"Look here, child, what do you think I am? A magician?" "No, but I thought you could manage somehow to get it," her voice showed the adorable petulance that distinguished Vicky Van; "and then, you could send it to me--" "Where?" I cried, eagerly. "Where shall I address you?" "I can't tell you that. But you can bring it here and leave it in the Chinese jar, and I will get it." "How do you come in and go out of this house without being seen?" I demanded. "By the area door?" "Perhaps so," and she spoke lightly. "And perhaps by a window, and maybe by means of an aeroplane and down through the skylight." "Not that," I said, "the skylight is fastened on the inside, and has been ever since--ever since that night." "Well, then I don't come that way. But if you'll get that book and put it in the big vase, I'll come and get it. When will it be there?" "You're crazy to think I can get it," I returned, slowly, "but if I can I will. Give me a few days--" "A week, if you like. Shall we say a week from to-night?" "Next Monday? Yes. If I can get it at all, I can have it by then. How shall I let you know?" "You needn't let me know, for I know now you will get it. Steal it from Mr. Lowney, if you can't get it otherwise." "But if Fleming Stone is on your trail, will you come for the book?" "I must," she spoke gravely. "I must have the book. It means everything to me. I _must_ have it!" "Then you shall, if I can manage it. It is your book, it has proved of no value as evidence, you may as well have it." "Yes, I may as well have it. And now, Mr. Calhoun, will you go, please, or do you intend to turn me over to the police?" "Vicky!" I cried, "how can you say such a thing? Of course I'll go, if you bid me. But let me wait a minute. You know you wrote to Ruth Schuyler--" "Ruth? Is that one of the old sisters?" "No. Ruth is the widow." "Oh, yes, I wrote to her. I didn't know her first name. I wrote because I thought it was she who is making the desperate search for me, and I hoped I could influence her to stop it. That's all. I have no interest in Randolph Schuyler's widow, except as she affects my future, but can you do anything by working in the other direction? I mean can you dissuade Fleming Stone from coming, by asking him not to? You can bribe him perhaps--I have money--" "Oh, I doubt if I could do anything like that. But I'll try, I'll try every way I can, and, if I succeed--how shall I let you know?" "Oh, I'll know. If he takes up the matter, it will probably get into the papers, and if I see nothing of it, I'll conclude you succeeded." "But I--I want to see you again, Vicky--" "Oh, no, you don't. Why, you don't know this minute but what I stabbed that man, and--" "You didn't, Vicky--tell me you didn't!" "I can't tell you that. I can't tell you anything. I am the most miserable girl on God's earth!" and I heard tears in Vicky's voice, and a sob choked her utterance.