The Luminous Face

“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.”