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Updated: May 16, 2025
Just as they were in the very middle of it, a big cockchafer flew into Valiant Vicky's face. 'Run! run! he shrieked to his wife, in a terrible taking, and setting off as fast as he could, never stopped till he had reached his room again and hidden under the bed. His wife set off at a run likewise, dropping her bundle of golden dishes with a clang.
Ferrall was busy making notes of the information he was getting, and I could well understand, that any side-light on Vicky's home life was of importance. So I tarried to listen. "How long have you worked for Miss Van Allen?" "A matther av a year or more." "You clean the rooms upstairs, sometimes?" "All over the house.
Angular, slightly backhanded, and full of character, it would be difficult to imitate it, and, too, no one would have any reason to forge that letter to Mrs. Reeves. She had verified Vicky's statement, and found that a letter to the garage owner had instructed him to give up the car to Mrs. Reeves, and he had already done so, that very morning.
In the ornate Florentine frame, with its branching arabesques, was a strand of the gold beads that had adorned Vicky's gown that night. I visualized her, whirling her skirts about before the mirror, with that quick, lithe grace of hers, and catching the fluttering fringe in the gilt protuberance. Perhaps she exclaimed in petulance, but, more likely, I thought, she laughed at the trivial accident.
"No wonder those long strands of fringe caught in that scraggly mirror frame!" exclaimed Winnie, who never missed a point. "Right," said Stone. "If she whirled around as you did, Miss Calhoun, it's a wonder she didn't spoil her whole gown." The pose and the figure were not exactly Vicky's. Ariadne wasn't much on catching a likeness or a physical effect.
Her lips were famished; but Vicky's must be free for moments if her words were to be intelligible. During such times she stroked or patted the prodigal, and let her browse on her cheeks. By-and-by, raptures subsiding, the pair settled down for talk, and the discrepancies which eight years had made began to show up, like rocks and boulders in a strand left bare by the ebb.
Gravely the men listened to what the Italian told, and their faces showed what they believed. Then came the guests of the party. One after another, they told the same story. All knew Vicky fairly well, as a pleasant acquaintance; all liked her as a good friend; all enjoyed her as a delightful hostess; and many told individual instances of Vicky's kind heart and helping hand.
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.
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." "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?
These were of plated silver, not sterling, which fact Stone noted. The lace-trimmed linen, however, was of the finest and most elaborate sort. "An unholy waste of money!" declared Rhoda Schuyler, looking at the marvellous monogram of V. V. A. embroidered on the napkins. But I gazed sadly at the table, only partially dismantled, which had been so gaily decked for Vicky's birthday supper.
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