Then she apparently forgot them, for without self-consciousness she turned to the detective and began asking questions. Nervously she inquired concerning minutest details, and I surmised that side by side with her grief at the tragedy was a very human and feminine dismay at the thought of her husband, stabbed to death in another woman's house! "Who is Miss Van Allen?" she asked over and over again, unsatisfied with the scant information Lowney could give. "And she lives near here? Just down the side street? Who _is_ she?" "I don't think she is anyone you ever heard of," I said to her. "She is a pleasant young woman, and so far as I know, all that is correct and proper." "Then why would she have Randolph Schuyler visiting her?" flashed the retort. "Is that correct and proper?" "It may be so," I said, for I felt a sort of loyalty to Vicky Van. "You see, she was not acquainted with Mr. Schuyler until this evening." "Why did he go there, then?" "Steele brought him--Norman Steele." "I don't know any Mr. Steele." I began to think that Randolph Schuyler had possessed many acquaintances of whom his wife knew nothing, and I concluded to see Bradbury before I revealed any more of Schuyler's affairs. And then, Lowney began adroitly to put questions instead of answering them. He inquired concerning Mr. Schuyler's habits and pursuits, his recreations and his social life. All three of the women gave responses to these queries, and I learned many things. First, that Randolph Schuyler was one manner of man at home and another abroad. The household, it was plain to be seen, was one of most conservative customs and rigidly straightbacked in its conventions. Mrs. Schuyler was not a second wife. She had been married about seven years, and had lived the last five of them in the house we were now in. She was much younger than her husband, and he had, I could see, kept her from all knowledge of or participation in his Bohemian tastes. They were the sort of people who have a box at the opera and are patrons of the best and most exclusive functions of the highest society. Mrs. Schuyler, after the first shock, recovered her poise, and though now and then a tremor shook her slight frame, she bore herself with dignity and calm. The two maiden ladies also grew quieter, but we all nervously awaited the return of the butler. At last he came. "It's the master, Madame," he said, simply, to his mistress as he entered the room. "He is dead." The deferential gravity of his tone impressed me anew with the man's worth, and I felt that the stricken wife had a tower of strength in the faithful servitor. "I left Cooper there, Madame," he went on. "They--they will not bring Mr. Schuyler home tonight. In the morning, perhaps. And now, Madame, will you not go to rest? I will be at the service of these gentlemen." It seemed cruel to torture them further that night, and the three ladies were dismissed by Lowney, and, attended by their maids, they left us.