The Complete Detective Pennington Wise Series - Carolyn Wells

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      Watching covertly for the next development, Zizi was all unprepared for what really happened.

      The man, with a sudden, swift gesture, took the girl’s chin in one strong hand, and opened her mouth, while with the other he thrust in a thick soft cloth, saturated with chloroform.

      Not enough to make her lose her senses entirely, it partially stupefied her, and the choking cloth prevented all speech.

      Whipping off the long dark cloak he wore, the man flung it round Zizi, as he lifted the slender form from the bed.

      Vainly trying to emit a shriek, or utter a groan, Zizi fell, half-conscious, back in the arms that supported her.

      After an unknown interval, a draught of cool air on her face brought her back to a dim consciousness, and she realized she was out of doors. A struggle of her arms and legs resulted in a firmer grasp of the strong arms that carried her, and she quit moving, to think. She had been kidnapped, taken from her bed, and had been carried out of doors, but she had no knowledge of who her captor was nor by what means they had left the house. Her brain was furiously wide awake, but she made no move, lest more chloroform be administered, and she lose her regained consciousness.

      On the shore of the black lake the man stopped, and set her on her feet. Her mouth, still filled with the soft cloth, was strained and painful, but the first attempt to raise her hand resulted in its being clutched by the strong hand of the man who swayed her destiny.

      So slender and light was she, that he handled her as one might a child, and in his strong grasp she was as powerless as an infant.

      Working quickly and deftly, he tied a strong rope round her ankles and to it attached what was only too evidently a bag of stones or bricks.

      Then, without a word, he flung her into the deep, dark waters of the lake, and with one backward glance, he walked away.

      Chapter XVI.

       What Happened to Zizi

       Table of Contents

      “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

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