Pennington Wise
When Mary Pennington married a man named Wise, it was not at all an
unusual impulse that prompted her to name her first born son after her
own family name, and so Pennington Wise came into being.
Then, of course, it followed, as the night the day, that his school chums
should call him Penny Wise, which name stuck to him through life. Whether
this significant name was the cause of his becoming a detective is not
definitely known, but a detective he did grow up to be, and a good one,
too. Eccentric, of course, what worthwhile detective is not? But clear
cut of brain, mind and intelligence. And always on the lookout for an
interesting case, for he would engage in no others.
Wherefore, his persistence in desiring to investigate the strange
mysteries of Black Aspens won the day against Milly's endeavours to
prevent his coming. She had done all she could, and most of the house
party had aided her efforts, but Professor Hardwick had become imbued
with the idea that there was human agency at work, and that his belief in
spiritual visitation, honest though it had been, was doomed to a speedy
death, unless further proof could be shown.
Norma, too, was rather inclined to welcome a specialist in the solving of
mysterious problems, and in conference with the Professor agreed to do
all she could to help the Wise man in his work.
Norma was still of the opinion that the two tragic deaths were the work
of evil spirits, but if it were not so, she wanted to know it.
But the principal reason why Pennington Wise came to Black Aspens was his
own determination to do so. He had never heard of such an unusual and
weird mystery, and it whetted his curiosity by its strange and almost
unbelievable details.
The opposing party gave in gracefully, when they found his advent was
inevitable. All but Milly, that is. She spent her time alternately crying
her heart out in Wynne's arms, and bracing herself up for a calm and
indifferent attitude before the new investigator.
"Keep a stiff upper lip," Braye advised her. "Remember not to give out
any information, Milly. Let him find out all he can, but don't help him."
"All right, Rudolph; and, anyway, I know Wynne is innocent,----"
"Of course he is! That goes without saying. But if he is suspected, say,
if Stebbins or Thorpe or anybody else puts Wise up to suspicion, it may
mean a bad quarter of an hour for all of us. So, just be quiet,
dignified, pleasant-mannered and all that, but don't say anything
definite. For it might be misconstrued and misunderstood, and make
trouble. At least, that's the course I'm going to pursue, and I think
it's the best plan."
"Oh, I know it is," Milly agreed. "In fact, that's just about what Wynne
told me; he thinks if I try to help, I'll only make mistakes, so he, too,
told me to keep quiet. Eve is awfully angry, because that man is coming.
She's not saying so, but I know her! And, Rudolph, she's afraid of
something. I don't know what, exactly, but she's fearfully afraid of
developments."
"We all are, Milly. If the detective pins it on any human being,--that
means trouble, and if he decides it's spooks, after all,--I think I'll be
more afraid of them than ever!"
"I can't be any more afraid of them than I am!" Milly shuddered. "Oh,
Rudolph, how I wish we had never come up here!"
"We all wish that, Milly, but as we're in for it now, we must see it
through."
Pennington Wise arrived the next afternoon. He came into the hall like an
army with banners. A tall, well set-up man, of about thirty-three or
four, thick chestnut hair, worn à la brosse, clear blue eyes, a
clean-cut, fine-featured face, and a manner that proclaimed generalship
and efficiency to the last degree.
"Here I am," he announced, setting down several pieces of hand luggage
and whipping off his soft gray felt hat. "You are the hostess?"
His quick-darting eyes had picked out Milly, and he greeted her as a
distinguished visitor might.
"Who is that?" exclaimed Milly, looking at a slight, black-haired girl
who followed quietly in Wise's footsteps.
"That? oh that's Zizi,--part of my luggage. Put her any place. Is there a
housekeeper person? Yes? Well, turn Zizi over to her, she'll be all
right."
Hester was peeping in at a rear door, unable to restrain her curiosity as
to the commotion, and Zizi glided toward her and disappeared in the
shadows.
"Now," said Wise, his quick smile flashing inclusively at all of them,
"we must get acquainted. I'm Penny Wise, and all possible jokes on my
name have already been made, so that's all right. I know Mrs. Landon, and
you, of course," looking at Wynne, "are her husband. Professor Hardwick,"
and he bowed slightly, "is the man with whom I have had a short
correspondence regarding my coming here. You, sir,----" he looked
inquiringly at Braye.
"I'm Rudolph Braye, nephew of Mr. Gifford Bruce, and present heir to his
fortune." The quiet sadness of Braye's tone precluded any idea of his
triumph of exultation at the fact he stated. "This," he went on, "is the
Reverend Mr. Tracy, a friend of us all. And these ladies are Miss
Carnforth and Miss Cameron, both deeply interested in the solution of the
mysteries that confront us. Since introductions are in order, may I
inquire further concerning the young lady,--or child,--who accompanied
you?"
"Zizi? She's part of my working outfit. In fact, one of my principal bits
of paraphernalia. I always use her on mysterious cases. Don't look on her
as an individual, please, she's a property,--in the theatrical sense, I
mean."
"But her standing in the household?" asked Milly, "does she belong with
the servants, or in here with us?"
"She'll look after that herself," and Penny Wise smiled. "Pay no more
attention to her than you would to my umbrella or walking stick. Now we
know each others' names, let's proceed to the case itself. Who is going
to tell me all about it?"
"Which of us would you rather have do so?" asked Eve, her long,
glittering eyes fixed on the detective's face.
He glanced at her quickly, and then let his gaze continue to rest on her
beautiful, sibylline countenance.
"Not you," he said, "you are too--well, I suppose the word I must use is
temperamental, but it's a word I hate."
"Why?" asked the Professor, "what do you mean by temperamental?"
"That's the trouble," smiled Wise. "It doesn't mean anything. Strictly
speaking, every one has temperament of one sort or another, but it has
come to mean an emotional temperament,----"
"What do you mean by emotional?" interrupted Hardwick.
"There you go again!" and Wise looked amused. "Emotions are of all sorts,
but emotional has come to be used only in reference to demonstrations of
the affections."
"You're a scholar!" cried the Professor. "Rarely do I meet a man with
such a fine sense of terminology!"
"Glad you're pleased. But, Professor, neither do I choose you as
historian of the affairs of Black Aspens. Let me see," his eyes roved
from one to another, "it seems to me I'll get the most straightforward,
uncoloured statement from a clerical mind. I think Mr. Tracy can tell me,
in the way I want to hear it, a concise story of the mysteries and
tragedies you have been through up here."
Mr. Tracy looked at the detective gravely.
"I am quite willing to do what I can," he said, "and I will tell the
happenings as I know them. For occasions when I was not present, or where
my memory fails, the others will, I trust, be allowed to help me out."
And then, the whole matter was laid before the intelligence of Pennington
Wise, and with a rapt look of interest and a few pointed questions here
and there, the detective listened to the history of his new case.
At last, the account having been brought up to date, Wise nodded his
head, and sat silent for a moment. It was not the melodramatic silence of
one affecting superiority, but the more impressive quietude of a mind
really in deep thought.
Then Wise said, simply, "I've heard nothing yet to make me assume any
supernatural agency. 'Ve you, Zizi?"
"No," came a soft, thin voice from the shadowy depths of the rear hall.
Milly jumped. "Has she been there all the time?" she said.
"She's always there," returned Wise, in a matter-of-fact way. "Now I'm
ready to declare that the deaths of your two friends are positively not
due to spiritistic wills, but are dastardly murders, cleverly
accomplished by human hands and human brains."
"How?" gasped Eve Carnforth. She was leaning forward, her beryl eyes
dilated and staring, her hands clenched, her slender form trembling with
excitement.
"That I do not know yet,--do you, Zizi?"
"No," came tranquilly from the distance.
"Let that girl come here," cried Milly, pettishly. "It gets on my nerves
to have her speaking from way back there!"
"Come here, Zizi," directed Penny Wise, and the slim young figure glided
toward them. She was a mere slip of a girl, a wisp of humanity, in a
flimsy frock of thin black stuff, with a touch of coral-tinted chiffon in
bodice and sash. The skirt was short, and her black silk stockings and
high-heeled pumps gave her a chic air. Her black hair was drawn smoothly
back, in the prevailing mode, and though she had an air of
world-knowledge, she was inconspicuous in effect.
Without a glance at the people, personally, she sat down in a chair, a
little apart, yet in full view of all.
Wise paid no attention to her, and went on, thoughtfully. "No, there is
no evidence pointing to the occult, but innumerable straws to show which
way the camel's back is to be broken."
"Mr. Wise," said Eve, determinedly, "I don't think it is fair for you to
hear the story only from Mr. Tracy. I think he is opposed to a belief in
psychics and so unintentionally colours his narrative to lead away from
such theories."
"That may be so," said Tracy, himself, looking thoughtfully at Eve; "and
I agree it would be fairer to hear the story, or parts of it, retold by
Miss Carnforth or some one who fully believes in spiritism."
"Right," said Wise; "go ahead, Miss Carnforth, tell me anything that
seems to you different in meaning from what Mr. Tracy has described."
Quite willing, Eve told of the ghostly visitant that had appeared to her
the night she slept in the Room with the Tassels, and then described
vividly the ghost that had appeared to Vernie, as Vernie had told it to
her.
"You see," she concluded, "there is no explanation for these things,
other than supernatural, for the locks and bars on the house preclude
intrusion of outsiders, and all the occupants of the house are accounted
for. I tell you the things just as they happened."
"With no wish to be discourteous, Miss Carnforth, I would advise you to
tell those tales to the submarines. Even the marines couldn't swallow
those! Could they, Zizi?"
"No," and now that they could see the girl, all noticed a slight smile of
amusement on her young face. It was quickly followed by a look of horror
in her black eyes, as she murmured, "What awful frights you must have
had!" and she glanced at Milly, in sympathy. Then she turned toward
Norma, and seemed about to speak, but thought better of it.
Not looking toward his "property," Wise went on talking. "I can readily
see how any one willing to believe in the occult could turn these weird
happenings into plausible proof. But it is not so. Miss Carnforth's own
story convinces me even more strongly that there has been diabolical
cleverness used, but by a human being, not a phantom."
"And you will discover how, you will solve the mysteries?" asked the
Professor, eagerly.
"I hope to. But it is the most difficult appearing case I have ever
encountered."
"It is not an eleventh case, then?" and Professor Hardwick told again of
Andrew Lang's percentage of proof.
"No, it is not. It is one of the ten that are the result of fraud. Now to
find the perpetrator of the fraud."
"At least you must admit, Mr. Wise," said Eve, a little spitefully, "that
your saying it is a case of fraud does not make it so."
"No," agreed Wise, smiling in an exasperatingly patronizing way, "it sure
does not. In fact it has already made itself so."
"And your discovery of the means used is bound to come?" asked Tracy,
with interest.
"Bound to come," repeated the detective. "But don't let us begin by being
at odds with each other. I came here to discover the truth. If any one
wants the truth to remain undiscovered, now is the time to say so. For it
will soon be too late."
"Why should any one want the truth to remain undiscovered?" said Braye,
abruptly.
"For two reasons," replied Wise, seriously. "First, any one criminally
implicated might wish it to remain unknown; second, any one wishing to
shield another, might also wish no discoveries made."
"But you don't think any of us are criminally implicated, I hope," and
Braye looked questioning.
"There are others in this house beside you people," Wise returned; "and I
tell you frankly, I'm not ready yet to suspect any one or even imagine
who the criminal may be. I only state positively that disembodied spirits
are not responsible for those two tragic deaths. Also, may I ask you to
remember, that I've only just arrived, that I've had a tiresome journey,
that I'd like rest and refreshment, and that there are more days coming
for my further work."
"Why, bless my soul!" exclaimed the Professor, "that's all true! Do you
know, Mr. Wise, it seems as if you'd always been here, it seems as if you
were already one of us."
"Thank you, sir, that's a pleasant compliment to my personality, anyway.
And now, if you please, Mrs. Landon, may I be shown to my room?"
"Certainly," said Milly, and she rang for Thorpe, as Landon rose to
escort the guest himself.
"Where's that girl?" said Norma, looking round after the detective had
gone off, "what became of her?"
But there was no sight of the little black-robed figure.
"Oh, let her alone," said Eve, "she slid out to the kitchen, I think.
Hester will look after her. That man said to pay no more attention to her
than to his hand luggage. She'll look out for herself, I've no doubt.
Isn't she awful, anyway?"
"I think she's pretty," said Norma, "in a weird, elfin sort of way."
"She knows it all," said Braye. "I never saw such an effect of old head
on young shoulders in my life. But what a funny way to treat her."
"She's a spy," declared Eve, "that's what she is, a spy! With her silent,
gliding ways, and her sly, soft voice! I hate her!"
"Now, now, Evie, don't be unjust!" and Braye smiled at her. "She is a bit
your style and temperament, but don't be jealous!"
"Nonsense!" and Eve laughed back at him, "why, she isn't a bit like me!
She has black hair and eyes----"
"I didn't notice," said Braye, "but she impressed me as being like you in
lines and motions."
"A pocket edition," laughed Tracy. "Miss Carnforth would make two of that
little shrimp, and Miss Carnforth is a sylph, herself."
The party broke up into smaller groups, and Braye and Norma sauntered off
for their usual afternoon stroll.
Eve watched them go, her eyes moodily staring.
"Won't I do?" said Tracy's quiet voice, and Eve pulled herself together
and smiled at him.
"You're the one I want most," she declared gaily, unwilling to be thought
disappointed. "Let's walk down by the lake."
The walk by the lake was always shaded, but as the day was murky it was
gloomier than ever.
"You like this place?" asked Tracy, with a glance at the black grove of
aspens, and their dark reflection in the still water of the deep pool.
"Yes, I do; or, I did, until that man came up here. There's no use in
pursuing our investigations with him around."
"All the more use," declared Tracy. "If any supernatural things happen it
will refute his cocksure decisions."
"Yes, it would. Oh, I do wish a ghost would appear to him, and scare him
out of his wits!"
"He has plenty of wits, Miss Carnforth, and he'd take some scaring, I
think. But if a real phantasm came, he'd know it, and he'd acknowledge
it, I'm sure. He strikes me as an honourable man, and a decent,
straightforward sort."
"If he is," and Eve ruminated, "perhaps he can help us to
investigate----"
"That's what he's here for."
"I mean investigate _our_ beliefs. If he could be convinced, as we are,
of the existence of phantoms, and of their visitations, he'd be a
splendid help, wouldn't he? Perhaps I am in wrong in disliking him."
"You're certainly premature. Why, not one man out of a thousand does
believe in the occult. And not one in a million detectives, I daresay."
Meantime, Braye and Norma were talking in like vein.
"I do believe it was a spirit that killed our dear Vernie, and Mr.
Bruce," Norma declared, "but if Mr. Wise can prove the contrary, we want
him to do so, don't we, Rudolph?"
"Of course, Norma, we all feel that way. I, especially, for as heir to
Uncle Gif's money, I'm in a peculiar position. But if anybody can get at
the truth, this Wise person can. He's a live wire, I can see that."
"Shall we help him, Rudolph, or hold back and let him work alone?"
"Help him, of course! Why not? But, be careful that it is help we offer
him, and not merely stupid interference."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing particular; but some of us are inclined to be a bit officious,
and--oh, I don't know, Norma,--I don't want to say anything--even to you.
Let's talk of pleasanter subjects."
"What, for instance?"
"You, for instance! You're enchanting to-day, in that pale blue gown. It
makes you look like an angel."
"Do they wear pale blue?"
"I don't know what they wear, and shan't care until you really are one,
and then, I hope I'll be one, too. But you look like an angel, because of
your angelic face. It's like a roseleaf washed in sunlight----"
"Now, Rudolph, don't try to be poetical! You can't hit it off! A washed
face is remindful of a soap advertisement,--not an angel!"
"Rogue! You love to make fun of me! But I don't mind. Oh, Norma, I don't
care what you say to me, if you'll only say yes. Won't you, dearest?"
"Bad boy! Behave yourself! I told you not to ask _any_ question until we
get away from this place. I won't listen to love talk at Black Aspens!
It's out of the picture!"
"But will you, as soon as we get back to New York? Will you,
Norma--darling?"
"Wait till then, and we'll see," was all the answer he could get.