Beneath the thrilling excitement of the night's occurrence, I felt a dull, sad foreboding. All Vicky had said or done pointed to guilt. Had she been innocent, she would have told me so, by word or by implication. She would have given me a tacit assurance of her guiltlessness, or would have cried out at the injustice of suspicion. But none of these things entered into her talk, or even into her voice or intonations. She had sounded sad, hopeless, despairing. And her last words made me fear she contemplated taking her own life. Poor little Vicky Van. Light-hearted, joy-loving Vicky. What was the mystery back of it all? What could it be? Well, at least, I would scrupulously perform the task she had set me, and I would do it well. I knew I could manage to get into the house by making up some story for the police. But I must wait for the promised key. With a glimmer of hope that the mailed parcel containing the key might give me a clue to Vicky's whereabouts, I at last went to sleep. Next morning at breakfast I said nothing of my night experiences. I told Winnie, however, that she needn't watch the Van Allen house, as I had heard that Vicky had left it permanently. "However could you hear that?" exclaimed my wideawake sister. "Have you had a wireless from the fugitive?" "Something of the sort," I said, smilingly. "And now, listen here, Win. How do you think that friend of yours, Miss Crowell, would like to be a social secretary for Mrs. Schuyler?" "She'd love it!" cried Winnie. "Does Mrs. Schuyler want one?" "Yes, and she wants her mighty quick. From what you've said of the Crowell girl, I should think she'd be just the one. Can you get her on the telephone?" "Yes, but not so early as this. I'll call her about ten." "All right, you fix it up. I expect Mrs. Schuyler will pay proper salary to the right secretary. Of course, Miss Crowell is experienced?" "Oh, yes," assured Win, "and I'm sure she'll love to go. Why, any secretary would be glad to go there." "Not just now, I should think," observed Aunt Lucy. "The amount of work there must be something fearful." "It will be heavy, for a time," I agreed, "but it is only for Mrs. Schuyler's personal correspondence and business. I mean, the other two ladies would not expect to use her services." "All right," said Winnie, "I'll fix it up with Edith Crowell, and if she can't go, I'll ask her to recommend somebody. Shall I send her there to-day?" "Yes, as soon as she will go. And let me know--telephone the office about noon." "Yep," Winnie promised, and I went away, my head in a whirl with the various and sundry matters I had to attend to. I don't think I thought of the secretary matter again, until at noon, Winnie telephoned me that it was all right. I thanked her, and promptly forgot the episode. And so it was, that when I reached home that night, I had one of the surprises of my life. Winnie came to dinner, smiling, and rather excited-looking.