The Luminous Face

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 – ”