The next morning Pennington Wise set about his work in earnest. “I’m going to East Dryden,” he announced. “I want to interview the doctors, also Mr. Stebbins. I don’t mind saying frankly, this is the deepest mystery I have ever encountered. If any of you here can help me, I beg you will do so, for the case looks well-nigh hopeless. Ah, there, Zizi.”
The girl appeared, ready to go with Wise in the motor car. She wore a small black hat with an oriole’s wing in it, and a full-draped black cape, whose flutterings disclosed an orange-coloured lining. Inconspicuous, save when the cape’s lining showed, Zizi looked distinguished and smartly costumed. A small black veil, delicately adjusted, clouded her sharp little features, and she sprang into the car without help, and nestled into a corner of the tonneau.
Only a chauffeur accompanied them, and he could not hear the conversation carried on in low tones.
“What about it, Ziz?” murmured Wise, as they passed the aspen grove and the black lake.
“Awful doings,” she returned, merely breathing the words. “The Eve girl has a secret, too.”
“Too?”
“Yes, she isn’t the criminal, you know.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you will know. She’s a queer mechanism, but she never killed anybody.”
“Sure, Zizi?”