“Some do,” Zizi said, thoughtfully. “How about talents? I want to find out, you see, more of what Betty is like.”
“She has a little musical talent, a taste for drawing, and a fondness for outdoor sports,—but none of these is marked. I can’t describe the child otherwise than as a natural, normal everyday girl. I adore her, of course, but I am not blind to the fact that she is not a genius in any way.”
“Nor do you want her to be! As you’ve told me of her, she seems to me a darling, and I mean to find her for you,—and for Mr Granniss.”
“Yes, Rodney loves her, and he is as desolate as I am at her loss. Oh, Zizi, have you really any hope, or are you just saying this to comfort me?”
“I really have hope, and more, I have conviction that we will yet have Betty back here. But it is not yet a certainty, and I only can offer you my own opinions. Still, dear, it’s better to hope than to despair, and any day may bring us good news.”
Zizi recounted this whole conversation to Pennington Wise, not so much because she deemed it important, as that he wanted every word she could get, reported to him.
The man was frankly bewildered.
“It’s too ridiculous,” he exclaimed to Zizi, “that I, Pennington Wise, should have a great, a unique mystery, as this one is,—and not be able to make one step of progress toward its solution!”
“‘Step,’” Zizi said, “makes me think of that black-mailing person, Stephen, or whatever his name is. Let’s work from that end.”
“I’ve tried and there’s no place to start from. You see, the letters signed ‘Step’ are as untraceable as the kidnappers’ letters. They’re typed, not on the same machine, but on some equally obscure and unavailable one. It’s impossible to hunt a typewriter, with no suspect and no indication where to look!”