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CHAPTER XVI – Buddy

“Now that the money is paid, Phyllis, dear, and the whole matter is hushed up, Louis will never be suspected of having had anything to do with that Bill Halsey gang. It was a narrow escape – if the story had come out, it would have stained the boy’s reputation badly. But, thanks to your quick action and watchful care, your brother is released from their clutches and you need worry about that no more.”

“Thanks, too, to your kindness in letting me have the money. I will repay you just as soon as Mr Lane settles financial matters enough to give it to me out of my inheritance.”

“No hurry about it. Instead of that, let’s talk about ourselves. When are you going to let me give you a ring?”

“Oh, not yet,” and Phyllis looked distressed. “Wait till this awful matter of the Gleason death is explained.”

“Will it ever be?” Pollard spoke gravely, and added, “Do you want it to be?”

“Oh,” she cried, “don’t look like that! Do you suspect Louis, too? Buddy never did it! Never!”

“No, of course he didn’t. Do you sometimes think Phil – ”

“Philip Barry! No! He says he did, to shield my brother – ”

“And you.”

“Me!”

“Yes. Let’s speak frankly, Phyllis. I can’t bear to fence or quibble with you. Now, you know, you and Louis were there – ”

“Oh, no, we weren’t – well – maybe we were – oh, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Poor little girl. Don’t try to make up stories to me. Tell me just how it was – or, don’t tell me anything – as you wish, but don’t tell me what isn’t so. I can’t help you if you do that.”

Phyllis looked at him searchingly. She trusted him – and yet, she hesitated to put into words her own suspicions of Louis.

“I’m sure Phil Barry is shielding some one else,” she began.

“But, dear, that letter – how could that have been written, except by Barry?”

“Now, don’t you prevaricate to me!” she cried; “you know whatever is the explanation of the letter, Phil Barry isn’t guilty!”

“I don’t know any such thing! If Barry wrote the letter, he must have meant something by it, and until he is proved innocent, there’s good reason for suspecting him.”

“Don’t you suspect Louis?” Phyllis asked directly, facing Pollard with a straightforward gaze.

“Don’t ask me, dear. If I did – if I do – I wouldn’t say so, because – because I love you. Confide in me – please do, darling. If you suspect your brother, tell me so, and I’ll do all I can to divert suspicion from him.”

“Even if you think him guilty?”

“Certainly. If Louis did it – he was blinded by rage, or, moved by a sudden homicidal impulse born of desperation – ”

“But that doesn’t excuse him.”

“Not to the law – but to me, he is excused because he is your brother – ”

“Yes, my brother – my little Buddy – oh, Manning, I can’t face it!”

“You weren’t there, too – at the time?”

“At the time of the murder? Oh, no!” Phyllis’ eyes were wide with horror.

“Do you know that Louis was there?”

Pollard pressed the question, glad that Phyllis had abandoned pretense, and was telling truths.

“Yes, I do.” The pained eyes looked beseechingly into his. “I have the evidence of an eye-witness – or, nearly.”

“What do you mean by nearly?”

“Why, somebody else was there, who didn’t see Louis, but who heard him – or, rather, heard Mr Gleason talking to him.”

“Is that all? Phyllis, that isn’t enough to convict Louis!”

“Isn’t it? But, if they accuse him – he’ll break down and confess. I know Buddy; as soon as a breath of suspicion touches him he’ll go all to pieces – ”

“Whether he’s guilty or not?”

Phyllis stared. “Why, no, of course not if he isn’t guilty. Oh, Manning, do you think he isn’t? Tell me you do!”

“I wish I could, darling. But, I do say, there’s no real evidence and we may be able to prevent any from coming to light. Even if Louis was there, didn’t he leave before the time of the attack?”

“I don’t know. I can’t find out. I daren’t mention it to him. Oh, Buddy, dear – I’m sure you never did it!”

“I’m sure, too,” said Pollard, decidedly, and, whatever was in his mind there was conviction in his tone. “Now, see here, Phyllis, let’s do nothing in the matter. As near as I can make out, Barry’s confession is not believed at all by the police. They are sure he’s shielding some one, but they don’t know who it is. Of course, Barry won’t tell, so Louis is safe.”

“But suppose they do come to believe Phil, and he is arrested!”

“Not a chance.”

“But if they should?”

“Would you care so much?” Pollard spoke softly, and tenderly. “If it should mean Louis’ safety – ”

“At the expense of an innocent man? Oh, impossible!”

“But you love Buddy – ”

“I do, yes – but if he is guilty – nobody else can be allowed to suffer in his place. Least of all, Phil Barry.”

Phyllis said the name, with a gentler light in her eyes, a softer inflection of her voice, and Pollard felt a sudden chill at his heart.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, quietly, “anything especial?”

“No – oh, no,” but Phyllis blushed.

“Remember, dear, you’re engaged to me,” Pollard said, smiling at her. “I resent such implications of any other interest of yours.”

“You resent my interest in Phil Barry! Why, I thought he was your best friend.”

“He is. But he can’t be yours. Not your best friend – only second-best.”

“Well, he’s too dear a friend for me to let any undeserved suspicion fall on him,” and Phyllis’ eyes shone with righteous indignation.

“First, we must be sure it is undeserved.”

“Very well, I will make sure!”

With a determined gesture, Phyllis pushed a bell button and a maid responded.

“Ask Mr Lindsay to come here,” Phyllis directed, and then turning to Pollard with a pretty gesture of confidence, she said:

“Let’s work together, Manning. You see what you think of the way Louis meets my questions. I’ve decided to meet the issue straight.”

“What is it, Sis?” asked Louis, coming into the room. “What do you want of me? Hello, Pollard, how are you?”

“Buddy, dear,” Phyllis began, “where were you the day Mr Gleason died?”

“Out with it Phyl. Do you think I killed him?”

Louis looked at his sister. The boy was haggard, pale and worried looking, but he met her eye and awaited her answer to his question.

“No, Louis, I can’t think so – but there are circumstances that make it appear possible, and I want your word.”

“Well, then, Phyllis, I didn’t do it.”

Calmly the brother gazed at the sister. Anxiously, Phyllis scanned the well-known face, the affectionate eyes, the sensitive, quivering mouth, but though agitated, Louis had himself well in hand, and his frank speech carried conviction.

Phyllis drew a long breath.

“I believe you, Buddy,” she said.

Pollard was quiet for a moment, and then observed, “All right, Lindsay. And, in that case, you’re probably willing to tell all about your presence there that afternoon. Why haven’t you done so?”

Pollard’s tone was not accusing so much as one of friendly inquiry, and Louis, after a moment’s hesitation, replied:

“Why, Pol, I suppose I was a coward. I was afraid, if I admitted I was in Gleason’s place that afternoon, I might be suspected of the crime – and I’m innocent – before God, I am.”

The solemn voice rang true, and Phyllis clasped his hand as she said, “I know it, Buddy, I know you never did it!”

“But, if it comes out I was there, I can’t help being suspected,” Louis went on, a look of terror coming to his face. “I – oh, I hate to confess it, but I am afraid. Not afraid of justice – but afraid I’ll be accused of something I didn’t do!”

“You would, too, Louis,” Pollard said. “Better keep still about the whole matter, I think. You see, Louis, except for the murderer, you are probably the last one who saw Gleason alive. Now, that, in itself is troublesome evidence, especially if the murderer doesn’t turn up. That is why, I think, my theory of the stranger from the West is undoubtedly the true one. You see, none of the people hereabouts – I mean you, Barry, Davenport, myself, or any of us Club men could have been down there so late, and then turned up here for the dinner party. Of course, that would have been possible, but highly improbable. While an outsider, a man known to Gleason but not to any of use, could have come and gone at will.”

“He had to reach the Gleason apartment soon after Buddy left,” Phyllis mused, thinking it out. “Well, Manning, I’m convinced of Buddy’s innocence. My boy can’t lie to me! I know him too well. He is worried and anxious about the suspicions that may attach to him, but he’s absolutely innocent of crime, aren’t you, dear?”

And Louis looked into his sister’s face, and quietly replied, “Yes, Phyllis,” and she believed him.

“Now,” she said, “I’m going to free Phil Barry.”

“You!” exclaimed Pollard. “Are you going to turn detective?”

“I’m going to help the detectives work,” she declared. “Or, rather, I’m going to get a detective that can work. I don’t think much of what has been accomplished so far. I’m going to get another detective – ”

“A private detective?” asked Pollard. “Better be careful, dear. Don’t get mixed up in this thing too deeply.”

“No, I won’t. I’m not going to do anything myself. But, I want to tell you something. Ivy Hayes knows of a girl – ”

“Ivy Hayes!” exclaimed Louis, while Pollard raising his eyebrows, murmured, “A girl!”

“I seem to have exploded two bombshells!” said Phyllis, smiling.

She was in better spirits now, since the assurance of Louis that he was not guilty.

“But it is the truth. Ivy Hayes knows of a girl detective – ”

“Oh, Phyllis, don’t!” begged Pollard. “A private detective is bad enough – but a girl one! Please don’t.”

“But she’s a wonder – Ivy says so.”

“Sister, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell me you know Ivy Hayes!”

“Certainly I do, Louis. If you may know her why can’t I? And I like her, too. And she’ll get this person for me, and I know Millicent will agree – ”

“Quite a feminine bunch,” Pollard laughed. “Do you think you and Mrs Lindsay and Miss Hayes and the girl sleuth can succeed where several men have failed?”

“That’s just what I do think,” cried Phyllis, triumphantly. “This is the era of feminine achievement, and why not in detection as well as in other lines?”

“Have it your own way,” said Pollard, looking at her fondly. “I must go now, but if I can help you – though, being a mere man, I suppose I can’t – ”

“Oh, yes, you can,” Phyllis smiled at him. “I’ll be only too glad to call upon you for assistance.” Pollard left, and Phyllis at once called Ivy on the telephone to get more information about the girl detective.

“Oh, it isn’t a girl!” Ivy replied; “that is, it is a girl, but it’s a man, too. They’re associated, you see. Of course, the man is the head of the firm – but the girl, who is his assistant, does quite as much of the work as he does. And, she’s my friend, that’s why I spoke of her as the detective. But he’s the one to call on. He’s Pennington Wise – they call him Penny Wise – how could they help it! Well, he’s your man, and she’s your girl. I used to know her, when we were both kids, and I don’t see her often nowadays, but we’re good friends, and she’s a wonder.”

“You’re a wonder, too, Ivy,” Phyllis said; “thank you lots and heaps. Give me the address, and I’ll excuse you.”

Ivy gave the number, and Phyllis went at once and told the story to Millicent.

“Oh, do get him!” cried Mrs Lindsay. “I’ve heard of Penny Wise – he’s a wizard! I don’t know anything about his girl assistant – but that doesn’t matter. Penny Wise is great! I’ve often heard of him. He’s frightfully expensive, but they say he never loses a case. But, Phyllis, I never suspected Louis! How could you think I did! But – don’t faint now – I do suspect Phil Barry!”

“It doesn’t matter much whom you suspect to-day, Millicent, it will be somebody else to-morrow! Aren’t you about due to suspect me again?”

“You! oh, Phyllis, don’t remind me of the foolish things I said, when I was hysterical and almost crazy! You know how you’d feel if Louis had been killed! You’d suspect anybody!”

“All right, Millicent, I’ll forget it. But I don’t believe for one minute that Philip Barry is the guilty man.”

“You don’t! Why, Phyllis, I thought you did!”

“Oh, I don’t know what I think,” and Phyllis broke down and sobbed.

“There, there, dear child,” Millicent soothed her. “Don’t cry. You’re all worried to pieces. Now, let’s get the Wise man, and then you shift all care and anxiety on to him.”

“But, Millicent, suppose he should prove it to be Phil!”

“If it is Phil, he ought to be shown up. We can’t stop now, for sentiment or preference. We must go ahead and prove positively who is the criminal.”

When Millicent took the tone of an avenging justice, she was almost humorous, so ill did the role fit her. But she was in earnest, and she immediately set to work to engage the services of Pennington Wise.

Her efforts were vain, however, as the detective politely informed her that his press of business would not permit him to take on another case at present.

Greatly disappointed, she told Phyllis, who at once told Ivy Hayes, over the telephone, of her defeat.

“Huh,” said the young woman, “won’t come, won’t he? Well, I guess he will. Expect him this evening, to talk over the preliminaries.”

For the sanguine Ivy felt sure her childhood friend could somehow persuade the great detective to meet the engagement she had just committed him to.

“Zizi,” Miss Hayes later remarked, to her friend, “You just simply got to take on the Gleason case. You hear me?”

“Hear you perfectly,” Zizi’s engaging little voice replied. “But – ”

“No buts. You just do it. Why, Ziz, it’s all mixed up with friends of mine. And say, dearie, I want you to do it for old times’ sake.”

“But, Ivy, truly – ”

“Truly you will? All right, Ziz. You make Penny Wise stand around – you fix it somehow – and you send him or go yourself to the Lindsay home this evening at eight o’clock. Love and kisses. Your own Ivy.”

Ivy hung up the receiver, satisfied that if her friend didn’t or couldn’t meet her wishes, she would call her up and tell her so. Not hearing from Zizi, Ivy concluded all was going well.

And it was. Zizi, the wonderful little assistant of the great detective, coaxed and finally persuaded him to take the case, assuring him that she, herself, would do most of the work. She put it on the grounds of a personal favor to herself, and as this was so unusual a condition as to be almost unique, Pennington Wise gave in.

And so, promptly at eight, he presented himself at the Lindsays’ and was received with welcome.

For an hour Wise listened to the accounts of the case from the three Lindsays. No one else was present, and Wise asked them to tell him all they could, both of direct evidence or their own leanings or suspicions.

The detective was a man of great personal magnetism. Tall and strong, his very bearing inspired confidence and hope. His face was fine and mobile, his wavy chestnut hair, brushed over back, was fine and thick, and his keen blue eyes took in everything without any undue curiosity.

He was both receptive and responsive, and in an hour he had the history of the case, clearly and definitely in his mind.

“Now, then,” he said, “we can admit of several suspects already. There was a motive, let us say, for any one who benefited by Mr Gleason’s will. That includes Mr and Miss as well as Mrs Lindsay.”

Millicent frowned at him. “Me!” she cried, explosively.

“I only say you benefited by the will,” said Wise, mildly. “I have as much right to mention your name as those of the other two.”

“Louis didn’t get anything from the will,” said Phyllis.

“He did, in a way,” the detective returned. “You’re so fond of your brother, that whatever is yours, is pretty much the same as belonging to him. Now, I’m not going to consider you two ladies as suspects at all. But Mr Lindsay’s cause I shall look into.”

Louis colored, angrily, and was about to make a sharp retort, when the kindness of Wise’s expression caught his notice, and he suddenly decided he’d like to be friends with the detective.

“Look into it all you like,” he said, with an air of relief at giving his troubles over to this capable person. “I’m glad to have you. You see, Mr Wise, I was there so fearfully close to the time of the crime, that I’ve been afraid to have it known how close.”

“Don’t be afraid, my boy. If you’re guilty I’ll find it out, anyway; and if not, you’ve more to gain than lose by being frank and honest.”

“Who are your other suspects?” Phyllis asked, anxiously.

“Everybody,” said Wise, smiling at her. “First, Doctor Davenport – ”

“Oh, no!”

“First, Doctor Davenport, because, he first raised the alarm. Next, Mr Pollard, because he declared an intention of killing Mr Gleason. Next, Mr Monroe, because – ”

“Dean Monroe!” exclaimed Louis, “why he has never been thought of!”

“That’s the answer!” said Wise. “He was in that group who discussed murder that afternoon, he went away, his subsequent movements have not been traced, and, as you say, he’s never been questioned or even thought of in the matter. Therefore, I investigate his case.”

“And Philip Barry?” Phyllis could hold back the question no longer.

“Ah, yes, Mr Barry.” Pennington Wise looked at her. “You are interested in him? Especially? Forgive me if I seem intrusive. I am not really, but I have to know some things to know how to go about others.”

“Miss Lindsay is engaged to Mr Pollard,” Millicent informed the inquirer. “She’s a firm friend of Mr Barry’s, but, I think you ought to know that Manning Pollard is her fiance.”

“Yes,” Phyllis said, as Wise asked the question by a glance. “I am engaged to Mr Pollard, but I don’t want Mr Barry suspected.”

“Not if he did it?”

“He didn’t do it.”

“But the letter? He wrote that?”

“No; he did not.”

“He says he did. It is signed by him. It is in keeping with his nature and his attitude toward Mr Gleason. Why do you say he didn’t write it?”

“I don’t know, Mr Wise. I have a feeling, a conviction that somebody forged that letter.”

“But how would that be possible?”

“I don’t know. I can’t tell you. But I’m sure.”

“I haven’t seen the letter yet, Miss Lindsay,” Pennington Wise looked at her reflectively. “And until I do, I can’t speak positively. But I’ve read up this case, more or less, and I can’t see how a forgery could pass the experts as this has done. I incline to think it is genuine. But it need not have implied murder at all.”

“No,” repeated Phyllis, “he didn’t write it. I know he didn’t.”

“If he didn’t, trust me to find it out,” Wise reassured her. And, as they heard the bell ring, “I dare say that’s my little assistant. She agreed to come later. I want you to like her.”

“I know I shall,” said Phyllis, enthusiastically; “I’ve heard about her from Miss Hayes.”

And in another moment Zizi appeared in the doorway.

CHAPTER XVII – Zizi

“Mrs Lindsay?” Zizi said, by way of interrogative greeting, and, with a second nod to Louis, she crossed the room and sat down by Phyllis.

“Miss Lindsay,” and the visitor took both Phyllis’ hands in her own. “I am so glad to know you. May I help you?”

“Oh, I hope you can,” Phyllis said, fascinated by the strange child.

For Zizi looked like a child. Little, slim, and of a lithe, nervous personality, her big, dark eyes gazed into Phyllis’ with an expression of intense interest in her and her affairs.

“You’re troubled,” she went on, as Phyllis responded to her evident friendliness. “But it will be all right; Pennington Wise will clear up the mystery and you will be glad again.”

“You queer little thing!” Millicent exclaimed. “Turn around here and let me look at you.”

Zizi, turned, smiling, her white teeth just showing between her scarlet lips, her eyes dancing, cheeks glowing, and her black hair muffed over her ears – a highly-colored picture of vivid, restless vitality.

“Yes, Mrs Lindsay,” she responded in her low, yet clear voice, “and please like me, for I’m going to stay here.”

“Stay here!”

“Yes, please, during the investigation. Mr Wise will come and go, but I have to be here all the time.”

“Why, certainly – of course, if you wish – ”

“Good!” Louis cried; “glad to have you stay, Miss – ”

“Zizi,” she said, “just Zizi.” And the smile she flashed on Louis was the complete undoing of that impressionable young man.

“And now to business,” Zizi went on, her manner changing subtly from the witch-like, fascinating child to the energetic young woman. “Tell me things.”

“We’ve already told Mr Wise about the case – ” Millicent began.

“Not the kind of things you tell him – other things. About this Mr Barry, now. Has he a high temper?”

Phyllis stared-What had Phil Barry’s temper to do with the murder of Robert Gleason?

“You see,” Zizi explained, “if he had, the note might have meant he’d kill his rival – if not it might have meant a lesser threat.”

“He has a high temper,” Phyllis admitted, reluctantly; “I may as well say so, for others would tell you that. He’s a mild, equable nature as long as things go his way. But if he’s thwarted or crossed, even in trifles, he flies in a rage at once. I oughtn’t to say this – ”

“Because it seems to incriminate him,” Zizi nodded her little head; “but I compel the truth – don’t I?” she smiled at Phyllis. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t have said that to any other detective. Well, now, with the knowledge that Mr Barry is quick tempered, that he was jealous of Mr Gleason and that he wrote the threatening letter, and that he has given no positive account of what he was doing at the critical moment – shall we suspect him? Answer, no.”

“Why?” Phyllis spoke breathlessly, relieved but anxious to know more.

“Well, principally for the reason that he has confessed.”

“Don’t murderers ever confess?” Louis asked, his eyes on the beautiful young thing that was of a type hitherto unknown in his experience.

Zizi was not really beautiful, but her magnetic charm was so great, her ways so winsome, and her mysterious eyes so full of changing expression and half-veiled witchery that she enthralled them all.

Wise watched her. He was accustomed to have his clients surprised at his strange little assistant, but oftener they were critical than wholly admiring. Tonight, however, Zizi was at her best – she was more than usually attractive, and her manner was gentler than she often chose to make it.

“Oh, yes,” she said, in reply to Louis’ query, “but you have to know why they confess. You see Mr Barry confessed to shield some one else.”

“Who?” Louis asked, but he flushed and looked embarrassed.

“You know who,” Zizi returned, “and maybe it wasn’t only yourself, but Phyllis, too. You see – you must see, all of you, that the situation is serious. Louis was there very shortly before the crime took place. Phyllis is said to have been there – whether she was or not – no one can be found who saw or spoke to Mr Gleason after that – so it would be just like the detectives to fasten the crime on one or both of the Lindsays. Anyway, that’s the way it looked to Mr Barry, and in his quick tempered – which means impulsive way – he gave himself up. Although he is as innocent of the crime as you two are.”

“My goodness!” Millicent exclaimed, “you start out by clearing all those who have been suspected!”

“Not all. There still remain several of the Club men – also the possibility of a stranger – I mean a stranger to you people who are interested. Mrs Lindsay, where did your brother live before he went to Seattle?”

“In a little village in New Hampshire – Coggs’ Hollow.”

“Lovely name! Did you live there, too?”

“No; I lived in Ohio with my parents. An uncle, my mother’s brother, took Robert to live with him, in New Hampshire, when the boy was quite small. That’s why Robert and I never saw much of each other. We were affectionate enough when we met, but living apart, we were not really intimate. I was surprised when he came East, and we renewed our family relations. Then – ”

“Then he fell in love with Phyllis” – Zizi interrupted. “And it wasn’t reciprocated.”

“Quite true,” Phyllis said, calmly.

“Yes,” Millicent agreed, “it was really love at first sight. And as Phyllis had any number of suitors, Robert tried to cut them out by promises of such luxuries and dazzling prospects as his wealth could offer. But Phyllis couldn’t seem to bring herself to say yes – ”

“But she had, hadn’t she?” Zizi didn’t look at Phyllis. “Wasn’t the dinner party to be an announcement?”

Millicent shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know,” she said: “ask her.”

Zizi turned. “How about it, Phyllis?”

“I don’t know, either,” Phyllis said, slowly. “I had half promised – because – oh, why not tell? because Mr Gleason had promised me a lot of money – which I very much needed – at once – if I would make the announcement that night.”

“Go on, tell it all,” Pennington Wise put in; “you wanted that money – ”

“To pull me out of a desperate hole,” Louis burst forth. “I got in bad – very bad – with some gamblers and some loan sharks – and Sis was good enough to try to get me out of it. She – she didn’t have to marry old Gleason – even if she did announce an engagement.”

“Hush, Buddy,” said Phyllis, looking at him reprovingly; “I never thought of saying yes to him, and backing out afterward. I wouldn’t do such a thing. But I planned to go there that afternoon and try once more to persuade him to give me the money, without a definite promise on my part. I hoped that for the sake of Louis’ good name I could persuade him. But – I didn’t go.”

“Never mind all that,” Zizi said, impatiently, “it won’t get us anywhere to mull over that. Now, Penny Wise, here’s where I stand. All people here present are innocent of this crime. Philip Barry – I think – is also innocent. I’ve no reason to suspect a stranger – an acquaintance of Mr Gleason’s – and I think if there were such an individual, there must have been some trace of him. People don’t glide in and out of a situation like shadows.”

“Go slow, Ziz,” cautioned the detective, looking at her thoughtfully. “Keep your imagination in leash.”

“Yes, sir,” and she bowed with mock docility. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go to Coggs’ Hollow.”

“To-night!” gasped Millicent, as Zizi rose, and began pulling on her gloves.

“Yes; there’s a train at midnight, I can easily catch it. Good-by, all.”

She drew her cloak together and fastened it, and held out her hand to Wise with a demanding gesture.

Understandingly, he took out his pocketbook, and gave it to her without a word.

She tucked it into her roomy handbag, and turned to the door.

“I’ll go with you,” Louis cried, already in the hall, and getting into his overcoat.

“To the station? Thank you,” Zizi smiled.

“No; all the way. To New Hampshire.”

“Nixy!” she laughed, flashing her white teeth. “He travels the fastest who travels alone. But I’ll be glad to have you entrain me.”

The two went out together, and hailing a taxicab, Louis delightedly put Zizi in.

“Anyway, I’ll have you to myself for an hour,” he exulted. “What are you, I can’t make you out. A sprite, a witch, an elf?”

“Oh, yes, all those things, and a girl beside. And you needn’t fall in love with me – it would be a foolishness.”

“But I’ve already fallen.”

“Oh, well, all right. It doesn’t matter.” Zizi was absorbed in thought, and seemed really to care nothing at all for Louis’ state of mind.

Meantime, Millicent was demanding of Pennington Wise an explanation of the astonishing Zizi.

“Don’t worry about her,” he said, smiling. “Don’t think about her. She never does a wrong thing – in detective work, I mean. She will some day – I daresay – and it may be she has now. But she acts on impulse, on intuition, on what some people call a hunch. And I’ve never known her to slip up. She is a wonder – but don’t try to understand her – for you can’t.”

“But will she go to New Hampshire – all alone by herself? At night!”

“Oh, yes, and she’ll take care of herself.”

“Louis will go with her,” Phyllis said, “I know he will.”

“No, Miss Lindsay, you’re mistaken there. Zizi won’t let your brother accompany her.”

“I’m sure it would be all right,” Millicent observed; “at work on a case, you know.”

“Right enough, but Zizi won’t let him go because she doesn’t want him to. Now, as to Mr Gleason’s will. Did you two ladies know about its terms?”

“We weren’t certain,” Millicent said, “for my brother changed it quite often. He was ready to settle a large amount on Phyllis at once if she would consent to marry him, but he had already made a will leaving his fortune equally divided between us two. He never liked Louis, rather, he disapproved of him. Of late, Louis has run wild – ”

“It isn’t his fault,” Phyllis defended; “he has been duped and deluded by a lot of men with whom he had no business to associate at all. But let’s leave Louis out of it, for Mr Wise has declared he doesn’t suspect him, and he is in no other way concerned in this business.”

“That’s true, Miss Lindsay. Now, tell me, did Mr Gleason contemplate changing his will again in case Miss Lindsay refused him definitely?”

“Yes, he did,” Phyllis stated; “he told me unless I made the announcement at the dinner party, he would change his will and cut me out of it entirely.”

“Did he, then, assume that you could be bought in that fashion.”

Phyllis colored, but she replied, “Yes, he did. But, mostly because he knew how desperately I wanted money for my brother. And, too, it isn’t a gracious thing to say – but Mr Gleason was not such an attractive man that he had much reason for being accepted outside of his wealth.”

“I see; and he had made the existing will recently?”

“Within a month or so.”

“Who knew of it?”

“No one, I believe,” Millicent said, “but Phyllis and Louis and myself – except, of course, the lawyer who drew it.”

“Mr Fred Lane?”

“Yes.”

“Wasn’t he one of that group of men who were discussing murder at the Club that day?”

“Yes,” Millicent looked inquiringly at him; “but you don’t dream that Mr Lane – ”

“Why not?”

“Oh, nonsense, Fred Lane and my brother were good friends.”

“At any rate, it is to the men of that group that I shall first direct my investigations. Few of them really liked Mr Gleason. Forgive me, if I seem unkind, Mrs Lindsay, but I cannot work if trammeled by too great consideration for your feelings.”

“Don’t stop for that, Mr Wise. I quite understand. And I know my brother was not a favorite with the Club men. He was too different. He was out of the picture. They had little in common. Now, in so far as that is of assistance to you in forming your theories, use it, for it is quite true. My brother was a far better and worthier man than most of them, but his ways were different and he did not show to advantage when among them. If Phyllis could have cared for Robert he could have made her very happy, I know. But that’s all past. What I want now, is to avenge my brother’s death. To discover and punish his murderer, no matter who he may be. I beg of you, Mr Wise, spare no time, pains or expense to ferret him out.”