And then Stone began taking in the rest of the dining-room's contents. The table, hastily cleared by the caterer's men, was empty of the china and glass which they had supplied, but still retained the candlesticks and epergnes that were Vicky Van's own. These were of plated silver, not sterling, which fact Stone noted. The lace-trimmed linen, however, was of the finest and most elaborate sort. "An unholy waste of money!" declared Rhoda Schuyler, looking at the marvellous monogram of V. V. A. embroidered on the napkins. But I gazed sadly at the table, only partially dismantled, which had been so gaily decked for Vicky's birthday supper. Scanning the sideboard, Stone remarked the absence of the small carving knife. I told him I, too, had observed that, and that I had made search for it. "Did you ask the caterer's people if they took it by mistake?" said the detective. "No," I admitted, ashamed that I hadn't thought of it, and I promised to do so. As Stone stood, silently contemplating the place where Randolph Schuyler had met his death, I stepped out into the hall. I had no conscious reason for doing so, but I did, and chancing to glance toward the stairs, I with difficulty repressed an exclamation. For half-way up the staircase, I saw Vicky Van! I was sure it was no hallucination, I positively saw her! She was leaning over the banister, listening to what Stone was saying. Suddenly, even as I looked, she ran upstairs and disappeared. Was she safe? Could she escape? Perhaps by a back staircase, or could she manage to elude us and slip away somehow? Then I was conscience-stricken. Was I conniving at the escape of a guilty person? Did I want to do this? I didn't know. Something told me I must tell Stone of her presence, and yet something else made it impossible for me to do so. I turned back to the dining-room, and Miss Sarah was saying, "That's the spot, then, that's where Randolph was killed by that awful woman! Mr. Stone you _must_ get her! An eye for an eye--a life for a life! She must pay the penalty of her guilt!" Winnie was listening, and tears stood in her eyes. Like Ruth Schuyler, from whom she doubtless took a cue, Win wasn't so ready to condemn Vicky Van unheard, as the two sisters were. She looked steadily at Fleming Stone, as if expecting him to produce Vicky then and there, and I quivered with the thought of what would happen if he knew that even at that moment Vicky was under the same roof with ourselves! But Stone completed his survey of the dining-room, and as a matter of course, started next up the stairs. I pushed ahead a little, in my eagerness to precede him, but a vague desire to protect Vicky urged me on. I stood in the upper hall as the rest came up, and I imagined that Stone gave me a curious glance as he noted my evident embarrassment. But Winnie dashed into the music room, and the Schuyler sisters quickly followed. Trust a woman to feel and show curiosity about her neighbor's home!