“That’s it—that’s the answer! Oh, Penny Wise, it’s as plain as day—as Day! I see it all—all—_all_!” “Might I inquire what enlightened you?” “The radium watch! The luminous face! Oh, I’m onto the watch! I’m on the watch!” “Zizi, you are crazy. I refuse to talk to you as long as you act so foolishly. Will you be quiet and tell me things?” “Penny, I’m so excited. Yes, I’ll tell you, after I prove my case to myself. I’ve got to go to the hotel—to Pollard’s hotel—and see about something.” And in a moment she was gone, and in the shortest possible time she was at the hotel. “Again?” groaned the telephone girl, as Zizi earnestly began to whisper her questions. “Yes, again—and yet.” Zizi said: “Now, listen, and tell me this. What did Mr Pollard say when he called his cab that night?” “Why, that’s a funny thing. Why do you ask that? He said ‘Will you call me a cab, please.’” “Why was that funny?” “Because he always says, ‘Call me a taxi.’ I remember, because I’m afraid some time I’ll say, ‘You’re a taxi!’” “Funny girl! Well, I’m trying to prove that Mr Pollard was not himself that night!” “Oh—Mr Pollard never drinks anything.” “How do you know?” “I just happen to know. You’re wrong, he was perfectly sober.” “Then why did he telephone to the cleaner’s when he knew it was past their closing time?” “I suppose he didn’t think of that.” “Not like Manning Pollard’s way. One more thing. Isn’t Mr Pollard a careful dresser?” “Is he! The finest ever. He’s so particular, he’s an old fuss.” “You know a lot about him, don’t you?” “I can’t help it. A telephone operator gets side-lights on people who are continually discussing their affairs over her lines. I don’t have to listen in, but I can’t help knowing how often Mr Pollard telephones to cleaners and tailors and haberdashers and all that. Can I?” “No, honey, of course you can’t. Good-by.” And as Zizi left the hotel she met Manning Pollard coming in. He looked at her curiously, for though they had never met, Phyllis had told him of the queer girl, and he felt sure this was she. To confirm it he went directly to the telephone girl and inquired of her, and the obliging young woman repeated to him the whole of her conversation with Zizi. “H’m,” Pollard observed to himself, “h’m—exactly so.” And he turned on his heel and went out again. Absorbed in his thoughts, he paid no attention to a slim little figure that slipped out from a protecting doorway and followed him. Nor did he notice that the determined little person kept on following him as he boarded a Fifth Avenue Bus and went southward. Zizi, who could make herself as inconspicuous as a schoolgirl when she chose, sat in the rear seat, looking out of the window. Pollard got out at the Washington Square terminus, and walked briskly westward. This was away from the Gleason apartments, though Zizi had not expected him to go there. She followed, unnoticed, until Pollard entered what seemed to be a second-rate boarding house.