Wise and Zizi
"Well, Julie, my little girl, the jig is up."
Thorpe spoke despairingly, and Julie knew only too well what he meant.
"They're--they're going----"
"Yes, they're going to arrest me. This is the last call I can pay you."
Julie didn't break down and cry, nor indeed did she show great emotion
of any sort. She set her curved red lips firmly and said, with an air of
determination:
"I'm not sure, Mac, that it isn't better so. I mean now we've something
definite to work against. Father's going to get that Mr. Wise, and he'll
soon get you out of--out of--oh, Mac, will they put you in prison? In a
cell?"
"Yes, dear, until the trial. You see, that little bottle did it for me."
"And somebody put that in your old paint-box! Who did it, Mac?"
"Hastings is the only one I can think of. That man never liked me-- I
don't know why, but he never did. And he adored Gilbert----"
"You don't think he killed Gilbert, then?"
"Oh, Lord, no! He was always fond of him. But he wants to get me in bad,
and so I think he planted that bottle. It must have been planted, Julie,
I never put it there. I never had it in my possession."
"Who did kill Gilbert?"
"I've no idea, but I don't think it was anybody we know. I'm inclined to
the belief that it was some enemy, of long standing. You know Gilbert
Blair's past life was by no means an open book to his friends. He had
turned-down pages that we never knew about or inquired into. It would
not have been impossible for some one to get into his room in the
night----"
"And give him poison? Not likely!"
"But it must have been something of the sort, Julie. Blair never killed
himself."
"No, I suppose not. Oh, Mac, how unfortunate that you and he quarreled
so much. Otherwise they wouldn't have suspected you at all."
"Yes, they would. It's opportunity they consider, exclusive
opportunity."
"And that empty bottle! I should think they'd see that's a plant!"
"They don't see anything an inch away from their noses! I'm the nearest
suspect to hang a charge on, so they choose me."
Thorpe wasn't pettish, but he was discouraged and unstrung. He knew that
his arrest, which was imminent, was, in part, due to the assertions of
the medium and the Ouija Board. These secrets had leaked out somehow,
and though the detective, Weston, would have scorned to acknowledge it,
he had been more or less biased in his estimates of other evidence by
what he had heard of supernatural communications.
But of this Thorpe hesitated to speak to Julie. For it was her father
who had brought those things about, and while Thorpe had no use for the
whole mediumistic business, he rarely said so to the Crane family.
And the note that purported to be from Peter, he believed a bare-faced
fraud. He couldn't understand it, nor imagine how it had been managed,
but he would not believe that it was the work of the dead Peter Crane.
And so, he submitted helplessly to arrest, for there was no way to prove
his innocence. He had tried "detective work" on his own account, but it
amounted to nothing. The police held that it was an "open and shut"
case, and that Thorpe must have been the murderer.
Benjamin Crane, though all unwilling to condemn Thorpe, was, of course,
greatly swayed by the supernatural messages, and couldn't help his
belief in them. But, for Julie's sake, and to give Thorpe every possible
chance, he had engaged Pennington Wise, and had invited him to stay at
the Crane house while conducting his investigation.
So Wise came, and with him came his queer little assistant, the girl
called Zizi.
There was ample room in the big city house, and the two were treated as
honored guests.
Wise was alert, quick-witted and tactful, but Zizi was even more so. She
made friends with the Cranes at once, and they all admired the odd,
fascinating girl. Small of stature, dark of coloring, Zizi was not
unlike a gypsy, and the mention of this brought about the tale of the
gypsy's prophecy regarding Peter Boots.
"What an interesting story," the girl said, after hearing Benjamin Crane
tell it. "It is wonderful how you dear people bear your loss so
bravely."
"But it isn't really a loss," said Mrs. Crane, "you see, we have our boy
with us continually."
It was only by desperate effort that Zizi kept from laughing, for of all
fads or whims, spiritism seemed to her the worst and most foolish. But
she was there on business, and part of her business was to gather all
the information she could regarding this same spiritism, so she showed
only deep interest and apparent sympathy with their beliefs.
"You do believe in these things, don't you?" Mrs. Crane asked, and,
being thus confronted, Zizi had to answer directly.
"It's hard to say," she replied, "for, you see, I've had so little real
experience. Practically none. But I'm eager to learn, and most
interested in what you tell me."
"I'm a frank unbeliever," declared Pennington Wise. He had considered
the matter and concluded it was better to state this fact and thereby
rouse the others to defense.
"You wouldn't be, Mr. Wise," Benjamin Crane said, "if you'd had the
experiences we're continually enjoying. You've read my book?"
"Yes, Mr. Crane, and an able, well written work it is. But you must
number some among your friends who find difficulty in accepting it in
just the way you do."
"Certainly, and though I do what I can to convince them, I think none
the less of them for their honest unbelief. But with you right here in
the house, Mr. Wise, it will, I'm sure, be an easy matter to make a
convert of you."
"We'll see; at any rate, I'm ready to be converted if you can do it.
Now, let's begin with that note your daughter received from--ah, shall I
say from your son?"
"Of course, it was from my son. You may compare the writing with Peter's
own--we've lots of his letters, and I think you'll be convinced it's no
forgery."
"And it doesn't seem illogical to you," Wise went on, as he took the
papers Crane handed to him, "that your son should materialize this
paper, this note, and leave it for you, when, if he can do such things,
he doesn't write a letter to his mother or to you?"
"From the average mortal's point of view there is much that seems
illogical in spiritism," Crane said, easily, as if quite accustomed to
answering such arguments; "we who believe, never question why or why
not. We merely accept."
"Yes," said Mrs. Crane, "and when we are granted such wonderful boons as
we are, it seems ungrateful and ungracious to ask for anything we do not
get. When I hear my son's voice----"
"Do you recognize his voice?" asked Zizi.
"I can hardly say that, my dear, but we have heard Peter talk so often,
through the medium, that it almost _seems_ like his voice."
"And he told you that Mr. Thorpe was responsible for Mr. Blair's death?"
Zizi went on, wanting a plain statement.
"Yes, he told us that."
"Then how can you have any doubt of it?"
"Spirits do not know everything. It is quite as likely for them to be
misinformed as for earthly people to be. It may be that my boy doesn't
know who killed Gilbert Blair, but has some reason to think it was Mr.
Thorpe."
"Do you think it was?"
"I can't say that," Mrs. Crane looked very serious, "nor can I deny it.
We are all so fond of Mr. Thorpe that we can scarcely bring ourselves to
believe ill of him----"
"But if he is a criminal, we want to know it," her husband interrupted
her. "Mr. Thorpe is engaged to my daughter, and if he is an innocent
man, I want it made clear to the world. If not, then, of course, the
engagement must be broken."
"He _is_ an innocent man," Zizi said, quietly.
"Oh, you darling!" cried Julie, running across the room to embrace her.
"How do you know?"
"By that letter," and Zizi pointed to the note from Peter, which she had
been scrutinizing and comparing with some old letters of Peter's.
"You think it isn't from my brother?"
"I know it isn't. I've made a study of handwriting, and whoever wrote
that wrote it in imitation of your brother's writing. I mean the writer
was disguising his own hand and imitating your brother's."
"How can you tell? They are very much alike."
"That's just it. The salient points are imitated, the long terminal
strokes, the peculiarities of the capitals, but the less conspicuous
details, such as slant and spacing, are not so carefully copied. It is a
forgery, and though well done enough to deceive the average observer, it
would not deceive an expert."
"What a lot you know!" and Julie looked at the other girl in surprised
admiration.
"'Course I do. It's my business to know things. Am I right about this,
Penny Wise?"
"Yes," he said, smiling at her. "I thought you'd see it. Moreover, Mr.
Crane, this note was written by a man, or by a person capable of deep,
even venomous hatred. If, as may well be the case, it was written by
the murderer of Mr. Blair, and with an intent to throw suspicion on Mr.
Thorpe, then we must look for a criminal of great cleverness and of
patience and perseverance in the workings of his nefarious plans. I mean
a nature of inborn evil, capable of premeditated wrong. This murder of
Gilbert Blair was no impulsive or suddenly brought about job. It was
carefully planned and carefully carried out. If you will show me some of
Mr. Thorpe's writing I will tell you if he forged this note."
"No, he did not," Wise asserted, after a study of a letter of Thorpe's,
which they gave him; "we cannot say this note signed with your son's
name was written by the criminal we're looking for, but we can be sure
it was not written by McClellan Thorpe. You see, Mr. Crane, penmanship
is a very exact science. Some one forged your son's writing, but he or
she was utterly unable to omit the personal characteristics that are in
every one's hand."
"And you can deduce character even from a forged hand?"
"Absolutely. It is those inevitable and unmistakable signs that make the
individual writing a true mirror of character."
"But it is often impossible to determine the sex of a writer," Zizi
informed them. "Frequently, to be sure, penmanship is undoubtedly that
of a man or a woman, but sometimes it is not definitely evident. In
this case, I think we have the work of a man, but I can't be sure."
"Who would do it, anyway?" queried Mrs. Crane.
"Any one interested in concealing the identity of the murderer and
desiring to have Mr. Thorpe suspected. A clever person, because, knowing
of Miss Crane's love of her brother and also knowing of your interest in
the occult, it would doubtless seem to you a strong bit of evidence."
"It did," Benjamin Crane admitted, "at least, until you proved to us
that it is not a note from my son at all. But you must remember, Mr.
Wise, that we are in no way doubting my son's communications with us in
other ways. If this is not from him, that does not cast doubt on other
communications we have had from him. And, as he has repeatedly told us
that Mr. Thorpe is responsible for Blair's death, I can only say that my
boy may be mistaken, and I sincerely hope he is."
"Of course, he is," Julie cried. "Peter has sent us other messages that
turned out to be untrue, but he was mistaken."
"You believe in the mediums, then?" asked Zizi, flashing her big dark
eyes at the girl.
"Oh, I don't know. I didn't at first, and I was unwilling to, but I've
heard so much and seen so much, and, of course, I can't help being
influenced by Dad and Mother."
"Of course not," agreed Zizi. "It's all so interesting to me. I'm only
afraid I'll become so absorbed in the spirits that I'll neglect the
detective work."
"It may be they're interdependent," Wise observed.
"They are, I'm sure," said Julie. "You see, Mr. Wise, it's not only
father and the medium that have told us things against Mr. Thorpe, but
we have a friend who is an expert on the Ouija Board----"
Zizi rolled her eyes skyward.
"Oh," she groaned, "I thought you people were real honest-to-goodness
Spiritists!"
"We are," defended Crane.
"Not if you fool with an Ouija Board!"
"But Carly, Miss Harper, can make it tell wonderful things," Julie went
on, "things of which she really knows nothing."
"But the other person at the Board knows them?"
"Well, maybe; but they can't get Ouija to tell them without Miss Harper
has her fingers on, too."
"And Ouija is against Mr. Thorpe?"
"Yes; at least it has said he was guilty, but, as you say, an Ouija
Board means nothing."
"It means something, indeed, but not the thing it says."
"A brilliant remark, Zizi!" Wise smiled at her.
"But I mean just that, Penny. I'm getting a line on this thing, and I
think that the criminal or the criminal's friends or accomplices are
utilizing occult forces in their own behalf. I think, Miss Crane, the
more messages you get telling you of Mr. Thorpe's guilt the more you
may believe in his innocence!"
"Look out, Ziz, don't go too fast," Wise counseled her. "You've only
begun this thing--there's a lot yet to be learned."
"I'll learn it, and I'm sure I'm headed in the right direction. And I'd
like very much to see this Miss Harper. The Ouija witch! Has she told
you to suspect Mr. Thorpe?"
"Don't put it that way," Julie begged. "Miss Harper is my dearest
friend, and whatever she does with the Ouija Board is absolutely honest
on her part, absolutely free from deceit."
"Then she's a unique case," declared Zizi. "Never has such a thing been
known to science." Her smile robbed the words of invidious intent, and
though Julie stood up for Carlotta's innocence, she had always wondered
whether there was not some involuntary, even unconscious helping along
done to the little board.
"Let's go to see her now," she suggested, and Wise agreeing, the two
girls started off.
* * * * *
"This is Miss----?" Julie looked inquiringly at the girl she was about
to introduce to Carlotta, remembering she didn't know her last name.
"Just Zizi," was the smiling reply, and the slim little dark hand was
held out in greeting. "I'm so glad to know you, Miss Harper. For, though
I admit I don't believe in Ouija, I am interested, and Miss Crane tells
me you never 'push'."
"No, I never do that," Carlotta smiled, "but don't think I believe in
the thing, for I don't at all. It amuses me, and it puzzled me, at
first, but now I understand it, and it's beginning to lose interest for
me."
"Understand it?" Zizi looked bewildered. "You mean----"
"I mean I know what makes it work, why it tells the truth, when it does
tell the truth, and why it fibs when it does fib."
Carly Harper's face was frank and honest; she had no effect of mystery
or clairvoyant power, and Zizi was bewildered.
"I am indeed glad to know you!" she exclaimed, "will you impart this
knowledge to me, or is it a secret?"
"It's not a secret, perhaps it isn't knowledge, it's, after all, only my
own theory, or rather, discovery, based on long and wide experience."
Zizi was enchanted.
"Oh, goody!" she cried, her black eyes dancing. "I'm crazy to know just
what you mean! Will you give me a session with the board?"
"Will you promise not to push?"
"Of course, and, anyway, you'd know it if I did."
So Carly got the board, and the two sat at it, while Julie looked on.
The usual routine followed, and at last the professed spirit of Peter
Crane was "present."
On being asked if Thorpe killed Gilbert Blair, the Ouija Board promptly
replied "No."
"Oh, Peter, the other day you said he did!" Carlotta exclaimed, but
again the Board flew to the corner where "No" was printed.
Julie, watching closely, was sure neither of the girls in any way
cheated or helped things along. She was an acute observer, and she was
certain both the manipulators were strictly sincere.
"Well, then," Zizi said, her thin, dark fingers merely touching the
little wooden heart, "who did?"
There was no reply. Motionless the board remained, and no persuasion
would induce it to move.
Other subjects were brought up, questions were asked to which only
Carlotta knew the answer, or to which only Zizi did, and they were
answered, if not always definitely, at least in a general way. But when
they returned to the question about Blair there was no response.
"Don't you know?" Carlotta demanded of Peter's "spirit," which
obligingly announced its presence when requested.
But the board remained stationary, and they finally gave it up.
"All of which goes to prove my theory the true one," Carlotta declared,
and then Zizi begged her to disclose her discoveries.
"Why, you see, it's this way," Carlotta began, "you get out of the
Ouija Board exactly what you bring to it, no more, no less."
"Just what do you mean by that?"
"That nobody gets any information from the board unless it is already in
his mind. When we ask questions, to which one of us knows the answer,
that answer comes. Mind you, I don't mean that one of us pushes the
board in the right direction, at least not consciously, but it is
inevitable that the mind leaps ahead, and when a word is started we
know, usually, what letter is coming next, and we receptively await it.
You see, unless you hold your hands still purposely, the board is bound
to move. Naturally it goes to the words you have in mind, and unless you
purposely check it, the message is bound to come. If it is something I
know and you don't, the board starts off, and as the words form, you
don't stop them nor do I, yet we don't really force them, it's more as
if we thought on the board. This is proved, to my mind, by the fact that
if either party knows the answer, it always comes; if neither knows it,
you can't get it. Usually the message is something that can't be
verified anyway, and often the message is untrue. But people notice and
remember the few times the truth is told, and quickly forget the other
times. In no case are they messages from the dead. It is not Peter's
spirit talking to us at all. It is merely our minds, subconsciously or
not, that impel involuntary muscular action in the slightest degree, and
our eagerness to get a certain word or phrase, brings it about.
Tradition and habit ascribe the messages to the dead, and the universal
desire to get such communications is responsible for the belief that
they are such. Now, here's proof. Whenever I have asked the Board who
killed Gilbert it has responded with the name of the person whom my
companion thought guilty. I have no idea who is the criminal, neither, I
take it, has Zizi; consequently, as we are both open-minded and waiting
for the answer, we get nothing."
"Right," and Zizi nodded her head. "People fool themselves into
believing they get information from Ouija. But, if they were honest,
they would have to admit that never has it told a truth that was not
known to at least one person present. Of course, I except coincidences,
which must happen occasionally."
"But," objected Julie, "then why will it work so much better when Carly
has her hands on?"
"Just because I'm impassive," Carlotta said, "and sit quietly while the
other one gets the message she wants. Without effort the message desired
comes, merely because nobody stops it."
"Then," said Julie, "none of the help we get from Ouija means anything
at all?"
"No, and it isn't help," said Zizi.