"That I can't tell you," he began,—but paused at the look of despair that came to Zizi's expressive face.
"Oh, please," she begged. "It's so necessary,—so important. I won't make any wrong use of the information. Please tell me."
"But I can't, Miss Zizi. You see, Mr.—Harrison isn't where he was. He—he isn't anywhere."
Clearly, Douglas thought, he was making a mess of things. But what could he say?
"Are you making game of me?" Zizi's tone was wistful, and with her head cocked to one side like an alert bird, she waited breathlessly for his answer.
"No, not a bit of it!"
"But—you say—he isn't anywhere! What do you mean?"
Still under the spell of her smile, her fascinating manner, and her sweet, piquant little face, Douglas hesitated,—and was lost.
"Well, you see, he,—he was somebody else. I mean he isn't,—that is, he isn't himself."
"Are you sure you are?" Zizi laughed outright, so infectiously, that Douglas joined in.