“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.