"You're a cold-blooded thing, Bradbury," I informed him, "and I am going to do all I can for that young widow. She'll have a lot of unpleasant publicity at best, and if I can shield her from part of it, so much the better." "All right, Calhoun. Do what you like, but don't get in on the 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." This was what I wanted, to question the waiter alone, and I welcomed the opportunity. "I know it was Miss Van Allen," was the quiet response of the Italian to my inquiry. "I cannot be mistaken. I had seen her many times during the evening. I, therefore, recognized the gown she wore, of light yellow gauzy stuff and an over-dress of long gold bead fringes. I saw her stand above the fallen body, looking down at it with a horrified face. I saw stains of blood on her gown--" "Where?" I interrupted. "What part of her gown?" Luigi thought a moment. "On the lower flounces, as if her skirts had brushed against the--the victim, when she stooped over him." "Did she herself observe these stains?" "Yes; she looked at them, and looked frightened and then she ran to the hall." "And you saw no other person near?" "None." "And heard nobody?" "I heard only the voices from the parlor. There was much noise of laughter and talk there."