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Vicky Van

<h2 id="id00104" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER II</h2> <h5 id="id00105">MR. SOMERS</h5> It was nearly midnight when Steele came, and with him was a man I had never seen before, and whom I assumed to be the Mr. Somers I had heard about. And it was. As Steele entered, he cast his eye around for Vicky, and saw her at the bridge table down at the end of the room. Her back was toward us, and she was so absorbed in the game she did not look round, if, indeed, she heard the noise of their arrival. The two men stopped near the group I was with and Steele introduced Mr. Somers. A little curiously I looked at him, and saw a large, self-satisfied looking man wearing an expansive smile and expensive apparel. Clothes the very best procurable, jewelry just inside the limits of good taste—he bore himself like a gentleman, yet there was an unmistakable air of ostentatious wealth that repelled me. A second look made me think Mr. Somers had dined either late or twice, but his greetings were courteous and genial and his manner sociable, if a little patronizing. He seemed a stranger to all present, and his eye roved about for the charming hostess Steele had told him of. "We'll reach Miss Van Allen presently." Steele laughed, in answer to the glance, "if, indeed, we dare interrupt her game. Let's make progress slowly." "No hurry," returned Somers, affably, beaming on Cassie Weldon and meeting Ariadne Gale's receptive smile. "I'm anchored here for the moment. Miss Weldon? Ah, yes, I've heard you sing. Voice like a lark—like a lark." Clearly, Somers was not much of a purveyor of small talk. I sized him up for a lumbering oldster, who wanted to be playful but didn't quite know how. He had rather an austere face, yet there was a gleam in his eye that belied the austerity. His cheeks were fat and red, his nose prominent, and he was clean shaven, save for a thick white mustache, that drooped slightly on either side of a full-lipped mouth. His hair was white, his eyes dark and deep-set, and he could easily be called a handsome man. He was surely fifty, and perhaps more. Had it not been for a certain effusiveness in his speech, I could have liked him, but he seemed to me to lack sincerity. However, I am not one to judge harshly or hastily, and I met him half way, and even helped him in his efforts at gay affability. "You've never been here before?" I asked; "Good old Steele to bring you to-night." "No, never before," and he glanced around appreciatively, "but I shall, I hope, come often. Charming little nest; charming ladies!" a bow included those nearest. "Yes, indeed," babbled Ariadne, "fair women and brave men." "Brave, yes," agreed Somers, "to dare the glances of such bright eyes. I must protect my heart!" He clasped his fat hands pretty near where his heart was situated, and grinned with delight as Ariadne also "protected" her heart. "Ah," he cried, "two hearts in danger! I feel sure we shall be friends, if only because misery loves company." "Is it really misery with you?" and Ariadne's sympathy was so evidently profound, that Cassie Weldon and I walked away. "I'll give Ariad her innings," said the vivacious Miss Weldon, "and I'll make up to the Somers kid later. Where'd Vicky pick him up?" "She doesn't know him at all. Norman Steele brought him unbeknownst." "No! Why, Vick doesn't allow that sort of thing." "So I'm told. Any way, Steele did it." "Well, Vicky's such a good-natured darling, maybe she won't mind for once. She won't, if she likes the little stranger. He's well-meaning, at any rate." "So's Ariadne. From her smile, I think she well means to sell him her latest 'Autumn In The Adirondacks,' or 'Lady With A Handbag'." "Now, don't be mean!" but Cassie laughed. "And I don't blame her if she does. Poor Ad paints above the heads of the public, so if this is a high-up Publican, she'd better make sales while the sun shines." "What's her work like?" "You can see more of it in this house than anywhere else. Vicky is so fond of Ariadne and so sorry her pictures don't sell better, that she buys a lot herself." "Does Miss Gale know Miss Van Allen does it out of—" "Don't say charity! No, they're really good stuff, and Vicky buys 'em for Christmas gifts and bridge prizes." "Does she ever play for prizes? I thought she liked a bit of a stake, now." "Yes, at evening parties. But, often we have a dove game of an afternoon, with prizes and pink tea. Vicky Van isn't a gay doll, you know. She's—sometimes, she's positively domestic. I wish she had a nice husband and some little kiddies." "Why hasn't she?" "Give it up. She's never seen any man she loved, I s'pose." "Perhaps she'll love this Somers person." "Heaven forbid! Nothing less than a crown prince would suit Vicky Van. Look, she's turning to meet him. Won't he be bowled over!" I turned, and though there were several people between us, I caught a glimpse of Somers' face as he was presented to Miss Van Allen. He was bowled over. His eyes beamed with admiration and he bowed low as he raised to his lips the dainty, bejeweled hand. Vicky, apparently, did not welcome this old-time greeting, and she drew away her hand, saying, "not allowed. Naughty man! Express proper compunction, or you can't sit next me at supper!" "Forgive me," begged Somers. "I'm sorry! I'll never do it again—until after I sit next you at supper!" "More brains than I thought," I said to Cassie, who nodded, and then Vicky Van rose from her chair. "Take my place for a moment, Mr. Somers," she said, standing before him. "I—" she dropped her eyes adorably, "I must see about the arrangement of seats at the supper table." With a merry laugh, she ran from the room, and through the long hall to the dining-room. Somers dropped into her vacant chair, and continued the Bridge game with the air of one who knows how to play. In less than five minutes Vicky was back. "No, keep the hand," she said, as he rose. "I've played long enough. And supper will be ready shortly." "Finish the rubber,—I insist" Somers returned, and as he determinedly stood behind the chair, Vicky, perforce, sat down. He continued to stand behind her chair, watching her play. Vicky was too sure of her game to be rattled at his close scrutiny, but it seemed to me her shoulders shrugged a little impatiently, as he criticized or commended her plays. She had thrown a light scarf of gauze or tulle around when she was out of the room, and being the same color as her gown, it made her seem more than ever like an houri. She smiled up into Somers' face, and then, coyly, her long lashes fell on her pink cheeks. Evidently, she had concluded to bewitch the newcomer, and she was making good. I drew nearer, principally because I liked to look at her. She was a live wire to-night! She looked roguish, and she made most brilliant plays, tossing down her cards with gay little gestures, and doing trick shuffles with her twinkling fingers. "You could have had that last trick, if you'd played for it," Somers said, as the rubber finished. "I know it," Vicky conceded. "I saw, just too late, that I was getting the lead into the wrong hand." "Well, don't ever do that again," he said, lightly, "never again." As he said the last word, he laid his finger tips on her shoulder. It was the veriest touch, the shoulder was swathed in the transparent tulle, but still, it roused Vicky. She glanced up at him, and I looked at him, too. But Somers was not in flirtatious mood. He said, "I beg your pardon," in most correct fashion. Had he then, touched her inadvertently? It didn't seem so, but his speech assured it. Vicky jumped up from the table, and ignoring Somers, ran out to the hall, saying something about looking after the surprise for the supper. To my surprise, Somers followed her, not hastily, but rather deliberately, and, quelling an absurd impulse to go, too, I turned to Norman Steele, who stood near. "Who's this Somers?" I asked him, rather abruptly. "Is he all right?" "You bet," said Steele, smiling. "He's a top-notcher." "In what respects?" "Every and all." "You've known him long?" "Yes. I tell you Cal, he's all right. Forget it. What's the surprise for supper? Do you know?" "Of course not. It wouldn't be a surprise if we all knew of it." "Well, Vicky's surprises are always great fun. Why the grouch, old man? Can't you chirrup?" "Oh, I'm all right," and I felt annoyed that he read in my face that I was put out. But I didn't like the looks of Somers, and I couldn't say so to the man who had brought him there. "Oh, please! Oh, please!" shouted a hoarse, strange voice, and one scarcely to be heard above the hum of gay voices and peals of gay laughter, "oh, somebody, please!" I looked across the room, and in the wide hall doorway stood a man, who was quite evidently a waiter. He was white-faced and staring-eyed, and he fairly hung on to a portiere for support, as he repeated his agonized plea. "What is it?" said Mrs. Reeves, as everybody else stared at the man. "What do you want?" She stepped toward him, and we all turned to look. "Not you—no, Madame. Some man, please—some doctor. Is there one here?" "Some of the servants ill?" asked Mrs. Reeves, kindly. "Doctor Remson, will you come?" The pleasant-faced capable-looking woman paused only until Doctor Remson joined her, and the two went into the hall, the waiter following slowly. In a moment I heard a shriek, a wild scream. Partly curiosity and partly a foreboding of harm to Vicky Van, made me rush forward. Mrs. Reeves had screamed, and I ran the length of the hall to the dining room. There I saw Somers on the floor, and Remson bending over him. "He's killed! He's stabbed!" cried Mrs. Reeves, clutching at my arm as I reached her. "Oh, what shall we do?" She stood just in the dining-room doorway, which was at the end of the long hall, as in most city houses. The room was but dimly lighted, the table candles not yet burning. "Keep the people back!" I shouted, as those in the living-room pressed out into the hall. "Steele, keep those girls back!" There was an awful commotion. The men urged the women back, but curiosity and horror made them surge forward in irresistible force. "Shut the door," whispered Remson. "This man is dead. It's an awful situation. Shut that door!" Somehow, I managed to get the door closed between the dining-room and hall. On the inside were Remson, Mrs. Reeves, who wouldn't budge, and myself. Outside in the hall was a crowd of hysterical women and frightened men. "Are you sure?" I asked, in a low voice, going nearer to the doctor and looking at Somers' fast-glazing eyes. "Sure. He was stabbed straight to the heart with—see—a small, sharp knife." Her hands over her eyes, but peering through her fingers, Mrs. Reeves drew near. "Not really," she moaned. "Oh, not really dead! Can't we do anything for him?" "No," said Remson, rising to his feet, from his kneeling position. "He's dead, I tell you. Who did it?" "That waiter—" I began, and then stopped. Looking in from a door opposite the hall door, probably one that led to a butler's pantry or kitchen, were half a dozen white-faced waiters. "Come in here," said Remson; "not all of you. Which is chief?" "I am, sir," and a head waiter came into the room. "What has happened?" "A man has been killed," said the doctor, shortly. "Who are you? Who are you all? House servants?" "No sir," said the chief. "We're caterer's men. From Fraschini's. I'm Luigi. We are here to serve supper." "What do you know of this?" "Nothing, sir," and the Italian looked truthful, though scared. "Haven't you been in and out of the dining-room all evening?" "Yes, sir. Setting the table, and such. But now it's all ready, and I was waiting Miss Van Allen's word to serve it." "Where is Miss Van Allen?" I broke in. "I—I don't know, sir," Luigi hesitated, and Doctor Remson interrupted. "We mustn't ask these questions, Mr. Calhoun. We must call the police." "The police!" cried Mrs. Reeves, "oh no! no! don't do that." "It is my duty," said the doctor, firmly. "And no one must enter or leave this room until an officer arrives. You waiters, stay there in that pantry. Close those doors to the other room, Mr. Calhoun, please. Mrs. Reeves, I'm sorry, but I must ask you to stay here—" "I won't do it!" declared the lady. "You're not an officer of the law. I'll stay in the house, but not in this room." She stalked out into the hall, and Doctor Remson went at once to the telephone and called up headquarters. The guests in the living room, hearing this, flew into a panic. Of course, it was no longer possible, nor, as I could see, desirable to keep them in ignorance of what had happened. After calling the police, Doctor Remson returned to his post just inside the dining-room door. He answered questions patiently, at first, but after being nearly driven crazy by the frantic women, he said, sharply, "You may all do just as you like. I've no authority here, except that the ethics of my profession dictate. That does not extend to jurisdiction over the guests present. But I advise you as a matter of common decency to stay here until this affair is investigated." But they didn't. Many of them hastily gathered up their wraps and went out of the house as quickly as possible. Cassie Weldon came to me in her distress. "I must go, Mr. Calhoun," she said. "Don't you think I may? Why, it would interfere greatly with my work to have it known that I was mixed up in a—" "You're not mixed up in it, Miss Weldon." I began to speak a little sternly, but the look in her eyes aroused my sympathy. "Well, go on," I said, "I suppose you will testify if called on. Everybody knows where to find you." "Yes," she said, slowly, "but I hope I won't be called on. Why, it might spoil my whole career." She slipped out of the door, in the wake of some other departing guests. After all, I thought, it couldn't matter much. Few, if any, of them were implicated, and they could all be found at their homes. And yet, I had a vague idea that we ought all to stay. "I shall remain and face the music," I heard Mrs. Reeves saying. "Where is Vicky? Do you suppose she knows about this? I'm going up in the music room to see if she's there. You know, with all the excitement down here, those upstairs may know nothing of it." "I shall remain, too" said Ariadne Gale. "Why should anyone kill Mr. Somers? Did the caterer's people do it? What an awful thing! Will it be in the papers?" "Will it!" said Garrison, who was standing near. "Reporters may be here any minute. Must be here as soon as the police come. Where is Miss Van Allen?" "I don't know," and Ariadne began to cry. "Stop that," said Mrs. Reeves, gruffly, but not unkindly. "Stay if you want to, Ariadne, but behave like a sensible woman, not a silly schoolgirl. This is an awful tragedy, of some sort." "What do you mean, of some sort?" asked Miss Gale. "I mean we don't know what revelations are yet to come. Where's Norman Steele? Where's the man who brought this Somers here?" Sure enough, where was Steele? I had forgotten all about him. And it was he who had introduced Somers to the Van Allen house, and no one else present, so far as I knew, was previously acquainted with the man now lying dead the other side of that closed door. I looked over the people who had stayed. Only a handful—perhaps half a dozen. And then I wondered if I'd better go home myself. Not for my own sake, in any way; indeed, I preferred to remain, but I thought of Aunt Lucy and Win. Ought I to bring on them any shadow of trouble or opprobrium that might result from my presence in that house at that time? Would it not be better to go while I could do so? For, once the police took charge, I knew I should be called on to testify in public. And even as I debated with myself, the police arrived. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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