What Happened to Zizi
"Just like a kitten!" Zizi sputtered; "just like a little, day-old
kitten! Ugh! I'm as mad as a wet hen!"
She was sitting on the bank of the lake, dripping wet, daubed with mud,
her black eyes snapping with anger.
When she had been thrown into the pool, the big, entangling cape had
caught in the sedge grass that bordered the water, and clutching this,
the girl had hung on till she could manage to slip her slim little feet
from the rope that bound them. A stiff rope and clumsily tied, it had
been possible to free herself, though she might not have been able to do
it, but for her experiences as a moving picture actress. It was not the
first time she had been flung into water, for her slim agility had proved
useful in film thrillers, and acrobatic feats were her long suit.
Able, too, to remain under water for a few moments without breathing, she
had freed herself from the rope, and scrambled up the bank almost as
rapidly as she had been sent to her intended doom.
She had pulled the cloth from her mouth, and sat, breathing in good air,
but too exhausted to rise.
"If he'd only spoken, drat him!" she muttered, "and yet it _must_ have
been that wretch! I _know_ it was, but how can I prove it? Oh, I wish it
wasn't so dark! And I'm so _wet_!"
She got up now, and tried to wring the water from the cloak that she
still clutched round her. Beside that she had on her nightdress, and a
thin silk kimono, both of which were wetly clinging to her slim little
body.
Throwing the still soaking wet cloak about her, and shivering as it
sopped against her, she went toward the house.
It stood, still and sombre, a black thing amid blacker shadows. The aspen
branches soughed eerily, but no other sound broke the silence. The great
doors were closed, the windows all shut, and no sign of life was visible.
Zizi hesitated. Should she whistle beneath Penny Wise's window, or----
The alternative she thought of seemed to her best, and she drew her wet
draperies about her and scuttled off at a smart pace toward the village.
Barefooted as she was, she chose grassy ground whenever possible, but her
feet were sadly cut and bruised before she reached her destination.
This was the house of Dan Peterson, and a ring at his doorbell, brought
the sound of a hastily flung-up window, and a sharp "Who's there?"
"Me," said Zizi, truthfully, "please let me in."
Not quite certain of the identity of his caller, but touched by the
pleading little voice, Peterson came downstairs, followed by his wife.
A few words of explanation resulted in Zizi's being put into warm, dry
clothes, and tucked into bed by Mrs. Peterson, who admonished her to
'sleep like a baby till mornin'.'
Which, nothing loth, Zizi did.
Morning at Black Aspens brought a shock of surprise.
It was Hester who first discovered the absence of Zizi from the Room with
the Tassels.
Hester had been fond of the child from the beginning, and in spite of her
fifteen years, and her even older world-knowledge, Zizi was a child, in
many ways. Hester mothered her whenever possible, though Zizi's natural
efficiency made little assistance really necessary. But Hester loved to
wait on her, and so, this morning, when, going into the room with a can
of hot water, she found no sleepy little occupant of the great bed, she
ran straight upstairs to Miss Carnforth's room.
"Where's that child?" she demanded as Eve opened the door to her loud
knock.
"What child? Who?"
"Zizi. She's gone! Sperrited away! What have you done with her?"
"Hush, Hester! You act crazy----"
"And crazy I am, if any harm's come to that girl! Where is she?"
Doors opened and heads were thrust out, as the voice of the irate Hester
was heard about the house.
Penny Wise, in bathrobe and slippers, appeared, saying, "What's up? Zizi
disappeared?"
"Yes," moaned Hester, "her bed's been slept in, but she ain't nowhere to
be found. Oh, where can she be?"
"Be quiet," commanded Wise. He ran downstairs, and examined the doors and
windows minutely. Except for those that Hester or Thorpe had opened that
morning, all were locked as they had been left the night before.
"She may be in the house somewhere," suggested Norma, wide-eyed and
tearful.
"Not she," said Wise. "She would hear our commotion, and come to us. Zizi
is not one to play mischievous tricks."
"But how did she get out?"
"How did Vernie's body get out?" asked Braye, gravely. "There's no chance
for a human marauder this time."
"No," and Professor Hardwick looked over the great locks and bolts on the
front doors, and examined the window catches.
Pennington Wise looked very serious.
"Don't talk any foolishness about spooks," he said, sternly; "I don't
want to hear it. Zizi has been carried off by mortal hands, and if any
harm has been done her it will go hard with the villain who is
responsible!"
"Who could have done it--and why?" cried Eve.
"Those who know the most about it, are often the loudest in their
lamentations," Wise returned and stalked off to his room.
Breakfast was eaten in a silence that seemed portentous of impending
trouble. Pennington Wise was deep in thought and apparently had no
knowledge of what he was eating nor any consciousness of the people about
him.
During the meal a note was brought to him by a messenger from the
village. He read it and slipped it in his pocket without a word.
After breakfast he requested the entire household, including the
servants, to gather in the hall.
He addressed them in grave, earnest tones, without anger or undue
excitement, saying, in part:
"I have made considerable progress in the investigations of the tragedies
that have occurred in this house. I have learned much regarding the
crimes and I think I have discovered who the guilty party is. I may say,
in passing, that there is not, and has not been any supernatural
influence at work. Any one who says that there has, is either blindly
ignorant of or criminally implicated in the whole matter. The two deaths
were vile and wicked murders and they are going to be avenged. The
kidnapping of Zizi is the work of the same diabolical ingenuity that
compassed the deaths of two innocent victims. A third death, that of my
clever child assistant, was necessary to prevent discovery, hence Zizi's
fate."
"Is she dead?" wailed Hester, "oh, Mr. Wise, is she dead?"
"I will tell you what happened to her," said Wise, quietly. "She was
taken from her bed in the so-called haunted room, she was carried out of
the house, and a bundle of bricks was tied to her, and she was thrown
into the lake. That's what happened to Zizi."
Milly screamed hysterically, Norma Cameron cried softly and Eve Carnforth
exclaimed, with blazing eyes, "I don't believe it! You are making that
up! How can you know it? Why didn't you rescue her?"
The men uttered various exclamations of incredulity and horror, and the
servants sat, aghast.
Pennington Wise surveyed rapidly one face after another, noting the
expression of each, and sighing, as if disappointed.
"She is not dead," he said, suddenly, and watched again the telltale
countenances.
"What!" cried Wynne Landon, "bricks tied to her, and thrown in the lake
but not drowned! Who saved her life?"
"She herself," returned Wise, "didn't you, Zizi?"
And there she was, in the back of the hall, behind the group, every
member of which turned to see her. Peterson was with her, and the two
came forward.
Zizi was garbed in clothes that Mr. Peterson had lent her, and though too
large, she had pinned up the plain black dress until it looked neither
grotesque nor unbecoming.
"Yes, I'm here," she announced, "but only because a bag o' bones can't be
sunk by a bag o' bricks! Your Shawled Woman,--only he didn't have his
shawl over his head,--carried me off about as easy as he might have
sneaked off a doll-baby! Then,--shall I tell 'em all, Pen?"
"Yes, child, tell it all, just as it happened."
"Well, he stuffed a bale of cotton into my mouth, which same was soaked
with chloroform, so, naturally I couldn't yell; likewise, I didn't know
just where I was at for a few minutes."
"Who was he?" exclaimed Braye, "what did he look like?"
"Was it the skull face?" asked Eve.
"Nixy on the bone face!" returned Zizi, "he was a plain clothes man in
civilian dress, with a black mask over his patrician features."
"Don't you know who it was?" and Eve's voice was intense and strained.
"Not positively," Zizi answered. "Well, he picked me up like I was a
feather, and how he got out of the house I've no idea, but I felt a
breeze of night air, and there was I by the bank of the lake, and there
was he, busily engaged in tying a load of bricks to my ankles!"
"Did you scream?" asked the Professor, absorbed in the account.
"My dear man, how could I, with my mouth chock-a-block with a large and
elegant bundle of gag? I was thankful that my wits were workin', let
alone my lung power! Well, he tossed me in the nasty, black lake, and
that's where he spilled the beans! For ground and lofty tumbling into
lakes is my specialty. I'm the humble disciple of Miss Annette Kellerman,
and not so awful humble, either! So, I held my breath under water long
enough to wriggle my feet out of those ropes, the old stupid didn't know
how to tie anything but a granny slip knot! and I scrambled out, just as
my windpipe was beginning to go back on me."
"You make light of it, Zizi, but it was a narrow squeak," said Wise,
looking at her gravely.
"You bet it was! If he'd had a softer rope, I'd been done for. It was the
stiffness of that rope, and--well, the stiffness of my upper lip,--that
rescued your little Ziz from a watery grave, and horrid dirty old water,
too!"
Wise slipped his arm round the child, and told her to go on with the
story.
"Then," she proceeded, "I squz out what wetness I could from my few
scanty robes, in which I was bedecked, and I borrowed the long cloak,
which friend Kidnapper had kindly wrapped me in."
"What kind of a cloak?" asked Eve.
"Nothing very smart," said Zizi, nonchalantly, "looked to me like an
old-fashioned waterproof,--the kind they wore, before raincoats came in.
Only, it _wasn't_ waterproof, not by several jugs full! But I wrung it
out all I could, and then I tried to get in the house. But,--it was all
locked up, and as it seemed a pity to disturb all you sound sleepers, I
ran to the village and begged a lodging with my friend, Mr. Peterson. He
and his wife were most kind, and put me in a nice dry, little bed, that
had no tassels or ghosts attached to it. I sent Mr. Wise a note, as soon
as I could, so he wouldn't worry."
"That was the note I received at the breakfast table," Wise informed
them. "Now, you see, there is a real man at the bottom of the villainy
going on up here. He desired to remove Zizi, lest she discover his crime,
and I daresay, he planned to dispose of me also, if he could manage it.
His seems to be a will that stops at nothing, that is ready to commit any
crime or any number of crimes to save his own skin. Has anybody present
any idea of the identity of this man? Any reason to suspect any one? Any
light whatever to throw on the situation?"
"No!" declared Landon, "we have not! I speak for myself, and for all
present, when I say we have no knowledge of a wretch answering to that
description! Nor did I suppose that such existed! Can you track him down,
Mr. Wise? Is your power sufficient to discover and deal death to this
beast you describe?"
"I hope so," and Penny Wise carefully scrutinized the face of the
speaker. "I think, Mr. Landon, that with Zizi's help, with the
enlightenment her awful experience gives us, I can get the criminal and
that in a short time."
"Good!" exclaimed Hardwick. "I am not vindictive, but I confess I never
wanted anything more than to see brought to justice the man who could
conceive and carry out such diabolical crimes!"
"Are you sure they are one and the same?" asked Braye, "I mean the man
who killed Mr. Bruce and Vernie, and the one who carried off Miss Zizi?"
"Yes," said Wise, thoughtfully. "There are not two such, I should say.
But the quest of one person is my immediate business. If I find there are
others implicated, I shall get them, too. I am not more incensed over the
attack on Zizi than on your two friends, but I don't deny it has given me
an added wrong to avenge. But for the child's strong nerve, and clever
quickness of action, she would now lie at the bottom of the lake
where----"
He stopped abruptly.
"Go away, all of you," he said, in a low, strained voice. "I mean, go
about your business, but leave me to myself for a time. Peterson, come in
here."
He went into the Room with the Tassels. Peterson followed, and Zizi
glided in beside them. The door closed and the group left in the hall
looked at one another in perplexity and horror.
"I can't understand, Wynne," said Milly, "who took Zizi away?"
"I don't know, dear; what do you think, Professor?"
"I think in so many directions, that I'm sure none of them is right.
Awful things suggest themselves to my mind, but I can't believe them, and
I dismiss them, half thought out."
"That's the way with me," sighed Braye. "It looks now as if there must be
some one who gets in from outside the house, and who is responsible for
all the inexplicable happenings. Of course, that would point to Stebbins,
we must all admit that."
The servants had left the hall, so Braye permitted himself this freedom
of speech.
"I don't say it's Stebbins," the Professor mused, "but I do think it's
some one from outside. There may be a village inhabitant who is possessed
of a homicidal mania, that's the theory that seems to me the only one
possible. And we must assume, now, that there is a secret way to get in
and out of the house."
"If so, that clever detective ought to find it," argued Braye.
"Perhaps he will," said Hardwick, "also, perhaps he has. He doesn't tell
all he knows. Now, this is certain. All here present are, I am thankful
to say, free from any breath of suspicion. For last night, you, Braye,
and the detective and I all slept with our doors open, and none of us
could have left our rooms without being observed by the others. The same
is true of the ladies, and of course, Mrs. Landon can vouch for her
husband."
"Don't talk that way," said Norma, with a shudder. "You know none of us
could be suspected."
"Not by ourselves," agreed the Professor; "nor by each other, of course.
But by an outsider, or by the servants, or by the detectives,--it is
indeed a good thing to have matters arranged as they are. I feel a
decided satisfaction in knowing that no unjust suspicion can attach
itself to any one of our party."
"That's so," and Braye nodded. "But it doesn't get us any nearer to the
real criminal. I incline to the Professor's idea of a man of homicidal
mania, in the village. They say, that's a real disease, and that such
people are diabolically clever and cunning in carrying out their criminal
impulses."
"But how could such a man get in?" asked Eve, her eyes wide with wonder.
"We don't know," said Braye, "but there must be a secret entrance. Why,
Stebbins as good as admitted there was, but he wouldn't tell where it
was. However, it's unimportant, how he got in, if he did get in."
"Do you mean that some such person acted the ghost,--and--all that?" said
Norma, dubiously. "But, if so, how could he kill Mr. Bruce and Vernie?
Oh, it's too ridiculous! Those two deaths were not occasioned by any
crazy man from East Dryden! It's impossible."
"Come out for a little stroll, Norma," said Braye to her, seeing how
nervously excited the girl was. "A breath of fresh air will do you good,
and we can do nothing here."
They went out into the pleasant August sunshine, and strolled toward the
lake.
"Not that way," begged Norma. "It's too horrible. Oh, Rudolph, who do you
suppose tried to drown that poor little Zizi?"
"Nobody, Norma. She made up that yarn."
"Oh, no, Rudolph, I don't think so!"
"Yes, she did. That Wise is trying to get at his discoveries in the
theatrical fashion all detectives love to use, and that movie actress is
part of his stock in trade. She fell in the lake, all right, I daresay,
but the tale about the bogey man is fictitious, be sure of that."
"But how did she get out of the house, and leave all the doors locked
behind her?"
"Perhaps, as the Professor suggested, Wise knows of the secret entrance,
if there is one, and of course, Zizi does too. Or, that little monkey
could have scrambled down from the second-story window, she's as agile as
a cat! Anyway, Norma, she wasn't pitched in the lake by the same villain
that did for Uncle Gif and Vernie."
"Who could that have been?"
"Who, indeed?"
"Rudolph, tell me one thing,--please be frank; do you think any one we
know--is,--is responsible for those deaths?"
Braye turned a pained look at her. "Don't ask such questions, dear," he
said. "I can't answer you,--I don't want to answer."
"I am answered," said Norma, sadly. "I know you share the--the fear, I
won't call it a suspicion,--that Eve and I do. And--Rudolph, Milly fears
it, too. She won't say so, of course, but I know by the way she looks at
Wynne, when she thinks no one notices. And she's so afraid Mr. Wise will
look in that direction. Oh, Rudolph, must we let that detective go
on,--no matter what he--exposes?"
"Landon got him up here," said Braye, "no, the Professor really heard of
him first, but Landon urged his coming."
"Milly didn't. Could Wynne have been prompted by--by bravado?"
"I don't know, dear. Please don't talk of it, Norma. It seems----"
"I know, it seems disloyal to Wynne for us even to hint at such a thing.
But if we could help him----"
"How?"
"Oh, I don't know. I suppose we oughtn't to condone,--and, too, Rudolph,
if this should remain undiscovered, should be all hushed up, you know,
and if nobody should really accuse--you know who--wouldn't _your_ life be
in danger?"
"Hush, Norma, I won't listen to such talk! Has Eve put you up to all
this?"
"She and I have talked it over, yes. She is so anxious for you."
"For me?"
"Yes; you know Eve--cares a great deal for you."
"Hush, dear, you're not yourself to-day. And I don't wonder. The awful
times we're going through are enough to upset your nerves. But never
speak of Eve Carnforth and me in that tone! You know, Norma, I love you
and you only. I want you for my own, my darling, and when we get away
from these awful scenes, I shall woo and win you!"