detective work. I know your weakness for that sort of thing, and I
know if you begin, you'll never let up."

Bradbury was right. I have a fondness for detective work--not the
police part of it, but the inquiry into mystery, the deduction from
clues and the sifting of evidence. I had no mind to miss the inquest,
and I had a burning curiosity to know what had become of Vicky Van.
This was not only curiosity, either. I had a high respect and a
genuine liking for that little lady, and, as Mrs. Reeves had put it, I
was only too willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

Though I couldn't feel any real doubt that she had killed Schuyler. As
Bradbury said, she didn't know a Mr. Somers, but she may have known
the millionaire Schuyler. I had never seen anything of a seamy side to
Vicky's character; but then, I didn't know her so very well, and the
man was dead, and who else _could_ have killed him?

I went around to the caterer's on my way uptown that afternoon, and
asked him as to the reliability of Luigi and the probable truth of his
story.

"That man," Fraschini told me, "is as honest as the day. I've had him
longer than any of my other waiters, and he has never said or done
anything to make me doubt his accuracy. I believe, Mr. Calhoun, that
Luigi saw exactly what he said he saw."

"Might he not have been mistaken in the identity of the woman?"

"Not likely. I'll call him, and you can question him."