“Sure, oh, Wise Guy. Now, who did do it?”
“Well, who did?”
“We don’t know yet, and we mustn’t theorize without data, you know.”
“Rats! I always theorize without data. And I’ve never failed to corral the data.”
“You’re a deuce of a deducer, you are!”
“And you’re a She Sherlock, I suppose! Well, oh, Mine of Wisdom, go ahead. Spill it to me.”
“Can’t now. I’ve lost my place! But, after a few more interviews with some few more interested parties, I may, perhaps, possibly, maybe,—oh, Penny, look back at the house from here! Did you ever see such a weird, wild spook-pit!”
Black Aspens did indeed look repellent. No one was in sight, and the grove of black, waving trees, mirrored in the deep black shadows of the lake gave it all a doomed effect that the dull, leaden sky intensified.
The grim old house seemed the right abode for evil spirits or uneasy wraiths, and Zizi, fascinated by the still scene continued to gaze backward until a turn of the road hid it from view.
Then she became silent, and would vouchsafe no answer to Wise’s questions or make any remarks of her own.