“You’re a baby sphinx, Zizi,” and Olive looked at her affectionately, “but honestly, Mr. Brice, she keeps my spirits up, and she is so positive herself of what she says that she almost convinces me. As for Mrs. Vail, she swallows everything Zizi says for law and gospel!”
“And just what is it you say, now, Zizi?” I asked.
“Nothin’ much, kind sir. Only that Case Rivers is a gentleman and a scholar, that his memory is on the home stretch and humming along, and that if he’s after a paper,—he’ll get it!”
“And, incidentally he’s Amos Gately’s——”
A scream of agony from Zizi interrupted my speech, and jumping to her feet she danced round the room, her forefinger thrust between her red lips, and her little, eerie face contorted as with pain.
“Oh, what is it, Zizi?” cried Olive, running to the frantic girl.
Mrs. Vail, hearing the turmoil, came running in, and she and Olive held Zizi between them, begging to know how she was hurt.
Catching an opportunity, Zizi looked at me, over Mrs. Vail’s shoulder, and the message shot from her eyes was fully as understandable as if she had spoken. It said, “Do not mention any hint of Case Rivers’ possible connection with the Gately murder, and do not mention the snowflake drawn on the blotter in Mr. Gately’s office.”
Yes, quite a lengthy and comprehensive speech to be made without words, but the speaking black eyes said it as clearly as lips could have done.
I nodded my obedience, and then Zizi giggled and with her inimitable impudence, she turned to Olive, and said: “I’m like the White Queen, in ‘Alice,’ I haven’t pricked my finger yet, but I probably shall, some day.”