“Miss Lindsay is engaged to Mr Pollard,” Millicent informed the inquirer. “She’s a firm friend of Mr Barry’s, but, I think you ought to know that Manning Pollard is her fiance.” “Yes,” Phyllis said, as Wise asked the question by a glance. “I am engaged to Mr Pollard, but I don’t want Mr Barry suspected.” “Not if he did it?” “He didn’t do it.” “But the letter? He wrote that?” “No; he did not.” “He says he did. It is signed by him. It is in keeping with his nature and his attitude toward Mr Gleason. Why do you say he didn’t write it?” “I don’t know, Mr Wise. I have a feeling, a conviction that somebody forged that letter.” “But how would that be possible?” “I don’t know. I can’t tell you. But I’m sure.” “I haven’t seen the letter yet, Miss Lindsay,” Pennington Wise looked at her reflectively. “And until I do, I can’t speak positively. But I’ve read up this case, more or less, and I can’t see how a forgery could pass the experts as this has done. I incline to think it is genuine. But it need not have implied murder at all.” “No,” repeated Phyllis, “he didn’t write it. I know he didn’t.” “If he didn’t, trust me to find it out,” Wise reassured her. And, as they heard the bell ring, “I dare say that’s my little assistant. She agreed to come later. I want you to like her.” “I know I shall,” said Phyllis, enthusiastically; “I’ve heard about her from Miss Hayes.” And in another moment Zizi appeared in the doorway. CHAPTER XVII Zizi “Mrs Lindsay?” Zizi said, by way of interrogative greeting, and, with a second nod to Louis, she crossed the room and sat down by Phyllis. “Miss Lindsay,” and the visitor took both Phyllis’ hands in her own. “I am so glad to know you. May I help you?” “Oh, I hope you can,” Phyllis said, fascinated by the strange child. For Zizi looked like a child. Little, slim, and of a lithe, nervous personality, her big, dark eyes gazed into Phyllis’ with an expression of intense interest in her and her affairs. “You’re troubled,” she went on, as Phyllis responded to her evident friendliness. “But it will be all right; Pennington Wise will clear up the mystery and you will be glad again.” “You queer little thing!” Millicent exclaimed. “Turn around here and let me look at you.” Zizi, turned, smiling, her white teeth just showing between her scarlet lips, her eyes dancing, cheeks glowing, and her black hair muffed over her ears—a highly-colored picture of vivid, restless vitality. “Yes, Mrs Lindsay,” she responded in her low, yet clear voice, “and please like me, for I’m going to stay here.” “Stay here!” “Yes, please, during the investigation. Mr Wise will come and go, but I have to be here all the time.” “Why, certainly—of course, if you wish——” “Good!” Louis cried; “glad to have you stay, Miss——” “Zizi,” she said, “just Zizi.” And the smile she flashed on Louis was the complete undoing of that impressionable young man.