“Be goody-girl, Zizi,” he adjured as he went off, and she nodded her head, but with a saucy grimace at the detective.
“My room?” she said, inquiringly, with a pretty, shy glance at Olive. “I’m no trouble,—not a bit. Any little old room, you know.”
“You shall have it in a few moments,” and Olive went away to see the housemaids about it.
Mrs. Vail snatched at a chance to talk uninterruptedly to the strange girl.
“What is your work?” she inquired; “do you help Mr. Wise? Isn’t he wonderful! How you must admire him. I knew a detective once,—or, at least, a man who was going to be a detective, but—— Oh, do tell me what your part of the work is!”
“I sit by,” returned Zizi, with a dear little grin that took off all edge of curtness.
“Sit by! Is that some technical term? I don’t quite understand.”
“I don’t always understand myself,” and the girl shook her head slowly; “but I just remain silent until Mr. Wise wants me to speak,—to tell him something, you know. Then I tell him.”
“But how do you know it?” I put in, fascinated by this strange child, for she looked little more than a child.
“Ooh!” Zizi shuddered, and drew her small self together, her black eyes round and uncanny-looking; “ooh! I donno how I know! I guess the bogie man tells me!”