And enclosed was a small slip of paper on which was written,
“Mother, do as they tell you. Betty.”
“Is that your daughter’s writing?” Wise asked, as he passed the little note to Minna.
“Yes,” she whispered, trembling so violently and turning so white, that Zizi flew to her side, and induced her to take a sip of coffee.
“Brace up, now, dear,” Zizi said, “you’ll need all your strength and all your pluck. And cheer up, too. If that’s from Betty, she’s alive, and if she’s alive, we’ll get her! Bank on that!”
Zizi’s strong young voice and encouraging smile did as much as the coffee to invigorate and cheer the distracted mother, and Rod Granniss, said, “Sure! that’s Betty’s own writing,—no forgery about that! Now, Mr Wise, what next?”
“Next, is to find out how that note got into this house,” said Pennington Wise. “I locked up myself last night,—I listened but I heard no intruder’s footstep, and I know no outside door or window was opened. It was,—it must have been an inside job. Kelly!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where were you all night?”
“In my bed, sir. On the third floor of the house.”