“Quite so! It’s a pity, isn’t it Pen, how everything appears to wind around back to that nice Mr. Landon!”
“Well, what now?”
“Well, if he and Stebbins were in cahoots——”
“Hold up, Zizi, don’t run away with yourself! You’re a day ahead of the fair. Now, are you going to talk, in here at Peterson’s, or sit like a bump on a log,—smiling at grief?”
“I dunno; which would you?”
“Talk,” said Wise, succinctly, and Zizi talked.
Indeed, she carried on the main part of the conversation, which was exactly what Wise had meant for her to do.
She charmed Peterson with her bright, alert air and her pleasant, quick-witted way of putting things.
Together they went over the known details, and then she cleverly drew from Peterson his deductions and decisions.
At first, inclined to resent the advent of this all-wise detective, he now began to think that if they could work together, he would shine by reflected glory, that is, if the new chap succeeded in solving the mystery, which to him was inexplicable.