CHAPTER XIII FLEMING STONE
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Vicky had said "Hush!" but it was an unnecessary precaution, for I was too stunned to articulate. I peered at her in the darkness and then, unable to control my desire for certainty I flashed my little pocket light on her for an instant.
"Don't!" she whispered, putting her hands up before her face.
But I had seen. It was really Vicky Van, her smooth black hair looped over her ears, her scarlet mouth, and soft pink cheeks, flushed with excitement of the moment, and her long dark lashes, which suddenly fell beneath the blinding flare of the light, all were those of the runaway girl.
"Don't talk," she said, hastily, "let me do the talking. I want you to help me, will you?"
"Of course, I will," and all sense of law and justice fled before the wave of p
